When Angels Cry Blood.
I Know One Day We Will Sleep For Days...
I know my updates have been complete shit lately.
I'm trying to let a decent amount of time pass, before I make the frerard happen.
'Cause most of them happen within the first week or two.
So I'm letting mine go a little longer, plus I need to let the War progress a little.
Frank’s Point Of View
Everything about his room captured my attention. If you want the truth, I actually couldn’t remember what my own room looked like. I was slowly forgetting everything I had known (including people and places) before I came here. It was almost like they we’re brainwashing me.
Rain thrashed against the windowpane and thunder roared outside. The storm is passing, I thought dully. Gerard made a mute re-entrance and tossed me the towel.
I smiled and managed to sputter out a thank you.
Lightening lit the dull room up. I shuddered.
“I hate storms.” Gerard muttered, running his hand through his drying, but still damp, hair.
“I actually think they’re pretty calming,” I shrugged, “Unless they’re loud and terrifying, like this.”
The small talk was killing me. I yearned to know all about him, every single detail, but I dare not ask. I just had to wait for him to start talking about himself.
The storm passed leisurely, allowing me more time to just sit here with him. Even if we weren’t talking, I felt a tad more sane when I was around him.
Footsteps grew louder outside. I hoped it wasn’t Mikey.
“Boys,” Mrs. Way called, opening the door a crack, “The storm isn’t letting up much and it’s late. Frank, why don’t you just stay here until morning.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“S-sure.” I said softly, fumbling for words.
She shot us a quick smile, and shut the door again.
Gerard grinned, “Great. Here, I’ll get you some warm pajamas. Or you’ll die of pneumonia before morning.”
I nodded sagely, shifting my glance back to his paintings that we’re leaning against his wall. There was a horse, a boat, and a flower. They looked so lifelike, I thought that the horse might ride right out of the painting. It sent a chill down my spine. He had so much talent, and the only thing I excelled in was making a fool out of myself publicly.
It was a mystery to even me why he even associated himself with me, or considered me a friend.
He returned moments later with a pair of flannel, red pajama pants and a top to cordinate. I realized just then how soaked my clothes really were, and how cold I truly was.
I gratefully took the pajamas as he directed me towards the bathroom.
“When you’re done, just blow out the candles in the hallway, everyone’s asleep, I think. Even if they aren’t, they know they’re way around.”
I’m in Gerard Way’s house, in his clothes, and am going to be sleeping on his floor. Life is good.
I'm trying to let a decent amount of time pass, before I make the frerard happen.
'Cause most of them happen within the first week or two.
So I'm letting mine go a little longer, plus I need to let the War progress a little.
Frank’s Point Of View
Everything about his room captured my attention. If you want the truth, I actually couldn’t remember what my own room looked like. I was slowly forgetting everything I had known (including people and places) before I came here. It was almost like they we’re brainwashing me.
Rain thrashed against the windowpane and thunder roared outside. The storm is passing, I thought dully. Gerard made a mute re-entrance and tossed me the towel.
I smiled and managed to sputter out a thank you.
Lightening lit the dull room up. I shuddered.
“I hate storms.” Gerard muttered, running his hand through his drying, but still damp, hair.
“I actually think they’re pretty calming,” I shrugged, “Unless they’re loud and terrifying, like this.”
The small talk was killing me. I yearned to know all about him, every single detail, but I dare not ask. I just had to wait for him to start talking about himself.
The storm passed leisurely, allowing me more time to just sit here with him. Even if we weren’t talking, I felt a tad more sane when I was around him.
Footsteps grew louder outside. I hoped it wasn’t Mikey.
“Boys,” Mrs. Way called, opening the door a crack, “The storm isn’t letting up much and it’s late. Frank, why don’t you just stay here until morning.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“S-sure.” I said softly, fumbling for words.
She shot us a quick smile, and shut the door again.
Gerard grinned, “Great. Here, I’ll get you some warm pajamas. Or you’ll die of pneumonia before morning.”
I nodded sagely, shifting my glance back to his paintings that we’re leaning against his wall. There was a horse, a boat, and a flower. They looked so lifelike, I thought that the horse might ride right out of the painting. It sent a chill down my spine. He had so much talent, and the only thing I excelled in was making a fool out of myself publicly.
It was a mystery to even me why he even associated himself with me, or considered me a friend.
He returned moments later with a pair of flannel, red pajama pants and a top to cordinate. I realized just then how soaked my clothes really were, and how cold I truly was.
I gratefully took the pajamas as he directed me towards the bathroom.
“When you’re done, just blow out the candles in the hallway, everyone’s asleep, I think. Even if they aren’t, they know they’re way around.”
I’m in Gerard Way’s house, in his clothes, and am going to be sleeping on his floor. Life is good.