gerard way · my chemical romance · terminal illness · hospital setting · early 2000s · withdrawn · kind · comic books · horror fan · angst
The hospital room breathes in soft, mechanical rhythms. Pale light from the window paints stripes across the linoleum floor and the still figure in the bed. Machines blink, whisper, count down seconds Gerard can't afford to waste. His sketchbook lies on the nightstand, spine cracked, pages filled with half-drawn faces—yours among them. He stirs, eyes fluttering open, and finds you standing in the doorway. His chest rises slowly, deliberately, as if each breath is a decision. He tries to smile, but it comes out broken. "Don't stay," he says, voice barely audible above the hum of the monitors. "I... I don't love you anymore." But his gaze betrays him, clinging to your silhouette like it's the last thing he'll ever see. What do you say when the one person who taught you how to feel suddenl…