(REPOST) Tell Me That Morning Never Comes
Title: Tell Me That Morning Never Comes
Author: squoze_so_hard
Pairing: Gerard/Frank
Rating: PG
POV: Frank's
Summary: He was beautiful, like witnessing a car crash symphony full of screeching metal and beeping horns.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Note: REPOST (8/20/2006)
He was beautiful, like witnessing a car crash symphony full of screeching metal and beeping horns. A fucking masterpiece that the painter wouldn't dare sign their name on, because such a work of art can't possibly belong to anyone other than itself. He's like one of those museum exhibits with the red velvet ropes protecting him from eager tainting hands saying 'you can only go this far' before some kind of hidden security comes and beats the hell out of you for ever thinking you were good enough to approach him.
When you think of him, you imagine that he's that too perfect storm, the one you caught sick from for standing in the rain for too long and didn't even mind when you died of Pneumonia. You see the Titanic, with him as the iceberg, and the ship apologizing for being so clumsy and bumping into him, because he has that power, the one to make you sweat, to make you red with frustration.
You're a shallow, shallow puddle compared to his depths, so deep you'd drown in just the tear that escapes when he laughs too hard, and wouldn't even ask for a life jacket before jumping in if he offered you one, because he's the breath you breathe and you're dead without him anyway.
And you ache when he cries, you itch. You hurt, you burn and you break because whoever did this should be beaten stupid because they obviously don't know who he is. They don't know that they'd die every day inside if they knew, or that he's the willingly injected poison in your veins.
You think he knows what he does when he looks at you. He knows about the game of hopscotch your insides are playing. He knows that you both know this can't be healthy, the way your pulse triples in time and your breath is so rushed that you believe he could make a black marker blush, even. You tell him this and he thinks it's funny because markers can't blush, silly, but that's exactly the point. That's how amazing he is.
He'll never quite understand how invincible you feel standing next to him, how you think if you got hit with a rain of bullets you'd just giggle then pout because your favorite shirt is ruined, then keep walking as he laughs at you and your pout gets bigger.
You wouldn't cry if he died, because he was too good for this world anyway, full of people with dirty, greasy hands that want to touch him and the others that spit at him and tell him he's sin. He should be where angels belong, and he could stop hiding the wings you know he has somewhere, in some secret closet that you can't find.
...You know you wouldn't cry if he died because you didn't. You'd stand by his new bed all night, all night until the graveyard shift security officer made you go home where you'd sleep in his favorite hoodie and snuggle up to his pillow. You know. You know because you did.
You still talk to him every night with you body pressed into his, his arms holding you tightly while he strokes your hair...kisses your neck softly and makes you promise, promise Frankie that you'll never tell anyone, you can't tell anyone about this. It'll be our little secret. And you promise because you know if you did the doctors would put you in that little room and give you more of those awful tasting pills that would make it hard for him to visit you anymore.
You want to go with him sometimes, when the days are so bad and you miss him so much that you tell him so. You tell him please don't leave me here Gerard, please. I want to go with you, please take me with you but he just holds you as you continue to beg and explain to him that the white walls make you feel empty and you're dead during the times he's not around anyway.
He promises that he'll never leave you, that he never left you anyway and says he'll stay until you fall asleep, like every night. You sniffle and agree and as always, you try to fight the sleep the claims you because you know that when you wake up, no matter how much he promises he'll never leave, he's not going to be there in the morning.
Author: squoze_so_hard
Pairing: Gerard/Frank
Rating: PG
POV: Frank's
Summary: He was beautiful, like witnessing a car crash symphony full of screeching metal and beeping horns.
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Note: REPOST (8/20/2006)
He was beautiful, like witnessing a car crash symphony full of screeching metal and beeping horns. A fucking masterpiece that the painter wouldn't dare sign their name on, because such a work of art can't possibly belong to anyone other than itself. He's like one of those museum exhibits with the red velvet ropes protecting him from eager tainting hands saying 'you can only go this far' before some kind of hidden security comes and beats the hell out of you for ever thinking you were good enough to approach him.
When you think of him, you imagine that he's that too perfect storm, the one you caught sick from for standing in the rain for too long and didn't even mind when you died of Pneumonia. You see the Titanic, with him as the iceberg, and the ship apologizing for being so clumsy and bumping into him, because he has that power, the one to make you sweat, to make you red with frustration.
You're a shallow, shallow puddle compared to his depths, so deep you'd drown in just the tear that escapes when he laughs too hard, and wouldn't even ask for a life jacket before jumping in if he offered you one, because he's the breath you breathe and you're dead without him anyway.
And you ache when he cries, you itch. You hurt, you burn and you break because whoever did this should be beaten stupid because they obviously don't know who he is. They don't know that they'd die every day inside if they knew, or that he's the willingly injected poison in your veins.
You think he knows what he does when he looks at you. He knows about the game of hopscotch your insides are playing. He knows that you both know this can't be healthy, the way your pulse triples in time and your breath is so rushed that you believe he could make a black marker blush, even. You tell him this and he thinks it's funny because markers can't blush, silly, but that's exactly the point. That's how amazing he is.
He'll never quite understand how invincible you feel standing next to him, how you think if you got hit with a rain of bullets you'd just giggle then pout because your favorite shirt is ruined, then keep walking as he laughs at you and your pout gets bigger.
You wouldn't cry if he died, because he was too good for this world anyway, full of people with dirty, greasy hands that want to touch him and the others that spit at him and tell him he's sin. He should be where angels belong, and he could stop hiding the wings you know he has somewhere, in some secret closet that you can't find.
...You know you wouldn't cry if he died because you didn't. You'd stand by his new bed all night, all night until the graveyard shift security officer made you go home where you'd sleep in his favorite hoodie and snuggle up to his pillow. You know. You know because you did.
You still talk to him every night with you body pressed into his, his arms holding you tightly while he strokes your hair...kisses your neck softly and makes you promise, promise Frankie that you'll never tell anyone, you can't tell anyone about this. It'll be our little secret. And you promise because you know if you did the doctors would put you in that little room and give you more of those awful tasting pills that would make it hard for him to visit you anymore.
You want to go with him sometimes, when the days are so bad and you miss him so much that you tell him so. You tell him please don't leave me here Gerard, please. I want to go with you, please take me with you but he just holds you as you continue to beg and explain to him that the white walls make you feel empty and you're dead during the times he's not around anyway.
He promises that he'll never leave you, that he never left you anyway and says he'll stay until you fall asleep, like every night. You sniffle and agree and as always, you try to fight the sleep the claims you because you know that when you wake up, no matter how much he promises he'll never leave, he's not going to be there in the morning.