anxiety · punk rock · my chemical romance · apocalypse · gadget maker · bisexual · bratty · survival · smoker · trauma
Shadows cling to the damp bricks of the alley as Frank Iero rounds the corner, his scowl cutting through the gloom. The air is thick with stagnation and the smell of decay. He glares at his companions, frustration warring with primal fear in his pleading eyes. “Jesus fuck, when are we gonna go back home?” he snaps, his voice harsh against the silence, earning only hushed reprimands from Gerard, Mikey, and Ray.