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𝗦𝗪𝗜𝗣𝗘 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 - Part Two

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | meet your match! | part one

⇢ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You don't even remember your last succesful first date. In a last-ditch attempt to widen your horizons in dating apps, you change your profile a little to make yourself seem more interesting. Everyone does it, anyway. It wouldn't hurt anyone to lie a little bit on a dating app, right? ⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: afab/she-her reader!hesitant alien era gerard ⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut, strangers to lovers, age gap. —MDNI— ⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oral sex (m. receiver), fingering, spitting, protected intercourse, soft dom gee sorta... prob missing something. ⇢ 𝐰𝐜: 26k

The days leading up to dinner at Gerard's apartment seemed determined to move as slowly as possible, dragging every minute and stretching it as slow as possible. On a positive note, client had convinced you to redesign their social media, which meant you spent most mornings taking photos, editing them, playing Graphicc Designer and pretending not to check your phone every ten minutes. Gerard always managed to text while you were in the middle of doing something.

One minute you were complaining about the client who insisted on using a blurry image of their logo made with a generic website, and the next one you were arguing over which Lou Reed song was the best. He told you stories about Frank showing up at his apartment without warning and eating whatever happened to be in his fridge. You told him about the time one of your friends dyed her hair before a concert in hopes of being noticed by the singer. Whatever excuses both of you could find to keep the conversation flowing.

Your friends noticed the change in your demeanor, aware of the fact that reason was a dating app that connected you to a handsome older man who took over most of your free time for the past few weeks. Your weekly brunch hang-out had a different vibe today.

"I was wondering," Alessia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "When are we meeting the dilf?"

"Dilf?” You snorted, almost choking on your bagel. “He doesn’t have any children, what the fuck are you on?"

“Oh, you should hurry up and give him some.” Ryan interrupted.

"You've been out with him..." Alessia counted on her fingers after wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Like what? Five times?"

"Something like that. And I think it’s an excuse to see each other on a more private place, it has always been out in public.” You shrugged, trying very hard to sound unaffected. "He offered to make dinner."

"I know those tricks. You are supposed to be the dessert." Your other friend interrupted.

"For God’s sake, not everything has to be sexual." Of course not, but it wouldn't bother you if it was the case.

"So it means that's serious, because you're taking it slow." And the shared look between your two friends told you that both of them agreed with that statement.

"No, it isn't. We're just having fun and hanging out."

"Then why are you not interested in fucking him?”

"He's making some vegetables and salmon, I think. He doesn't eat red meat, apparently." You laughed, shaking your head and ignoring a question you didn’t know the answer of.

"Babe, if he’s using the oven, that's even more serious."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face for the rest of the afternoon and came up every time you got a text from him.

“If it goes well, you will be meeting him.”

By the time Saturday arrived, you had changed outfits three times, convinced yourself you were overthinking it, changed one more time for good measure, applied another layer of lotion on your legs and spent the Uber drive to Gerard's apartment wondering why the thought of seeing him again made you feel more nervous than any date ever had. You weren’t used to letting men disrupting your peace, but the thrill kept you going.

Gerard’s house looked exactly like the kind of place a man like Gerard would live in if he had enough budget and his own place for the first time. The street where he lived was nice enough to make you think he must pay more rent than you would have ever imagined from what you knew of him so far.

His place was tucked into one of those quiet streets that made the city look less obnoxious for a few blocks, the kind of place tourists never go to. The front of the house was a perfect balance between modesty and money. And your theories were proven to be true within thirty seconds of stepping through the front door and having to physically stop yourself from staring around too obviously.

The inside was bigger than you had expected, with warm wooden floors, tall windows and shelves full of books, art, records, and enough figurines to confirm that he had been telling the truth about the nerd part of his personality. Framed prints were hanging on almost every single wall. A guitar stood in the corner beside a lamp shaped like something expensive and mid-century while the scent of coffee and vanilla filled up your nostrils. He wouldn’t tell you that he lit a scented candle before you got there.

You turned slowly in the entryway while Gerard locked the door behind you, expecting to see your car parked on the side of the street. Instead he saw a grey Toyota Prius driving away.

“It is finally time for me to start judging your place” You had said after he greeted you at the door, leaving a soft kiss on your lips while his hands rested at your hips.

“I suspected it.” He set his keys in a ceramic dish by the door. “Will you judge the color palette?”

“No. I mean, I will judge because your house looks like a Pinterest picture.”

He glanced around his own living room as if seeing it for the first time, suddenly self-conscious of it. “I did hire a decorator, but we pretty much worked together. Is it too obvious?”

“No, it's nice. Everything matches.” You gave him a reassuring smile, looking around you.

He grabbed your bag and let it hang on the rack at the side of the door, smiling to himself and walking toward the kitchen as you followed him. “Do you want something to drink? Dinner is mostly ready at this point.”

“Yes, please.”

It was your seventh date. Or maybe eighth, depending on whether a two-hour coffee that turned into dinner counted as one or two separate events. The distinction had become blurry after the second week because Gerard kept asking you out constantly.

It had surprised you how much you didn't feel like you were being invaded or love-bombed. Gerard behaved like a man who had not seen any YouTube essays about strategic emotional distance or simply did not give a fuck about it. You leaned more toward the latter. Drinks had become dinner, then a gallery opening where he introduced you to a friend as “the photographer I told you about” in a tone that implied he had been talking about you enough for that person to know who you were.

He would send you memes and videos that related to topics you have previously talked about and you watched every single one of them. He did the same thing for you.

Everything seemed to be sailing smoothly, apart from the fact that he had not tried to sleep with you yet. That fact sat between you, taking over the distance that separated your bodies and slowly building pressure inside of you too.

At least you knew he wanted to. You had eyes and basic understanding of social cues. You had also kissed him in the front seat of his car a few nights ago after an art gallery date until he had made a low sound in his throat, pressed his forehead to yours and told you very calmly in the hottest tone of voice that if you kept doing that he was going to stop pretending he had self-control. And you tried to push further a little bit by biting on his lip a little bit harder and touching his knee a little too much, hoping to have him between your legs soon. But, sadly, it didn’t work out because fifteen minutes later he had driven you home and waited in his car until you got inside. He did text you later saying that he spent the entire drive home with the taste of your vanilla chapstick lingering on his lips.

Now you stood in his kitchen in a black dress, moisturized skin, your best pair of underwear and expectations that were going through the roof. He poured wine into two glasses and acted like having a woman whom he holds hands with and kisses every time he sees in his place at ten-thirty on a weekend was a regular Friday event from him.

“It’s weird to be in here,” you had said, looking at him while he removed the cork from the bottle. It must be nice to be so hot that anything you do makes you look attractive.

“In my place?” You nodded while he handed you a glass. “Why?”

You accepted the wine and leaned against the counter, grabbing a glass of his own. “I have just seen it in pictures, but it’s nice. I wasn’t prepared for this level of divorced-man decoration.”

Gerard nearly choked on his sip. He was still getting used to the ‘divorced’ word being used with him. And it was even weirder when the girl he had been seeing for so many weeks used it. You were bold, and he liked that.

“Divorced-man decoration?”

“You know what I mean. The warm lighting, the crystals on your coffee table, you probably have a Tupperware collection neatly hidden in a drawer.”

“Come on, you can’t tease me with my kitchen.”

He couldn't believe that you weren’t impressed by his drawing skills, his collections or his anecdotes. You were impressed by his kitchen supplies. How cute.

“You look like someone who has a lot of spices.”

“How’d you know?” He smiled, surprised before opening a cabinet that held a whole collection of three rows of spices, each jar labelled with a name tag.

“Told you.” You pointed at those with your wine glass.

“That’s just basic cooking stuff. I don't even use most of them.”

“But you’re organized. I like that.”

He stared at you and you grinned into your drink. Gerard shook his head and moved past you toward the living room.

“You’re enjoying bullying me too much. You're glad I haven't found anything to bother you with yet.”

“You'll find something, eventually.”

He had invited you over text with a stupid excuse, using his cat as a scapegoat after Frank had told him that it was time he put his dick into use before it “starts to have trouble getting up.” And also because he thought it was already time you got to see his place. Seeing random corners of his house over FaceTime didn’t count.

Oh, and if everything went well and you would finally have sex, he would see if the chemistry you have had for the past weeks went beyond the conversations and also showed in the bed. Gerard hoped so.

He cleaned his place in a way that he hadn’t in weeks. Cleaning dust, scrubbing the kitchen, folding blankets, collecting scattered trinkets and letting fresh air in every space. He even went as far as getting a new litter box for the cat to avoid any kind of unwanted smell. A few boxes that still held photographs, old anniversary cards, and a handful of things left over from his marriage quietly disappeared in a box into the back of his closet. Just in case, you never know.

After using poor Lou as an excuse to hopefully get laid, he had called you the next morning with a sweet invitation that had been a painfully transparent excuse to cook dinner together. But, truthfully, Gerard had simply wanted you there.

Now you sat comfortably on one of the kitchen stools with one knee tucked beneath you, a glass of wine balanced loosely in your hand as you tried to convince him to give one of your favorite bands a chance. You insisted it would permanently improve his life, and if he ended up liking it, you secretly hoped it might earn you a little credit for your taste in music.

“They have a lot of albums, but you don't have to listen to all of them.”

“Have you heard them all? If you’re such a big fan.”

“All of them. Deluxes, live versions, the unreleased demos. All of it.”

He blinked, scoffing a little before taking a sip of wine. “You’re committed.”

“When I get into something, I get pretty committed.” You smiled into your glass, hoping that he understood what you meant.

While he chopped vegetables beside you, you caught yourself looking at him far more often than the cutting board deserved. He had offered you the job to peel the vegetables since he had already done most of the stuff and all that was left was just to put fresh vegetables to roast and whatever else he had left seasoned in another baking tray.

The sleeves of his shirt rolled neatly to his forearms, his round, black-rimmed glasses had slipped slightly down his nose. Every now and then he absentmindedly hummed along to the music playing softly from the vinyl record player in the living room.

You had absolutely no interest in the onion or potato he was chopping, the width of his fingers were far more interesting than whatever pumpkin was on top of the cutting board.

“So, do you?” Gerard pouted without looking up.

“Do I what?”

“What did I just say?”

“You asked me if I had the gene that makes cilantro taste like soap.” He glanced over at you, expecting an answer, surprised to know that you were, indeed, paying attention. “I don’t.”

“Great.” His smile grew.

And just when he was starting to speak, a sweet meow started to be heard from the corner of the hallway. You both looked at the source of the noise at the same time.

“Sweetie,” his voice softened, lowering his torso to call the cat closer. “Come here, Lou. Say hi.”

The cat stood halfway behind the wall studying you with enormous round blue eyes. The gray-ish colored fur covered most of her body with darker stripes and her ears matched the color on her tail. The small animal remained perfectly still, and you were completely sure that it was judging you.

She could probably tell that you wanted to take her human away from her.

“No way, she’s even prettier in real life!” you whined quiet enough to not scare her.

“LouLou is the owner of this house, actually. She’s so nice to let me live here.”

You smiled at the nickname. The cat continued staring. He quickly rinsed his hands under the stream of water and dried them over a cloth before crouching slightly.

“Come here, kitty. Come here with daddy.” He spoke in a high-pitched voice, occasionally hissing to grab her attention. It didn’t work. She ignored him completely.

Which absolutely shattered your heart, because if it was you in her place…

“Lou usually does that,” he admitted, resting his forearm on his knee.

“She doesn't like strangers, makes sense.”

“Well, she takes her time.”

You lowered your voice instinctively.

“I understand her. She doesn’t know me and here I am, invading her space.” you murmured toward her, still looking at you as if you were going to pounce on her at any given second. Gerard stood up to lean one hip against the counter, watching the interaction with obvious amusement through his glasses.

“I’m sure that if she could understand what you’re saying, she would like you.”

Another long moment passed before she finally stepped into the kitchen, the soft paws moving closer and closer toward you. She sniffed your leg, the one that was on the floor and looked up at you. You stood as still as you could to not scare her away.

Maybe you weren’t planning murdering her, so she decided to give you a chance.

By the time Gerard finished chopping and seasoning the vegetables between conversations, she had quietly wandered over to your side of the kitchen.

“Consider yourself accepted,” he said once he noticed. The cat rubbed lightly against your ankle before walking away as though the decision had been entirely hers. Gerard watched the whole exchange with disbelief.

“I've had people over that she attacked until they left.”

“Well, clearly she has taste.”

“You tell me about it.” And thank heavens he was putting the trays in the oven, because you could swear the little wink he gave you after looking at your body up and down had made you feel your heartbeat between your legs.

A few minutes later, while the vegetables roasted in the oven and the conversation drifted toward questionable childhood stories, the cat hopped gracefully onto the kitchen island before settling into the perfect little loaf, paws tucked neatly beneath her chest.

