He left again.

You woke up in a hurry, feeling like cold water ran down your spine, sending you the most irritating
chills. Looking around, you notice disappointingly that the bed you shared with your lover was, once
again, empty and still warm, as if he left just moments ago.
Your lover, Gerard Way, was an enigma, one that you could barely solve.
You never understood his escapades, the fact that he would go missing for at least a day or two,
then come back slumped, forming a Gerard-shaped hole in the old mattress. It's not like you would
mind - you adored taking care of him, running errands to buy him the comics and vinyls you knew he
would die for, letting him rest his head on your chest as you played with his jet black hair.
But he never told you what he does for a living.
When you were alone, missing his touch, you'd stare at the photographs he gave you. You'd placed
them on a corkboard on the wall parallel to your desk, where he'd spend time drawing or drinking
cup after cup of coffee. You'd inhale the smell of cigarettes on his hoodies and shirts, wearing them
from time to time, adoring the fact that they were of so large on your figure.
But they never compensated for the time you were supposed to spend with what was rightfully
yours.

It was 3 a.m. You went to the convenience store earlier, with some cash you found in one of your
battle vests, to buy yourself some good quality liquor. Dressed in your silk nightgown, one that
Gerard bought you a while ago, you gazed at the moon, at the stars, at the sky. The glass in your
hand was cold, and you felt your soul the same. You didn't even notice the door opening, creaking
ever so slightly as someone entered, facing your figure, until you looked in that direction. Startled,
you drop the glass, hearing it break on the floor and spilling the alcohol all over.
There he was. Gerard fucking Way.
His face was dimly illuminated by the moon piercing the open window with its shining rays. Crimson
blood that was definitely not his coated his face - his soft cheeks, his nose, even his luscious lips.
Hazel eyes locked with yours as you stare in disbelief. Gerard looked intoxicated by the liquid
coating him, a soft, tired smile spreading across his face.
"Babe", Gerard softly hummed, contrasting the murderous look he had. "I, ah" - the fact that Gerard
stumbled on his words did not help his building-up alibi - "didn't know you were gonna be awake."
You in response.
Only then, after admiring his body at an inappropriate time, as you usually did, you noticed it. The
knife in one of his hands, dipped completely in the blood that belonged to neither of you. Dripping
on the hardwood floor, with slow, steady drops, it was there. Another one.
You found the first one hidden deep inside the laundry bin, along with your lover's pitch black
clothing and your own, wrapped in an equally bloodied towel. The second one was in the pile of
dishes that was begging anyone to wash them, especially since you would eat out of paper cups and
plastic packaging.
You’ve lost count of the knives you kept finding, but this certainly won’t be the last.
The man in front of you made his way - three to four steps - towards the couch you were sitting on,
kneeling in front of you as if he were to say a prayer. His hands, rough and calloused, made their way
onto your exposed thighs, pale skin caressing yours, wiping off the blood off on your plush inner
thighs. Even if you were sensitive there, and you let out a soft sigh, you couldn't help but ask.
"What.. what the fuck happened, Gerard?" Your voice was quiet, but stern, forcing him to look at
you. God, his bright red eyeshadow stood out against the blood on his face. Strands of rebel hair
were engulfed in clotted blood, as well, as if he bathed in it, for all you'd know.
"Babe.. baby, (y/n), I fell out of grace." He sounded as if he didn't believe himself. You grab at his
hair, pulling it so he'd entirely face you, making sure that none of the lies he could've said slipped
past your seemingly rational mind.
"Explain yourself, Gerard. I want to hear you." How were you so calm and serious, when tears
threatened to spill out of your eyes?
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You listened to him try to form a coherent sentence. You drank quite a bit
and, hell, HE seemed like he was minutes away from an overdose, although you could not smell any
ounce of booze in his breath.
Gerard read your mind, then looked down, like a child about to get punished for saying a bad word.
"It ain't the money", the noirette continued, startling you once more, returning you from minutes'
worth of maladaptive daydreaming, "and it sure as hell ain't just for the fame." Hitman? Maybe he
was a hitman? Maybe he was hired from time to time to take out bad guys, like they would do in the
movies you watched with him, cuddling to keep warm during the coldest of nights?
"It's for the bodies I claim and lose." And he answered your question. So, he may do it for his own
pleasure. You knew Gerard's kinks, and they were exquisite, matching the nastiest of your own
tastes, but.. blood? Does he have to go so far as to murder people for his own arousal?
You unconsciously got up, his hands slipping off of you. Too much information to handle. He called
out for you, probably being oh, so touch starved, and needy for anything related to you. But you
needed rest. You needed to think. Fear made its way in your system. You could never fear him, but
the thought of it, the 'what if' in the back of your head splitting it open like a bullet.
