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Jack and Alex are best friends, and they have been for about three years now. They're as close as two humans can possibly get, yet it seems like they're always trying to push that boundary. There's not a single day where the two don't talk, and there's also not a single day they don't care.

If Jack got a bad grade on an important test, Alex was always there to console him. If Alex got in trouble for something his stepsisters did, Jack was there to let him vent. It doesn't matter the problem, how big or how small or how silly it is, they're always there to listen to the other, to make everything better.

The thing is, even after all of this, society still doesn't accept their friendship. What more could their relationship need? They talk, they laugh, they understand.. what's the problem?

"You can't hang out with each other," they say.

"He's probably not the person you think he is," they insist.

"You're never going to actually meet anyway," they scoff.

What's the problem with that? Why does it matter that they can't hang out face-to-face? They've been talking with each other for three years, there's surely not much left that they don't know about. And who's to say that one day they won't meet? That they won't be able to hang out in person and get to know every last detail, everything that can't be told or showed over the Internet and text?

It's kind of funny how their friendship even started: pen pals. It was both of their freshman years in high school, and for some reason, as though by fate, both of their English teachers decided it'd be an absolutely fantastic idea to have their students write letters to other kids across the ocean. It sounded horrible at first, but that was mainly because they actually had to write. Like, with pencils and paper. Did people even send letters anymore, or was that just nothing more than a common misconception?

At first, both boys were just a little bit indifferent to the 'learning experience,' as their teachers had called it, and the first few letters were more than a bit awkward. How are you supposed to make friends and understand how a person works, how they function, if you can't look at them? At how they dress and react to the things you say?

Their friendship slowly progressed, though, and as the end of the school year drew ever closer, they decided to share other contact information to keep touch in ways much simpler, cheaper and quicker than sending letters two or three times a month: Facebook, phone number and e-mail being their main sources of communication.

Their talks soon escalated from being almost biweekly to every day. There wasn't a time the two weren't constantly talking, and Jack's parents thought it was nice that he had a friend to talk to, even though they'd never officially met the boy. Hell, they didn't even know Jack had a pen pal.

See, there was one main difference between the teenage boys: their parents. The adult Gaskarth's and Barakat's were around the same age, sure, but they certainly had different views on things.

Isobel and Peter Gaskarth both knew about Jack, knew how he and their son met through the school system and that they decided to continue their friendship on after freshman year, and they didn't see a single problem.

The Barakat's, however, were more or less the exact opposite. They strongly believed in the 'don't ever speak to strangers' rule, and that applied to practically everywhere and everything. You'd think that at seventeen, Jack would be able to go out and talk to whomever the fuck he very well pleased, but you'd be wrong. They knew nothing about the pen pal project in freshman year, nothing about how Jack's only friend didn't even live on this side of the ocean, and since they knew Jack was a 'good young man,' they didn't see the need to monitor his electronics; surely he'd never go against their wishes, and the least he deserved was a bit of privacy.

If Jack ever even considered bringing up the fact that Alex lived in England and had never even been close to visiting the states, it'd be like signing his own death wish. First they'd go through all of the boy's messages to each other, find out some of their son's deepest, darkest, most well-kept secrets, and as if the original punishment wouldn't be enough, it'd definitely be doubled. On top of being grounded for quite literally the rest of his life, he'd lose all of his electronics and get the same speech as he did when he was first allowed on the Internet:

"Never talk to people you don't know in person.. Always come to us before you go on any website.. They may not be who you think they are.."

Jack didn't even want to tell them about the pen pals for fear that they'd react the way they would about meeting people online, so he kept it quiet.

There was nothing really wrong with that, per se; Alex knew the consequences, and, besides, it wasn't like he was a jealous girlfriend or anything. If Jack didn't want to tell people about him, who the fuck cared?

Even so, with how much they worried, they ever so slowly learned that there really wasn't much to fear. If Jack for some ungodly reason let the name 'Alex' slip into any conversation and his parents wondered why they'd never met such a boy, Jack would simply say that Alex was a very easily uncomfortable person; it made sense too, since Alex was prone to anxiety attacks, and Jack didn't feel nearly half as bad as he should when that little half-lie slipped through his teeth like nothing.

