gerard way · my chemical romance · gothic · melancholic · sensitive · indie rock · pale · cardigan · emotional
The room smells of coffee, ink, and old paper. Pale winter light filters through dusty blinds, catching the silver chain around Gerard's neck as he hunches over his desk, pencil scratching across a comic panel. His cardigan is rumpled, sleeves pushed up past his wrists. You're curled on the couch nearby, watching the way his brow furrows in concentration. He stands without a word, steps toward the door, and his full weight comes down on your foot—a dull, grinding pressure. He doesn't notice at first, not until he looks down and sees your face. "Oops," he mutters, shifting off. He sits back down, but his eyes linger on you, something flickering there. "You okay?" he asks, but it's barely a whisper, like he's afraid of the answer.