She returned to pretending she had absolutely no interest in the conversation unless it included the sound of her food bowl.

You reached over to scratch beneath her chin and she accepted the attention, scrunching her nose in delight while Gerard watched the scene over the rim of his wine glass.

"It took me a week when I adopted her for her to let me do that."

"And what about it?"

"Nothing. I’m jealous of the attention."

David Bowie drifted through the speakers while the food roasted in the oven, and you glanced around the room again.

Every time you visited a new corner of Gerard's house through a video call, there always seemed to be another bookshelf just out of frame, another painting on a wall and little details you meant to ask about but never found the right moment to do so. Now that you were actually here, your curiosity kept wandering.

"You've been looking around a lot," Gerard observed.

"That’s because you've got interesting stuff."

He followed your gaze toward one of the shelves in the living room. “It just draws my eyes in…”

"I've accumulated a lot of... things over the years."

"That's a polite word for it."

"I was trying not to say clutter."

"Doesn’t look like clutter. Looks pretty neat, actually."

He smiled, and the only way you could prevent yourself from staring was to look toward the staircase.

"So how much of this place have I actually seen over FaceTime?"

"Around… Thirty percent."

"No way. Really?"

"I've been accidentally hiding the interesting parts."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Accidentally?"

"Mostly, yeah. I wanted you to see them in real life."

You finished the last sip of wine in your glass.

"I would like to see the other eighty percent."

Gerard looked at the cat, then back at you.

"I could give you a tour. Like the YouTubers do." He set his glass down and pushed himself away from the counter, walking toward the oven. "A tour with commentary."

He adjusted the timer on the oven for thirty minutes to turn-off. The cat lifted her head as both of you stood, watched Gerard walk toward the hallway, then decided the effort of following would interrupt an excellent nap.

You smiled and followed him out of the kitchen, leaving the cat to supervise the oven in your absence.

He gave you a little house tour, explaining and showing you little details of his place that he thought you might be interested in. From figurines on the shelves, some comics on the table and pieces of furniture. He told you which door had the downstairs bathroom, which ones were the closets and which doors led you to the garage and the backyard before he took you upstairs to where his studio was, opening the door to let you in first.

The studio was really just the main bedroom converted into a workspace, but the moment he flicked on the light you understood why he called it that. Sketches covered one wall, attached to a cork board. Character turnarounds, color palettes, expressions, concepts. Some looked polished enough to belong in a finished film and others were quick and loose, the lines restless and alive. More books were stacked on the floor, the wood stained with paint and ink. The entire room looked like it had been paused in the middle of a thought.

“This was the main bedroom. That door connects to what used to be a nursery from the previous owners, but that's my office now.” You stepped farther in without speaking. “You need to see the natural light of this room in the morning, it’s gorgeous.”

He walked to one of those doors he mentioned, and as he opened it you could see a computer, desks and posters framed on the wall. Gerard lingered close to the doorway, suddenly looking less comfortable than he had all evening.

“This is the part where you tell me it’s a mess and I should set it on fire.”

You turned to look at him. “Why would I say that?”

“I don't know. It makes me kinda nervous to show people my space.”

“It’s beautiful, Gerard.” You reassured him, walking around the place a little. “You are creative and get paid to do this?”

“Technically, yes.”

“That’s hot.”

You couldn't bring yourself to look at his eyes, and took a sip of your wine walking up to the wall and leaning closer to a character sheet pinned near the lamp. A woman in a red coat caught your eye. The line work was beautiful, it immediately caught your eye.

“You drew this?”

“No. I plagiarized it.” You looked over your shoulder at him, surprised at his bold confession. “Of course not. I did it. It’s from a comic I wrote.”

“I’m trying to compliment you and you make a joke like that?”

“Sorry, I’m just… Anyway. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love it. I can’t believe you haven’t actually shown me your work. I want to see more.”

“Oh, I can do that right now.”

He pulled a large folder from one of the shelves and laid them across his drafting table. Inside were pages of sketches, character designs and color studies. At the same time, he opened a comic book. He explained and compared them very briefly to not overwhelm you and also to hold back his excitement. You listened, occasionally asking a question, watching him become a little more animated with each answer. His hands moved naturally as he explained a composition or a choice based on his niche inspirations or specific references. He caught himself once, realizing he'd spent several minutes talking about a single drawing.

He crossed his arms and leaned against a bookshelf, giving himself a second to look at your reaction. “So I guess that you’re approving my studio.”

“Of course. It’s not as if my opinion changes anything, so.”

“Yeah, you’re right. This is the place I spend the most time in. Kinda intimate, if you think about it.”

“It’s beautiful. I am planning on making a little studio when I move out, too. So I can work more comfortably.”

“Yeah, I can definitely recommend doing that. It helps a lot, especially if you work from home.”

"I think I'd get more done."

"You probably would."

He slid the page back into the folder, returning everything to its original place. Once everything had been stacked neatly again, Gerard crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against a nearby bookshelf.

"Look… Uhm, there is something I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?"

"I have this kind of important interview this week." He rubbed the back of his neck. "They asked me for some new photos. I've seen the pictures you posted and I like your style." He looked around the room and shrugged. "I was wondering if you'd want to take them. Here."

"Sure, I would love to." The reply came faster than you had expected to, relieved by the question.

"Obviously, they'd pay you."

You nodded happily, actually excited to get an opportunity to shoot him. His expression brightened immediately.

“I wouldn’t do it for the money, though.”

“Still. It’s your job.”

After that, you spent twenty minutes moving around the room while Gerard explained what he actually did for work. Some of it was freelance concept art for animation studios and character design for a game in development that he wasn’t allowed to say much about. There were book covers, occasional merch collaborations and many graphic novels. He had also told you that his most successful project that he had been a part of had become popular enough to get translated into thirty languages. Apparently, he was a bigger artist than you had thought. You made a mental note to look for his name on Google as soon as you got home.

He talked with his hands when he forgot to be self-conscious and paced a little while he explained the difference between designing a character to look good in one static illustration and designing one who had to move convincingly across a screen as he showed you a sketchbook full of gestures and shapes.

As much as you wanted to focus on what he was talking about, you got distracted. You loved to see people share the things that they were passionate about, but this was different. The more he spoke, the more animated he got, and you found yourself watching his face, the orange of his hair, his lips or his hands instead of the pages half the time. Whenever his eyes found yours, it seemed as if all thoughts had left your head. He caught you at it eventually.

“But I don't know. Which color palette do you like more?” He had asked you, pointing between two watercolor swatches.

“That’s super interesting.”

“Sorry?” He scoffed a short laugh, confused.

“It’s great. I really like it.”

“You aren’t listening to me.”

You lightly grabbed his shoulder, trying to convince him, ashamed of being caught. “Sorry, I swear I am. I like listening to you. I lost track when you explained the patrol thing."

He looked suspicious of the sentence, as if he was trying to know if you were actually telling the truth. The crimson in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Really,” you said, with your cheeks blushed trying to reassure him. “I like it a lot.”

“Okay, then. I believe you.” He gave you a soft smile as you let your hand fall off his shoulder. You were standing too near him by the desk. The distance felt charged, the tension was almost unbearable and neither of you were saying a word. Gerard closed and set the sketchbook down slowly on the table behind you. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lifted again looking at your face in a way that was starting to feel dangerous.

“Do you want me to keep showing you around,” he asked, voice lower than before, “or do you want to stop pretending that’s the reason why I brought you upstairs?”

You swore you could feel fireworks exploding inside of you, every single hormone in your body jumping in joy at the thought of potentially having your way with this man.

You smiled before you could help it. “I’m actually still very interested in the color scheme of the comic.”

He took one step closer.

“I take that as a no, then.”

“I’m evaluating my options. Both are just as appealing to me.”

His hand settled lightly at your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your dress. Your pulse jumped anyway.

“No worries. You can take your time,” his soft voice reached your ears, ruining you even more. He was willing to give you more space if that's what you wanted at the moment.

“It already took me enough.”

You kissed him before he had a chance to reply, one hand sliding into his hair while the other nearly sloshed wine over his sketchbook. Gerard caught the glass out of your fingers without breaking the kiss to set it down somewhere in the desk next to you, and then both of his hands were on your waist as he fully backed you against the piece of furniture. He kissed like he did everything else with you so far, thoroughly, with enough restraint to make you want to bite him.

And you did, a little. And he gave you that same rough sound in his throat and pulled back just enough to look at your eyes.

“I don’t think you’ve realized,” Gerard said, letting his hand slide up your side, “but I’ve been trying very hard to act like the gentleman you said I am for the past few weeks.”

And with the softest voice you could mutter, you replied.

“But I never asked you to be a gentleman.” Before he could say anything back, you kissed him even harder.

He grabbed your waist with both hands, helping you sit on the mahogany desk.

Gerard didn’t bother answering. Instead, he closed the distance between you, crashing his lips against yours and pouring every ounce of pent-up longing into the kiss. It was messy and impatient. Your fingers immediately found the buttons of his shirt at the base of his neck, fumbling with them one by one. He let out a low chuckle, amused by your urgency, but he made no move to slow you down.

"I wasn't expecting you to be so needy," Gerard whispered against your lips, his voice teasing as you finally slipped the last button free.

"I think there are a few things about me you don't expect."

“I would love to figure out those few things.” He spoke while letting out a quie breath. Without breaking eye contact, he shrugged the loosened shirt from his shoulders, sliding it off his arms before tossing it carelessly aside. The moment it hit the floor, his hands found your hips again, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear even an inch of distance between you. Roaming your body with his hands, you felt his touch everywhere, not realizing that in the meantime he was searching for the zipper of your dress. Only when you felt a breeze of cold air on your back did you notice that he unzipped it. You tried your best to remove the fabric from under your thighs without breaking the kiss, and with one swift tug you felt the cold air of the room on your body now bare for his eyes to see, tossing it aside.

You felt the touch of his lips on your jaw, lowering from your neck to your collarbones. The warmth of his breath against your skin made it impossible to think straight. Every gentle brush of his lips left your heart stumbling over itself, your pulse climbing higher with each passing second.

You needed him closer to you, and you pulled him toward you. Without saying a word, your hands found his waist, fingers curling lightly against his sides as you drew him a little closer. He was already standing between your knees, but the small movement erased the last bit of distance anyway. Gerard let himself be guided without resistance, looking down at you with a soft smile as he removed his glasses with one hand, leaving them somewhere on the desk. You could feel him hard against your core, slightly moving his hips against yours to chase some friction while his wet lips left a trail of kisses on your collarbones.

Without much warning he lowered and started sucking on your nipple while he played and fondled your other breast, gripping and squeezing hard. His touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the growing connection between you. As you moaned in delight, he continued to explore every available inch of your body, leaving you craving more. You let out a whimper, and he saw your hands working towards his belt.

Before you could continue, Gerard’s hands pushed yours away. His tongue swiped over his lower lip as his eyes roamed over you. "Let’s go to my bedroom," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Before I completely lose my mind."

As much as he wanted to bend you over the desk, it didn't feel right for the first time.

He was supposed to be a gentleman, after all.

You grabbed his hand and Gerard gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushed over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours. The atmosphere of the studio changed, the glass of wine, glasses, your dress and sketchbooks forgotten where they were left.

Letting your feet find the ground, you both started walking almost fully undressed as he led the way out of the studio at an unhurried pace, glancing back every few steps as if making sure you're still there, even though your hand never left his. The hallway was dimmer than the room behind you, lit only by a few warm lamps along the wall.

Gerard smiled to himself, glancing over his shoulder again, unable to stop looking at the woman following him to his bed.

When you reached the bedroom doorway he pushed the door open. You stepped closer and together crossed the threshold, leaving the rest of the apartment behind. Instead of allowing yourself to look at the room you reached for his face, cradling it between your hands as you drew him back into another kiss. He smiled against your lips, his forehead resting briefly against yours before he kissed you again with the same intensity as before.

Your fingers found the zipper of his dark jeans, and he broke the kiss to look down at your hands working on his pants.

"Sorry," you murmured while he brushed a strand of hair away from your shoulder. "This has been getting in the way all night."

"We should get rid of these clothes very soon."

He chuckled softly as you eased the zipper down with his scrutinous look on you. He pushed his pants down, never taking his eyes off from you until they reached the floor, stepping out of them with a quiet laugh.

You simply looked at each other, both showing soft smiles with the kind of hidden disbelief that comes when something you've imagined for weeks is finally happening.

Then Gerard closed the distance once more, his hands settling gently at your waist as he kissed you again, slower, more sensual now.

Your hands explored his body, settling at his growing bulge in his underwear while his own moved, gripping, spreading your legs open. They traced their way up to your hips, his fingers dragging slowly along the fabric of your underwear, making sure you feel every inch of their path. The contrast between his rough touch and the soft fabric against your skin sent a shiver through your spine, body reacting before you could think.

You both were still standing up, and from the corner of your eye you could see how close you were to the bed.

