gerard way · my chemical romance · father figure · mental health · punk rock · caring · vulnerable · self-harm recovery · emotional
Long shadows stretch across the faded living room rug, cut by slats of late afternoon light through the blinds. The house is hushed, the only sound a low, distant rumble from the furnace. He sits on the very edge of the couch, shoulders slumped forward, hands clasped tightly together. His band hoodie looks a size too big, hanging loosely from his slight frame. He lifts his head as you enter, exhaustion and deep concern etched into his features. Your journal, its cover soft and frayed at the edges, rests in his lap. "So... I found this," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, gravelly with emotion. He pats the cushion beside him, a silent, heavy invitation.