HopelessRomantic!

The late afternoon sun bled beautiful hues of golden yellow and orange across the sky.

You hammered the final stake into the dirt, the tent now being safe from blowing away. The air was crisp, sharp even- it smelt of heavy pine needles, dirt, and little wood chips across the campsite.

Mikey was stuck at home, he was working on his finals, leaving you and Gerard. You were both around halfway through gap year- leaving you and him free for anything. This left you guys at the mercy of your mothers fantastic reunion.

You and Gerard were once inseparable, but the years pulled you both into separate orbits, separate friends, different places, and a strained relationship.

Although your relationship had changed, the distance felt fragile. You were both there like old times, being brought back together- and forced to be together.

Because Mikey wasn’t there, you and Gerard had to share a tent.

 Normally there would be three separate tents.

One for the moms,

One for you,

And one for Gerard and Mikey.

But of course your mom decided that you ‘don't deserve privacy.

The first thing you did when the tent was finished being set up, you shot in there- claiming your side of the tent. Then you basically ripped off your roadtrip clothes- slipping into your one piece swimsuit you still had from sophomore year.

It was tighter now, hugging the curves that weren’t there when you were in highschool. 

You stepped out into the melting daylight, your towel slung over your shoulder. Gerard’s looked up at you from the stump he was hunched on. He was frozen, his eyes swept over your figure, then rapidly back up to your face. A fierce crimson coated his neck and lower cheeks, as his Adam’s apple bobbed uncomfortably.

“C-can I come?” He asked, his voice cracking unnoticeably. 

“Obviously dork.” You replied, a teasing undertone.

The trek down to the water was quiet. The path  barely being illuminated by the now orangish red sky. You paused when the lake was in view. The scene was cinematic- the sky glinted and glittered against the murky water. The color looked less olive in the dusk. 

Jesus Christ you could have stood there for hours, counting each individual color that the water glimmered at you.

That’s when Gerard looked at you with a devilish grin, you immediately knew what he was thinking. 

In a split second, you and Gerard were rocketing down the trail, your bare feet sticking to the wood chips. When you both made it to the dock, you continued- quickly interlocking your arms and pulling your knees to chest. You both launched off the end of the dock in cannon balls. A giant wave splashing the end of the dock.

When you both came up for air, you continued to choke on your own laughter. 

…

An hour later, you were shivering and laughing over the crackling campfire. Your hair had dried- now all crispy- your towel was hanging loosely off your shoulders. 

You silently excused yourself to change into your dry clothes. Your mom was pretty tipsy, in deep gossip with Gerard’s mom. They paid no attention to you when you slipped into the dark tent. 

Your damp swimsuit was stubborn- clinging onto your skin. You had just managed to peel it off of your body, and slip clumsily into a clean pair of panties- when you heard the tent zipper rip open at a violent speed.

“I’m changing!” You shouted, your voice echoing in the confined space.

It was too late.

Gerard’s head poked through the flap.

The color drained from his face, before rushing back in a violent shade of purple. His eyes didn’t just land on you, they locked. Tracking every bare expanse of your skin. His eyes traced the curve of your hip, and the absolute lack of coverage. 

For a fraction of a second, he didn’t move. Then, all at once it did. He ripped his gaze from you, his jaw dropping as he fell back onto the grass outside the tent. The soft sound of punk rock flooding from his dropped headphones.

“Oh my god- I- I’m so soo sorry!-!” His voice was strained.

Furious, and embarrassed, you threw on your hoodie, and a soft pair of sweatpants and a rapid speed. You unzipped the flap once again, and stood over him, arms crossed.

“Did you seriously not hear me yell that I was changing?” You yelled, your eyes trained on his flustered face.

Gerard was flat on his back, his knees bent, and hands splayed on either of his sides. His eyes were wide and terrified(?). 

“I-I didn’t hear you, I swear- m- my volume was up!” His hand reached toward his headphones. “ I’m sorry- I - I swear it was n'accident!” His hands reached up, palms facing you in surrender.

…

The warmth of the campfire couldn't thaw the freezing awkwardness that settled over the rest of the evening. 

You moved your camp chair to the absolute opposite side of the pit, creating a deliberate barrier of smoke and snapping embers between yourself and Gerard. 

You refused to look at him directly, keeping your focus on the glowing coals, only tracking him through the very edge of your peripheral vision.

He wasn't handling it any better. 