Now that the opportunity to feel his skin without any barriers was there, you weren't going to miss it. You let your hand drift over his stomach, tender beneath your palm. There was a soft, rounded warmth to it when your fingers lingered, and you loved the feeling. He glanced down at your hands, then back at you with the smallest smile, as if he had noticed but didn't mind.

But you didn't stop there. Your fingers trailed down lower toward the bulge in his underwear. The warmth and hardness against your hand excited you even more. You started tugging his underwear down even before you could properly touch him.

Gerard could feel your need to get him naked soon and he wasn't willing to deny you the pleasure. Once he stepped out of his dark blue boxer briefs even with the darkness of the room he could sense that you didn't stop looking at his hard cock, and he softly guided your hand towards it, allowing you to feel its throbbing heat. His tongue on your mouth distracted you from the moment Gerard pushed your underwear to the side, running his fingers along your soaked folds. Your body trembled with anticipation as Gerard's touch ignited the desire within you.

You moaned at the sensation grinding onto his fingers as he slipped one inside of you, thrusting them in the perfect tempo. As he expertly explored your most sensitive spots, you couldn't help but arch your back and gasp for more, surrendering to the electrifying connection between you both. He slowed down, but you grabbed his wrist with your free hand, guiding him to go faster.

“I never told you to stop.”

“Mhm, you're bratty. I like that.” You felt his tongue swiping over your lips, and as you were reaching for his mouth for a kiss he moved back an inch, leaving you hanging. “But you're not the one in charge here, sweetheart.”

And the smile you gave him reached your eyes, sparkling with hope and happiness.

“You should put me in my place, then.”

“I'd be more than happy to.”

He continued to please you while you did the same, teasing him by rubbing your fingers along the smooth, long vein bulging. You touched his tip, running your finger over it before it was out of reach.

Gerard had started walking to the bed, sitting down at the edge of it before grabbing you by the waist and pulling you with him. You felt his hands on the back of your thighs and immediately getting the memo, you didn’t waste a second before sitting down on his thighs.

He brought one of his hands between your legs, his long fingers instantly diving into your wetness. He slided two fingers deep inside your tight walls in one heavy, continuous shove, making your back arch as a sharp sob escapes your lips.

“I shouldn’t even prep you after all that judging you did to my place downstairs,” the hot whispers against your neck added to the pleasure. “But you look so pretty like this.”

He kept testing, slightly changing rhythm and pace in an unnoticeable way for you as he tried to find your spot.

A high-pitched moan came out of your lips when a specific wave of pleasure crashed through you, and your hand clawed at his arm for balance as he begin to pump his fingers inside you with a rapid rhythm. He left a trail of saliva on your neck, the cold wetness felt amazing against your hot skin.

“Gerard, please. Just like that.”

“Eyes on me, baby” he had said while reaching for your jaw with his free hand.

He aded a third finger, his thumb pressing down heavily on your swollen clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles until your inner walls clamp down around his hand in violent, frantic pulses.

You pant and gasp for air, your forehead dropping onto his as you try to catch your breath. Gerard slided his wet fingers out of your core carefully slow, and before he could do anything else you grabbed his wrist and put them in your mouth. Slow and obscene, your eyes locked on his. You could see the flush spreading up his neck, the way his chest rised and fell faster than it should and the lust in his pupils.

Feeling his cock twitching on the inside of your leg, he removed the digits from your mouth.

“Wait, let me just—” he said, before reaching behind you to his nighstand and frantically hunting through to fin the box. As he pulled a condom, he rolled it on faster than you ahd thought. You reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around his thick length, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch, your head falling back as he stretched.

You gasped as your hands braced on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You took a few seconds to adjust to his size before starting to roll your hips in slow circles.

"Ride me, pretty girl." He commanded, voice raspy, his hands guiding your hips. "Show me what you can do."

“Yes, Sir.” You whispered. Your words sent a rush of pleasure through him, grabbing your hips with force.

Feeling every inch of him drag against your walls, Gerard groaned as he felt you, wet and warm wrapped around him, grinding on him back and forth. He kept one hand on your hip controlling the pace, while the other reached for the back of your head, tugging on your hair and pulling your mouth closer to his. His tongue on your mouth didn’t let the muffled moans come out. Pushing your weight up and starting to speed up, guided by his hand, you let your hips snap down harder, taking him deeper until he hit your cervix with each thrust. The stretch was in the middle of pain and pleasure, but it felt so good that you couldn't stop. You shifted, trying to find the perfect spot for you, folding your knees and thrusting up and down on him.

The focus on your pleasure came to a halt when he suddenly flipped you from your position. He looked down at you with a predatory gaze, feeling the soft pillows under your head and him settling between your thighs, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

Gerard grabbed your right thigh, hoisting it up over his hip, holding you against his broad frame. He guided his tip to your dripping entrance, and rubbed it all over your folds. He dragged the head through your folds, bumping against your clit, circling it, teasing it with sharp jabs. You wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the short pieces of hair on the back of his head.

“I think you look prettier when you’re under me.” He whispered, sliding inside of you.

The fullness of him and the change in position stretched you open so fast that a loud moan tore from you. You had to bite your lip to avoid an embarrassing moan coming out of you while your walls clamped around him, trying to accommodate the size of him. Gerard let his head drop into the crook of your neck as a shudder wracked his body. He left kisses under your ears, a guttural groan vibrating right against your collarbone.

"Baby," his voice spunded strained. "Wrap your other leg around me."

You obeyed blindly, your pride entirely incinerated by the rush of pleasure. You hooked your other leg around his waist, his hands locking onto the undersides of your thighs, fingers digging into your flesh with a bruising touch that you were sure was going to leave dark marks on your skin. He kissed you once before removing your arms from his neck.

With your legs wrapped around him, Gerard began to move. One of his hands started palming your chest, his thumb dragging across your nipple.

The pace was perfect. He pulled back until his tip was nearly sliding out, only to pound himself back into you with a slamming force that made the moans get trapped in your throat. Every single thrust was deep, hitting your G-spot with precision. The sound of your skin slapping against his and his ragged breaths filled the bedroom.

"Gerard, slower— it's too much," you sobbed out, your hand grabbing his arm with force as your second orgasm began to build. Your walls pulsed around him, the stretch of his cock pushing you to the absolute brink of sanity.

"I know you can handle it," he growled, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder and more accelerated. He leaned forward, crushing his bare chest against yours. He let his hand slide from your breast through you collarbones until it reached your jaw, grabbing it with his one hand, forcing your face up, his eyes burning into yours. "You can tell me if you really want to stop."

You held his gaze, your mind completely shattered. You could feel the tears building up in your eyes as you shook your head in disagreement.

“That’s what I thought.” He smiled, tapping your cheeks with his fingers as he slowed his pace a little.

You opened up your mouth, your lips eager to wrap around his digits. He removed them before you could reach them, and he spat slowly into your mouth. The trail of saliva fell into your mouth. You licked your lips for the remaining traces that didn’t fall inside, and he thrusted particularly deep in that moment.

“Good girl,” he said before reaching down once again, sliding his tongue inside your mouth to taste himself. “I knew you would be perfect.”

He started pounding into you, merciless, his hips snapping forward with enough force to make the headboard hit the wall with each thrust. His hand wrapped at the base of your throat, barely holding and not applying any pressure. He looked at you through the dark, the light coming from the hallway enough to help him recognize your features in the dark.

“Come with me, please.” You whispered with the last remaining trace of consciousness you had as you felt your climax starting deep within your core.

"But fucking look at me," he commanded, his lips twisting into a smirk, driving his pelvis flush against yours. "Don’t close your eyes."

Your orgasm crashed through you, tightening his length while he groaned. His hips stuttered as he spilled inside the condom, hot and thick. As you came and your body convulsed around him, his orgasm extending.

You let him ride out his orgasm on top of you, the aftershocks sending waves of pleasure over you. He grabbed you and pulled you with him, resting the weight of his body on his side while one of your legs was still wrapped around him. He caressed your thigh and pushed it away from his hip, gentle to not make you feel any pain and started to pull out slowly, his cock still half-hard.

"Clean me off," his hand tangling in your hair, his voice full of dominance contrasted with his gentle touch.

You scrambled down, body still shaking from your own climax as you took him and pulled the condom out of him, letting it fall on the floor next to the bed. You didn’t waste a second before putting him into your mouth, tasting him, salty and musky. You hollowed your cheeks slowly, letting your tongue swirl around his sensitive head. He groaned, his hand tightening in your hair.

You let yourself explore him, the border of the head and the soft, velvety texture of his shaft, looking up at him through your lashes, as innocent and filthy as you could. You licked him, small, teasing laps at the head of his cock while your hands played with his balls and explored the inside of his thighs and the soft area around his belly.

He pulled your hair, guiding you as his hips bucked slightly. You pulled back, gasping for air.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” You said with your voice rough.

"I bet you did," his eyes were dark with desire. "What a perfect little thing you are. Are you enjoying this, baby?"

You moaned around him, sending vibrations through his body. He started fucking into your mouth, his hand guiding your head, his hips snapping forward, pushing his cock deep into your throat. You tried your hardest to relax, letting him use you as he pleased, breathing through your nose.

"I'm gonna cum again," he warned.

You didn’t stop. He thrusted deep and held your head there, his cock pulsing as he spilled down your throat. You swallowed what was left inside him with your eyes watering, burning from the mascara running down your eyes. You let him out of your mouth slowly, wiping the saliva on your lips with the back of your head. You move toward the head of the bed and you collapse back onto the pillows.

“That was amazing.” He said after he caught his breath as his hand found your waist and settled there. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You said, giggling by his words. He chuckled shaking his head, a faint pink tint creeping across his cheeks. “I would be more than happy to do it again.”

Gerard moved closer to you, now content knowing that, finally, he discovered that you had great chemistry in bed.

“I’ll take your word, then.” Gerard brushed a strand of hair away from your face, looking at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. "Can I ask you something?"

"It depends."

"Has anyone ever told you that you look much younger than you are?"

"Why?"

"Because you look more… youthful."

The words left his mouth before he had the chance to think them through. Your entire body went still, your face frozen in a shocked expression that didn’t go unnoticed by Gerard. His hand, which had been lazily tracing circles along your side beneath the blanket, stopped.

"Sorry," he said after a moment of silence. "I didn't mean it the way it came out. That came out wrong."

"Never mind." You answered too quickly, unwilling to let the moment slip away. "It's fine."

"It's not." He shook his head, already regretting it. "I didn't mean it like that."

“Then what did you mean?" You looked down at the sheets gathered around your legs before meeting his eyes again.

He studied your face for a second, clearly aware that he had wandered into dangerous territory. He scratched his head, frustrated at himself.

"I meant that you look younger than you are. That's all. Wasn’t expecting to sound like a weirdo.”

You remembered your lie, the number. He had believed you without hesitation. The guilt settled in your stomach so suddenly that it almost made you feel sick.

"Did that bother you?" he asked quietly, his hand finding your waist again. "I'm sorry."

"No. I'm just processing the fact that you told me I look young immediately after we had sex." Putting on your best mask, you forced yourself to smile.

He could only stare at you, the shame growing inside of him with each passing second. Then he let out a breath, equal parts relief and embarrassment, and dropped his forehead against your shoulder with a quiet groan, hiding his face there.

"When you put it like that,” his voice came out muffled against your skin. “It sounds disgusting."

"It really does."

"I'm making this even worse, aren't I?"

"A little."

"I swear I was trying to say you have... I don't know..." His fingers flexed lightly against your waist. He sighed. "Good skin."

A laugh came out of your mouth, you couldn't help it.

He huffed out a breath that represented the relief washing over him and the curses he was throwing at himself. And as silence started to stretch and it began to get on your nerves, you spoke before your mind could catch up with your tongue.

"It's not your fault, though. It must be the botox."

"Sorry?" He lifted his head, with a small frown between his eyebrows.

"I got botox. Just to prevent wrinkles."

"You got botox?"

You nodded with complete seriousness, lying to him once again.

You didn't realize, but you had already done an inventory of lies and excuses you could use whenever needed to get out of a conversation that might expose you. You weren't ready to tell him, even less now that you were naked in his sheets.

"I… well, honestly I wouldn't have guessed." He blinked once, looking at the corners of your eyes and the skin on your forehead searching for a hint of signs of aging.

"So it looks natural?"

"Very."

“Thank God.” A grin slowly spread across your face. "Do I at least look like a hot girl in her twenties?"

"I have already told you, you look like trouble." He smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "The wrinkles are just a detail.” He gently tapped the space between your eyebrows. "A detail you've apparently erased."

You rolled your eyes, but still laughed anyway. Before the silence had the chance to settle again, you leaned forward and kissed him to prevent yourself from saying anything else.

His forehead rested against yours for a quiet moment before he pressed another absentminded kiss to your temple.

