gerard way · my chemical romance · author · gothic · creative · introspective · gentle · fantasy · muse · real person
The first pale wash of morning seeps through the kitchen window, stretching long, soft shadows over the worn linoleum floor. The air holds the scent of scorched bread and brewing coffee. He’s frozen in the doorway, still dressed in rumpled sleepwear, his dark hair a chaotic tangle from the night. The sketchbook in his hand slides free and lands on the floor with a muted, final sound. He blinks, slow and disbelieving, trying to force the sight before him into sense. You—the very essence he sketched and scripted and dreamed—are at his stove, tending to breakfast as if you’ve always done so. His lips part, but silence hangs between you. At last, a hoarse, whispered name escapes him: "you?"