No, their fear wasn't really the fact that they'd never be able to talk to each other again so much as the fact that literally anything could happen to them and neither would know. Sure, it sounds the same, but in reality, it's actually quite different.

It would suck to know that your best friend was no longer able to communicate with you from the mere fact that their parents wouldn't allow it, but it'd be even worse to just wake up one day with no explanation or response; at least if Jack's parents found out, he'd have enough time to warn Alex.

It was a silly fear, though; what could possibly happen to them? They were both healthy boys who rarely left their houses, so it's not like anything could get them from within their own four walls. The few times they weren't locked up in their rooms, they were at school, and though people didn't like them all too much, it wasn't like they were tormented or anything. More so just ignored, really.

But, then again, stranger things have happened.

It was an early September morning, and having snowed only just the night before, Baltimore was blanketed in pure white; the world was extraordinarily beautiful, yet it also happened to be extremely cold. It didn't come as much of a surprise to the Barakat household to learn that they're youngest son had gotten sick—nothing more than the mere flu, so it was absolutely nothing to worry about. It was decided he could stay home from school and rest up, and with the house completely empty for the day, Jack decided to spend his time talking with Alex.

Though it was only eight in the morning on the east coast in America, it was one o'clock over in Essex. The British boy was, of course, in school at the time, and if it weren't Jack's first message of, I'm sick, Lexy then he probably would have put his phone back in his pocket and continued on with his day as per usual.

It worried Alex knowing his best friend was bedridden and he couldn't do anything, not even in the slightest bit, and he quickly texted back a What's wrong, Jay?

It was no more than thirty seconds before Jack's reply of I have the flu and it fucking sucks came in, and it made Alex feel a bit better; the flu wasn't something life-threatening.. was it? As far as he was concerned, no, it wasn't, and he didn't feel the need to tell the other boy to head on over to the hospital. Besides, it's not like he could very well drive himself in that condition.

Alex went through the rest of his periods, only a drafting class where he did nothing but google variations of 'cute tumblr boys with..'—but no one else needs to know that—and his English class where they discussed some American movie about the witch hunts in Massachusetts. He wouldn't ever tell this to his American friend, but he's more than glad all the idiots moved across the sea.

Meanwhile, Jack was still in bed and his fever only seemed to be getting increasingly worse. He was having random hot flashes, which would be followed immediately after by a wave of chills that racked up and down his spine at an alarming rate.

He didn't tell Alex, though, not even when asked how he was feeling, and they continued on with whatever the topic they were discussing at the time was. What would Alex do if he knew Jack was only getting worse? He was across the ocean, it's not like he could come be of any help; the most the boy in Essex could do was offer up his support through text.

Still, it didn't completely ease said male's worries. Not by much, at least. He trusted Jack, though, knew the American wouldn't lie to him, and so he decided not to push the subject. In the end, it'd probably just make him frustrated and have the opposite effect of helping him get better.

The day slowly progressed, and not long after Alex was let out of school, he got a text from Jack saying Sorry, I keep falling asleep to which he replied quite honestly It's fine, just go get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Feel better!

No reply came through, and Alex figured his friend had dozed off again, and that did make him worry a bit less. Sleep was necessary when a person was sick, and surely Jack would be as good as new by the time he woke up tomorrow morning. Well, it'd be noon to the older boy, but that wasn't really an important detail. With his troubles all but diminished from his mind, Alex set his phone down and began strumming uselessly at his old acoustic, thoughts calmer than they'd been all day.

Jack, on the other hand, was actually finding it a pretty difficult task to fall asleep; in reality, he'd been throwing up in the bathroom whenever it took him more than a few minutes to reply to Alex's most recent texts. He felt like shit, sure, but how else was he supposed to feel? Granted, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had the flu, but honestly, this seemed to be just a bit ridiculous.

Instead of calling for his mom or someone to come and make sure that, yeah, his symptoms were totally normal, he curled up in as small a ball as he could manage on the floor in front of the toilet, body pressing closely to the cool tiles beneath him.

