Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Then and Now
4 reviewsTwo boys, too many problems and one hope; each other. Short FRERARD one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
2Moving
Then and Now
I used to be that short weirdo with too much eyeliner and not enough ability to make friends; just some lost freak without a hope of being found.
I used to be the tubby kid who sang silly little songs at the teachers’ beck and call. A girly guy with nobody to care when I cried.
Seriously, I was completely alone. Aside from maybe the odd drifter who’d cling to me in the hopes that the rumours about the “punk rat” being good with his fists were true. But then they’d realise that I was just as helpless as them and fuck off to find someone else to leech on to.
Honestly, I was utterly hated. No exceptions. The only people who spoke to me were either my tormentors or kids trying to see if the stories about me being into gay necrophilia were true. When I told them they were half right, they’d just punch me in the face and spread lies afresh.
I used to cut myself to shreds over it. I just wanted to stand out, to be special enough for someone to take notice of me and make me feel special.
I used to drink myself silly every night. I only wanted the pain to go away, at least the alcohol blurred it until morning when it would all start again.
It got out of hand. Every second I didn’t spend hurting myself was instead spent thinking up new ways to do it. New ways to feel different, new ways to drown out the inside hurt with outside agony.
It got ridiculous. I spent every last dime I had on worryingly cheap vodka. Just looking for a tonic to cure me, to make me better, to make all of their words and punches fade into nothing but background noise.
I used to cry myself to sleep every night. Just keening like some pathetic little bitch instead of actually trying to fix my problems.
I used to drink myself to sleep every night. Just washing away the wounds with the burning of the icy liquor.
Even when I was asleep, I couldn’t escape it all. I couldn’t escape Them. I couldn’t escape the lack of Them that made me so alone, bound to be smothered by solitude for the rest of eternity because nobody wanted to be seen with a freak like Frank Iero.
Sleep didn’t stop it from seeping in, though. It may have been fogged, but I could still feel every little punch, ever sharp kick, every fierce glare, every vicious rumour. Everything that meant I was shrouded in loneliness and sorrow for the foreseeable future. Because everyone hates people like Gerard way.
But then I met him.
He sings for me.
He plays his guitar for me.
When he sings it’s like everything stops. Absolutely everything; the birds, the insects, the wind, the very heart in my chest that beats solely for him because he’s the one that stops me from ending the rhythmic pounding of my ticker. And when he sings just for me, well, it makes me feel special. No razor blade needed.
When he plays it’s like everything speeds up. Everything just goes into a frenzy; his lightning-strike fingers, my racing mind, the air particles that try to dance along, the lungs in my chest that only breathe for the moments when they inhale the carbon dioxide that his matching set have created. And when he plays just for me, well, it silences everything else. No alcohol needed.
He talks to me.
He listens to me.
He doesn’t just blank me out like everyone else, he talks to me like I matter. Like he respects my opinion on whatever he says, no matter how stupid it may be. His words are always beautifully crafted, like he puts thought into every syllable. Just because he’s talking to me. Making me feel special. No razor blade needed.
He doesn’t just laugh at me like everyone else, he actually listens like he cares. Like he honestly wants to help me with my problems, no matter how insignificant they may be. He always listens like he’s an astronomer and my words are the stars, like he’s focussing with everything he has. Just because he’s listening to me. Making Them silent. No alcohol needed.
He cuddles me.
He smooches me.
His cuddles aren’t just hugs. They’re so much more than that, like he feels blessed to be holding me. His arms curled around my skinny body, hands pressing my head into his gentle heartbeat. Showing me that I’m special. That I don’t need a razor blade.
His smooches aren’t just kisses. They’re much more unique and special than that, like it’s something that only I’ve ever had. His lips starting on my nose, sliding down to my mouth, where he says that his favourite sound comes from. Showing me that They can be silenced. That I don’t need alcohol.
Because I love him.
And he loves me.
