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Being a personal assistant sucked. Like really, really fucking hard. The job title held a broad range of responsibilities from water (or in many cases coffee) girl, to step-in makeup artist, to on-call therapist. On occasions you also played the part of instrument repairer, emergency sound checker, and the strangely common: for-the-love-of-god-Frank-if-you-don't-get-get-out-of-the-coffin-right-now-i-will-make-sure-you-never-come-out... er. But, that's why this lifestyle suited a jack of all trades like yourself; you could adapt to punches as they came with the grace and ease of a swan. You had been trained for this.
The one thing no one prepared you for, however, was the smell.
The smell of being surrounded by very sweaty people who have not taken a real shower for days, weeks, months on end. It was disgusting. They were disgusting.
When your boss told you that you were touring with an up-and-coming rock group you had been excited! And with as good a name like My Chemical Romance, you figured they were pros at this point. And yes, while all five members were completely professional and talented performers, they were more than a mess offstage. Wonderful, great men. But messes. Also dirt poor. Which isn't a problem until you're thousands of miles away from home in Boise, Idaho sleeping in a van with two dollars and twenty-five cents in your purse.
Granted, the manager had upgraded the group to a bus since the last tour, and you take the little blessings you get.
But the bus meant more space. And more space meant more mess. For you to clean up after.
It took less than a week for you to give up any hope of any semblance of cleanliness and settle on a well-stocked cabinet of fabreeze and trash bags. You sprayed down clothing, couches, hair, instruments. You were pretty sure half of your bloodstream by now was made of "Linen and Sky" spray particles. And despite how many times you yelled at the boys to pick up their shit (and heaven help them if they didn't listen), there always seemed to be a pile dirty clothes and empty chip bags strewn about.
In all of this, your saving grace, the one thing that gave you enough serotonin to not go insane, were motels. Ah, motels. With showers, and air conditioning, and beds. My god, beds. With sheets! It was your paradise, your asylum.
The day previous (current? your sleep schedule was fucked) had been utterly exhausting. Two shows, two towns that were way to far away from each other with a traffic jam in between long enough to make you panic. Before the second show, one of the makeup girls didn't show up, so you had to help Gerard with his eyeliner. And you had to reorganize the merchandise table mid-show due to some broke teenage employee's lack of responsibility. Your heart was beating out of your chest until the moment you stepped into the bus. That was five hours ago, and everyone had crashed unceremoniously in a sweaty, fatigued mess right then and there.
You had tried to stay awake, just in case another emergency arose. You and Frank sat across from each other exchanging pleasantries about the shows, how well they went, the crowds, congratulations on not knocking something over tonight. He started to talk about other things, and you tried to listen, you really did, but your head began to feel like concrete and it took increasingly more effort to keep your eyes open.
"Get some rest," Frank had laughed when your chin fell to your chest. You had let out a whine of agreement and nodded as you let your nose fall directly into your folded arms. A hand ruffled the back of your hair as you drifted into unconsciousness, and footsteps passed your right ear.
The sleep wasn't good, it was more of a doze, really. The road was too bumpy and the bus was too cold and your legs cramped from the day's rotation of movement and stagnancy. But, it was well-deserved rest and you intended to milk it for it's worth.
You woke up a forty-five minutes before reaching the motel.
The bus was dark. You opened your eyes wearily to see the window above you showcase a sharp, clear winter night speckled with stars. So many stars. You swore they shined as bright as any gemstone you had ever seen. Never saw those skies in the city, that's for sure. You blinked lazily and swallowed, noting the dryness in your throat. Water. You wanted water. Taking a breath in, you stretched your arms out across your resting place in an attempt to generate some mockery of proper blood flow, then rolled your head to face the seating parallel to yours.
There, you saw mister-front-man himself.
It was no surprise he looked vampiric in the starlight; the white light made his complexion lighter than it was (and you guessed there were also still remnants his white foundation) and dark eyes resembled onyx in the shadows. His shaggy black hair was messier than usual and stuck up in odd places, you guessed due to the dried sweat, but it worked, in a very cute way. The cuteness levels went up when you saw that he had wrapped himself in a bundle of blankets in the crook of the sofa with a notebook in his lap. Of course, this innocence never translated out of this moment, especially not onstage, as less than twelve hours ago you had watched him eye-fuck a spotlight.
