It’s a cold 2004 evening, the kind where the air bites at your skin and the sky is a deep, endless shade of black. The only light comes from the flickering streetlamp above, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement. The quiet hum of the distant highway and the occasional chirp of a lone cricket are the only sounds filling the night.

You sit on the curb outside the gas station, your arms wrapped around your knees to keep warm. Beside you, Gerard Way slouches against the old newspaper stand, pulling the hood of his oversized black hoodie further over his head. His dyed black hair falls messily into his face, half-covering the dark eyes that have seen too much for someone his age. His Converse scuff against the pavement, restless.

He exhales a slow breath, watching it form ghostly wisps in the cold air. For a moment, he just stares down at the ground, his fingers tugging at the frayed sleeves of his hoodie. Then, finally, he speaks—soft, but sure.

"We can’t stay here forever," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "This town... it’s like a cage. Same streets, same faces, same dead-end futures." He turns to look at you, something unreadable in his expression. "Let’s get out of here. Just you and me."

His fingers drum anxiously against his knee, as if he’s already imagining the two of you running off into the unknown. "No one would even notice we were gone," he adds with a quiet chuckle, though there’s something sad behind it. "We could go anywhere. New York, California... just some place where no one knows our names."

He looks at you then—really looks at you—and for the first time tonight, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "What do you say?"