He somehow managed to fall asleep like that, but it didn't last all too long before he was back as he'd been before: head hanging as though in shame over the toilet bowl. He could hardly open his eyes, could barely move his body in any way at all. His flu seemed to be getting out of control much faster than it should, and he was at a loss for what to do. He couldn't move; he couldn't think.

He spent another hour in that position, not having the energy to even rinse his mouth out, and it was his older sister, May, to find him. She just so happened to be studying to become a doctor and had been the one to diagnose her brother earlier that morning, and one look at him told her that he needed true, professional help, and soon.

Without a second thought—but quite a bit of difficulty—she helped him downstairs and to her car, leaving his phone behind despite his weak protests.

By the time they got to the closest hospital, nearly a half hour away, it was already too late; Jack was beyond the point of being saved by anything the doctors could offer him. The only way he'd make it through was if, by some miracle, his immune system kicked back into gear, but the odds of that were so slim that he'd more than likely be struck by lightning on this completely cloudless day before it happened.

The other three Barakat's were called in immediately, and Mr. Barakat was the last to rush through the door just five minutes before Jack's body decided to quit the losing battle. Tears were shed, extended family was contacted, the first of many sleepless nights ensued. Each Barakat blamed themselves as the cause for the youngest sons abrupt, unexpected death, May feeling the most remorse; she should have known how everything would play out, should have stayed home to monitor him or sent him to the doctors first thing. However, it was all too late now, and there was nothing any of them could do to change it.

When Joyce Barakat was calmed down enough, she made a call to the school, wanting to let them know what happened so that they could make the other students aware. She had faint thoughts of the mysterious boy named Alex, but since Jack had told her so many times about how uneasy the other teen could be, she didn't want to make him freak out anymore than he was bound to; not only would he be meeting a total stranger for the first time, but that total stranger would be telling him that his best friend was no longer with him. Better to just let someone he knows and trusts deal with it, really.

Besides, he'd surely learn of the news along with the rest of the students at Dulaney anyway, right?

When the next day eventually came around, no one dared enter Jack's room. No one heard Jack's phone vibrating incessantly. No one knew that the British boy on the other end of the line—who, on top of his anxiety attacks, was no stranger to abandonment issues—was about to have a mini-meltdown.

Alex, after about twenty minutes of nonstop texting and messaging over Facebook, realized how silly he was being; Jack was probably still sick and just sleeping, and therefore he should leave the other boy be. He couldn't help but to be curious, though, and he kept his phone clutched too firmly in his shaking hand all day. After all, Jack could wake up and text him back at any minute, he just had to be patient.

Days passed, as did Jack's funeral, and the Barakat's were only a little put off when no one named Alex showed up. Really, with whatever minimal amount of information they did know, it wasn't a surprise that'd he'd want to not attend such an event. As long as they didn't hear anything about a teenage boy by the name of Alex committing suicide in the paper, they were fine.

Alex, however, was an utter mess on the other side of the Atlantic. It had been nearly two weeks since he and Jack had last talked, and he'd even all but stopped trying to send messages. To Alex, it had become pretty clear: Jack didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to waste his time on someone he'd, according to the rest of the world, never meet. It was obvious, after all; they'd always had a plan of action, where if Jack got his electronics taken away for whatever reason, he'd find a computer—really, it isn't too hard to find one in this day and age—and he'd at least tell the elder that they wouldn't be able to be in contact for a bit, and nothing of the sort had happened. No one tried writing, and there wasn't even a call.

Alex didn't consider the possibility that something terrible could've happened, and really, that's the first thing he should have assumed. He didn't, though, and after months of waiting, hoping for any sign that his best friend still cared for him as he cared for the younger, he finally gave up. What could he do? It's not like he could go to Jack's, demand an answer as to why his friendship was no longer good enough, and even if he could, would it be worth all the trouble? If Jack didn't want Alex anymore, then he didn't deserve Alex anymore, and that was just plain and simple.

That didn't change the fact that Alex could never not care deeply for the younger boy, and though his attempts at contact have become absolutely nothing at all, he still keeps every single Facebook message, e-mail, text and the letters from when they were only fifteen. Painful mementos which serve to remind him that though true friendship can blossom anywhere, no matter the circumstance, all good things must eventually come to an end.