The versatility of man, as they say.
The corners of your lips turned upward and you breathed in another inhale of stale, stinky air.
"Hey." You greeted lazily.
When you spoke, Gerard jumped slightly, waking up from an obvious daze in your general direction. He parted his lips just to close them again, and you saw him move his eyes up your form.
"Hey." He blinked his wide eyes and adjusted his nest of blankets. God, he was so cute.
"Are the others asleep?"
"Maybe, Ray might not be, but he's upfront. Frank and Mikey are out though." He picked up a pen and clicked it in thought. "I woke up like two hours ago, I think."
You hummed. "How much longer do we have?"
"Not too sure. Maybe an hour?"
Nodding, you raised your head to rest in the palm of your hand and stretched the other one towards him.
"Could you hand me some water?" You asked.
He breathed a "yeah" and bent to pick up one of the water bottles from the pack at his feet. You felt his fingertips as you took the bottle and poured the contents into your mouth. Ah, the sweet relief of plastic infused, chemical-centric water. Hah, chemical.
"Are you drawing in the dark?" You took another gulp.
Gerard smiled and flicked on and off a flashlight beside him. "No, I just turned it off when you started waking up. Guess it didn't help that much, though."
"Nah, I didn't even notice, I was gonna get up anyway. Whatcha working on?" You flicked your eyes to his notebook, making out the top of a sketch. Gerard looked down at his page and up back at you, and started flipping through the pages.
"Oh-uh, nothing really. Just practicing... figures... I guess." You quirked an eyebrow. Suspicious.
He didn't look up at you, and you couldn't help but note the pink on his cheeks. "I did make this guy the other day though." He offered, changing the subject and turning to another page. "He's a superhero. He like, can summon the dead and use their superpowers and stuff." Put that description on the collectible card. He handed you the sketchpad. A thin cartoon man stared back at you from the middle of the page, with the outlines of ghosts behind him. The lines were edged and stylistic, and he had only just outlined the color scheme, but you couldn't help but see the character on the front page of a comic.
"Dude, this looks sick!" You praised. "Thanks." He grinned as you handed back the notebook, and your heart lurched at his smile.
"Yeah, I really like him. He's cool." "Yeah," you agreed. "What's he for?"
Even in the dark, you could see his eyes light up at the chance to talk about his comics.
With the inquiry, Gerard talked. And talked. He quietly launched into a full forty-five-minute ramble about the characters, the cartoons, the story, the overlapping relationships, and their separate arcs. You hung onto every word.
Although you'd never say it aloud, Gerard was your favorite to talk to, or listen to, in this case. You loved all the band members, and spending this much time with them, it was impossible to not love them like family. But, Gerard's presence had been... more than that. It was comforting, and he always made sure that you felt safe and respected, which meant a lot to your line of work. It wasn't long before you found yourself gravitating towards him in your downtime. He was charming and sweet and funny. And honestly? You could never pass up an opportunity to stare at his pretty face. so, you listened, occasionally popping in questions about certain powers or characters until Ray came in to view from the front, looking as groggy as you would have expected.
"We almost there?" You asked. Ray nodded and flicked on the lights. You heard two distinct groans from farther back.
"You guys get your stuff together," Ray said. "I'll go check us in and get room keys."
"You want me to get your bag so you don't have to come back out?" You offered.
"I don't really have anything to bring in." Ray scratched the back of his head. "Thanks, though."
You hummed and got up, starting rummage for your knapsack. Before you could even reach up to check the cabinet, you heard heavy footsteps and a forehead fell into the crook of your neck.
"I'm so fucking tired." Frank's voice mumbled.
"Yeah, we all are." You consoled. "We all also smell like shit. You're taking a shower tonight, right?"
"I literally would pass out. I would pass out and slip and crack my skull open. Is that what you want? For me to die?"
"Jesus, Frankie." You huffed out a laugh and grabbed your satchel from the shelf. "I'm just asking you to take a shower. We all need it." Frank grunted and pushed his face off your shoulder, continuing down the bus. You saw Mikey and Bob packing up in the back.
"You got your stuff, Gee?" You turned over your shoulder to see him pull a satchel strap over his arm.
"Yeah, I just gotta-" The bus came to a screeching halt, throwing you back into the sofa with a yelp and a thud, as Gerard caught himself above you.
