Photograph That I Gave You

I knew from the moment he sat down on top of me with a lopsided smile and drowsy eyes, that I was doomed to be stuck on that couch all night. Its not a fate I protest to necessarily, in fact I prefer it to my usual sleeping arrangement except for once detail-the couch. If one can even call it that. It's cold and nearly impossible to get comfortable in. Still it's not like we're getting a new one.
The rest of the band eventually wanders off to bed until its just us, our little spot light faintly by a cheap lamp. Franks breaths even out until I'm sure he's alseep. My pen still scratches away at the paper, I can't sleep 'til I finish, I know that. Steadily I blacken out the faces of the man and women I'm drawing, eliminating what was pretty much the last distinctly human thing about them. Now they're two mangled piles of flesh and blood laid out so neatly on my page. Interesting isn't it? How we have such a limited definition of what people are and what they look like. As if we should bother talking to someones face and not their shoulder or hand or something, it's all them really. We keep trying to find a deeper meaning, a deeper part of ourselves reaching into a spiritual level. The sooner we look at each other and see slabs of meat wrapped in skin the sooner we will realize our own mortality. That death is within all of us. In our breakable bones, in our pouring blood, in our frail skin, in our hearts that beat so fast they stop. Why can't anyone seem to see how terrifying this is? Why can't-
"Gerard?" A familiar voice mutters tearing me from my thoughts.Funny, there aren't many people who can do that anymore.
"Uh yeah Frank?" I ask surprisedly. Suddenly i feel guilty inside, as if he's been read my thoughts. Oh god if that were true.
"Who's that?" He nods sleepily towards my paper. Apparently I've kept drawing while preoccupied with my musings and now a rough silhouette of man with pale hair wearing what appears to be a uniform of some sort stands at attention in the left corner of my paper.
"Death," I reply then immediately regret that responce.
"What?" He giggles nervously.
"The death of any good artwork," I add quickly, a blush rising to my cheeks.
"Nah, I love you're drawings" he murmurs rolling onto his left. The simple comment makes me smile, funny there arent many people who can do that anymore either. Theres just something about him that never fails to instantly brighten my mood and I'm beginning to treasure every moment with him more and more. I don't know what this dependency is I just know I need it. He's more on the couch than me now so I can finally get semi-comfortable and put the sketchbook down. Hell my shoes are still on.
I wait an hour before I allow myself to think freely again. When I'm sure he's asleep.I don't know why I think this matters, it just does. I've been told I'm death obsessed before although I don't see who isn't. Our whole lives revolve around it. Its just Frank has been closer to death so much more often than I have. His childhood was spent in and out of hospitals and even now he gets hurt at nearly every concert ,the idiot. His understanding of the concept of death is far more intimate than mine and I feel like a fake, like I shouldn't be allowed to be so touched by this thing he nearly felt every day
But ever since Mikeys and my grandmother died I've been horrified and fascinated by this pretty little thing called death. Its like the worst kind of drug. And my addiction to it is becoming more apparent every day, fuck I even helped write an albumn about it. They know that much, but what the guys don't know is this albumn isn't a work of fiction to me its my greatest fear, and that's is so pathetic. Sure no one wants to die, but they don't let that prevent them from living.
Damn, I forgot to take my medication. I should go get it. I won't be able to sleep. This isn't good. I'm so stupid. I need to go take it.
But then see Franks tranquill face. There's a strand of raven black hair falling right between his eyes. His pale pink lips are slightly parted breathing softly and the lamp light gently illuminates his unblemished, fair skin. Shit he looks so peaceful so perfect, to wake him would be a crime.
I cant destroy something so perfect. I think gingerly reaching out my fingers to brush that one unruly strand out of his face.
As soon as the thought hits I know it's a mistake. As my fingers touch his skin a sort of dark ink seeps into it, blackening the flesh and spreading like a horrific stain followed by the scent of rotting meat. I jerk my hand back and bite down in it squeezing my eyes shut. My heart is pounding with fear and adrenaline is rushing through my veins, what have i done?
When i work up the courage to open them again i see Frank, looking normal as ever, there is no ink, no smell, everything is as it should be. It was all in my head.
I sigh and close my eyes, "Go to sleep Gerard" I groan under my breath. I relax and let my mind go blank. Its still hours before I am caught by sleep.

Notes

Thanks for all the support so far it means so much to me. I never knew how nerve wracking this can be haha. I'm sorry this ones so morbid and boring but idk I had to. The plot really starts in the next chapter, i promise. That should be up tomorrow night. And uhm there won't be any detailed smut in this. And yeah I'm typing this on my phone, so im sorry if the chapters are short. Anyway hope u all have a good day (night?) and remember to never let them hurt you xo