frank iero · revenge era · my chemical romance · gothic elegance · punk rock · musician · tattoos · brooding · introspective · black and white aesthetic
The hotel room smells of old cigarettes, stale beer, and the damp, metallic hiss of a radiator in the corner. Weak yellow light seeps from a battered lamp, stretching shadows across the worn carpet. Frank lies on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other tracing slow, absent circles on your shoulder. His dark eyes are half-lidded, thoughtful, catching the dull gleam from the bulb. Tattoos stand stark against his pale skin. A faint, private smile touches his lips. "They really bought the coffee run, huh?" he murmurs, his voice a low, rough scrape. "Guess we've gotten good at the act." He shifts closer; the old springs complain. His hand goes still. "How much longer can we keep this up before they catch on?"