"Shit," you heard annoyed noises from the hallway. "You good?"
You turned your head to be nearly nose-to-nose with the man on top of you. You hope he didn't hear you gulp.
"Yeah," Gerard answered, and you saw his eyes flick downward for the briefest seconds. "You?"
"Fine. Just surprised me, I guess."
"Good. I-uh. Sorry." He pushed himself to his feet and offered you his hand.
You took it graciously and were pulled upwards to face the man.
"There," he sighed, and squeezed your hand gently. "All good."
You glanced down at your fingers. You liked Gerard's hand. They were long and nimble and felt rather large compared to your own. And warm. You didn't expect them to be so warm, not in the freezing cold bus. Though you did remember that he had the privileged idea of gathering blankets earlier. The tough skin of his thumb brushed over your knuckle and you felt your cheeks warm.
No, this wasn't good. You shouldn't be-
"Are you two going to move or what?" A cranky voice snapped from behind Gerard. "You're blocking the exit."
"Sorry," you jerked your hand out of Gerard's and bolted towards the exit.
The winter air bit you halfway out the door. The bus wasn't great, oh no, but this? This was a thousand times worse. You felt the skin at your nose and joints start prickling like pincushions, and you brought your arms around each other. A t-shirt and jeans, while great for backstage, were not the ideal outfit right about now. At all. It didn't take long for you to start shaking.
Those you left on the bus filed out after you, reacting in similar annoyance to the cold weather. A distraction. That's what you needed.
"Hey, M-Mikey." Your teeth chattered, and the younger Way brother perked up. "What time is it?"
He checked his watch, "2:07. What time's soundcheck tomorrow?"
"That's what I was checking." You rummaged around for your torn up schedule at the bottom of your bag and grasped cold fingers around it. "9:00." You read. "That gives about seven hours to rest up."
"Make it six," Frank countered. "We should get up early and get some demos worked out."
"Sounds good," you nodded and marked a point on the paper. "As long as we can get some solid sleep."
"It's fucking cold," Mikey groaned. "Where's Ray?"
As if on cue, you turned to see Ray silhouetted in the motel lobby's light, shuffling motels keys in his hand.
"Bad news," he sighed as he reached the group of shivering musicians. "They gave us three singles."
"What?" You started. "I double-checked the reservations this morning. I booked two doubles and a single."
Ray shrugged, "There was a mixup. Something about a new girl, I don't know, it all sounded like bullshit to me. But it's this or nothing, folks."
"That's so-," you stopped yourself and took a breath. You were too tired to go argue with the front desk. "Whatever. I guess we're pairing up."
"Are you okay with that?" Ray cringed. "I mean-"
"Dude, it's fine." You assured, annoyance pricking at your voice. You would do anything to get under some sheets. "I don't care."
"Well, okay. So-"
"Mikey and I can share, I guess," Gerard said.
"No, not tonight," Mikey countered. "I've had a sore throat all day, I wouldn't want you getting sick. Me and Bob will room."
"So me getting sick is ok?" Bob joked.
"It's a precaution, dumbass. You-"
"Guess you get to pick your roommate," Ray drowned out the two's conversation and handed you a key card. You flipped it between your fingers. You let out a breath of amusement.
Gerard. You wanted to be close to Gerard. That was the obvious answer, but your mind backtracked.
Since you met him, you had pushed your budding crush into the smallest corners of your mind. It was hard to admit, especially considering how unprofessional it was. There were three options if you came to terms with the feelings (which you were not saying you ever would): one, pine for the rest of this, and all future tours, which you did not have time for. Two, get fired for an attempted relationship with a client. Three, the most plausible, was heartbreak. You would tell him your feelings and he would reject you within a millisecond, with that pitying soft smile of his that you'd seen a handful of times.
Sure, yeah, maybe there was that one time right before he went onstage where he put arms around your waist and whispered in your ear. Or his habit of squeezing your hand backstage. Or all the playful banter and deep conversations you two had dressing rooms. But it was nothing. It was a mix of adrenaline and nerves that he needed to expel, and you were always close by. That was it.
"Hey, Gee," you said before you could stop yourself. "You wanna share a room?"
Fuck.
"Oh," he blinked owlishly. Of course, he doesn't wanna room with you, you idiot- "Yeah, of course."
Oh.