"You shouldn’t get botox," you murmured, "You are going to look so hot when you get older."

When the kiss broke, Gerard stayed close, his forehead resting against yours for a moment before pressing another absentminded kiss to your temple.

You weren't sure who moved first.

One moment you were lying there, listening to the quiet hum of the house, and the next Gerard was pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before stretching with a quiet groan.

"If we stay here another five minutes," he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face, "we're eating at midnight."

You smiled into the pillow and he swung his legs over the side of the bed before he disappeared into the closet for a second.

“You can go to the bathroom.” He signaled toward the door on the side of the bedroom.

You tried not to look at his bare body too much, but you still made the most out of the moment before you stood up and walked there.

You washed your face, rinsed your mouth and did your normal post-sex routine.

When you came back to the room he was holding one of his old band T-shirts, the faded black cotton shirt looking big enough to look like it could be yours. He tossed it onto the bed.

"I think this should fit. I don't have any big shirts that might reach your knees like in the movies. Sorry about that."

You pulled it over your head and he was right. The hem barely brushed the tops of your thighs.

Gerard looked at you for a second.

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "I was right."

"About what?"

"It reaches your knees if I squint."

"Oh, shut up."

He grinned, crouching beside the bed to pull open a drawer.

"I also have slippers." He held up an oversized pair that looked almost comically large next to your feet. Those were definitely his.

"You'll survive."

You slipped them on anyway, taking two careful steps before looking back at him, who was already wearing his sleeping shorts and starting to put on a shirt.

"I look ridiculous." You complained looking at your feet, grabbing your underwear from the floor and sliding them up your legs.

He nodded happily and you made sure to nudge his shoulder when you walked past him toward the hallway, the slippers softly flopping against the floor with every step. Gerard switched off the bedside lamp before following, his hand finding yours almost automatically.

It was almost cute how he wanted to hold your hand to walk inside of the house.

He was definitely an aftercare type of guy.

The warmth from upstairs slowly gave way to the faint smell of rosemary and garlic drifting through the air as you reached the staircase. Halfway down, Gerard stopped.

"Oh, no. The food"

"What about it?"

“It must be burnt by now.”

He looked toward the kitchen, pointing with his index finger in the air.

"I think..." A soft electronic beep echoed through the first floor before directly signaling toward the kitchen. "...that's dinner."

"No fucking way.” You looked at him. “You timed it?"

"Technology is wonderful. It pays itself."

You couldn't argue with that. By the time you reached the kitchen, the oven had already switched itself off. Gerard opened the door, a wave of warm air escaping into the room.

"I cannot believe we lasted around forty-five minutes." he said, sounding genuinely impressed with himself.

"Is that your average?"

"It depends on the dynamics of the moment."

He put on a glove and pulled the tray onto the stovetop, inspecting it.

"Looks delicious."

He looked at you with a satisfied smile.

“I told you, I'm a great cook.” And he started reaching for two plates, serving the food. “It's a shame we had dessert first.”

You stayed at the kitchen island long after both plates were empty, talking through another glass of Diet Coke while Lou wandered between your legs in the hope that someone would accidentally drop some food.

Conversation drifted the same way it always seemed to with Gerard. Music, movies, childhood stories and your terrible experiences working at customer service during your teenage years. When you stood up to help him clear the table, he rose a hand to stop you.

"Leave them." He grabbed your plate from your hand and stacked it on top of his. "You're the guest."

"I stopped feeling like a guest about three hours ago."

The words slipped out before you had time to think about them. But Gerard glanced at you for a second with a smirk in his face.

"Great."

You ignored his protests and helped him rinse the dishes while he loaded them in the dishwasher.. By the time the kitchen was clean, the routine was way too smooth for two people doing it together for the first time.

Later, you wandered back into the living room with fresh glasses of water, both of you checking your phones at the same time.

Gerard had quietly started turning lights off and locking doors when he noticed you trying, and failing, to hide a yawn.

"Let’s go upstairs." He held out a hand almost absentmindedly.

You took it without thinking and walked with him, your slippers making an embarrassing noise with each step. You went to the bathroom first, after he had told you that there were spare toothbrushes on the left drawer of the counter.

He didn’t bother changing the sheets and you didn’t care. You laid on the bed on the side that he didn’t sit down at. He laid down next to you five minutes later after he went to the bathroom himself.

"You cold?" he asked, his warm hand brushing your bare shoulder.

You hadn't realized you were.

"A little."

He reached toward the foot of the bed, unfolded the blanket that had been tangled at some point of the night and pulled it back over both of you. Once he was satisfied that you were covered, he tucked the edge around your shoulder with a small smile that felt strangely domestic.

"Wouldn’t want a pretty girl like you to get frostbite in my home."

"You're very warm. I might need you to stay close to me to be sure.”

"I can sacrifice myself to keep the damsel warm."

"Sacrifice? Damn. And here I thought you were trying to impress me…" Your bright smile made him feel proud of the accomplishment of his joke.

"I thought I impressed you when you came on my fingers."

“Mhm, I am not sure about that.” You gave him a skeptical look. “I might need you to do it again sometime just to be sure.”

He laughed, the sound vibrating against your shoulder as he settled beside you again.

“Whenever you want.”

The room slowly fell silent.

His glasses ended up folded neatly on the nightstand beside the lamp. One by one, the sounds of the outside world faded until only the faint hum of the air conditioning remained.

Gerard drifted off first, sometime after two. One arm rested loosely across your waist, as you stayed awake for a little while.

Everything carried his scent. Cedar, soap, clean cotton. He slept on his side facing you, one hand tucked beneath the pillow. You brushed your thumb lightly along his forearm before letting your hand rest there and let rest take over your body.

When Gerard woke up the next morning, he found you standing barefoot in his kitchen wearing his T-shirt and staring into one of his cabinets. Giving himself a moment to appreciate the view of your thighs barely covered by his clothes, he decided to see how interesting you thought his kitchen was. He stood there for a while, looking at you rummaging through his kitchen before he decided to make his presence known.

“What are you looking for?”

“Where do you keep the coffee?” You turned around, not showing any signs of embarrassment and not exactly answering his question.

“The coffee machine is right there on the counter.”

“I suspected… I wanted to see how organized your kitchen is first.”

“You’re in the mugs cabinet.” He came up behind you and looked into the cabinet over your shoulder. “And as you can see, that’s not where I keep the coffee.” He spoke, dangerously close to the place he was tempted to leave a mark in your neck last night.

“I was just grabbing the mugs” You grabbed literally the first one you saw, the one you recognized as his favorite one thanks to the selfies he sent you. He took the mug out of your hand and set it on the counter, hot breath against your neck. Although he was shaking his head, he was simply unable to hide the smile on his face while he reached around you for the coffee beans in the cabinet above. “You’re an unbelievably noisy guest.”

“You can always kick me out.”

“I can't do that, honey. I am a gentleman.” He said at the same time that he grabbed your hand from the handle of the cabinet, leaving a kiss on your knuckles before letting it rest on the counter.

You smiled and leaned back against the bar of the kitchen, looking at him while he grounded the beans. He was wearing black sweatpants and an old black T-shirt with faded lettering across the front. His orange hair was still messy from sleep and the way your hands didn't hold back the night before. He didn't have any reason to look so good for someone measuring coffee beans before nine in the morning.

“You’re going to ruin the coffee if you keep staring at me,” he said without turning around.

“I fear that you're trying to find a reason to blame me if it tastes bad.”

“Trust me, I make one hell of a good coffee.” He left the coffee ground in the machine, and showed you the bag. “I won't tell you how much it costs, but it's really good.”

“May I insult you? I'll be brief, I promise.”

“Mh, fire away.”

“You live such a stereotypical retired husband, recently divorced life that it's… Almost cute. Almost.”

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that, the second you mentioned I am divorced in a day.” He glanced back at you, charmed by your boldness while he kept maneuvering the machine, touching buttons and moving things that you didn't exactly understand. Whatever he could find to distract himself. He remembered he had some avocados in the fridge. “What does a retired husband do?”

“This.” You waved a hand at the kitchen. “You collect your favorite stuff, have great coffee in your pantry, organized spices. You seem to have a relaxed life.”

“I will take it as an insult.”

“No, I don’t have the guts to insult you. I’m just pointing out the obvious for the second time.”

He looked toward the spice shelf and frowned. “You’re making me feel insane.”

You laughed and accepted the mug he handed you. He had already remembered the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked from your coffee dates, a fact that both of you hated and loved at the same time.

He had made sure to get enough food and snacks yesterday to not have the need to leave the house while you were there. Even more than needed, in case you didn’t like the things he had gotten. Still, he made the avocado toast he had been craving ever since he woke up. Even went as far as adding some seeds as topping to get the full experience.

You spent the morning on his couch watching half of a terrible horror movie in hopes that you will get bored halfway and wanted to do something else with him instead, like using the remaining condoms upstairs. Because you had said on the first date that his top three horror movies didn’t amuse you, he wanted to prove to you that his favorite one was cooler than you thought. He had to start from the bottom.

He paused the movie every time he had an interesting fact about it, like the amount of fake blood used, the references to an 1800s novel or the story of how they shot the scene while you shared a small blanket and some cuddles, with the cat laying in the middle of you two.

You didn’t feel the need to check on your phone ever since you woke up, and the clock on the wall and the light coming through the window told you everything you needed to know about the outside world.

Halfway through the movie, Gerard’s phone rang from the coffee table. He looked at the screen and groaned.

“That’s my brother.”

“You can answer, I won't say a thing.”

“That doesn't bother me. The thing is that he has two children and no time boundaries. A call so early means danger.”

It wasn't mid-day yet.

The way he had answered on speaker told you more about their relationship than any story probably could.

“Why the fuck are you calling me at ten in the morning, Mikey?” Gerard asked.

“Because I am awake?” A man’s voice came through immediately, bright with a lot of background noise. “We’re at your niece’s tea party and your nephew is trying to draw our neighborhood by memory. Good morning to you too.”

Gerard stretched one arm over his head as he answered the call, untangling himself from the blanket. The extra space gave you the chance to stretch your own legs. Spending nearly one hour with them tucked beneath him while watching a movie had sounded considerably more comfortable than it actually turned out to be, as nice as it was.

Before you could fully straighten them, a familiar pair of dilated pupils, blue eyes and gray fur peeked out from the end of the blanket.

"Oh, don't you dare—"

Too late.

Before you could even keep talking, the cat pounced on your toes with complete confidence. You yelped, more surprised than hurt, immediately followed by a laugh as she disappeared beneath the blanket, clearly happy after successfully hunting your feet.

Gerard looked and leaned over just enough to glance at your toes.

"No blood."

"It’s fine. She just wanted to play."

There was a pause on the line. It was too late already: You had promised to not speak, and you already did.

“Who was that?” His brother asked.

“What? It was the cat.”

“No, Gerard. The human voice. Who are you with at this time of the morning on a Saturday?”

“It’s a gi— woman.”

“Holy shit. Really?”

Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you just not make those jokes right now, please?”

“Absolutely not. Put me on speaker— What did I tell you about using those markers? Put them down.”

“Mikey, for fuck’s sake, you are on speaker.”

Another beat of silence. Then said Mikey's voice came back sounding deeply delighted after clearing his throat very loudly.

“Hello, woman. I’m Gerard’s brother Mikey. I’m sorry if he’s a little weird, I dropped the TV on his head when we were kids.”

You leaned toward the phone with a grin. “Hello, Mikey. I had actually assumed he was born like that.”

Mikey cackled and Gerard looked at the ceiling like asking the Heavens for patience.

“Oh, I like that theory,” Mikey announced. “Gerard, please, can you try to keep this one this time—”

Gerard ended the call before he could keep on talking. You stared at him, his ears turning a soft shade of red from embarrassment.

“Did you just hang up on your own brother?”

“He’s well and alive. He doesn't need to know any more… Enough information for him.”

“Well, he probably suspects that we've spent the night together.”

“He does. He made jokes too. That was already too much.”

You laughed harder while Gerard dropped his phone onto the couch cushion, regretting being born into the wrong family.

"He always teases you like that?" you asked.

"Since birth. He took advantage of being the youngest."

"I like him."

"I was afraid you would."

You smiled and Gerard picked up his mug again and took another sip of coffee. The cat wandered across the living room, apparently satisfied that the mysterious caller and mystery in the blanket had been dealt with, and disappeared toward the hallway. The call from his stupid brother broke the atmosphere of the movie that kept playing in the background but neither of you paid attention to anymore. Gerard looked over at you, rubbing on your leg through the blanket.

"What are you doing today?"

"I have to work, sadly." You stretched your legs out in front of you, now safe from the attack from the feline creature.

"On a Saturday?"

"It doesn't really count as work. I have a Colombian friend that opened a coffee shop and she wants some photos for social media content. You could come." You glanced at him over the rim of your mug, his disheveled orange hair putting words on your mouth that you weren't even sure of.

