FicWad

Gerard sighs, walking into his house after a long day of work.

"Gerard?" He hears Frank, his lover and house mate call from within the depths of the building, his slightly hoarse voice sounding slightly panicked.

Gerard sits down and takes his boots off on the bench in the mud room."Be there in a minute." He promises his lover, receiving no reply.

"Frank?" Gerard calls, poking his head into the empty kitchen, through the first level, sadly not finding his boyfriend.

Gerard climbs up the stairs, still warily looking for his boyfriend."Frank?" He calls again, knocking on the closed bedroom door. He doesn't receive a response, but he still cracks the door open.

"Frank?" He calls again, sighing as he looks around the room hosting no one living (bar himself). Gerard sighs again, not in the mood for Frank's antics when he sees a pale foot from behind their queen size bed.

Gerard stares at the foot for a second, doing nothing, until finally he consciously registers there's something strange about a foot sticking out lifelessly from behind the bed. He feels his nerves start to tense, a awful feeling crawling into the pit of his stomach. He swallows, slowly, cautiously enters the bedroom, and soon he can see the black leggings his lover often wears, his fears growing a sevenfold. The tension is easily thick enough to cut with a rusty old knife.

Gerard sees the dark liquid staining the floor, but doesn't register what it is until he looks at Frank's slashed wrists. Frank's white button up shirt, drenched in his own blood. His head slightly lolled, facing the ceiling as his eyes blankly begin to cloud over.

Gerard rushes to his lover, hoping upon anything that the love of his life isn't dead. He checks for a pulse, he can't find one. The boy-no, the body- isn't breathing.

Frank Iero is dead.

"Frankie…" Gerard whispers as the full realization hits him.

'Frank Iero is dead.'

Frank Iero, beloved friend of many and boyfriend of Gerard Way is no longer breathing. He offed himself, if the old scars and new lacerations are anything to go by.

'Was it an accident? Did he mean it or did he just cut in the wrong place? When did he even start cutting again? I thought I'd gotten him off that… I guess Frank Iero was destined to cut, destined to die.'

Gerard is overcome by grief. Judging by the age of the cuts, Frank's been cutting for weeks.

'Maybe if I was home more often. If I wasn't always leaving him alone to work. I should have payed better attention to my boy.'

Gerard feels a wave of grief, guilt and self-loathing wash over himself. It's his fault Frank is dead. It's his fault Frank's eyes are dull and not seeing. It's his fault Frank Iero did this to himself, his fault that Frank was so alone all the time.

O.O.O.O.O (heh.. time lapse)

Gerard carries the limp body of his lover into the bedroom, lying the shell of his lover in the middle of the grey cement room. Gerard leans over the boy, delicately kissing his forehead, not caring to notice the tears falling onto the delicately dead face.

Gerard lights a white candle, placing it on a table to start burning through the wax.

He takes the razor he found next to Frank and presses it against his wrist, drawing up blood as he slashes against his skin, on the side of his wrist, as to not draw up enough blood to die.

Gerard takes one of his old paintbrushes, slowly dipping it in the stinging cut and collecting blood on the bristles, cutting again and again to draw a circle around his Frankie.

Gerard looks at the painting, lightheaded from the blood-loss. A circle around Frank's head, off-center as if something is supposed to be next to it. Around the circle are jagged lines, twisting in the ends to create and almost morbid sun.

Gerard fetches his candle and drips the clear wax onto his boyfriend's eyes, keeping them forever open. Hesighs contently, placing the candle back on the table to burn through.

'It'll be a lovely scene to find.'

Gerard lays himself down next to Frank, taking one of the dead boy's hands in his own as he finally cuts the vein in his wrist, welcoming the sweet oblivion he finds in death.

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Hey y'all. I actually wrote this for a manga called D.Gray-man (an epic as shit manga), so if you see the names Tyki or Allen that's just my failed editing skills.
Can you tell I'm putting off actually working on my stories? I've put out...3 in the last week.
Sorry!
Review? Please?