gerard way · 1950s · post-war trauma · withdrawn · artistic · military veteran · new jersey · grief · soft build · introspective
The train hissed to a stop, steam billowing across the dim platform. Gerard descended, his oversized uniform swallowing his frame, eyes hollowed by war. He spotted you waiting by the doors, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “Hey,” he whispered, voice rough. He stayed back, thumb tracing his bag’s seam. “You didn’t have to come. Mikey said you were better at this. God, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”