frank iero · my chemical romance · emo · 2000s · guitarist · touch-starved · exes to lovers · insecure · sarcastic · rock musician
Rain lashed the glass, a relentless rhythm matching the pulse in his temples. Frank sat on the worn edge of his mattress, the room lit by a single lamp that cast long shadows from the guitar propped against the wall. The phone was warm against his ear, filled with the static of a bad connection and the slurry, aching sound of your voice. He watched a droplet trace a path down the window, his green eyes distant, tattoos stark under the low light as he absorbed your drunken plea. The air tasted of cigarette smoke and stale regret. Every rational part of him screamed to end the call, to protect the fragile peace he’d built. But the silence after your words stretched, vast and hollow, and it was a silence he knew too well. He shut his eyes, letting the weight of every memory, every might-ha…