A/N: Okay, so I’m not really sure if that worked. The italics are meant to be Frank and the bold is meant to be Gerard, if that makes any sort of sense. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
I used to be that short weirdo with too much eyeliner and not enough ability to make friends; just some lost freak without a hope of being found.
I used to be the tubby kid who sang silly little songs at the teachers’ beck and call. A girly guy with nobody to care when I cried.
Seriously, I was completely alone. Aside from maybe the odd drifter who’d cling to me in the hopes that the rumours about the “punk rat” being good with his fists were true. But then they’d realise that I was just as helpless as them and fuck off to find someone else to leech on to.
Honestly, I was utterly hated. No exceptions. The only people who spoke to me were either my tormentors or kids trying to see if the stories about me being into gay necrophilia were true. When I told them they were half right, they’d just punch me in the face and spread lies afresh.
I used to cut myself to shreds over it. I just wanted to stand out, to be special enough for someone to take notice of me and make me feel special.
I used to drink myself silly every night. I only wanted the pain to go away, at least the alcohol blurred it until morning when it would all start again.
It got out of hand. Every second I didn’t spend hurting myself was instead spent thinking up new ways to do it. New ways to feel different, new ways to drown out the inside hurt with outside agony.
It got ridiculous. I spent every last dime I had on worryingly cheap vodka. Just looking for a tonic to cure me, to make me better, to make all of their words and punches fade into nothing but background noise.
I used to cry myself to sleep every night. Just keening like some pathetic little bitch instead of actually trying to fix my problems.
I used to drink myself to sleep every night. Just washing away the wounds with the burning of the icy liquor.
Even when I was asleep, I couldn’t escape it all. I couldn’t escape Them. I couldn’t escape the lack of Them that made me so alone, bound to be smothered by solitude for the rest of eternity because nobody wanted to be seen with a freak like Frank Iero.
Sleep didn’t stop it from seeping in, though. It may have been fogged, but I could still feel every little punch, ever sharp kick, every fierce glare, every vicious rumour. Everything that meant I was shrouded in loneliness and sorrow for the foreseeable future. Because everyone hates people like Gerard way.
But then I met him.
He sings for me.
He plays his guitar for me.
When he sings it’s like everything stops. Absolutely everything; the birds, the insects, the wind, the very heart in my chest that beats solely for him because he’s the one that stops me from ending the rhythmic pounding of my ticker. And when he sings just for me, well, it makes me feel special. No razor blade needed.
When he plays it’s like everything speeds up. Everything just goes into a frenzy; his lightning-strike fingers, my racing mind, the air particles that try to dance along, the lungs in my chest that only breathe for the moments when they inhale the carbon dioxide that his matching set have created. And when he plays just for me, well, it silences everything else. No alcohol needed.
He talks to me.
He listens to me.
He doesn’t just blank me out like everyone else, he talks to me like I matter. Like he respects my opinion on whatever he says, no matter how stupid it may be. His words are always beautifully crafted, like he puts thought into every syllable. Just because he’s talking to me. Making me feel special. No razor blade needed.
He doesn’t just laugh at me like everyone else, he actually listens like he cares. Like he honestly wants to help me with my problems, no matter how insignificant they may be. He always listens like he’s an astronomer and my words are the stars, like he’s focussing with everything he has. Just because he’s listening to me. Making Them silent. No alcohol needed.
He cuddles me.
He smooches me.
His cuddles aren’t just hugs. They’re so much more than that, like he feels blessed to be holding me. His arms curled around my skinny body, hands pressing my head into his gentle heartbeat. Showing me that I’m special. That I don’t need a razor blade.
His smooches aren’t just kisses. They’re much more unique and special than that, like it’s something that only I’ve ever had. His lips starting on my nose, sliding down to my mouth, where he says that his favourite sound comes from. Showing me that They can be silenced. That I don’t need alcohol.
Because I love him.
And he loves me.
A/N: Okay, so I’m not really sure if that worked. The italics are meant to be Frank and the bold is meant to be Gerard, if that makes any sort of sense. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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