(Hello- My name is Eren and this is my first work of Fanfiction! A few disclaimers: I do not own any part of "The Great Gatsby" or any of the characters. That genius can only be credited to F. Scott. Fitzgerald. Content is mixed between the books and movie, and might not be 100% accurate to the original plot line. Also, this is kind of an inside joke between my friends and I- I do not take myself seriously in any way, this is just for a little fun for our "what ifs?" and "if onlys..." But regardless, enjoy! :-) Also, rated M for language, violence, and sexual content in later chapters. I plan on following along the entire story-line of the book. Following chapters will be much longer than this little bit in the beginning!)

Part 1- Prologue

Nick Carraway sat gazing out of the fogged over window of his Chicago apartment. His pen was a weight tied to his fingers; the paper a blank shot into the distance. There was a certain level of expectation he sensed he could never fulfill- a certain extravagance to live up to which his writing would never succeed.

"The Great Gatsby" sat staring at him. His literary masterpiece. He had just written the "The Great" above Gatsby- a small token to the man.

James Gatz. Jay Gatsby. The wonderer, the doe eyed man of hope whose secrets were as simple as skeletons in a closet when you pondered it- a man so moved by love he would do anything- even fix his own death- to protect his beloved.

The guilt hung to heavily over Nick Caraway's heart. His longing was a tear in his chest- it was physical- he wanted to double over, to cough up blood the way Gatsby had in the novel- to feel the life being sucked out of him.

To live without this man was not to live at all- this man was the catalyst for life. This man was his best friend. This man believed in the green light.

This man was more than a boat beating against the current, bourn back into the past. He, though he did not know it, was the hope for the future.

The regrets whirled around in Nick's head. If only he had kept his mouth shut. If only he had played the game the way he was supposed to, perhaps he wouldn't have been the one to cause this untimely demise.

Nick lifted the bottle back to his lips, and let the gin burn down his throat. His tears had dried on the page, and he felt a new resolve as his stomach felt the warm effect of the gin.

He climbed into his bed, ready to dream, ready to remember, and ready to promise himself that no matter how much the time passed, he would always know the truth.