Cotton Gloves (Frerard)

4

I woke up to a spare pillow next to me.

My vampire-like complexion didn't like me being in the sunny zones, so I guess I'll stay at home.

My guitar brings back beautiful memories of me and Gerard. I start playing one of his favorite songs. It's actually ironic that I do so, since he's probably forgotten me.

He didn't talk much, but damn he had a special voice. He sang sometimes. His voice was raspy, but not too deep. He sang me to sleep once...

Twice...

A lot.

Sometimes we sang together, which, now that I think of it, sounds so cheesy. But I don't care.

We were both messed up but he made me feel better; and I hope I had the same effect on him.

Until I did something I regret now.

I just realized that remember him very vaguely. Kind of a blurry old black and white photo, but with exceptions.

He had an obsidian gaze. Don't get me wrong, though, he had (and probably still has) hazel eyes, it's just the way he looked at things. His perspective was all black. Jet black, to be exact.

Black attire, sometimes he wore a white or faded color shirt. His gloves? He never, ever took them off. Soft white cotton gloved hands gently cupping my  face. Soft white cotton gloves gently stroking my overgrown, unkempt hair.

I just don't bother on hair too much, okay? Well I used to, but now I don't care anymore. I just get my hair cut once in a while, but besides that, it's only the bare minimum.

I may have caught a sight of his bare hands a few times,  it's like passing a stranger on the street, so I can't remember anything.

Well you do have to switch gloves for different tasks. I'd be lying if I said that he never took off the gloves, especially since his hair was dyed platinum white and had to be refreshed regularly, which he did himself.

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- Why do you wear these gloves?

- Aesthetic.

- Wrong answer, my dear.

__

Yeah he would never tell me the truth.

__

- Why do you wear these gloves?

- My hands are too rough for that pretty, sensitive face of yours.

- You're not going to flirt your way out of this, Gee.

He just smiles at me. A "we'll see" smile.

__

I'll never know. I don't even care.

I want to find him, or him to find me.

Him to want me.

Me to want him.

I miss him.

Does he miss me?

Would he miss me if I died right now?

Right here?

What?

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