Take A Walk With Me (One-Shots and More)

April Fool's (Merome)

12:18 a.m., April 1st, 2016

"Hey, Mitch," the message read. "I need to tell you a few things, just to get them off my chest.

"Right now, you're either recording or asleep, but both of them mean that you won't read this for at least another half hour, which is a good thing, I guess. It gives me time.

"I'm not as happy as I seem, and I never have been. I held up the façade as long as I did because it wouldn't help either of us, if you knew, since one thing would lead to another and eventually, you'd leave me behind.

"Your fans see you as a kind person with an open mind and open thoughts, an atheist without conservative ideas, but I know better. Mitch, you're beliefs are strict and you're not as caring as you are in your videos, despite what you think.

"If I were ever to tell you what goes on in my head, you'd disown me.

"So maybe it should just die with me.

"Or... I mean, if I'm gone, you can't tell at me, right? If I told you, you couldn't really be mad at me.

"I'm in love with you, and I have been for years. I loved Louise and Alanna, but there's a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. I love my family, but I'm in love with you.

"But you don't support it. The joke alone hurts like all hell, to you...

"All of my pain, the pain that's forced me to keep laughing over the years, will die, alongside me.

"So this is it... Goodbye."

Panic flooded through Mitch as he read the message thirty minutes after it had been sent, scared that his best friend would kill himself, but angry that Jerome felt that way. It was wrong on so many levels, but he didn't want to make Jerome commit suicide over it.

His gaze shot up to his moniter, checking the time and, without noticing, the date.

April 1st.

He sank back into his chair. It was a joke. It hadn't been funny, but it wasn't real. Jerome was probably laughing his ass off in New Jersey, gloating about how he managed to pull that off.

Mitch sighed and tossed his phone on the bed, setting up his recording software again.

····

9:37 a.m., April 1st, 2016

"Pick up your fucking Skype," he muttered, shifting in his seat. For a half hour now, he'd been trying to contact Jerome, over and over again. Every time, it had rung as much as it could, so Mitch knew Jerome wasn't declining him.

The message from last night nagged at his mind. There was something wrong with his late-night thinking, but he couldn't quite recall it.

Then, he remembered.

The message had been sent at 11:47 the previous night.

The message hadn't been a joke.