Gerard followed you on the mattress, making a stain that never would come off the sheets.
"No. No, please, don't leave me like this." The sound of his voice echoed through the room. Silence
answered him promptly. Did you want to look in his eyes?
"Clean me off", Gerard begged you, desperation making its way in his roughening voice, growing
more hoarse as his bloody hands grabbed your hips, your love handles, as if he would never let go.
You tried to call out his name. You tried to say something, to understand everything he just told you,
but all that came out was incoherent rambling.
Gerard Way, your boyfriend, the love of your life, was way more different than you expected.
"I'm so dirty, babe!" the noirette practically yelled, running out of breath, of the power he had before
to speak, to explain the reasons behind the things you barely knew he did.
But, at the end of the day, you needed him as well. You wanted Gerard as much as he wanted you.
And only then, when you willfully chose to face him, you saw tears falling down his cheeks. You saw
the bags under his eyes, the fact that he was shaking from the pure andrenaline and from the cold.
He was waiting for an answer, sniffling.
"Please. Please, (y/n) love, I would never hurt you." His hands cupped your cheeks, and even if he left
the marks of his deeds on your body, you did not care. Without acknowledging it, tears streamed
down your face, and Gerard wiped them away, replacing them with the perfect evidence of a crime.
And there you were. The two of you, eyes closed, regret and hollow understanding in both of your
hearts.
"(y/n), I'm doing this for you. You have no idea, you don't, fuck!" You flinched at the way Gerard
squeezed your face with his hands, and he stopped when realizing that it hurt you, caressing them
once more. "I wish I could tell you everything, all the things I've said and done, the things I do and
the things I'd do for you!" He choked out, lump growing in your throat from seeing him break down
in front of you like this.
Oh, the things you would never know.
"I'm a criminal, (y/n), oh God, I sinned in front of you!" Out of instinct, he lowered his head, hair
falling to obscure his eyes, and your arms adorned his form, sitting against the headboard. He
grabbed at you swiftly, holding you so tight that he might have broken a rib or two of yours.
"Just to see you again, just to feel your touch, I need you", you felt the vibrations of his voice onto
your shoulder, as he cried out his sins, confessing to a deity, a deity he killed for.
"Anyone, anyone who.. who dares to, I will.. I don't, you don't deserve this." He killed for you.
"Gee.. no, no, no. Please. Don't say-" your voice cracked.
"You don't deserve me, (y/n)! You don't deserve to live by my side, a fucking.. a fucking, no no no..."
He sobbed out, breaking your heart, feeling his sorrow spread. The room was quiet, apart from you
shushing your lover, and him crying out his sins, confessing regretfully. The feelings he held in for
God-knows-how-long broke out freely. He cried, gasping for air, staining you with his sin. The blood
he spilled was now shared by both of you.
You cried as well, keeping quiet so he wouldn't worry himself more than he already does. Tracing
the tie he was wearing, you pulled by it thrice, making Gerard sit up with hope in his gaze, one of the
many non-verbal cues you two shared. You took his pale hand in yours, leading him towards the
cramped bathroom, and patiently waited for him to take off the stained clothes he was wearing. You
averted your gaze, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, as you knew about his insecurities
regarding his own body, but he called for you as to attract your attention.
His hair was even messier, now that he undressed himself, the only piece of clothing remaining on
him being the pair of black boxers that he didn't take off yet.
"Come on, let's clean you off", you whispered, taking off your nightgown to join Gerard in the
bathtub. "Cleaning first, bath later. Is that okay with you, Gee?" He nodded, and you complied with
his answer, ruffling his hair before turning on the shower head. Gerard visibly cringed at the cold
water hitting his skin, but you reassured him that he had to get all that blood off of his face. You
could see the goosebumps all over his skin, as you removed the clumps out of his hair and scrubbed
the dry blood off of his body. You made sure not to pour too much freezing water onto his more
sensitive parts.
It was all done. Gone down the drain. Hydrogen peroxide was much needed for the other part.
Gerard took his boxers off, and you looked away instinctively, taking a chuckle out of him. "No, no,
it's okay. You can look, (y/n), I'm comfy with it." Your (e/c) eyes looked up and down, taking in his
beauty, his clean body once drenched in blood. You loved Gerard, you really did, but the lack of
communication and the things he hid from you were more than enough. You didn’t know how to
feel anymore.
You took off your nightgown, the silk material sliding off of your body so you could toss it next to
Gerard’s clothes, then turned the water on – warm, this time – , waiting for the bathtub to fill up at
least a bit. And, when it did, you got closer to the noirette’s body, sitting in between his legs.