It was just black. Black absolution, purgatory.
but waaaaaaaaah, Linkin Park dint win an AMA. sob
i hate daughtry tbh. fuckin annoying i guess...
Title from "Photograph" - Nickleback
Frank got up early in the morning every day. Well, at least he was pretty sure it was morning, and it was early. He didn’t have a reason for it, he just did. It was strange, feeling his senses so dulled. He felt deaf, blind, weak, and tired. It was unbearable. It was human.
He wasn’t a ghost anymore for some unexplainable reason. But he didn’t know if that would’ve been worse.
Gerard stayed outside the window for most of the nighttime, watching Frank lose more and more of himself everyday. He couldn’t be near when Frank wasn’t alert, he knew, because Frank was too addictive, and he would inevitably kill him.
“Don’t leave me like this…,” Frank said, scrubbing his arms and chest in the shower one day|morning|night, bubbles lathering over his skin.
Gerard sat on the sink, looking curiously at Frank.
“I made the mistake once, Frankie. I’m not making it again,” he said firmly, handing Frank a towel when he finally stepped out.
“But I’m still gonna blow up, aren’t I? That part of Aiden’s plan can’t be stopped unless you kill me,” Frank said, “And I don’t think you want to do that.”
Gerard didn’t answer.
Gerard interrupted him, a light finger over his lips as he disappeared from the sink, instantly in front of Frank. Frank shivered. He hadn’t remembered Gerard being so intimidating before.
Frank shook his head, walking out of the bathroom.
“It’s the millionth fucking time you’ve asked, that’s all…,” Gerard said, already sitting on the counter when Frank entered the kitchen.
“Yeah, and I’m not going to stop. You don’t know how much it hurts,” Frank said matter-of-factly, “Humans are painful.”
“You were a human twenty years ago,” Gerard stated.
“Yeah, and you were a human four hundred years ago, now shut up,” Frank said, shoving a handful of cereal his mouth.
He never went out. Ever. It was just him and Gerard, lonely in the apartment. He didn’t even think there was an outside. The door didn’t exist, mostly because Frank didn’t want it to, or because he wasn’t aware of the possibility that it could. It was just black. Black absolution, purgatory. It was just there for lost souls. Gerard didn’t complain, he just sat outside the pitch black windows, staring out at Nothing for hours on end. Could have been centuries gone by, they wouldn’t have noticed, because Frank didn’t age.
Gerard honestly didn’t know what had happened to Adam. They didn’t worry about it either. Adam could take care of himself, dead of alive. Werewolves tended to be a bit thickskulled, or just plain goofy in Adam’s case.
“Yeah, yeah… Adam’s not dead… No one’s really dead. They all go here,” Frank mumbled one day, watching Gerard sketch.
It was a butterfly, black wings and black eyes, drifting among stars. But the stars were faces, tiny screaming faces, and Frank knew that was what Gerard felt at the moment. Distant and conflicted. His ears hurt.
“The fridge. How is there even electricity up here?” Frank would mutter, sort of out of nowhere and rhetorically, “There’s no water in space…”
Gerard would just laugh at him, or smile in the annoying way that said, “I know something you don’t. Either that, or I’ll just pretend so I look smart.”
And he never got tired of it.