"Guess that means we're together, Frankie," Ray said and clapped his hand on Frank's shoulder. Your eyes caught Frank's as they shifted between you and Gerard. He made a pleased face and turned to Ray. You squinted at him.
"You wanna head out?" You heard Gerard say. Whatever exhaustion you were feeling, he must have had it ten times worse, and there you were making him stand in the cold like an idiot.
You nodded. He asked for the room number and you repeated it off the back of the card, looking up desperately for the 300s. It didn't take long, the room was only a few yards away from the lobby, thank god. You pointed and rushed over, leaving Gerard to jog after you awkwardly.
"I'll sleep on the floor." He said as you inserted the key.
"Absolutely not," you countered. "You have to perform, I won't let you go out with seventy-five cricks in your neck from sleeping on the fucking floor. I'm sleeping there."
"I can't do that to you," he argued. "You have to be on your feet all day. It wouldn't be fair."
You leaned against the door and looked up at him, sighing. You couldn't believe you were gonna say it.
"We both need good sleep." You said simply. Way to work up to it. "I-... I'm okay sharing a bed if you are."
You were an idiot. You think this would help your poorly managed feelings? Just saying it made you think about how warm he would feel beside you, how nice your head would fit into the crook of his neck, how-
"I mean..." Gerard rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're right. As long as you're comfortable with it."
You smiled tiredly and twisted the knob to push the door open. Warm air enveloped your body like a hug and you shivered excitedly. You slung your satchel to the side. God, you loved motels. Gerard followed a few steps behind you, and an alarm went off in your head. You held out your arm to stop him coming any further.
"Uh, uh," You protested as he furrowed his eyebrows. "You aren't getting within five feet of that bed before you take a shower."
You jerked your head to the door on your left.
Gerard said your name in an exasperated tone. "Really?"
"Yes, really," You confirmed. "You need it, I need it, and your clothes definitely need it. I'll wash them tomorrow morning."
Before he could protest you pushed him into the bathroom and shut the door. You heard him sigh on the other side.
"I forget how much of a clean freak you are."
"You forget how much a good shower can do for you," you chided back.
"Hot showers not only cleanse and restore, they also..." you paused. "Uh, help your voice box or whatever." "Or whatever." He teased, and you heard the shuffling of clothes.
"Know a lot about vocal health, huh?"
"Um, excuse you, I was in choir for all four years of high school. I know a thing or two about vocal health."
"Right," you heard his grin just as much as you heard the shower began to sputter and sprinkle.
"Just hurry up and we'll both be able to sleep." You said to yourself more than him. His shuffling stopped, and all you could hear was the patter of the water pressure. It was too quiet.
"Gerard?" You asked.
"Uh," He sputtered. "I mean if you really want to hurry..."
He trailed off for a moment, and you heard shifting. "You know, who knows how long the hot water will last in a dump like this. We could save time if-"
Oh my god.
You didn't even hear him finish the sentence as the blood flooded your cheeks. No, this absolutely was not happening. Gerard Arthur Fucking Way absolutely did not just ask you to-
"You're asking me to shower with you?" You repeated.
You tried to keep your voice steady, and your heart thumping from completely drowning out all other sounds around you.
"... Yeah?" Gerard agreed in a way you assumed was supposed to sound nonchalant, but definitely wasn't.
"Sorry, no, that's weird, I-"
"No, no, no," You started quickly. "No, it's, ah, it's a good idea. It'll save time."
Silence.
"I'm gonna come in, ok?" Your body moved before your brained processed, and you tried to ignore the thousand panic bells going off in your head.
Gerard was right, you both would be better if you hurried. You saw a figure behind the steamed plastic curtain when you entered, but you didn't want to think about it. A joint shower was more convenient, that was all. It wasn't like you hadn't changed in front of him on the bus, right? It was just tour life. This was your job.
It wasn't long before you stripped off the t-shirt and jeans, or more accurately, peel off, as at this point the clothes stuck to your body like a second skin.
"And you're okay with this?" Gerard asked.
"Dude," you rolled your eyes as you kicked your clothes into the corner. You figured you'd wash them in the morning too. "I'm already here, there's no reason not to."
