Diluted ☻ FRERARD ONE-SHOTS

I Don't Love You

The aftermath of a breakup is never pretty but when you've been through hell and back with the love of your life like Frank Iero is? That's when your heart gets torn from your chest. This is goodbye.

🥀✨🥀

I meet Gerard at a diner - public so I won't be tempted to cry, which at this point, seems inevitable anyway.

He takes a seat opposite me, all stiff and formal and not how I know he really is. It's been barely a few months since the incident and we've already forgotten how to act around each other. It's like we're strangers - well, I suppose we are, as much as I hate to admit it.

His arms are slightly folded, too tense, and he can't meet my gaze yet. His mouth opens, but he only sighs, doubtful of how to greet me. What even are we at this point? All he ends up saying is, "Frank." Monotonous.

Never before have I been so revolted by my own name. But I remind myself that things aren't the same. We're not the same anymore. I didn't expect a nickname to roll off his tongue anyway - rather just hoped for it - and I'm not allowed to call him anything other than, "Gerard."

"You haven't changed." He gestures to my band t-shirt and the mop of hair that's only slightly grown out on my head. Truthfully, I'm scared to change. I'm scared to let go. I'm hopeful that things will go back to how they were but my better judgement knows that could never happen.

Life throws you things you think you can't handle but one day I'll realise that there was nothing I could've done to prevent this - it was always meant to happen.

"And you're an entirely different person." I note self-consciously.

The best and worst part is that it's true. I see now that he was in a lesser state with me, but now the bags under his eyes have vanished, his skin is less pale, his clothes are cleaner and not crumpled. His hair is dyed again, blond - it brings out the intensity of his expression. It's shorter. The change is a curse because I wore him out - I was responsible for all the stress I caused him. But it's also a blessing because it's what I always intended for him: happiness, with or without me, never mind the state I'm in. And I'm relieved we made the right decision to take a break.

It's incredible how much difference a short amount of time can make. His fingers play with the salt-shaker, and I swallow nervously. This is uncomfortable, too hot, too much and too little time. I'm savouring every moment because I don't know whether it'll be our last.

"You were right," he mumbles after a long and heavy silence, "about everything."

My heart sinks because everything really means everything. All of what I screamed at him in the heat of the moment back then, before the rash decision to take time apart came up, turned out to be true, and all my biggest fears have come to life.

"I wish I wasn't." I mutter.

"I know." He says sympathetically, squeezing the salt-shaker until it looks like it could break. I force myself to tear my gaze away from the pity written over his face. He reaches out to take my hand but I jolt away, afraid that I'll be stricken by waves of nostalgia and wishful thinking.

I can't do this. I can't be here. What did I ever do to deserve this suffering? I would do anything to go back to how things were. I'm not ready to accept that this is happening.