A/N: this definitely hasn't been getting as much attention as it's been getting over on ao3, but i hope people notice this is here soon.
i want this fic to do well. i think it deserves a good run while i'm still able to write it. - mai
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Frank's POV
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I walk in from my mother's balcony, panda-eyed and freezing cold.
I bury myself in her bedsheets to warm. The dream has been keeping me awake again- the one where I'm dead.
It seems to follow me with my every move. It feels branded into my mind.
The idea of death creeps upon me like a predator creeping upon its prey. It pounces at me and keeps me captivated within it for countless hours.
It's not like I haven't already accepted death- I mean- I've realized that everyone will die, and that's fine; it's that I'm terrified of not knowing the cause, and thus, the dream makes it all worse.
The thought of dying of old age, surrounded by my loved ones is much more comforting than one of suddenly dying a premature, untimely death. That's what scares me. It's how people would react in a situation such as that.
This image of my future partner, or someone really close to me, receiving the news that I'd died haunts me. The thought of them dropping to their knees in despair. Tear-filled, sleepless nights.
And then the funeral; it replays in my head in a cyclical motion, spinning around my mind; each time, it ends with the boy with the teal roots appearing closer and closer towards me, sobbing harder into his palms every time. Yet when he looks up or moves his hands for a split second, his face is still indistinguishable.
I still can't tell who he is, nor can I remember what he looks like after the dream finishes once again.
He just seems to know something.
Something that I don't.
I snap back into reality. I'm covered in goosebumps, millions. Whether it's the fear that shakes me into alertness, or a strange awakening of my previously undiscovered intellect, I manage to translate them from Braille as I run my icy hands across my arms.
The words speak more to me than the reams and reams of half-written lyrics and scrapped melodies that lie across my bedroom floor, and all the unfinished songs that have been played out of my guitar and never continued like a final, fatal journal entry.
A chill runs down my spine.
I need to know who the teal roots boy is.
I have to go to the fucking graveyard.
YOU ARE READING
Cupid De Locke | Frerard
FanfictionFor years, Frank had been wondering how he would die, constantly asking himself when it would be, how it would happen, and if there would be anyone around to care. Trapped within the haze of a daydream, he finds himself a witness of his own funeral...
