Letters To Gerard. [Frerard]

The End.

Frank didn't see the letter slip through the letterbox. He didn't see Gerard sat outside, tears rolling down his flushed skin. He didn't hear how Gerard pounded on the door, desperate for Frank to let him in. He didn't hear Gerard screaming his name, because he'd been sat outside for three hours and it was cold and he knew Frank was in there but he was just being petulant and annoying by now.

Except he wasn't being petulant and annoying.

He didn't hear his phone ringing beside him. He didn't hear the door being broken down after the fourth hour. He didn't see the tears, nor did he see the mess he'd made. He didn't hear Gerards stumbling into his bedroom, didn't see the flash of red hair. He didn't hear Gerard's scream. He didn't feel a thing.

He just lay there, on his bed, an empty pill bottle millimetres away from his fingertips and blood drying on his chin. His heart had stopped beating and his lungs had stopped working but he was smiling in some sort of sadistic way, because maybe Gerard would get his letters now. Maybe Gerard would listen.

Maybe Gerard would learn.

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