"Huh? Really?" His eyebrows lifted, the smallest creases forming on the skin of his forehead.

"She’s the owner, won’t have a problem with that."

"Am I going to be in the way?"

"I'll probably make you hold my bag every now and then." You shook your head, trying to reassure him.

"I can help with that."

"I might also make you taste things."

"I've trained my whole life for that."

You laughed, and he stopped for a second to think.

"What time do you have to be there?"

"In like… Two hours?"

"That soon?"

"You've distracted me."

Gerard stood and stretched. His shirt rode up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his stomach before he tugged it back into place. What a shame.

"I should probably change and… Take a shower."

You let your eyes travel over him with exaggerated consideration.

"No need to."

"No?"

"You already look good."

He looked down at his faded shirt.

"No chance I am showing up to your job wearing this.” He reached down, holding the weight of his torso with one hand on the back of the sofa to leave a soft kiss on your lips. “I'll be right back.”

He disappeared toward the stairs to change and shower anyway.

You watched him leave with a smile that lingered longer than you expected. And, of course, you reached for your phone to text your friends to let them know that you have finally gotten laid. Before deciding you probably shouldn't spend half an hour staring at the staircase waiting for him to come back down, you stood up from the sofa, still sore from last night. The group chat exploded so quickly that you had to mute it before anyone started calling.

You drifted toward the bookshelf beside the television, recognizing several of the comics Gerard had mentioned before. A guitar rested neatly in its stand near the window and you couldn't resist the temptation of running your fingertips lightly across the strings as you walked by, until your attention settled on the photographs sitting among the books.

Five people stood together at what appeared to be someone's backyard barbecue. Gerard was younger, his hair was a little longer, still in his natural color, smiling at the camera with one arm wrapped comfortably around a woman standing beside him. You didn't need anyone to explain it to you or golden bands to see to know who she was. She had kind eyes and a beautiful body, from what you could see.

And as you felt like you were snooping around, you moved to another frame. While your eyes wandered farther along the shelf, you noticed her again. Standing at what seemed to be a birthday party with another tattooed guy and Gerard next to her. And then, her again, in another picture with Gerard, a couple and a toddler at a pumpkin patch.

It didn’t go unnoticed to you the fact that she seemed to fit perfectly as a part of the group.

At least, you didn’t see any pictures of them together, or alone. She was seen only in group pictures.

Which, in your mind, was a great thing. He acknowledged that she was a part of his life for so long and didn’t try to remove her. On the other hand, you were still wondering what was the reason why they could’ve gotten divorced, because Gerard seemed nice so far.

Instead of looking around his living room, you went back upstairs to his office to look for your clothes and shoes from last night. You left Gerard’s shirt on his bed because you didn’t know where he put the dirty laundry and went downstairs.

You had barely reached the living room when Gerard came down the staircase, shaking his head as it helped it to dry his orange hair.

You grabbed your jacket from the arm of the couch and your bag from the rack on the side of the door while he played with his car keys, nodding toward the front door.

“Wouldn’t want you to get fired.”

The drive to your apartment took around twenty minutes.

Traffic had begun picking up, but neither of you minded. The conversation wandered from music to cats and food before eventually landing on your plans for the day later that afternoon.

When Gerard pulled into the parking lot outside your building, he shifted the car into park.

"How long do you need?"

"Twenty minutes or something.” You unbuckled your seat belt. "But you're coming up."

"I can survive twenty minutes here."

"Sure, but I’d feel guilty. Come with me."

After he locked his car and walked inside next to you, he finally got to see your apartment, which was exactly as you'd left it. Gerard stepped inside without wandering farther than the entryway.

He looked around with quiet curiosity rather than obvious interest, taking in the framed prints on your walls, the overflowing bookshelf, and the camera equipment neatly stacked beside your desk.

"So this is your place."

"Your turn to judge."

"Mh, I like it."

"You've only seen the first four feet." As you left the keys on the table, you leaned over and kissed him once before walking away.

"Don't miss me too much.”

"I'll try my best.”

You felt a small pinch from his fingers on your side while you disappeared into the bedroom, pulling open drawers while mentally running through everything you'd need: comfortable clothes, extra sweater, charger, and all of your work stuff. You were a professional after all, so you always had your things ready on hand.

You tossed everything into your tote bag before heading for the bathroom. The shower was quick, mostly to wash away the traces that Gerard had left on your body the night before.

You looked at the clock and were surprised to see that it took you only around ten minutes, which already gave Gerard enough time to check every single square inch of your place if he had wanted to.

You ran to your room with a towel wrapped around your body, choosing a comfortable but professional enough outfit. After trying to get your face and hair as nice as you possibly could in less than ten minutes, you came back to the living room. You walked in with your hair leaving a wet patch on your back and Gerard was exactly where you'd left him.

He was sitting comfortably on your couch with one of the photography books from your coffee table open across his lap. He looked up as you adjusted your bag over your shoulder.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

He closed the book carefully, set it back right where he'd found it, then reached for one of your bags before you could.

"I got this. I am your assistant today."

The coffee shop sat on the corner of a quiet intersection, and a florist had arranged buckets of fresh flowers outside its entrance, filling the sidewalk with eucalyptus and wildflowers. You recognized the place by the sign above the entrance, Gerard didn't need to use the map to get there because he knew the area.

A small line had already formed by the register when you stepped inside. Customers chatted over cappuccinos while someone worked quietly behind a laptop near the window. The room smelled like an expensive coffee shop, way too sweet with a hint of cinnamon.

The woman behind the counter spotted you almost immediately.

"You’re early, nice to see you!"

She came around the espresso machine with a broad smile, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist before pulling you into a quick hug.

You exchanged a quick greeting, talking through a few last minute ideas for the shoot and the morning light before she finally noticed Gerard standing politely beside you, one of your camera bags already hanging from his shoulder. Curiosity flickered across her face.

"And who have you brought with you?"

"This is Gerard." You stepped aside. "He volunteered to help me so I wouldn’t bother you so much."

Gerard extended his hand.

"It's nice to meet you."

She shook it firmly.

"Camila." A warm smile spread across her face. "I am the owner."

"This place is wonderful. She told me that it was nice but I wasn’t expecting this. Congratulations."

Camila looked back at you with obvious satisfaction.

"She helped us a lot. Half the people who come in are from social media. They liked her pictures."

Camila laughed before pointing toward the pastry display.

"You can take whatever you need today. Coffee, food, desserts, anything."

"Oh, no. I'll pay," Gerard offered automatically.

"You'll offend me."

"I don't mean to. You just opened, I don’t want to take advantage."

"Consider yourself guests today,” she folded her arms. “Let me be generous."

There was enough certainty in her voice that Gerard surrendered with an accepting nod.

"Then we're going to tip very well."

"I can’t reject that."

By then another customer had approached the register, pulling Camila back toward the counter.

You smiled as you knelt beside your camera bag and began laying out lenses across one of the empty tables that you knew people were the least likely to sit on. Now your attention has settled completely on the room. Your eyes moved from window to ceiling lights, from reflections in the glass pastry case to the angle of the early evening sun creeping across the floorboards. You took a few pictures, testing the color balance and the shadows and then checking it on the screen. Gerard recognized the expression of focus on your face, because he had the same one whenever he disappeared into a drawing.

"What do you need?" he asked.

You looked up without really looking at him.

"My wide lens." He handed it over, and you grabbed it. "And the cloth."

He found it inside the bag before you finished the sentence. You paused halfway through changing lenses just long enough to give him the attention you didn’t give seconds before.

"You're too good at this. I won’t pay you, just so you know."

"I am an artist myself. I know how to help."

The fact that he implied that you were an artist gave you a boost of energy. Everyone loves a little praise.

Whenever you changed lenses, he already had the next one ready. When you crouched to photograph the display case, he quietly moved a chair that had wandered into the edge of the image. At one point, while you were walking backward to widen a shot of the entrance, his hand rested lightly against your shoulder, gently stopping you before you backed into a customer balancing two coffees.

You wanted to stay a little more for the sun to reach the perfect spot in the sky to give you the best shadows. From where he stood, Gerard found himself watching you almost as much as the café itself.

Without saying anything, he pulled out his phone and took a candid photo of you crouched behind your camera, completely absorbed in your work.

A second later your phone buzzed. It was Gerard, who sent you a candid picture of yourself focused on taking a photo.

You looked over at him and laughed before slipping the phone back into your pocket.

You approached photography the same way he approached illustration. There was very little hesitation. You circled a table three or four times before deciding where to stand. You waited several minutes for sunlight to shift a few inches across a table by the window because you insisted the shadow would look cleaner. Every so often you lowered the camera to study the room in complete silence, as though mentally rearranging everything before lifting it again.

You even took some shots of the baristas working and some clients.

amila returned a moment later balancing a wooden tray with two coffees, each topped with intricate latte art.

“For some pictures.”

You lowered the camera as she handed one cup to Gerard and the other to you. Before taking your own, you glanced over the camera's preview screen, already thinking about the next shot.

“Don't drink it yet, Gerard.”

You circled to the other side of the table, searching for a better angle.

“Have you ever done hand modelling?”

He looked up from the cup with a small, amused smile.

“When I was in school we had an anatomy class. I helped standing there.” He shrugged. “I don't think that counts.”

“Close enough.” You lifted the camera again. “Hold the cup exactly how you just did. Just... don't ruin the latte art.”

He had managed to hold a coffee cup like he had spent years posing for expensive café advertisements.

You laughed behind the camera.

“Almost perfect. Bring your pinky a little closer to the other fingers.”

Gerard adjusted his grip without questioning it, then glanced at Camila with a crooked smile, clearly amused by how oddly specific your direction had become.

You snapped a few more photos, changing angles and moving the cups between two different backgrounds before finally lowering the camera.

“Okay, now you can drink it.”

You walked over to Camila and turned the camera toward her.

“What do you think?” She leaned in beside you as the two of you scrolled through the photos together. “You like it so far?”

"I understand why you told me to change the decoration on that wall."

You scrolled through several photographs. Although they were the raw files, they looked good already.

The café looked brighter than it did in person, the wood appeared warmer, sunlight stretched naturally across the tables, the pastries looked freshly placed despite having sat there all morning and the hand that appeared in the last shots was perfect.

"You made my place look prettier than it already is." And she gave you a side hug.

"I just photographed what was already here."

Gerard took a careful sip of his coffee before looking thoughtfully at the cup, savouring each taste of the liquid.

"I've never had Colombian coffee before. This is so good… I feel like I am travelling."

Camila pointed at him immediately.

"I knew you'd appreciate it. Can you write a review, please?"

"Sure thing… I love Colombia now."

The conversation drifted easily from coffee to travel, then toward Gerard's work after Camila asked what he did for a living. He explained concept art with the same quiet enthusiasm you had heard in his studio a few hours earlier, carefully choosing words that someone outside the industry could follow. He spoke about designing and occasionally he caught himself wandering into technical details and apologized, only for Camila to wave him onward.

While they chatted you adjusted some settings on your camera.

A few minutes later, you showed him some of the pictures that you thought were the best ones to impress him.

“I like the way the ray of sun reflects here.” He mentioned, pointing at the screen. “The contrast between this shadow is really good.”

“Right?” A smile brightened up your face when you locked eyes with him, happy that he saw the same things you did. “I think that’s my favorite one so far. Looks like a Render.”

"How long have you two been together?" Camila asked suddenly, catching you both off guard.

You looked at Gerard, he looked back at you and you started opening and closing your mouth soundlessly like a freaking goldfish. He spoke before you could even think of an answer.

"We're still figuring that part out."

"I remember those days." Camila nodded once, reminiscing the early days of her marriage. Her kid was sitting behind the counter, hidden and playing on his iPad. She let the subject pass as naturally as she'd introduced it.

You photographed the last few details, packed away your equipment and finally slipped the camera back into its case with a satisfied sigh.

"I think I’ve got everything."

"I cannot wait to see them." Camila clasped her hands together.

"I can send you some previews tomorrow."

She hugged you once more before turning to Gerard.

"And thank you for coming, it was lovely to meet you." She gave him a short hug. "And thank you for convincing my kid that drawing dinosaurs could be a career."

"I hope that's a good thing." Gerard looked genuinely surprised. He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. They must have spoken when you were busy.

"It is." Camila looked toward you one last time. "You can bring him back anytime."

"I may be able to arrange that." You smiled.

Gerard picked up one of your bags before you could reach for it, slinging it comfortably over his shoulder as the two of you stepped back onto the sidewalk.

—

Sleep refused to cooperate.

You had already picked tomorrow's outfit, changed your mind twice, and answered Camila's voice note reminding you not to "do anything she wouldn't do," which unfortunately narrowed down very few possibilities.

Your phone was still in your hand and, without thinking too much about it, you opened Google.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Gerard Way artist

The first result wasn't LinkedIn.

It was an interview for a magazine you knew, and you have been trying to work with for years.

