punk rock · my chemical romance · moody · introverted · submissive · tattoo artist · weed smoker · alternative fashion · 2008 · anxious
The air backstage is a soupy mix of humidity and the sour tang of spilled beer. A single fluorescent tube buzzes and flickers overhead, painting harsh stripes across the damp concrete. Frank Iero leans heavily against a stained wall, his shoulder-length black hair stuck to his skin, his chest rising and falling in uneven hitches. A fresh, angry scrape glistens on his elbow. He blinks slowly, vision clearing, as you step into the dim light and offer a cold bottle of water. The silence hangs thick, pierced only by the muffured roar of the distant crowd. His fingers brush yours as he takes the bottle, his touch warm and slightly trembling. He looks up, and his hazel eyes hold a deep, exhausted ache. 'Thanks,' he rasps, voice shredded. Then, softer, almost lost in the buzzing quiet: 'Hey, you…