He mumbled a curse word. "Yeah, I just didn't think you would actually-"
You pulled the curtain aside and felt the pleasantly hot water smack against the top of your head. Your face scrunched as it dripped down your nose, and you looked up at him. He was so fucking gorgeous. Even with makeup trailing down his face and wet black hair sticking to the sides. You willed your eyes to not trail farther than his collarbone, but you noted the cool-toned paleness of his soft skin.
Gerard, though, obviously didn't share your collarbone rule, as his hazel eyes trailed away your face.
"Hey," you started, attempting to mask the insecurity in your tone. "Eyes up here, sunshine."
"Oh my god," He jumped and brought his hands to cover his face, mortified. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, I just-" he sighed and brought his hands down, now holding your gaze. "You're very pretty."
Hm, debatable.
You gave him a soft smile to counter the loudness of your heart. As if this wasn't awkward enough, "You need to get that makeup off."
You reached for the washcloth over the faucet and stepped towards him. He acted like he was going to move back, but you took his cheek in one hand and started gently rubbing his skin with the other. You were almost chest to chest now. But, he stayed still and watched as you bit your lip and moved to wipe his undereye.
"You don't think you're pretty?" Gerard asked, in a much more conversational tone than you would have liked. Well, you would have liked for him not to ask that at all. You sighed.
"I-" You fumbled with your words. "I don't know. I'm... neutral. I guess." You moved to his forehead. "I mean, I'm definitely not what you see in magazines or movies. I'm not that nice looking."
"Yeah, me too," He empathized, and you stopped to stare at him.
"You don't think you're handsome?" You said in a more matter-of-fact tone than a question. Hell, you almost laughed, but you figured that may come as insensitive. "Gerard, you are one of the most beautiful men I know."
He laughed nervously and turned his head to the curtain, breaking your gaze. "It's weirder now than it was at home, I guess," He started. "With the shows it's different, right? It's... weird. It's weird knowing that people think that way about you."
"Well, you sure do a good job of hiding it," you joked. "Especially onstage."
"It's easy to get lost in the moment," He shrugged. "And, yeah, performing has done a lot for my self-esteem, but it still gets hard when all you see is that dorky fat kid from high school."
"I'm the same way," you shrugged. "It's so fucking hard to get past that high school self-image bullshit."
"Amen to that," he agreed.
The sound of the shower overtook the silence between the two of you. He was looking at you again, but it was just him now. No eyeshadow, no unnaturally pale skin. Just those yellow-hazel eyes.
You grabbed the tiny shampoo bottle. "So are you gonna make me do all the work or do I need to wash your hair too?"
He grinned and clicked his tongue, "You caught me," Gerard played along, but he took the shampoo. "Just need to make sure you're taking care of me- isn't that in your job description?" He started lathering the sudsy liquid in his hair.
"Whether or not it actually is, that's definitely what it's become," you sighed. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose."
"I'm pretty sure you're the least wicked person here," Gerard started and placed a bubbly hand in your hair. You couldn't help but lean into the touch. "You deserve all the rest in the world after what we put you through."
You giggled at that and let him move his other hand into your hair. You closed your eyes. It was... nice. Letting his fingers run circles on your scalp, occasionally gently tugging at sections. It was comfortable. You didn't know where or when he had gotten so good at head rubs, but you were sure to take note of it for later exploitation. If there was a later.
Your brain finally caught up to you. You were showering together, he had called you pretty, and he was washing your hair. This wasn't a friend thing, right? This wasn't a normal thing two close buds did. This was different.
Were you both just tired and in need of human connection? Did he need something? How far would this go? Would this all be forgotten tomorrow?
"Hey, what's wrong?" Gerard said lowly.
You relaxed your eyebrows, which had to begin to scrunch together in thought, and blinked up at him.
"Nothing," you replied out of habit. "Nothing just-" his hands were still in your hair. "I just don't know exactly what this-!"
You remember reading awful romance novels in your early teens. You know, the ones that would be sold at the grocery store, or pawn shops. And eight out of ten times, there was a scene where the two terribly written lovers kissed for the first time, and the boy would taste like coffee and cigarettes. The author always made a point to talk about how much the girl absolutely adored it, how it heightened her "burning desire" for the man she loved.
This wasn't the case with you.
Gerard pressed his soft, chapped lips against your own and you were overtaken by the sensation of caffeine and tobacco. It wasn't a good taste. It was exactly what you'd expect it to taste like. However, despite your tastebud's initial protest, you didn't want to pull away. That was your first observation.
