I spent the day in an art gallery. So this is what you get. The piece described here wasn't an actual piece in the gallery, but there was one similar to it. (Should've gotten pictures). 

Gerard Era: TBP- I Don't Love You

Frank Era: Revenge- I'm Not Okay

Enjoy~~

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It was a mess. It was a bloody fucking mess. A mass of red. Dripping, swinging in the slightest. It was gory. It was disgusting. It was just plain awful. The splotches of brown only made this thing even more grotesque. Not only that, but it was huge. Soaked in red, woven loosely. It was mangled, and tangled. Just so horrific. And that was the way Gerard liked it.

The goal of all of his artwork was to make people stop and look. And not only look, but also think, "What the hell is wrong with this guy?" Thing is, there wasn't much really wrong with Gerard, other than the fact that all of his sculptures and paintings depicted bloodied and/or horrific scenes and imagery. The name 'Gerard Way' had been plagued by his own artwork. To most, he was sick, mental. But there wasn't a trace of schizophrenia or even depression in his sanguineous brain. There was hardly a history of any mental illness in his family, anyway. Gerard just enjoyed blood, gore, horror. He also enjoyed art, so why not put the them together? He often heard the word 'insane' being tossed around along with his name. He never doubted the insanity, because to him, everyone was just a little crazy. Especially Frank Iero.

"I don't understand how this fits under the category art, Gee! Sure it's...creative and all. But art?" Frank asked, staring up at the hanging mass of dripping, red cloth. This was the exact reason that Gerard thought he was crazy. How could this not be art?

"You just aren't appreciating it for the deeper meaning, you're simply staring at it," Gerard sighed. "What do you think the deeper meaning is?"

Frank scoffed. "It looks like a ball of organs that were beaten with a baseball bat."

"A lot of people say that," The artist nodded.

Frank once again looked up at the so-called 'masterpiece' (as Gerard had put it), but threw his hands up, slightly angered.

"Well, what the hell is it suppose to be?" He asked, a little too loudly, for people in the gallery stared at the boy in black skinny jeans and eyeliner who just didn't fit in this scenario at all.

"I don't know myself. It's whatever the public eye sees it as," Gerard explained.

"Oh, come on!" Frank scream whispered. "There has be some kind of story behind this. You didn't just throw together some red paint and cloth and call it art."

Frank turned his head to Gerard, who was grinning ear to ear. The emo boy quirked eyebrow, to which Gerard mad an 'isn't it obvious' face.

"Dude, you're a dork," Frank said. Gerard had literally done exactly what Frank has said. He painted some cloth red, wadded and tied to together, then just soaked it in red water, and BAM! Now it was an art gallery.

"Damn right, I am," He replied confidently. Gerard walked off to one of his paintings in the same room, Frank could only follow him.

The painting Gerard stopped at was a tree house, a black tree house. It was mounted in a rainbow tree, which was mounted on a rock. Plot twist, the walls of the tree house were leaking blood. The corners of the house were stained red and the floorboards were dripping. A window was painted with a splatter, as if someone had been shot. Again, the majority of people who saw this immediately went with the obvious and thought murder, and maybe it was. Gerard again had no clue what the meaning of this piece was, he painted and sculpted blindly.

"Can you at least explain this?" Frank asked, almost hopefully. He was disappointed when Gerard shook his head know.

"It's a recreation of a shit drawing I did in middle school, everything is the same except this one is better," He said. (A/N True story, I actually drew the same picture for art class)

"Did it have a 'deeper meaning' back then?" Frank mocked. Gerard shook his head once again.

There was a silence between the two. Frank took this as an invitation to look around at all the other pieces. He could see meaning in all of these, except Gerard's. That's something he never understood since the day Gerard started sculpting and painting professionally. Wasn't art suppose to have a meaning? Anyone could splatter paint on a canvas and call in art. Anyone could mold clay into a random shape and call it art. But there was something behind it all. A secret affair, a suicidal mind. Artists hid their lives behind their work, or they hid someone else's. It was rare that an artist made something without meaning, yet; Gerard managed to do that for every piece he made.

"You're hiding something, Gee," Frank finally broke in.

"Huh?" Gerard said, turning to Frank.

"It's just- I mean, I don't know nearly as much about art as you. But I know enough to know that almost every work of art has a story behind it. Yours-"

"Mine don't," Gerard interupted. "It's just that simple."

"So then I could do the same you do. I could mindlessly create something and submit it to a gallery, have it get excepted and then consider myself an artist. Right?" The emo asked. People weren't only staring, they were listening and judging. What did this outsider know about fine art?

"Yup. You could," Gerard answered.

Frank sighed, annoyed and tired at this point. "You're an asshole. A mystery, and a goddamn asshole."

"I'm also crazy?"

"Yeah. You're fucking weird, too," Frank smiled.

Gerard took Frank's hands and kissed him. Frank pulled away with the smile clear.

~time skip~

The couple was back at their apartment. Frank lazily played his guitar in the corner of Gerard's studio as he stared at an empty canvas.

"Any ideas?" Frank asked.

"No...I haven't drawn a blank like this in a while," Gerard said, looking at the pallette and brush in his hand.

"Find some inspiration. Look for the deeper meaning," Frank said, his tone on the verge of mocking. Gerard stayed silent at his comment. Frank slung the guitar around his back and walked behind Gerard. "I mean it...it might help," He whispered.

With that, Gerard turned around and stabbed Frank in the chest once, twice, four, six, ten. Frank only watched in horror as the love of his life murdered him in cold blood, all without warning. Gerard stabbed him deep, pulled the knife out, and tossed it to the side of the room. He pushed Frank's lifeless away from him and wiped his blood spattered face on his blood soaked shirt. His canvas was also splattered with blood. Gerard took a good look at Frank's body, and smirked. He sloppily painted a dead, blood covered body with a bloodied guitar. He dared to use some of Frank's blood as well. Gerard Way was not only an artist, he was a serial killer.

"Thanks for being my inspiration, Frank," He huffed and stepped over the body. He picked him up and brought him to the basement of the complex, unnoticed since it was so late. He threw the body in the corner, along with several other decaying bodies. "You really were one of the best ones I had, Frankie. I wish I didn't have to kill you, but like you said: all artists have to have some inspiration."

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Holy Jesus!! That was a dark end, wasn't it? Honestly, I had no idea it would end this way. But I had seen the picture of Frank (being dead) in a dream, and just remembered it.

Anyway, it's been a minute since I updated this book. So I hope this was worth the read!

Thanks!