He was always there, hiding in the shadows. Always watching, always waiting. Waiting patiently for the day when someone would look into his eyes and see him, for him. Just a little one-shot writ...
A/N- Just a one-shot written at one in the morning while listening to an illegal download of a song from HIM's unreleased album. (Jesus, this album is gonna be BEAST. I can tell already. This song is amazing: Passion's Killing Floor. I mean...wow.) Yeah. Prepare for some weird-ass shit. Enjoy...
Warnings- None, really...slash and language? Violence? Yeah, that's it.
He waited in the cover of darkness. He was always there, always waiting. Always watching. He was never seen, unless he wanted to be seen. And because his need for attention was non-existent, he was invisible. His existence was a rumor and a myth. He was but a legend, an urban legend in the dark alleys of New Jersey. Older children mystified their young and naÃ¯ve siblings with their near-encounters with him, but in truth, the only ones who ever actually laid eyes on him were dead within twelve hours.
Now, they didn't die because he killed them. They didn't die because he felt the need to cover his tracks. They died because the sight of him, just the act of looking straight into his eyes brought the bare truth of their mortality back into the focus of their minds, until it plagued them into insanity. Until they lost it and took their own lives. Looking into his eyes is stepping through the black door of mortality into the swirling nothingness that is the afterlife.
His eyes; they danced and sparkled, glowed and glittered. Look into his eyes and you'll see hazel and emerald and blackness. You'll see your fear reflected. You'll stare deep into your own soul with a glance into his fiery orbs.
But, one day, he knows that his destiny will be fulfilled and his curse of loneliness will finally be broken. And day and night, he waits until the moment he meets the person who can look into his eyes and see past their own downfall, and see the man that once was. He patiently awaits the day when someone can look him in the eye and see the hurt and the anguish that reside in his soul.
He patiently awaits the day that someone will stare into his eyes and see /him/.
Frank's heart beat faster with every step he took, his head lowered and hands shoved into his tight jeans' pockets. He had his hood from his jacket pulled low over his face. He walked at a brisk pace, his blood rushing in his ears. It was never safe to walk alone in the bad parts of Jersey, but at night? It was near-fatal.
Everything he was doing was a defense mechanism. He, though short and thin and not very well-built, was trained at keeping himself safe during these nightly commutes he had to make from his job. He kept his head down and hood up to intimidate any other person walking the streets. He walked quickly to get home faster than normal. And his right hand, deep in his pocket, was wrapped around the pocketknife given to him by his late father (May he rest in peace...he died in a drive-by shooting.).
Twenty year old Frank Iero was employed at a sleazy club as a bus-boy, because it paid the bills and he sure as hell didn't want to move back home with dear-old mom. He had closing shift every once in a while, and since his job hardly paid the bills, he didn't have the money for a car. So he walked. And a close call with a robber a few months ago left him extra careful, and perhaps a bit paranoid.
Sure, his life wasn't going great. Getting high and beating the shit out of your professor, getting charged with assault, and then having the case go to court isn't fun. Maybe having ties to the Italian Mafia and being let off the hook is kind of okay, but then being expelled from the college just isn't cool. Dreams of a real career were ended, and then that idea for a band went down the drain. So, with every chance of having a good life completely gone, he got a job at that disgusting club where lustful glances from dirty old men became a part of regular life.
So now, there he was, twenty years old with absolutely no chance of ever escaping the shit-heap that he lived in and the shitty way of life he'd unfortunately become accustomed to. No money, no friends, no family, no car, no prospects...no escape.
And every night, when he made this harrowing walk home, these thoughts plagued him, raced through his head until he was near tears.
How the hell did it get to this? /He screamed at himself. /What did I do to deserve this shit?
He turned right, onto the next block. He still had four more blocks to go before he'd be home-free, quite literally. And so, to pass the time, he hummed a little tune, trying not to notice the shadows that seemed to move or the sound of foot-steps that had been following him...
