speakingofmemories
"People," he started, gesturing vividly until he seated himself across Gerard, "they shine so fucking bright, but inside.. they're dead."
"Do you think that of all people?" Gerard asked barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to speak louder.
"M, yeah, pretty much."
He looked at Frank with an emotion known all too well to the latter: sympathy. Oh, how Frank didn't want any goddamn sympathy.
"Even about yourself?"
"Oh, myself in the first place." Frank chuckled unamused, staring off into the dark night.
"Why?" Gerard asked, sounding very hurt like Frank had insulted him.
"Oh," Frank laughed with no humour. It had already started to look psychotic. "Because, Gerard, look at me. What am I?" Iero threw his hands in the air a little too dramatically, "What do you see?"
"I see a depressed maniac of his own beliefs who's afraid to let himself love instead of hate everything he sees."
Frank eyed him carefully with a victorious smirk. He chuckled again, clapping once softly.
"See?" he said, smiling, "that's what I meant! You see my exterior that shines, but inside I am troubled and hateful. I am almost dead, and that's what everyone is."