You frowned.

What the fuck.

The headline mentioned his name followed by Art Director for a game studio you had actually heard of.

You tapped it and there he was in all his glory.

The same man who had spent twenty minutes explaining the reason why his cat wasn’t allowed into the backyard was to not mess with the natural ecosystem of his neighborhood.

He was wearing the same glasses, a leather jacket that made him look even hotter, answering questions about character design.

You kept scrolling.

Another interview. A convention panel. A podcast. An article about the release of a game whose creatures he had helped design.

You clicked on his portfolio.

The page loaded into dozens of illustrations.

There were entire sections dedicated to projects you recognized by name, but were enough for you, like the sci-fi game whose trailers had been impossible to avoid online.

You sat up against your headboard.

There was a section labeled Clients, and the list kept going and going.

You reached the bottom of the page expecting it to end but it didn't.

There were exhibition photos, magazine features, projects with a foundation that funded art-related careers for people in need.

Your eyes drifted to the number of followers linked beside his professional accounts and you couldn’t believe it.

You thought the Instagram account you were following was the only one he had. He had a few pictures of himself, his family, his cat and an occasional music record. No other account linked and, obviously, it was private and had a few hundred followers.

You stared at the screen for several seconds.

Then opened the professional Instagram account that was linked to his website, and it was completely different.

Finished illustrations, time-lapse videos, recommendation of drawing tablets and art supplies. People in the comments arguing over apps, rendering techniques and thanking him for inspiring them to become artists.

Some comments caught your attention.

I've been following you since high school. Meeting you at ComicConlast year was one of the highlights of my life!!

He had never mentioned any of this. In fact, the closest he had come was saying, "I draw things for a living and make enough money from it to live comfortably."

You thought back to your dates, especially the gallery opening. The way people knew him, how easily he moved through those conversations without ever introducing himself as someone important.

You looked back at the interview still open on your screen.

Not a single part of you wanted to ask why he hadn't told you. Instead, you found yourself smiling at the realization that he had wanted you to know him before you knew everything else.

The first person you had met face-to-face from Gerard’s life was one of his best friends, which happened by accident.

His name was Frank and, apparently, the main reason why you two even met in the first place. Since he knew the password to his phone, he was able to download the app while Gerard was distracted. From what you'd heard, he possessed an alarming amount of confidence, great fingers (coming from the mouth of Gerard himself, and no, you didn’t dig any further,) a charming smile, beautiful tattoos, an even better voice, and enough audacity to interfere with other people's dating lives despite being happily married himself.

You two were having Italian ice cream —or gelato, according to him— pretending that the weather was hot enough for it, although it definitely called for a jacket. You had said you were craving something sweet after he had probably left bruises on the back of your thighs after fucking you against his kitchen counter.

The two of you wandered slowly along the block, stopping every now and then to peer through shop windows. Gerard paused outside a record store.

"Wait, I had this album, I must have lost it when I moved…"

"You have had almost every album." The sound of your voice came muffled from behind the paper napkin you were wiping your lips with.

"Yes, I love physical records. I mean, you've seen most of them." He shrugged, placing one hand on your back. "I've lived a long life."

You laughed before licking your fingers from the melting ice cream. Crossing the street together, walking toward Gerard’s car was when you ran into him outside the record store. Frank spotted Gerard first and crossed the sidewalk with the speed of a man who knew he had just a few seconds to make a joke.

“Hey, buddy,” Frank announced, clapping a hand on Gerard’s shoulder hard enough to jostle him. “I was starting to think you’d gone back into the basement.”

“I live fifteen minutes away from you. I watched all the Instagram Reels you sent me last night.” He spoke, licking his ice cream with a frown on his face that showed his lack of understanding.

“You were in an emotional basement. Anyway, you didn't read the group chat?”

"No. I didn't." Without a hint of shame, he replied in true honesty.

"I knew it. Avoidant piece of…" Then, with theatrical slowness, Frank turned toward you as though he'd only just realized another human being had been standing there the entire time. He blinked dramatically. "I didn't even notice there was a beautiful woman standing here."

Sure not. It wasn’t as if the main reason why he almost got run over by a motorcycle was because he wanted to know more about the woman next to him. He turned to you then and smiled with immediate interest. “You won't introduce me?”

Gerard’s hand settled on your shoulder blades so naturally that you almost missed it, if it wasn't because your heart almost left your chest you would have.

“This is...” He paused just long enough to make you glance at him. “My friend.”

Frank looked between you, then at the wrist that was too close to you, then up at Gerard’s faint hickey on his neck again with the most delicate and soft smile. “Your friend?”

“Yeah.” Gerard didn’t blink, and instead sweetly added your name to the conversation.

Frank took his hand out of his pocket and extended it to you. “Frank. We’ve been actual friends for more than ten years.”

You shook his hand with your clean one, the one you didn't have with traces of ice cream and smiled at this guy. “Yeah, he has spoken a lot about you.”

"Only good things, I hope."

"I'll never tell."

“How nice.” Frank pointed at you with a grin. “Photographer?”

Gerard made a sound that meant regret. There was no reason for Frank to expose him like that.

“Yeah, I am. I didn’t— How’d you know? You told him?" Your index finger pointed at Gerard’s direction while you spoke the last sentence, trying your hardest to pretend that you weren't doing it on purpose.

Gerard sighed before you could answer. "Uh, no. Maybe it slipped out of my mind sometime."

"What an ugly little liar.” Frank snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “He has spent the last month talking about some photographer he has been hanging around with."

Frank ignored Gerard’s groans and kept talking.

"Okay, sure. I may have mentioned you… Like, what? Twice?" Gerard confirmed, defeated and humiliated. He decided to focus on eating his gelato to cool himself down.

Frank told you he worked in the music industry, had too much energy for a Sunday, and asked you where you were from, what you shot, and whether Gerard had already shown you the horrifying amount of merchandise in his house. He didn’t seem surprised when you told him that, indeed, you had seen his collections. Gerard tried to cut in the conversation twice and failed both times.

By the time Frank finally left, he had invited both of you to have some drinks the following weekend and extracted a vague promise from Gerard that he would “stop being cryptic and bring the girl.”

The girl.

You did not point out the phrase at the time because Gerard looked too tired to defend himself and you had wanted to give him some grace. It almost made you forget that he had introduced you as a “friend” when less than two hours before he was so deep inside of you it genuinely made you forget about the outside world for a minute.

Gerard had probably warned Ray about Frank's performance at the coffee shop because this meeting felt considerably less like an ambush. They had picked a quiet neighborhood bar with dim lighting and good beer. And Gerard had needed some convincing to leave the studio, but he had eventually agreed.

Ray was already waiting when the two of you arrived and he stood up as you approached.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

His handshake was warm and firm, although there was a brief hesitation that made you think he'd almost gone in for a hug instead. He smiled easily, the kind that reached his eyes and lit up his entire face.

Unlike Frank, who somehow managed to occupy every room he entered, Ray seemed perfectly comfortable letting everyone else speak first before adding his own feedback.

"I've heard a lot about you."

"Only good things, I hope." You looked at Gerard, who just shrugged.

"I actually wasn’t talking about Gerard." Ray glanced toward his friend. "Frank, on the other hand..."

"Don't." Gerard sighed before Ray even finished.

"It’s fine. We’re excited to meet you." Ray laughed quietly, shutting his mouth due to his friend’s request.

Once everyone had ordered drinks, the conversation drifted naturally .

"So," he said once everyone had ordered drinks and everyone sat down. “You’re the reason why Frank has been bullying Gerard so much”

“That’s quite an impression.” You glanced at Gerard.

“It’s not a bad one,” Ray said. “Frank likes gossip. Gerard doesn’t provide any, so this has been an event for everyone in the group.” Gerard looked up from the menu.

“You both need better hobbies.”

“We have hobbies,” Ray pointed toward the little girl sitting beside him, completely focused on coloring a unicorn. "This one keeps me busy."

The little girl looked up long enough to wave at you before returning to her masterpiece.

"That’s your daughter?"

"The youngest," Ray smiled without looking away from the drawing. "She wanted to come with me today and I couldn’t say no."

You liked Ray immediately. That turned out to be a problem a couple of hours later.

A basket of fries covered with cheddar and bacon sat in the middle of the table. The beers you drank had made everything pleasantly fuzzy. Frank was halfway through a story you didn’t fully understand when Gerard excused himself to answer a phone call from a client.

"I'm sorry," he said, already reaching for his phone. "This one's really important. I can't really ignore it."

Gerard squeezed your thigh as he stood before disappearing toward the patio. Frank barely paused his story before continuing.

"And remember when she burned her hair when she blew the candles on the cake? It smelled awful." Frank laughed, reminiscing of the story. “That’s why she kept it short that entire year.”

Ray reached for the salt.

"How old are you?"

The question landed so casually it took your brain a second to catch up. The little girl continued coloring, Frank didn’t notice how your entire body tightened while Ray sprinkled salt over a fry as though he hadn't quietly set your entire nervous system on fire.

"Twenty-nine."

Perfectly rehearsed answer. Ray's hand stopped for the briefest moment before finishing the motion to curse at Frank’s comment.

“Twenty-nine is a great age, I was already married at the time.”

“No one asked you,” Ray said.

“I’m supporting them, Ray, the fuck...”

You smiled and reached for your Diet Coke, hoping the glass hid the slight tension in your hand.

Ray didn't question your answer. He simply slid another purple crayon toward the kid after she dropped it under the table and let Frank derail the conversation onto an entirely different subject.

A minute later Gerard returned, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he sat beside you.

"Sorry." He reached for his beer. "This client is from Japan. Time zones are a pain in the ass."

"It's fine."

"I hope these two didn't scare you away." His hand settled on your knee beneath the table.

"Not really." You smiled. "Frank told me he's going to be a dad."

Gerard looked across the table.

"Yeah. He's refusing to tell anyone anything until the gender reveal."

"I want everything to be a surprise."

“It will be themed after wild animals. My wife prepared everything.” He kept talking, grabbing one of the fries and taking a bite. “You are invited, by the way.” Frank pointed a fry in your direction.

“Really? I would love to.” You smiled, already planning the outfit in your head.

"I guess we're going." Gerard smiled into his beer.

By the end of that month, you had slept in Gerard’s bed enough times to know which floorboard creaked outside the bathroom and where he kept the extra toothbrushes.

By the middle of the second, he had memorized your coffee order, the amount of SD cards you brought for shoots, and the foods you disliked.

Still, neither of you had the nerve to call it anything else than “casual dating.”

It was easier to keep pretending that you were just sleeping together and spending an unreasonable amount of time in each other’s places. It was easier to treat the dinners, the lazy Sundays, the morning sex and the late-night texts like a temporary arrangement between two adults who happened to enjoy each other naked and clothed in roughly equal measure.

Then Gerard started doing boyfriend things with the sincerity of a man who did not realize he had crossed the invisible boundary of casual dating.

He picked you up, he brought you little things he claimed were accidental, he liked and replied to almost everything you posted on social media and even left occasional comments, he got you a pack of imported film because he saw it at a store and remembered you liked the grain, he kept snacks in his pantry that he did not eat only because you liked them, he texted you before big shoots to say good luck and after late nights to ask if you got home safely.

Once, while you were editing photos on his couch at one in the morning and he scrolled on his phone next to you, he disappeared into the kitchen and came back minutes later with a plate of food.

“Did you just make me that?”

“It’s just food.”

“Gerard, it’s almost midnight.” You glanced at the time in your computer. “Why did you even bother?”

“You haven’t eaten. And I just went through your things.”

“That’s not the point.”

Gerard set the plate on the coffee table in front of you. “Then I’m unclear on the point.”

With the laptop warm against your thighs, you looked up at him from the couch and felt something tighten uncomfortably in her chest.

The point, you thought, was that the men you were casually seeing didn't know you liked the expensive jam made from imported berries from Patagonia. He was not supposed to tell you to take breaks from editing because you rubbed the bridge of your nose when you had been staring at the screen for too long. And, most importantly, shouldn’t care too much if you ate or not.

At that point, it was difficult to remember you had built this whole thing on a lie.

You set the laptop aside and picked up the toast. “I’m moved by your gesture.”

“Don’t be dramatic, honey.” He sat down beside her on the couch and reached for the remote. “Just eat the fucking toast.”

You took a bite and groaned, almost moaning in delight.

“Damn, that good?” Gerard glanced sideways at you.

You chewed, appreciating the taste. “You just don’t get it. It’s the jam..”

“It’s supposed to taste good. It cost ten dollars.” He argued, remembering that he had gotten it just for you last week.

“Exactly.”

He took your wrist, took a bite from the food still in your hand and nodded in approval. “Worth it.”

