If You Don't Understand My Silence, You Won't Understand My Words

A dark, shadowy figure crossed the shop, unable to turn my way and face me. Instead, his fragile figure, clothed in dull grey and navy colors, approached the bar stand. Faces turned. Jaws clenched. The bartender's dreary eyes examined the figure. He retied his apron tightly before speaking to the customer. "What'll it be, my boy?"

The person flinched slightly, pulling down his hood and taking a slip of paper within reach. Raven hair was playfully messed, eyes a deep hazel tint with golden hues and tints. Porcelain skin. Artistic lips without a word spoken. Letters and symbols scribbled themselves in midair, the man's eyes directing their every move. The bartender then received it. Read thoroughly.

"Tall and black coming right up, sir," he laughed. It was strange the way this man had written out the note instead of order it in words. Speaking is a casual thing for the deceased, receiving a written letter is almost a privilege of some sort.

The order came rather quickly. Voices mumbled. Utensils rattled.

The man coughed briefly before enjoying his drink. His pupils turned to me, a smile spreading across his cheeks. As if on instinct, a letter had been written and sent in front of my fingers, smoke releasing from his lips. I held unto the note, intrigued.

You must be Frank. I'm your guy.

"Well, yeah, that's me," I chuckled, a friendly grin forming. "What's your name?"

He sent another note, and this time around, I noticed a color difference in his smoke. Red specks escaped within the dark color. I gulped.

Gerard.

Gerard sipped his coffee silently, tilting his head and checking his surroundings every two minutes or so. As he did, I smiled thoughtfully at his purple scarf wrapped around his neck. Most guys never have the guts to wear purple like that. I rubbed at my stroke of color on my neck.

The bartender came around to fill Gerard's mug, happily willing to give the polite man a refill. Gerard smiled warmly. He pulled a strand of hair from his face behind his ear.

His scarf adjusted. A speck of red was visible.

"Gerard, put that back on!" I pleaded.

Fear filled him. The bartender had seen the color. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded, smacking the beverage towards the man. Gerard opened his mouth to speak.

And closed it. The bartender continued to harangue. "Can't believe they gave a fucking RED another chance!"

Coffee stained, I hurried with Gerard to the exit.

Notes

title credit for lyrics in The House Of Wolves by Bring Me The Horizon