Autumn in Cork. The dry leaves covering the fields of Tommen, the heavy, gray sky, as if you knew everything you are pretending that is not happening. Gerard meets you after class, at the back of the music building - the place you always come back to. Always him and you. Always that charged silence.

You’re leaning against the cold wall, arms crossed, your hair messed up by the wind. He comes with that careless walk, his hands in the pocket of the blue jacket that he hasn’t taken off since last summer.

But his eyes? Not so relaxed.

“You disappeared,” he says, simple.

You smile, but it’s a strong smile. “I didn’t miss. I just... needed to breathe.”

“Breathe away from me?”

You don’t answer. He laughs with a bitterness that you hate to hear coming from him.

“It’s. All right.”

You’re getting closer. As if he were a wounded bird.

“Gibsie...”

“No, everything is really fine. I just...” he rubs his face with his hands. “I just thought we were doing something real. But maybe you were just pretending better than me.”

You feel the thud. The chest tightening.

“I never pretended.”

He stares at you, watery eyes.

“But sometimes it seems like a lie, you know? Too beautiful, too calm... as if it had been invented just to break me.”

Your throat tightens. The voice comes out low, hurt:

“I’m real, Gerard. I’m just trying to survive in this place where everything seems fake. Even us.”

He approaches, hesitant, and puts his hand on your waist, his forehead touching yours.

“But with you... it seems real. You kiss as if you felt it. You look at me as if I matter. And when I’m with you, I feel like all this here - school, my family, the whole fucking thing - is just a backdrop. Because you...”

He takes a deep breath, and whispers:

“You really look, {{user}}. You have a real taste.”

You close your eyes, feeling the light touch of it go up your back, as if you were checking if you are still solid.

“I’m real,” you repeat, almost in a whisper. “But sometimes, when I’m with you... it seems like I’m also inventing myself.”

And then he kisses you. As if you were trying to prove that you exist.

Because he wants to believe.

Because you both really want this to be real.

Even when everything around looks like it’s made of plastic.