Inspire.

The walls were covered in overly processed art. They weren’t meaningful, in any retrospect. They were what you would expect from an Italian art gallery; pristine, religious. There were shapes and contours, but there was no difference from one to the next.

I knew I was alone, for however long. The gallery had lost interest weeks ago; I wasn’t completely sure why I continued to return every evening, meandering the hallways for sometimes hours on end. Nothing particularly caught my interest, but I supposed it was a sense of peace to me.

I saw a painting of the Madonna, one that I had walked past multiple times. I saw her eyes, the shape, the smooth texture of her skin, and as always, my thoughts drifted to him.

We weren’t exactly friends; more acquaintances that crossed paths every now and again. It wasn’t a secret to me that I harbored a strange fascination with the man, though I was sure he would never know. He was married now; married with a baby, a little girl, a family. It wasn’t exactly soul crushing, but it certainly tugged at my heart, knowing that he was happy with or without me in his life. It sounded somewhat selfish, I suppose, but wasn’t I allowed to be every once in a while? He was perfect, and I wasn’t. I would never have someone like him, because honestly, there was no one else like him. And I knew this, though I continued to channel my attraction into admiration.

I would not let it progress any further than that.

I tore my gaze from the Madonna, moving on down the empty hallway. My footsteps echoed off the walls, white and washed like a blank canvas themselves.

I hadn’t realized that my phone was vibrating in my pocket until my wrist accidentally brushed my pants. I stopped, the echoes stopped, my serenity shattered. I fumbled with the rectangular body, pulling it out and glancing at the screen, slightly irritated. All changed when I saw the message flashing across my eyes.

From Gerard Way (mobile) 7:19 pm

You’re stuck in this gallery, too?

I blinked, looking around, confused. I tapped out a quick response.

You’re here?

I didn’t move; my heart was thudding too hard against my ribcage. I willed myself to calm down, to keep my cool. He was simply a friend. A friend.

From Gerard Way (mobile) 7:21 pm

Come outside and walk with me?

I wondered if I really had a choice. Not that I wanted one, though I did hate fishing to find reasons to be around him. I chose obviously to accept his offer, and I walked back through the gallery, not even bothering to wonder if it was the last time I would be there. The echoes of my footsteps shot up the walls, rang through the empty corridors like a shrill telephone.

I pushed against the heavy door, letting out a small noise of effort as the wood gave way to my arms. It was getting darker; not so dark that the sun was down, but long shadows were starting to grow around objects along the ground. A slight chill was beginning to descend over the air, and I shivered, pulling my jacket around my shoulders.

"Bit chilly for September."

I smiled at the sound of his voice, and I blinked, finding his figure leaning against the side of the building, a cigarette dancing easily between his lips as his eyes found mine.

"Hello," I said simply, and he smiled, taking the stick from his mouth and exhaling briefly.

"Why do you keep coming here?" he asked, gesturing with his occupied fingers at the building behind him. I looked up at the towering structure myself, searching for an answer that I could not give him.

So I simply shrugged.

"Dunno," I responded, tucking my hands into my pockets. "S'not very good."

He chuckled.

"It's good if you like that sorta stuff," he amended, placing the cigarette between his lips once more. "But you don't seem like an appreciator of the Italian Renaissance."

"I'm an appreciator of everything," I mused quietly, starting to walk away from the building. He followed me silently. "But it comes to a point where it's just all the same."

"Seen one, you've seen 'em all," he said sagely, throwing his now finished cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out beneath his shoe. We continued walking in silence, hands in our pockets, and the sun slowly slipped out of the sky.

"How long are you back?" I asked conversationally, and he looked up from where he had been following the sidewalk with his gaze.

"Few months," he said, his toe finding a rock and launching it down a ways. "For Christmas and all."

"Weird to be home?"

He nodded.

"But nice," he said quickly after, biting his lip. "There's only so much I can take, y'know?"

"I understand."

His shoe found the rock again, kicking it further down the sidewalk as we tagged along loosely after it. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it usually wasn't. We didn't communicate on a regular basis, so I wasn't really expecting a verbal frenzy to take place. He simply wanted the company, and I had been present to give it to him.

"Have you ever thought about fate?"

I wasn't surprised by the depth of his question, but I was a little taken aback at his address.

"Me?" I asked, and he glanced sideways at me, raising his eyebrows.

"Not really," I responded, coughing once before continuing. "I don't know that I believe in fate."

He stopped, reconsidered, and continued walking, making up lost strides until our pace was once again matched.

"Why?"

I contemplated his question.

"What is fate, exactly?" I asked rhetorically. "It always seems to carry some negative connotation along with it, y'know? 'Fate worse than death', 'It's your fate'," I recited."Death, destruction, etcetera." I looked up at the sky, biting the inside of my cheek lightly. "I prefer to see it as the future." I shrugged, shivering once as the slight breeze swept the dusk.

He thought about this, allowing the silence to resettle over the two of us. The sun was now almost gone, shadows shrinking against each other into simple darkness. Summer was quickly coming to end, I realized, and the leaves were starting to vibrate with colors of autumn.

"So do you believe in luck?"

I glanced over at him. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking up towards the sky, where the stars were slowly beginning to peek out. I followed his gaze upwards, observing the simple beauty it had to offer.

"Yes."

He smiled briefly.

"And lust?"

My stomach gave a short jolt, and I swallowed. I laughed to mask my discomfort, as I could feel his eyes on the side of my face, but the sound was shallow, humorless.

"Lust is the enemy."

He stopped, firmly this time, and I paused my stride when I realized he had done so. I retraced back a few feet, to where he was standing, and he slowly looked away from the sky and at me instead.

"So you don't believe in fate because it's a negative thing?" He took a step towards me, and I instinctively found myself stepping backwards. He grinned, and it slowly faded to a small smirk as he took another step.

All I could do was nod.

"So if I did this," he stepped towards me again, and again, and I felt something stunt my escape route as I stepped backwards. He was very close, too close, paralyzingly close.

"Would you consider this fate or luck?"

His words sent a flutter of breath over my face, and I simply looked at him, into his eyes, which were shining with reflections from the streetlights now illuminating the sidewalk.

"What do you believe in?" I asked softly, and a grin twisted his lips.

"I don't believe in luck," he said, his lips centimeters from mine, "but I believe we're the enemy."