Give me all your poison... (FRERARD)
The boy with the scars, in apartment 47
Here we go.
In a small town, in a very very small apartment, cooped up with a drawing pad at hand, lay a young man.
But he wasn't any young man, he was Gerard Way.
His ebony hair splayed out onto the pillow, split ends, and smelling of acrylic paint, coffee, and cigarettes. Ghosting his fingers over the cream colored paper, a maroon pastel between his oh so worn fingers, creating a memory on the small canvas he had with him.
But then he heard a knock.
Gerard raised his head, moaning in the process, and got up slowly off the ruffled duvet, making his way to the oak door. Turning the handle, he came face to face with a twenty-something tattooed as hell man, dressed in a sex pistols T-shirt.
"Hi, um...my name is Frank." murmured the young man, as he fidgeted with the hem of his worn red shirt, and slightly chewed on his plump pink lip.
"Hello. Frank?" questioned Gerard, not really sure why this guy was at his step, nor why he just sat there like a tard.
"Yeah. Well I kind of just moved here. ..and I can't get my door unlocked." Frank half whispered half hissed in annoyance. Gerard peered around the man's shoulders only to see a pile of bags, and assorted boxes, on reading 'Glenfiditch'.
"Oh yeah...I can help I guess." Gerard replied and walked outside onto the steps, past the confused Frank with his tattooed arms crossed over his petite chest.
"Um. Seriously?" Frank questioned. "I've asked over ten people and nobodies willing to actually just help me get the fucking key in the damn lock!" Frank cried.
Gerard just glanced at him and nodded with a 'Um-thats-cool-can-we-get-this-done-or-what?'.
And they headed over to Franks apartments door, which was totally jammed. But somehow, Gerard managed to get the door open.
"I'll help you bring that shit in." He said, and just started to pick up a box, and haul it into the compact housing unit. Frank took his Que, and also started to bring in the bags of random junk he had dragged from his parents house.
A half hour later they had brought in everything. Gerard reached to shake Frank's hand and when they latched there palms together, he felt bats in his stomach. He looked up to see Frank blushing, his golden olive eyes downcast. Gerard let go, and Franks sleeve fell as he brought it up to his face, making Gerard notice some criss cross scars, deep wounds in his wrist.
"That...odd." He murmured to himself as he made his way home.
Even when Gerard got back to his apartment, he couldnt get the young boy out of his mind. He had some sense...some feeling that he had secrets- and not just self harming ones either.
Big ones. But what could he, the un-employed , 23 year old college dropout do, to possibly find out such things? He could snoop.
And he would do just that.
But after his coffee.
NotesAHHHHHHHHHH Sorry no Frerard-ness in this chap, but still
IT WILL COME!
Comments, reveiws, suggestions are welcome!