Frank's breath caught in his throat as a large hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him around. His mouth opened in scream, which was cut off by another hand, rough and large. Frank stared into the face of his attacker and realized that all was lost. He was alone at here, and this man looked desperate. His eyes were wild and his face dirty. He was clearly after money to replenish his stash of whatever drug he'd become so thoroughly addicted to.
"Give me your wallet," he ordered gruffly, pulling Frank into the nearest alley and slamming his back into the brick wall. Frank's cry of pain was muffled by the man's hand, still over his mouth.
"Give me your wallet," the man repeated, shoving Frank's head into the wall. Frank cried out, and whimpered as the man removed his hand from his mouth.
"Well?" the man said impatiently, his eyes flicking around the alley, as if he was looking to see if anyone was watching. Little did he know, someone /was /watching. And that someone was getting angry. /Very /angry.
"I d-don't h-have any...any m-money," Frank stammered tearfully. His fingers were tightening around the knife, but in his heart, he knew that he wouldn't have the guts to pull the knife on this man. Frank was pretty sure that his demise would come out of this little robbery. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized: he had nothing to live for. No reason to pull that knife out and defend himself.
He wanted to die.
The man's eyes narrowed, and Frank tensed, waiting for the pain to come and then his death. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut in terror, but then...the pain didn't come.
In fact, there was a gasp of terror, and then the pressure was released from Frank and he wasn't being held against the wall by anyone. He tentatively opened one eye, and then gasped.
The drug-addict was gone.
And in his place was the most beautiful person Frank had ever seen. There was no question as to why. Frank, who had never once looked upon a man and found him to be attractive, was in awe. It seemed natural, Frank finding this man to be absolutely gorgeous, that is. In fact, it didn't even fee wrong when Frank was overwhelmed with the want, no, need to be with this man.
His skin was flawless, porcelain and smooth. His cheekbones were high, and his face round, but not chubby. His lips were full and pink; his hair silken ebony flowing to just above his shoulders. His nose was narrow and slightly turned up. His body was thin and lithe, taller than Frank but not notably taller. He was clad completely in black, and though the alley was completely dark, the man emitted a sort of glow, just to the point that Frank could see him perfectly.
As soon as Frank was done gaping silently at this perfect being, Frank muttered, "Oh, Jesus, thank you. You saved my-." His sentence died as his eyes widened, meeting this man's eyes.
Oh, so horribly sad they were. Frank was brought to tears by the agonized emotion in the man's beautiful eyes.
Nothing this beautiful should ever feel that much pain, /he thought, his heart aching. /I want to make him better.
"Look into my eyes," the man said, as he always said. Every time he uttered those words, he hoped for a different answer than the one he usually got. Which was, unfortunately, a scream of pure terror. "What do you see, my child?"
"Oh, such sadness. Such...pain. Such...hurt. I don't understand. How can a creature like you be in such agony?" Frank answered quietly, his eyes welling up.
His hand reached out to cup the stranger's cheek, hesitantly and shakily. His skin was just as soft as Frank knew it would be. The man made no attempt to reply, a single crystalline tear trickling from the eyes which had destroyed and caused so much pain. Frank gently brushed the tear away with his thumb.
"My name's Frank. What's yours?" he asked softly, emotion overwhelming him.
The man squeezed his eyes shut, his lips forming into a shaky smile.
"My name is Gerard...you've saved me. I can never thank you-."
He was cut off by Frank's lips crashing into his own. They kissed roughly, passionately, as each man was saved by the other. Their lips fit together as puzzle-pieces, as though they were meant to be together. And then, when Frank was unable to breathe anymore, he reluctantly pulled away.
Frank stared unceasingly into Gerard's eyes, and smiled. There was a new emotion in those gorgeous orbs.
A/N- God...I'm such a hopeless romantic. I hope you enjoyed, because now it's 3:30 in the morning. Dammit. Please review. (I'm really proud of this. This is one of my best.)