Your second observation was that Gerard was, in fact, kissing you. Rather passionately, you noted, with his sudsy hands cradling your face desperately. You let out a squeak in shock.
He immediately pulled away from you. "Fuck," he started; you already heard the apology in his voice. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
"No, no, no," you reassured, and you pulled him by his shoulders into another kiss.
Yeah, it wasn't like romance books. The taste was less of a like-him-"more" thing, and rather a like-him-"despite" thing. But, you were okay with that. It definitely didn't make him any less good of a kisser, though. His mouth moved against your own but resembled a thousand open pecks, rather than one, fluid connection. His tongue dipped into your mouth and pushed against your own gently, and you allowed him to take the lead. He placed his hands hesitantly on your hips as you pressed deeper into him. It took only seconds for the two of you to make a rhythm, pulling each other in and out with the intensity of two separate flames. Gerard sighed into your mouth before he made his way to the corner of your lips. To your jawline, to your neck and collarbone. You shivered at the contact and placed a hand at the back of his head, your fingers gently tugging at his roots.
You didn't know what triggered it. Maybe it was the outpour of the thousand different emotions you had tried so desperately to ignore. Or maybe it was the giddiness surrounding the feeling of someone touching you in an explicitly romantic way. Maybe the hot water, or the sheer exhaustion catching up to you. It didn't matter, an explanation didn't stop your legs from giving out all of a sudden, leaving you to desperately wrap yourself around Gerard's neck so you didn't fall onto the hard, wet tile. You and Gerard both yelped as you dropped, and his arms encircled your waist protectively.
"Woah, what happened?" He said breathlessly.
"I-," You stopped yourself to yawn. Damn, it was the exhaustion. "I guess I forgot how tired I was."
Gerard smirked, "Remember when we said this was gonna save time?"
"Hey, there's no 'we'. This was your idea!"
"Yeah, it was," he said confidently. "But you agreed to it."
He leaned in for another kiss, but you shifted so you weren't leaning on him anymore.
"We should probably go to sleep," you started sadly. "Don't get me wrong. I really, really want to-" you stopped yourself before you let your mind wander. "But we both need our energy for tomorrow."
Gerard squinted his eyes at you in a playful annoyance. Then he huffed and looked away, "Yeah, you're right." He admitted hesitantly as he unwrapped his arm to reach behind you and turn off the shower.
"As always," you shivered at the pattering of hot water was replaced by dry air, and the droplets on your skin turned to ice.
Gerard breathed out a chuckle and pulled back the plastic curtain. Then he got out, quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. As you exited, he held a towel your general direction, not looking at you directly, which struck you as a little odd considering he didn't have a problem seeing you naked less than thirty seconds ago.
Nonetheless, you took the towel with a thank you. You ruffled your hair quickly before snuggling into the cheap, grainy fabric.
"I'm gonna go change, do you want me to get your bag?" You asked as you made your way to the door
"Yeah, that'd be great." He shifted and looked at you, smiling. You felt your heart warm.
However, that warmth was vanquished as you turned the knob and faced the cold air of the bedroom. You pulled the towel more tightly around you as your teeth began to chatter. You were sure it had been much warmer when you had first entered. Shivering, you grabbed Gerard's bag and set in the edge of the bathroom, you heard him say a soft thanks, but you were too busy trying to get your t-shirt and shorts as fast as you could, but they didn't do much.
... You had to bring shorts, didn't you?
You ran over to the bed to fiddle with the thermostat.
70°. That was not great.
You pressed the up arrow. The seventy stayed the same. You pressed it more aggressively. Nada. Shit. So much for being warm.
"What's up?" You heard the bathroom door shut.
"Thermostat's fixed on seventy," you huffed and looked over your shoulder, feeling the goosebumps continue to prickle.
"No skeleton jammies tonight?" Gerard rubbed his forearms, obviously feeling the chill that you were.
He wore a black shirt and red pajama pants. His ruffled damp hair fell just above his shoulders. You couldn't tell if you hadn't wiped under his eyes enough, or there were just natural dark circles, but he looked tired. You figured you didn't look any less tired, but somehow, you concluded he rocked the past-the-point-of-exhaustion look much better.
