Something I came up with last night.
Title: Home Improvement
Author: ebony_miasma
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He could have used some fixing up. [Standalone... maybe]
Notes: Dana convinced me to post it as Bert/Gerard on an lj community, but I thought anyone who's on my friends list would enjoy it better as Linkin Park.
Everyone has a moment of clarity, a moment when they see that they’re pretty messed up. From there, people usually decide to do something to change that, usually something positive. They don’t always decide to off themselves.
You were never very conventional.
There’s broken glass behind your walls of steel. You’re a house with a fresh and perfect coat of paint with old, decaying rooms inside and a crumbling, unsteady foundation. I always wanted to say that to you. I always wanted to tell you how I felt. I wanted to build you back up.
I never got the chance.
You scarred me. The words we said, the things we did, all lies… Our last kiss even tasted of heartbreak. Ever felt that feeling when you know something’s going to fall apart, and soon? I have. The loss weighed so heavily in my chest, and I could barely bring myself to kiss you. My kiss wouldn’t have helped…
When it’s all said and done, we were too mismatched anyway. How many times have I heard that opposites attract? Too many times. And how many times have I said, “That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re supposed to”? None. At first I thought it was cute, the way you dressed, the music you listened to, and the way you saw life intrigued and scared me all at once. How you would talk about your past relationships, your family life… I should have known then.
There was this one night I remember vividly. We were in bed, fully clothed, just holding each other close, saying nothing. Your eyes flickered, lit up for a split second, and faded back into darkness. “They never loved me,” you said. “They never cared. Mike, do you care? Do you love me?”
I said yes. I meant it then.
I mean it now. That’s what I hate the most. I don’t want to love you anymore.
The signs were there, painted in yellow and red. But when you drank too much, I would even consume more alcohol than you, because I knew why you got wasted. Your depression made a stamp on me. It’s a wonder that I’m not dead as well.
Oh yeah, that’s right. I knew happiness before I met you, and that made me realize I could find it again.
Though it did play in mind about your last moments. I know you decided to die in my bed. At the time, the note you wrote seemed to be in unsolvable riddles.
Only welcomed here, thought it’d be okay here. I wish I loved as much as you.
Your handwriting was neat. That was the scary part about it. Neat handwriting meant your nerves were “neat.” Then I realized you didn’t want to seem desperate, even though you were, so you wrote what had to be the nicest suicide note ever.
Pretty façade, fucked up interior. I wish I’d seen it sooner.
Author: ebony_miasma
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He could have used some fixing up. [Standalone... maybe]
Notes: Dana convinced me to post it as Bert/Gerard on an lj community, but I thought anyone who's on my friends list would enjoy it better as Linkin Park.
Everyone has a moment of clarity, a moment when they see that they’re pretty messed up. From there, people usually decide to do something to change that, usually something positive. They don’t always decide to off themselves.
You were never very conventional.
There’s broken glass behind your walls of steel. You’re a house with a fresh and perfect coat of paint with old, decaying rooms inside and a crumbling, unsteady foundation. I always wanted to say that to you. I always wanted to tell you how I felt. I wanted to build you back up.
I never got the chance.
You scarred me. The words we said, the things we did, all lies… Our last kiss even tasted of heartbreak. Ever felt that feeling when you know something’s going to fall apart, and soon? I have. The loss weighed so heavily in my chest, and I could barely bring myself to kiss you. My kiss wouldn’t have helped…
When it’s all said and done, we were too mismatched anyway. How many times have I heard that opposites attract? Too many times. And how many times have I said, “That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re supposed to”? None. At first I thought it was cute, the way you dressed, the music you listened to, and the way you saw life intrigued and scared me all at once. How you would talk about your past relationships, your family life… I should have known then.
There was this one night I remember vividly. We were in bed, fully clothed, just holding each other close, saying nothing. Your eyes flickered, lit up for a split second, and faded back into darkness. “They never loved me,” you said. “They never cared. Mike, do you care? Do you love me?”
I said yes. I meant it then.
I mean it now. That’s what I hate the most. I don’t want to love you anymore.
The signs were there, painted in yellow and red. But when you drank too much, I would even consume more alcohol than you, because I knew why you got wasted. Your depression made a stamp on me. It’s a wonder that I’m not dead as well.
Oh yeah, that’s right. I knew happiness before I met you, and that made me realize I could find it again.
Though it did play in mind about your last moments. I know you decided to die in my bed. At the time, the note you wrote seemed to be in unsolvable riddles.
Only welcomed here, thought it’d be okay here. I wish I loved as much as you.
Your handwriting was neat. That was the scary part about it. Neat handwriting meant your nerves were “neat.” Then I realized you didn’t want to seem desperate, even though you were, so you wrote what had to be the nicest suicide note ever.
Pretty façade, fucked up interior. I wish I’d seen it sooner.