Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Brothers on a hotel bed
0 reviewsFrank and Gerard are back. But everything's so white, and they can't understand why.
0Unrated
Brothers on a hotel bed
Frank was lost.
He snuggled deep into the covers of his bed, breathing in the clean scent of the sheets, the scent which always made him feel at home. He looked outside the window, snow falling in thick flakes on the already white ground, and he had to sigh involuntarily.
He felt strange, somehow, after being on tour for so long, always busy, always other people around, his life so colourful, and now, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the soft crinkling sound of the sheets as he run his finders over them. Now, the only colour he could see was white. A bright white outside, a duller one inside.
He was back in New Jersey. And he felt so drained. So lifeless. And for the first time in his life, he felt tired. Not sleepy, only tired. His muscles ached and his eyes burned. He flexed his fingers, looking at his calloused fingertips.
He turned around and saw what should have been his reflection in the big mirror on his wardrobe. He squinted his eyes and tried to search for any familiarities, but he found none. Was that a wrinkle around that eye? He stood up, walking towards the mirror, seeing the stranger in it doing the same. He touched his fingertips with him, feeling the smooth, cold surface of the glass. The man in the mirror had long hair, almost down to his shoulders. He had only been a boy, barely 19 years old when he had really been here last time, taken the time to be here, what had happened to that boy? Where had he gone, when had he lost him, during all those shows and sweat and light and alcohol and parties and that swirl of colours and money, love, hope and tears? Was he still there?
Was he even the person who Gerard loved, who loved Gerard? He felt nothing right now, everything was so white, so blank, he couldn't decide.
The shrill ringing of his phone brought him back to his room again, and he picked it up.
"Frank?" Gerard voice came from the receiver. "Yeah?" he answered.
"Do you also feel... strange? I don't know if it's the snow or my old room or the lack of noise, but... You know what? Can I come over?" Gerard's voice seemed to crack.
"I'll come over, I haven't been able to ride my motorbike for so long..." Frank answered and hung up on Gerard.
A few minutes later, he stood in front of Gerard's door, a bit wet, with a second helmet under his arm. "You want a ride?" Frank asked when Gerard opened the door, his brain barely registering Gerard's old bat-pyjama pants. No smile, not even the twitch of a muscle in both their faces "A moment. Come in while I'm getting dressed." the singer offered and Frank stepped over the threshold. He still felt strange, even in this new, yet so familiar house of the Ways.
When Gerard closed the door behind them, Frank giving him the second helmet, they looked at each other, and for once, time stood still again. Gerard bowed down shortly to kiss Frank's lips, and they felt cold against each other. Frank sighed and sat on his bike, placing the helmet on his head and fastening it, while Gerard laid his arms around his waist.
As they sped down the highway, Frank barely recognized that Gerard's arms had left his waist and were now spread widely apart from his body, like he was trying to fly.
Everything was so white, and as fast as he was going, he still felt the strong tug of his hometown behind him, locking its arms around him and tying him to it.
But still, Frank felt like a stranger, he looked like a stranger and Gerard behind him on the bike seemed already like a long forgotten memory of love and fire and shivers, a light feeling of nostalgia swaying in the cold winter breeze when they dismounted Frank's motorbike.
They didn't talk, didn't smile until night came and they went down to Frank's house to sleep.
They laid down, each one on their own separate side of the bed, and it felt like the white had consumed them both and Frank somehow yearned for something, a feeling, a flash of light, a flash of colour, but he knew that the man besides him couldn't give him that anymore and he thought he knew that Gerard felt the same.
Frank looked over, into his to his boyfriend's eyes. There was nothing left of the fire that once had been there and he knew that their fast way of life had destroyed their love. He wanted to smile reassuringly, but try as he might, he couldn't manage.
Gerard was stronger than him, he managed to smile, but it was the saddest thing Frank had ever seen.
"Nothing's ever gonna be the same, will it? We've grown up without noticing." Gerard whispered and Frank nodded. 'I'm tired, Gee."
"I know, Frankie, I know." he smiled the sad smile again.
Then, they said Goodnight, laying in the same bed, on total different sides, tired and grown-up, they said their Goodnights with love, but not with fire, not with colour but with kind of an habitual love, which left them both blank and empty.
