ghosts and cigarettes ; frerard

come one, come all to this tragic affair

brian was right, and frank knew it- he just didn't want to admit it.

that's how he found himself climbing out the window at three am and running in a loose t-shirt and boxers to gerard's house, the moonlight bathing his skin and washing out his features into shades of grey.

it was cold out. frank could see his breath in the air as he exhaled, panting from running, chest tight and burning. the streets were empty- not another person could be seen. there were no clouds in the sky. every star could be seen against the dark sky, like pinpricks in a navy blanket, or fairy lights strung up against a dark wall- they were brilliantly shining in the night, trying to outshine the moon. the moon was gorgeously silver and round, washing the ground below with grey and blue hues.

frank exhaled loudly, slowing down as he rounded a corner onto gerard's street. he walked, hands behind his head, shirt riding up a bit to expose pale, washed out flesh. he looked up, eyes wide. he furrowed his brow, and staring up at the stars, his eyes began to well up with tears. he rubbed the back of one hand across his eyelids, pace subsiding to a complete stop. he gnawed on his lip, fresh tears getting caught in his eyelashes.

he cried a lot recently, it seemed. he missed mikey, he missed gerard- he missed the way it used to be, mostly. it used to be so easy, so simple. get up, make coffee, eat, sleep. repeat.

and then gerard walked into his life.

and fuck, everything changed. everything. all because of the cute boy with the sketchbook.

now here he was in the middle of the night, crying on an abandoned street in just a t-shirt and boxers.

frank laughed at the strange coincidence of it all and stared down at his pale skin. he wanted it full, full of color- he hated the washed out light of the moon, making his skin colorless, lifeless. when he stood in the moonlight, he wanted to see color, not this grey. not this grey.

most things were grey, now.

frank pulled one hand down his face, sighing. he started walking again, hands crossed over his chest, suddenly quivering from the cold that he hadn't really registered before. he could see gerard's house from here- all of the windows were dark except for the small window at the base of the house, slightly hidden, around the corner from the front of the house. frank could see a little orange light on in there, illuminating the warped glass. he could see a dark silhouette shifting inside against the light, and his pace quickened.

he jogged onto the way property and up to the front door. he raised a hand, ready to knock on the door, when he froze. he put his hand down and stepped off the porch, walking slowly and quietly around the corner to the little window at the base of the house. he stepped back and judged the height and width. he might be able to squeeze through there if he sucked his stomach in and tilted his head the right way.

he crouched, careful not to touch the dewy grass with his hands. he knocked lightly on the window and listened. he could hear the muffled tones of the misfits emanating from behind the glass. he tapped at the glass, harder this time, and the music stopped. the window opened a little, and frank jumped a bit at the abrupt movement. gerard's wide eyes appeared at the crack between the wall and the window, staring up at frank.