“Mom, leave the poor boy alone!” I exclaimed, catching Kian’s pleading eyes as my mother smothered him with hugs and kisses.

“Oh, Sonny, he’s so like you!” She sighed, petting Kian’s hair.

“Well, yes, we do come from the same gene pool,” I reminded her, trying to gently steer her away from my terrified brother.

“Hey, mom, why don’t you go fuss over the girls, yeah? They miss feminine company,” I suggested. She raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say: “they have you”, but headed off in Nikki’s general direction.

“Sorry bout that,” I smiled apologetically, trying to fix Kian’s messed up hair.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled. “I like her.”

“So do I,” I nodded. “You know, she’s very…mom.”

“Yeah, that’s why I like her,” he flashed me a sheepish grin.

I grabbed his hand, pulling him up the stairs of the house where I had grown up. Rayden and Skylar had gone to their final suit fittings, so I had some quality time with Kian.

“This is my old bedroom,” I declared proudly as Kian followed me into the old room. The Jesus of Suburbia mural was covered with posters of the bands Skylar had introduced me to, photographs of me with the rest of the band.

Early Trainwrecks and Firewater flyers littered the desk, spare copies of an old EP scattered amongst blunt eyeliner pencils and dusty make up bags. Kian had never really had a bedroom as expressive, as real, as mine. He’d been held back, tied down, shut out of a normal teenage experience. That was what I wanted to give him. Well, as close to normal as I could.

“Wow, it’s like the room you see in movies,” Kian breathed.

“I was a stereotype,” I confessed.

“What are you now?” Kian asked quietly. It’s a scary habit of his - he can ask you a question and completely turn the world on its head.

“A brother,” I grinned, aware of the corniness of my words. We left the room and I closed the door behind us.

“Hey, Sonny, who’s room is that?” His eyes were alight with curiosity.

The door was old, the hinges creaking with age as I gripped the handle and eased the door open. The room was dark and smelled of illness. I stepped cautiously inside, holding my breath as if the air itself could trigger the painful memories I kept buried as surely as he was.

“Peter?” I whispered, as if he was there still, on his death bed, rotting away.

“It’s ok, Sonny.”

A soft voice, a reassuring squeeze of the hand: Kian there, my beautiful brother. His eyes, glittering in the gloom. I could hear the comforting hammering of his heart. So strong.

“You miss him still? Despite everything you have?” Kian asked.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I feel the loss now more than ever…all that I have only highlights all that I don’t.”

“So you live with this pain all your life? It never goes away?” Kian demanded, sounding distraught.

“No, it doesn’t,” I replied truthfully. “You’re going to carry this pain forever, Kian.”

“I can’t,” he sobbed, turning away from me. “Sonny, I can’t.”

“Ssh, darling, of course you can,” I pulled him into my arms, his seemingly small frame trembling. He muffled his sobs in my neck.

“Listen to me, baby,” I whispered. “There’s so much more to life than just angst and glitter. You’ll never get over it and you’ll never forget but you can use your understanding to help others. You have so much passion, Kian. Don’t let it go to waste. I don’t think I could take much more waste,” I rocked him gently as his sobs died down.

“Ok,” he sniffed.

“Ok,” I smiled as he pulled away, wiping his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m overemotional,” he blushed.

“You’re a teenager,” I reminded him. “There’s no such thing as overemotional at your age.”

He smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes and kissing my forehead. I beamed up at him, feeling better. Having him close, making him smile, made me feel warm inside.

“You’ve got a wedding to plan, c’mon,” he pulled me to my feet and I headed to the door. Kian stopped as we reached it, his fingers fumbling at the decorative scarf he had tied loosely around his neck. He’d been hiding the vicious red marks ringing his delicate neck since his discharge. He wouldn’t even look in the mirror unless the wounds left by his suicide attempt were fully covered.

I watched quietly as Kian untied the scarf, revealing the wounds that were bruising, healing, already. The doctor assured us they would go away in time.

Kian tied the scarf around the door handle of the inside of the room and closed the door behind us.

---

Skylar and I actually decided to have a small wedding. I know, shock horror. After everything that had happened, we really just didn’t have the energy for a big event.

It was a lovely and emotional blur of an evening. We exchanged vows on the soft slope behind the Minardi mansion, overlooking the town where everything began for us.

We all danced away in a huge white marquee, just our friends and family. I stole glances at Skylar, at Kian, at all the beautiful people I had discovered and had the honour of knowing.

There was just one person who needed to congratulate me.

---

Skylar spread the blanket at the base of his tombstone. I knelt as if in prayer, ghosting my pale white fingers over the stone.

“Hey, Petey,” I murmured, tracing his name, carved too deep and too soon.

“Hi, brother. You look great.”

I heard his voice, exactly as I remembered it. I pictured the conversation we’d have, on that night, the most important night of my life. He should have been there.

“I completed the puzzle, Pete. Found the missing pieces. They’re called Kian and Skylar,” I pulled a little wallet of photos from my pocket. “This is Kian,” I smiled, glancing at the photo of him.

“He’s beautiful, Sonny. You’re all beautiful.”

“I got married today,” I beamed.

“I was there, brother. I’m so very proud of you.”

“I’m glad,” I said, tears in my eyes.

“Let it go, Sonny, yeah? Just let me go.”

“Sonny?”

I turned to look at Skylar, smiling weakly. He kneeled beside me, his eyes full of compassion and love. He understood, I knew he did. He always understood, had always and would always. He promised.

“He would have liked you a lot, Sky,” I told him.

“He did.”

“What?” I felt my brow crease, revealing my confusion.

“He did like me,” Skylar repeated. “You don’t remember, do you?”

I scanned my memories of Peter, of his friends. I had been young and easily distracted then - my memories were all just fragments, snap shots.

And then it hit me.

It had been a rainy day and I was sitting cross legged on the living room floor, flicking through one of my mom’s discarded copies of Vogue. I liked the colours, they were pretty. Pete came through the front door, smiling warmly as always.

“Hey, little guy,” Pete ruffled my hair and kissed me. I glared at him - I wasn’t fond of people touching my hair, even then.

“Hi, Pete,” I said.

“I bought a friend home today,” Pete told me, stepping aside so I could see his friend.

He was younger than Pete but older than me, with slightly messy black hair and pale skin. The colour of his eyes was much prettier than the colours in the magazine.

“Sonny, this is Sky. You be nice to him, ok?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. I was always nice to Pete’s friends. Not because I liked them, but because he asked me to be.

Pete and Sky retreated to his room, where they played their guitars and listened to various punk CDs Pete had found in tiny record stores. Pete bought Sky home a few times after that and I didn’t mind, because Sky was pretty and quiet enough. We found out Pete was sick soon after and all his friends stopped coming round, including Sky. I forgot all about him.

“Oh God, Sky,” I murmured, eyes wide. “Oh, Skylar,” I started to cry, overwhelmed by emotions I couldn’t place. I don’t believe in God (most days) or fate but the revelation that Skylar and I had met before was just too much to take.

“I never forgot, Sonny,” he smiled sadly, pulling me into his arms. “I watched you struggle without him, I wanted to help you. I didn’t know how.”

I just cried harder, but I wasn’t really upset. Actually, they were probably tears of joy. I had never believed more in him, or in our relationship.

“I’ve loved you before…it sounds corny, Sonny, and stupid…”

“No, it doesn’t,” I assured him, gazing up at him and returning his unsteady smile. “All my paths lead back to you, Skylar Minardi.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” he laughed quietly. We rested against Peter’s tombstone, watching the sunrise in comfortable silence and contagious optimism.

(A/N: "And in the passions of youth, true stars are born")