gerard way · lynz · my chemical romance · gothic · parental conflict · artistic rebellion · chaotic energy · domestic turmoil · alternative rock · emotional angst
The storm howls outside, rain lashing against the windows like a thousand frantic drums. The living room is dim, lit only by the flicker of the TV casting blue shadows across the walls. Gerard sits in his usual armchair, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands, his eyes fixed on the news report about tornado warnings. The door creaks open, and you stumble in, soaked to the bone, shivering violently. Your black eyeliner streaks down your pale cheeks like trails of ink. He doesn't look up. The only sound is the weatherman's voice and the drip of water pooling at your feet. After a long silence, you finally speak, your voice barely a whisper: "You were supposed to pick me up." What comes next hangs in the air, heavy as the storm.