"No," he smiled. "I left 'em on the bus. They always get so hot, but honestly, right now that doesn't seem like a bad-"
You felt a shiver of shaky adrenaline. You were so cold. And, my god, he looked warm.
You couldn't stop yourself from running over to him and throwing your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest.
"Wha-! Hey, sugar-" He said through a surprised laugh, wrapping an arm around the back of your head and waist, and pulling you closer.
Sugar. He called you sugar. You felt your stomach tighten and explode with butterflies. You squeezed and nuzzled further into his midsection. You had been right. He was perfectly warm, like a fucking furnace. Or a teddy bear. An emo, vampiric teddy bear.
"I assume this is okay?" You mumbled into him.
"Oh, yeah," he reassured. "Yeah, this is- this is perfect." You felt his lips press into your temple, and you yawned once again.
"But," he said. "Actually, I know what would make it better." You hummed in question, and he pushed your arms off him. You let out a whine of protest, as he moved away and crawled under the covers of the bed. He shifted in the sheets and adjusted the pillows before looking up expectantly at you. You blinked.
"Are you gonna c'mere?" he asked, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You blinked again.
"Oh." You simply said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Oh, yeah- yeah-"
"Wait, we don't have to if you don't want to-!," Gerard backtracked, his face quickly turned a light shade of pink. "It's fine, I just-"
"No, no, no," You stuttered, moving to crawl under the covers next to him. "Sorry, no, I definitely want to. I just... didn't process it. Sorry. This is great."
"Great," He let out a sigh of relief. "So, is it ok if I..?" He reached to rest a hand behind your head, gently guiding it to lay on his chest. You didn't resist, and let your ear fall against. He pulled his hand away for only a second, stretching until you heard a click, and the wall in front of you disappeared into the darkness. Gerard then returned his hand to your head, brushing your hair away from your face in small, soft motions. You felt your breath sync with his and brought your arm to snuggle yourself further into his side. His heartbeat thumped against his ribcage, a little faster than you expected, but otherwise quite peaceful. It felt like his warmth moved into you from the inside out, and despite your nerves by being in such close proximity, Gerard has always made you feel calm, and this moment was no different.
This moment. If you fell asleep now, the moment would be over. You didn't want that, you didn't want to think about six hours from now, or the tour, or anything. You just wanted to feel Gerard's arms around you for the rest of eternity.
Fuck, that was cheesy. Gross.
But, your proactive side won out as you asked in a whisper, "Do we need to talk about this?"
You heard him take in a breath above you, "Do we?" He echoed.
You thought for a moment, "No." You decided finally. "We don't. I like this a lot, though. I like you a lot."
"I like you a lot too." You grinned and, despite the dark, pressed your face into his midsection to hide. He ruffled your hair and breathed out a laugh.
"I don't want this to end," you admitted after a few seconds.
"Me neither," Gerard said. "It won't. We can talk about it later."
"Later." You agreed with a yawn and a nod. He put an arm around your back and pulled you near the crook of his neck. Despite the shower, there was still the underlying scent of cigarettes, but you were getting used to it. Gerard's hand made circles in between your shoulder blades, as you moved your hand to rest against his chest. His heart thumped, slower now, more relaxed. His breathing slowed too, and his ministrations on your back quickly became lazy and unfocused. You felt yourself let go of the adrenaline in your system and melt into his being.
The two of you were always running, jumping, pulling, and, sometimes, dancing on and offstage. It had been a long time since you let yourself rest, and you figured Gerard was similar.
"Hey, Gee," you started, your mind holding onto the constant stream of activity it was used to."
"Later, sweetheart." He said in a groggy, sleep ridden voice. You nodded and let your eyes finally close. Later.
There would always be tomorrow. You turned yourself so your face pressed into Gerard's skin, clean and warm and fragrant from motel soap. He shifted to press lips into your forehead with a gentleness you had not felt in a very long time. Furthermore, he didn't move away after the peck, instead, pressing into your hair and breathing in. It wasn't long before the man had completely crashed, occasionally mumbling some incomprehensible phrase. You didn't think you were particularly trying to stay awake, quite the opposite, you hoped.
Yet, listening to Gerard's breath and feeling the rise and fall of his chest was something you wanted to savor. But, one can only savor so much before you became used to the feeling, and you let yourself slowly slip into the deepest, most peaceful sleep you ever had while on tour.