You watched him chew and tried not to think about the fact that you knew what he looked like first thing in the morning, half asleep and rubbing a hand over his face before putting on coffee. Tried not to think about the fact that he had started kissing your forehead on instinct when he left for the kitchen or rolled out of bed to answer the front door. Tried not to think about how easily you had started leaving pieces of yourself in his place, like the hair tie on the bathroom sink, a charger by the couch, a hairbrush in the top drawer of his nightstand after he handed it to your one morning and said, with alarming calm that “you may as well leave this here since you spend so much time here.”

One Thursday afternoon you showed up at his place after a miserable e-commerce shoot in downtown L.A. where the creative director had used the phrase “make it sexier but organic” with his full chest and expected you not to throw a reflector at him. Gerard let you in, took one look at your face, and moved aside without speaking.

“You look homicidal,” he said as you kicked off your boots by the door.

“I am.”

“Do you want tea or alcohol?”

“Yes.”

He shut the door. “That narrows it down.”

You dropped your camera bag by the couch and followed him into the kitchen. “Do you know what a man said to me today, Gerard?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“He looked at the photos I took, nodded like he had just created a new Vogue and said, ‘These are great. Now make the female model look more youthful but with the lingerie outfit on.’”

Gerard froze with his hand on the kettle while you crossed your arms. “Exactly. He's a creep, I'm never working with him ever again.”

He stared at the counter for a second as if privately considering prison, then turned back to her with his eyebrows raised. “Did you kill him?”

“I thought about it. But the blood would stain the clothes and I can't afford designer.”

“Restraint. Good girl.”

“I left before I did something that would get me blacklisted from every studio in California and told the model that if she ever needed some pictures for free, she could call me.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“It is not for the best. It’s infuriating.”

Gerard filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “Come here.”

Holding a hand out toward you, you stepped closer on instinct and let him pull you between his knees where he sat against the counter stool. Gerard wrapped his arms around you waist and rested his cheek against your chest like this was a perfectly reasonable response to misogyny in the fashion industry.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to stop you from committing a felony.”

“By… Hugging?” And even though you were confused, the anger wavered.

“It’s just physical touch. It works..”

You looked down at the top of his head and laughed despite how silly it looked, one hand drifting automatically into his hair. Gerard tightened his arms around you in response.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I’m trying to make you feel better.” He looked up at you, chin tilted, glasses slightly crooked because you had knocked them with your hip a second ago

The simplicity of his action nearly ruined you.

You bent and kissed him just to stop herself from saying something stupid.

That night you stayed over again. You had sex on the couch because neither of you made it to the bedroom and then ended up tangled in his sheets an hour later anyway. Gerard fell asleep first, one arm slung over his eyes after muttering that his knee hurt.

You laid beside him in the dark with your head on his shoulder and counted all the reasons you should tell him the truth and fell asleep to the purr of Lou next to your head.

You told Alessia how the list of reasons why you should tell him the truth got longer every single week over drinks a few days later.

“Okay,” Alessia said, staring at her from across the sticky patio table. “I’m going to say this with love and also with disgust. You need to tell him.”

“I want to, okay?”

"You are really into him, it’s not just sex." She pointed at you with her straw. "If you actually wanted to, you would've done it already."

She took a long sip of her drink and looked away toward the street. The lack of eye contact gave you confidence to keep talking.

“I keep waiting for a good moment.”

“There isn’t one.”

“There has to be one.”

"There isn't." Alessia shook her head. "There's only the least awful moment, and that was probably six weeks ago when you went to that… What was it? The brunch…?"

“The gluten and diary-free coffee shop near Pasadena?

“Yes. You should have told him right then and there. Over an overpriced granola bowl.”

“How helpful.” You groaned.

Alessia leaned back in the seat and crossed her arms. “How serious is this getting?”

You thought about Gerard’s place and your hairbrush in his bathroom, about the way he had introduced you to a game developer friend last week with a hand on your lower back and a look in his eye you were trying very hard not to name, about the fact that Frank had started liking some of your posts and the memes you share without asking permission and how you have met his friends and, very soon, his brother.

«Way too fucking serious,» you thought.

“Serious enough that I’m becoming a bad person.”

“You are not. You are just making the same mistake over and over. I told you this was a bad idea from the beginning.”

“You’re making this harder for me. I didn't know I was going to find a great man there.”

"I know you didn't expect this. But if he's as honest as he seems to be, he might want to end things.”

“I should’ve called Ryan.” You dropped your forehead briefly into one hand. “You’re ruining my day.”

“He wouldn’t tell you the truth. I’m just trying to stop you from fucking this up even more.”

You knew Alessia was right, you had known for weeks.

But every time you looked at Gerard and tried to imagine saying it out loud, the words sat at the tip of your tongue and words died in your throat.

I’m actually twenty-five and we have an age gap of more than ten years because I lied and I thought you’d dismiss me otherwise so I pretended to be older than I actually am which is even worse now that I really like you and it has snowballed and now you probably hate me and feel grossed out by yourself but we have a lot of fun and i am an adult and you seem to like me too so I don’t see the problem.

No version of that sentence, no matter how much you had tried to rephrase it, sounded survivable.

The first time you met Gerard’s brother in person you had almost confessed by accident.

Mikey had invited you to a Sunday lunch at his house after weeks of relentless sibling harassment. Gerard agreed with resignation and a little bit of hope. You had spent the drive over pretending you weren’t nervous while Gerard drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely on the center console beside your knee.

“Relax,” he said without looking away from the road. “They're the nicest people ever. No reason to be nervous.”

“I am relaxed. I'm just a little worried"

You looked down, trying hard not to pick at the nail polish on your nails.

“What are you worried about?”

You looked out the window. “Your family not liking me. What if they hate me?”

Gerard’s hand left the console long enough to squeeze the back of your neck once, brief and grounding.

“They won’t. Mikey is like… An extension of myself.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. He has no standards, his wife is the sweetest, the kids are nice, the dog is lovely.”

“Still, I am nervous… That's all.”

“They’ll love you.”

The confidence in his voice made your guts twist under your ribs.

Mikey's house was loud before you even got through the front door. A little girl with coloured hair ties sprinted across the driveway wearing a fluffy dress and a boy about six years old sat on the rug trying to turn over Pokemon cards by hitting them repeatedly with his hands. Mikey appeared a second later, opening the door and carrying a bowl of cut fruit and grinning like he had personally arranged that beautiful weather.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

Before you could react, he set the bowl down on the hallway table and pulled you into a hug like you had known each other since forever. He smelled like sunscreen. Gerard, behind you, muttered something about personal boundaries and got ignored completely.

Mikey's wife was just as warm and bright. She hugged you, complimented your jeans, asked about your photography, and somehow managed to make it all feel natural instead of interrogative. Within twenty minutes, you were standing in Gerard's brother's kitchen helping carry bowls of salad to the table while Mikey's daughter, whom now you recognized as Sophia, explained why the dog needed an AC unit for itself during the summer.

Gerard moved through the house and with the children with an ease you had never seen in him before. He picked up his niece when she launched herself at his legs and let his nephew drag him by the hand toward the backyard to see the bugs. He bickered with Mikey while setting the table, argued with Cindy about whether the burgers were done, and accepted a beer from his brother with the air of a man who had been losing the same fight for twenty years.

You stood in the doorway to the backyard at one point and watched Gerard crouch in the grass with both children hanging off him while Mikey stood nearby holding a spatula and talking about who knows what.

The sight hit you harder than it should have.

It wasn’t that you had never imagined him with kids. You fantasized and daydreamed a good amount, enough to keep your mind occupied with something. He had talked about his niece and nephew enough that you already knew he adored them. Seeing how instinctive and patient he was with them, how gently he listened when his niece handed him a dandelion and how naturally he fit into this family-guy picture.

You were definitely ovulating.

Later, while Gerard was inside helping Mikey rescue a tray of overcooked buns from the oven, Cindy handed her a glass of lemonade and leaned against the patio railing beside her.

She had said something that you missed because in that same moment, one of the kids screamed something. Your puzzled expression let her know that you didn't listen to what she had said.

Cindy smiled into her drink. “Gerard. I said that he really likes you.”

“Oh. Well, I really like him too, so…”

And you wanted to slap yourself. Really, there was no reason why out of all the things you could've said, you chose the most immature words in your mental dictionary. They can probably see the immaturity through you.

“It’s cute.”

You stared into the backyard.

“What an interesting thing to say to someone you’ve met an hour ago.”

Cindy shrugged. “Mikey told me Gerard was bringing a girl, Frank called to say that he saw Gerard with a girl. Then Gerard himself called yesterday to ask what we were making today to make sure we weren't cooking anything you wouldn't like. It’s serious. It’s nice to see him like this..”

“I didn’t know this was that… Important for him.” You looked over, way too focused on the word serious.

Cindy smiled. “Girl, he dyed and cut his hair for this. Very serious, if anything.”

That made you laugh.

Then she added, still easy, still warm, “We haven’t seen him like this in a while.”

Those were the most cliché words on the planet, but it still made the guilt sit in your chest. You looked toward the kitchen window where Gerard stood with his back to the glass, sleeves rolled up while Mikey flipped the burgers on the blackstone. Gerard turned at that exact moment, as if feeling watched, and caught your eye through the window. His expression changed immediately. Softened. One corner of his mouth lifted.

You smiled back. And just like that, the guilt returned hard enough to confuse the butterflies of a happy relationship in the works with the guilt of a lie.

That night, back in Gerard’s apartment, you sat on the edge of his bed while he searched in his dresser for one of your shirts and realized with awful clarity that the lie had become a third person in the room.

Gerard tossed you the clothes without looking. “You’re quiet.”

“Just tired.” You caught the shirt and twisted it in your hands.

“Liar.” Your heart stopped. He looked up from the drawer and smiled faintly. “You’re not tired. You look like something’s bothering you.”

The air came back into your lungs in one humiliating rush.

“Yeah, I've been stressed lately.”

“I see,” he said, shutting the drawer. “I can help you with that.”

He crossed the room and stood between your knees, hands settling automatically on your thighs and kissing you. He sensed that you didn’t reciprocate in the same way, which told him that sex wasn’t in the plans today. “You can talk to me.”

You looked at him and almost did it. The truth rose to the back of your throat and hovered there, but instead you reached up and touched the side of his face.

“I have less than a week to give some pictures to a client and I haven't done anything yet,” you said. “So I need to get on that.”

Gerard watched you for a second like he didn’t fully believe you, and he didn’t. He thought you would eventually catch up on it.

“Can I help you with that?”

“Not really, I just need to sit down and do it.”

“You got this, honey.” He then leaned down and kissed your forehead.

You had to do your part eventually, and a week later Gerard met your friends. It happened at one of the bars you regularly go to.

Needless to say, you reminded them about your dirty little secret on the group chat beforehand so they wouldn't blow your cover.

Gerard offered to come with the most humble words only after you had told him he absolutely did not have to if he didn't want to, that it wasn't necessary, that he shouldn't feel pressured to and that you understand if he wasn't feeling it.

Between a little gossip, you spotted him inside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light before searching the room. until he found you.

He was still dressed from work. A dark green button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms and dark jeans. His hair looked like he'd run a hand through it after taking off his seatbelt, bright as ever.

You stood before you even realized you were doing it, unaware of the fact that the conversation around the table thinned almost instantly.

Gerard walked over with calm, oblivious to the fact that there were strangers silently evaluating him from head to toe.

"Sorry," he said as soon as he reached the table. "The meeting ran longer than I expected."

You stepped closer and greeted him with a quick, familiar kiss.

Gerard's hand settled lightly against the small of your back as you walked between tables until you reached the booth in which you were sitting. That tiny gesture caused more reactions than the kiss itself.

Your friend sent you a DM on Instagram with just a few words.

aalessiaa: girl… hes yummy aalessiaa: youre eating well

Gerard fit into the group with alarming ease. He bought a round of drinks before anyone could protest, remembered everyone’s names after one introduction, and let your friends interrogate him about his intentions with you with the calm of a monk.

After everyone had their drinks, Ryan leaned forward with the grin that always meant trouble.

"What's your favorite thing about her?"

You groaned and covered your face with one hand.

"What are you complaining about?" Ryan shrugged. "It's a normal question."

Gerard didn't look nearly as flustered as you felt. He took a second to think before answering.

"I don't think I could pick just one thing."

"Boooo. Wrong answer."

"No, seriously." He smiled to himself. "She’s cute, funny. She is always excited about everything."

The table quieted.

"If she likes something, she wants everyone else to like it too." He turned toward you, not talking to Ryan anymore. "I think that's why you enjoy photography so much. You like showing people the way you see things."

"Wow. I never thought about it like that." You blinked.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "It makes sense to me."

Your friends exchanged glances.

You suddenly found the berries at the bottom of your drink very interesting.

Under the table, Alessia nudged your shin with the toe of her shoe.

You smiled back, trying not to think about how close the truth had been sitting between the two of you ever sin

His hand settled securely at your knee most of the night, and when he went to the bathroom he returned with a small chocolate bar that he got when he paid for your drinks. A detail that didn’t go unnoticed by you was that he had left his phone on the table.