Frank was lost.
He snuggled deep into the covers of his bed, breathing in the clean scent of the sheets, the scent which always made him feel at home. He looked outside the window, snow falling in thick flakes on the already white ground, and he had to sigh involuntarily.
He felt strange, somehow, after being on tour for so long, always busy, always other people around, his life so colourful, and now, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the soft crinkling sound of the sheets as he run his finders over them. Now, the only colour he could see was white. A bright white outside, a duller one inside.
He was back in New Jersey. And he felt so drained. So lifeless. And for the first time in his life, he felt tired. Not sleepy, only tired. His muscles ached and his eyes burned. He flexed his fingers, looking at his calloused fingertips.
He turned around and saw what should have been his reflection in the big mirror on his wardrobe. He squinted his eyes and tried to search for any familiarities, but he found none. Was that a wrinkle around that eye? He stood up, walking towards the mirror, seeing the stranger in it doing the same. He touched his fingertips with him, feeling the smooth, cold surface of the glass. The man in the mirror had long hair, almost down to his shoulders. He had only been a boy, barely 19 years old when he had really been here last time, taken the time to be here, what had happened to that boy? Where had he gone, when had he lost him, during all those shows and sweat and light and alcohol and parties and that swirl of colours and money, love, hope and tears? Was he still there?
Was he even the person who Gerard loved, who loved Gerard? He felt nothing right now, everything was so white, so blank, he couldn't decide.
The shrill ringing of his phone brought him back to his room again, and he picked it up.
"Frank?" Gerard voice came from the receiver. "Yeah?" he answered.
"Do you also feel... strange? I don't know if it's the snow or my old room or the lack of noise, but... You know what? Can I come over?" Gerard's voice seemed to crack.
"I'll come over, I haven't been able to ride my motorbike for so long..." Frank answered and hung up on Gerard.
A few minutes later, he stood in front of Gerard's door, a bit wet, with a second helmet under his arm. "You want a ride?" Frank asked when Gerard opened the door, his brain barely registering Gerard's old bat-pyjama pants. No smile, not even the twitch of a muscle in both their faces "A moment. Come in while I'm getting dressed." the singer offered and Frank stepped over the threshold. He still felt strange, even in this new, yet so familiar house of the Ways.
When Gerard closed the door behind them, Frank giving him the second helmet, they looked at each other, and for once, time stood still again. Gerard bowed down shortly to kiss Frank's lips, and they felt cold against each other. Frank sighed and sat on his bike, placing the helmet on his head and fastening it, while Gerard laid his arms around his waist.
As they sped down the highway, Frank barely recognized that Gerard's arms had left his waist and were now spread widely apart from his body, like he was trying to fly.
Everything was so white, and as fast as he was going, he still felt the strong tug of his hometown behind him, locking its arms around him and tying him to it.
But still, Frank felt like a stranger, he looked like a stranger and Gerard behind him on the bike seemed already like a long forgotten memory of love and fire and shivers, a light feeling of nostalgia swaying in the cold winter breeze when they dismounted Frank's motorbike.
They didn't talk, didn't smile until night came and they went down to Frank's house to sleep.
They laid down, each one on their own separate side of the bed, and it felt like the white had consumed them both and Frank somehow yearned for something, a feeling, a flash of light, a flash of colour, but he knew that the man besides him couldn't give him that anymore and he thought he knew that Gerard felt the same.
Frank looked over, into his to his boyfriend's eyes. There was nothing left of the fire that once had been there and he knew that their fast way of life had destroyed their love. He wanted to smile reassuringly, but try as he might, he couldn't manage.
Gerard was stronger than him, he managed to smile, but it was the saddest thing Frank had ever seen.
"Nothing's ever gonna be the same, will it? We've grown up without noticing." Gerard whispered and Frank nodded. 'I'm tired, Gee."
"I know, Frankie, I know." he smiled the sad smile again.
Then, they said Goodnight, laying in the same bed, on total different sides, tired and grown-up, they said their Goodnights with love, but not with fire, not with colour but with kind of an habitual love, which left them both blank and empty.
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