Red Velvet Symphony ♡ Frerard

Red Velvet Symphony

The electricity flickered thrice before powering down with a hum that could heard miles down the many crumbling roads away from home. The daylight was scarce as heavy droplets of rain thundered against the tiles of the roof far too quickly for them to be counted, the tallies marked in Frank's notebook had long since been abandoned on another page ever since the downpour unleashed its full potential onto the earth. It started as a raindrop here and there, casting a fine web of mist across the windows from the chill outdoors and the warmth pressing up against the inside part of the glass from the heater pushing warm air into the hose through the slits of the vents. The humidity lingered and his palms felt clammy to the touch, swiping continuously against the sides of his jeans so imprints of his fingertips wouldn't press into the pages of the notebook resting on the lid of his grand piano. His pencil was tucked behind his ear along with the swooping curl of his black fringe normally resting neatly on his cheek.

Frank had been waiting for the rain to fall for days. The skies brewed with oncoming gray clouds filling him with hope, but they managed to dissipate and allow sunbeams to bleed through before they knitted themselves together again as the sunset broke over the dewy fields of vegetation beyond the scattered houses closing in on the green. He came alive again the moment the touch of rain soaked through the soil of homely earth, much anticipation curled up inside of him upon its arrival. All he could smell was the presence of rain carried by darkened clouds lurking above his head, falling in the afternoon to create a film of fog desperately clinging to the windows. Fog was somewhat promising, he told himself, and the pleasant surprise the future delivered to him was the saturation of rainwater soaking into the soft earth, drumming against the roof and splattering onto the windows in diamond-like droplets sliding downwards in paths or coalescing into one another.

As a result to the downfall of warmth and lighting, Frank found himself being surrounded by the magnetic glow of dancing flames inside ceramic candle holders filled with wax to be melted underneath the fragments of fire. The increase of their glow drew Frank's attention away from the scribbles of music notes in his notebook. He twisted around on the sleek piano bench and found Gerard delicately cupping his hands around the stem of a bronze candelabra. The matte coating was slightly dull, yet grappling as flames kissed the wicks sprouting from the tops of thin candlesticks protruding from the decorative arms of the candelabra. What glistened the most was the polished shine of Gerard's red nail polish chipping the slightest bit at the corners. The orange glow of the fire flickered over the polish and warped their brilliant red shade the slightest bit, bathing the color with an autumn embrace.

Gerard looked up when he sensed Frank watching him. His lips filled in impeccably with ruby red lipstick curled into a small smile, deepening the dimples at the corners of his mouth promising kisses tasting of artificial cherry and stains in the wake of them. His mess of raven colored hair hadn't been brushed through after his shower in the morning, but the softness of his tresses couldn't be denied as a pitch lock fluttered in front of his eyes, forming into a waving pattern curling in at unorganized intervals. Frank found himself smiling back while mesmerized by the shadows of Gerard's long eyelashes appearing on his cheeks.

"I don't know how you can work in the dark. Doesn't it strain your eyes?" Gerard commented. His voice was tranquil like the silence of the town as rain cascaded over the land. He didn't mind the power outage much, neither did Frank.

"It doesn't. It's not evening yet." Frank glanced out the window. "The sun doesn't set until an hour from now."

"Mm. It gets dark sooner when the sun is hidden." Gerard hummed. He stood upright as he finished touching licks of fire from the lighter in his hand to the wicks of the candles now illuminating the center of their scraped coffee table in need of a thorough dusting. He blew at the smoke curling from the tip of the long lighter, tucked it under his arm, and lifted another candle that rested on the couch cushions into his hands, cradling his palms around the porcelain carried as though it was a fragile bird he gathered from the ground. He delivered the candle to the lid of Frank's piano a few spaces away from the open notebook resting there.