By the end of the night, two of your friends were arguing with him about if DC or Marvel were better. But he never mentioned that he had worked for them.

You watched him from across the table and tried to understand how he can make everyone around him to like him.

He must be a psychopath behind closed doors. It didn't make any sense. Gerard was not especially loud, chatty or charming. In fact, he was a little weird when you put aside the attraction you had for him.

He had something even better: He listened, remembered details, and was respectful. He asked your friend Mina about the ceramics class she’d mentioned half an hour earlier and added some of your friends to his Discord account to play a world championship of a videogames this week. Alessia had managed to pull you aside to the bathroom.

aalessiaa: bathroom meeting

You looked up just as Alessia pushed back her chair. You had a very serious conversation, lathering lavender hand soap on your hands.

“I want to say something negative about him so bad...”

“I know, right? He must be hiding something.”

“He seems to like you a lot.”

Your stomach tightened. Hopefully, he does, you thought. “You barely know him.”

“Babe, that’s not what I meant.” And as she dried her hands with paper towels, she lowered her voice. “Tell him. Because if you ruin what you have with this snack of a man, I will be even more heartbroken than you.”

When everyone left the bar, Gerard draped his jacket over your shoulders because the night had cooled and you had shown up in a top held together by trust in gravity.

“Can I say something?” he said while guiding you toward his car, “your best friend threatened me.”

“What? When?”

“In the bathroom hallway. She told me if I ghosted you she’d put my address on 4Chan.”

The best part about this conversation is that you knew she wasn't lying. He unlocked the car and held the passenger door open for you, but you didn't get in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why are you doing all this?” You looked up at him in the yellow wash of the streetlight.

He frowned slightly. “Doing what?”

“The doors, paying, charming my friends… The gentleman shit.”

His mouth twitched. “Gentleman shit, huh.”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

Gerard rested one arm against the roof of the car and looked at you straight into your eyes. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“No.” You answered, a little terrified. “But yes.”

He nodded once, as if accepting terms in a contract. “Because I like you. I like spending time with you. I’m doing all this because I want to.”

And also because he had learned from all his mistakes. Because he asked for advice on “Am I the Asshole?” on Reddit. Because the failed marriage had shown him the things he needed to get better on. Because, at this point, most of his friends were married and they gave him dating advice to not get too far off behind.

Because he is confident in his feelings, and if he likes something, he goes all out.

And because he isn't 25 and scared of life anymore. He's wiser, older and has a great therapist that makes every penny spent on her sessions worth it.

So you could just only stare at him.

It would have been easier if he had sounded less certain. If he had hidden it up in a joke and left himself a route to escape. Instead of allowing you to feel less guilty, he just told you the truth like it had never occurred to him to do anything else.

“Say something,” he said after a second, suddenly insecure.

Did he get things wrong? Maybe it was too soon to be talking about this. Maybe you weren't looking for something serious.

“Okay. I wasn’t expecting that answer.”

“That sounds like a you problem. I’ve been very clear since the beginning.”

You laughed, because if you didn’t you were going to say something catastrophic, and got into the car before he could see too much on your face.

He drove back to his apartment instead of yours that night.

The decision was mutual and unspoken. Thank God you decided to exfoliate and moisturize your body today.

You ended up in his bed again, watching a documentary under the covers. Gerard laid on his back staring and a hand on your hip while you traced absent patterns over the skin on his ribcage with your fingers.

“My brother Mikey texted me during dinner,” he said.

“Why do you say his name? You only got one brother.” You lifted your head, brushing hair out of your face.

“He wanted to know if you’re free next Saturday because the kids are going to an animal shelter and apparently you told them that you love animals.” At that point, he couldn't keep avoiding eye contact. “So they wanted to ask you if you wanted to come. It's kind of like a petting-zoo.”

“The kids wanted to ask me to come with them?”

“You showed them the animal pictures you took. You were finished after that.”

You smiled and dropped your head back to his shoulder. “I do have a chaperone type of energy.”

“You really do.”

Silence settled for a minute. His fingers moved lazily through your hair.

You had spent the entire past three weekends together, not counting the weekdays. If you had asked him to meet your friends and you seemed to be comfortable with his, he wouldn't have found a problem with this.

Then he said, almost casually, “I think you should come with us.”

“To the animal shelter? Gerard.” You sat up enough to look at him, using a joke to walk away from the seriousness of this conversation. “Are you trying to domesticate me?”

But Gerard didn't understand the joke and thought that you had found it insulting. He looked faintly offended. “No. I’m inviting you to spend a Saturday with my family.”

Your hand went still on his chest, the covers of the bed were barely hanging on your body.

You were trying to assimilate the weight of his words and the true intentions behind the invitation. You had technically already spent time with his family, but it wasn’t a proper invitation.

“That’s like… a relationship activity.”

He pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked at you with amusement.

“Honey, you've had a toothbrush and deodorant at my house for weeks now.”

“That’s different.”

“How’s that any different?”

“It’s hygiene. Basic human need.”

He laughed and reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Gerard, I’m serious.” You caught his wrist before he could pull away.

“So am I.” His expression changed enough to make your stomach dip. “Come with me and stop evading. I know you want to.”

You held his gaze for a second too long and saw it then, the thing you had been trying very hard not to name. The steadiness in him. The decision already half-formed.

You knew Gerard was not asking you to the animal shelter because he needed help supervising children near the rabbits, they were old enough to know about basic boundaries and straightforward commands.

You had already become a part of his life, it didn't matter if neither of you had said out loud yet.

“I think I got a maternity shoot booked that day. I'll have to reach out to the client to see if she confirms or not,” you lied, but he didn't seem to notice.

Instead of making you feel better, it only made you want to scream into the pillow that was under you.

And then, you had almost told him the truth one hour later in his kitchen while the cat was napping next to the fruit bowl.

He was cooking pasta while you were sitting on the counter with a glass of wine, one bare foot nudging his hip every time he moved too close to the stove. Music played low from the speaker in the living room. Something punk that Gerard knew every word to and pretended not to.

His voice was even more charming when he sang and you couldn't believe how much potential got wasted between papers and pens. Microphones all over the world were jealous at the ink for taking his attention.

He had changed out of his ink-stained clothes into black joggers and a soft gray hoodie.

“What’s going on inside that little head? he asked without turning around.

You stared at the back of his head. “How much I miss my bed.”

“Interesting. Happens to all of us.”

“But, look… I’m trying to tell you something serious.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Fire away.”

The word sat there between them, simple and open, and your pulse started hammering. He turned the stove down and faced you fully, leaning one hip against the counter.

“What is it?”

This was it. A good moment, if such thing existed. Quiet kitchen, wine, barefoot. No urgency, no chance of pretending later that you had run out of time.

As you were going to start to open your mouth, Gerard said, “you’re worrying me a little.”

“It’s not serious serious,” you blurted, panicking a little.

“Then don't say it like that.”

“I’m dramatic, okay?” You laughed weakly and took another sip of wine that you did not want anymore. “I was going to tell you that Alessia thinks that you’re too old for me.”

The second the words left your mouth, you wanted to throw yourself under a bus.

Gerard stared at your face for five full seconds.

“Your friend Alessia,” he said carefully, “thinks I’m too old for you?”

“Yeah. She told me that.”

“How come?”

“She’s a very strong minded woman, you know her already.”

He folded his arms. “And what do you think of that?”

You froze and Gerard waited, patient as always. He expected an honest answer, and he would know what to do with it once he got one. And of course, you hated yourself a little for lying.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if I cared about age, I wouldn’t be in your kitchen while you make me dinner.”

That earned a laugh out of him, thank God. He stepped forward and nudged your knees apart enough to stand between them.

“Good evasive answer.” He whispered on your lips.

“I’m not evading.” You replied after the first kiss.

“Well, I like Alessia, she seems great.” His hands caressed your skin under your shirt. “But I think what matters the most is what you and I think.”

You did go to the animal shelter with them.

It was a terrible idea, but you went anyway because Gerard asked with bright eyes and a hopeful smile, saying that they have been making donations for a few years now and they go there every once in a while. Mikey’s wife brought snacks for everyone and more wet wipes than needed, which was one of the first interactions you had with them in the parking lot.

Cindy handed you a packet of baby wipes without looking.

"Can you keep these in your backpack?"

You took them automatically before realizing she'd asked you with the same ease she'd asked Gerard to carry the cooler and Mikey to grab the kids' water bottles.

Gerard wore sunglasses and a black T-shirt and spent half the afternoon with his niece in his hand while his nephew tried to feed pellets to every animal in sight.

His hand found yours when you were in the goats section. Also when you walked through the little bridge over the lake.

You took photos the whole time. It was an excuse believable enough to get away with the anxiety that hanging out with his brother’s family gave you.

Nico disappeared after a particularly determined goat, forcing Mikey to jog after him while Cindy walked holding her daughter on one hip.

Gerard reached back until his fingers found yours, making sure you were still there before following everyone else.

He didn't even look.

A few minutes later, everyone migrated toward a row of wooden picnic tables beneath a cluster of trees. The kids reached the benches first, immediately arguing over who got to sit beside Gerard. Sophia won by climbing onto the seat before Nico had even finished making his case, leaving him dramatically sighing as Mikey redirected him to the other side with the promise of an extra packet of crackers to let you sit next to Gerard.

Cindy unpacked lunch. Sandwiches appeared from one container, sliced fruit from another, juice boxes from a cooler that somehow seemed to hold enough food for twice as many people. You offered to help without thinking, and she asked you to help with the paper napkins.

Gerard took the seat beside you, stretching his legs beneath the table while Sophia happily leaned against his arm, swinging hers as she told him in detail how beautiful the goose she had seen near the pond was.

He listened with complete seriousness.

"You might need to draw that for me."

"But I am going to need a big piece of piper." She nodded emphatically. Her arms spread so far apart that she nearly knocked over her juice box. “It was really big.”

“It’s paper, Sophie.” Mikey looked up from unwrapping a sandwich, correcting her. Gerard laughed into his water bottle before watching him tear the crusts from his sandwich because Nico asked if he could have them.

The kind of family that knew each other's habits well enough to move around them without thinking. For a moment you allowed yourself to imagine belonging there too.

The memories you trapped in your camera involved Sophia laughing with missing front teeth while Gerard held a paper cup of goat feed. Nico in a dinosaur shirt, happily petting a rabbit and begging his parents for one. Mikey kissing his wife’s temple while she held hands with her little girl. Gerard, later, sitting on a low wooden fence with a juice box in one hand and his sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt, watching the kids run through the grass with an expression so soft it almost hurt to look at.

At that moment, you lowered the camera and met his eyes through the glasses. Gerard smiled at you from across the field, lazy and warm.

You still felt like you had a thorn digging under your skin, threatening to come out.

Walking back to the car, Nico tripped over one giant pebble. No one said anything, following the rule of “if we don’t react, he won’t cry.” A few seconds later Gerard bent down to help him stand up.

"You alright, buddy?"

Nico nodded, complained a little about his knee but it was more offended than hurt. Gerard brushed dirt from his dinosaur shirt.

"Good thing you’re wearing this T-Rex shirt… They’re strong, just like you.”

That evening, after the promise of you sending the best pictures after editing and the kids were sticky and exhausted and Mikey had finally wrestled everyone back into the car, Gerard drove you toward your apartment with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh.

“Did you have a good time?,” he had asked.

“Yes, it was great.” You looked out the window. The city slid by in late-afternoon gold and the soft hum of the car relaxed your nerves a little. “Mikey’s family is so cute,”

“I know. They liked you.”

“Your niece asked if I was your girlfriend.” Your voice came out a little too loud.

Not really. She asked if you were his wife. And then, her brother said that he thought you were more fun than his old wife, which probably had less to do with your personality and more to do with the paw shaped ice cream you had bought him twenty minutes earlier.

“And what did you tell her?” Gerard’s thumb stilled against your knee while he asked.

“That I was your friend.”

His eyes locked in the road, and you took a deep breath. Oxygenation didn't seem to work to your brain, because you now could smell the scent of his car, so distinctively Gerard that it made you feel even more nervous.

"Were you okay with calling me your ‘friend’?" Gerard kept his focus on the traffic. Every thought in your head vanished in the exact second he spoke as he pulled up to a red light and finally looked at you, taking his hand off of your knee to grab the gear shift.

His question caught you off guard; you didn’t have a rehearsed answer to it.

"What do you mean?" You turned toward him, suddenly hyperaware of the seat belt digging against your ribs.

"When she asked." His eyes stayed on the traffic ahead. “Would you have wanted to say something else?”

You opened your mouth but no answer came out. Of course, ‘friend’ hadn't described whatever this had become for weeks. And if you were able to listen to his frantic heartbeat, it would have prepared you for his following words.

“I’m asking because I would.”

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