Every time you accidentally shifted your gaze too far to the left, his eyes would instantly dart away. His face would flush a bright, unmistakable pink, and his right boot would start tapping a frantic rhythm against the dirt.

The shift in energy was loud enough to wake the dead. 

Your mom paused mid-sentence, looking between the two of you with a raised eyebrow, while Gerard's mom set her beer down.

"What are you two dorks worked up about?" she asked, inspecting Gerard's burning ears. 

"Did you guys seriously get into a fight already?"

“I’m jus’ tired…” you stated simply, now standing. leaning down, you gave both the moms a quick hug and a peck on the cheek as a goodnight.

 You didn't look at Gerard as you walked past him, heading straight for the shared tent to escape from drowning in the tension.

Sleep hit you like a brick. Bundled tightly inside your sleeping bag, curled on your side, as the exhaustion of the day took over. The tent was silent except for the rhythmic, faint whistle of your nose as you drifted into a deep slumber.

-

It was hours later when the zipper moved.

Gerard entered with agonizing slowness, trying to be a ghost, but the shifting of the tent floor woke you instantly.

The fire outside had died down into gray ash. And the only light source was the faint, pulsating neon green of fireflies blinking right outside the thin nylon mesh, casting rapid shadows across the small space.

Your eyes peeled open, heavy with sleep. You didn't move a muscle, watching through the gloom as Gerard sat on his sleeping bag and began untying his heavy leather boots. 

He dropped them with a soft thud. 

Then, his hands went to his waist.

 He unbuckled his jeans, the metallic clink sounding like a gunshot in the quiet night, and pushed them down around his ankles.

Your breath hitched. Your chest locked up, your breathing turning high-pitched and shallow as your eyes involuntarily dropped lower. 

Against the faint exterior light, the distinct, prominent silhouette of his cock was visible through his boxers.

Before you could look away, Gerard froze, and he turned his head.

In the dark, he couldn't see your face, but he could see the unmistakable, glossy glimmer of your wide-open eyes staring directly at his lap.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Gerard stood entirely still for three agonizing seconds, the outline of his arousal plain as day between you. 

Suddenly, he snapped out of it. He spun around, his back to you, and frantically snatched up his pajama pants, shoving his legs through them with clumsy haste.

He scrambled into his sleeping bag, pulling the zipper all the way up to his chin in one ragged motion.

"Goodnight," he whispered. 

His voice wasn't the stuttering pitch from earlier; it was a quiet, low, gravelly grumble that vibrated in the small tent.

You didn't answer. 

You couldn't.

 You lay perfectly still in the dark, your heart hammering against your ribs, entirely consumed by the terrifying, dizzying realization of just how turned on you were by the boy who was supposed to be your brother.

Fuck.

…

The next morning was bright and clear. The morning dew glittering off of the blades of grass.

By ten o'clock, you were sitting with the moms, drinking coffee by the crackling remains of the morning fire, feeling surprisingly chipper. 

The heavy, localized storm of tension from the night before seemed to have evaporated into the fresh spring air, leaving you talkative as you animatedly recounted a bizarre, vivid dream you'd had to an amused audience.

Gerard, true to form, didn't make an appearance until closer to lunchtime. He was a creature of the dark, always sleeping in late enough to miss the early morning chill. 

When the tent flap finally rustled, he essentially crawled out into the bright daylight, blinking like a dazed nocturnal animal as he made his way toward the main camp area.

Stopping a few feet away, he rubbed the heavy sleep from his eyes, his gaze locking instantly onto yours. 

His dark hair was a completely disheveled, chaotic bird's nest. He hadn't bothered to change; his soft flannel pajama pants hung low and loose on his hips, exposing the pale skin of his waist. A brief, charged look passed between you- a silent acknowledgment of the dark shadows from the night before-before he pulled his eyes away.

After that, the day blurred into a fast, uneven rhythm. 

You spent most of your time helping the adults with camp chores and firewood collection, while Gerard vanished entirely. 

The moms figured they had sent him out deep into the brush to find solid, thick fire starters, but as the hours ticked by without a sign of him, no one thought much of it. 

He was a wanderer.

 You had a nagging, unprompted feeling that he might have even been sneaking back into the shared tent, quietly digging through your things while the camp was empty, but you couldn't prove it.

By late afternoon, the moms dropped a bombshell. They decided the lakeside spot was too much trouble to maintain and declared that everyone would be packing up and relocating further inland by dawn tomorrow.

You were crushed. You loved being set up directly next to the water and immediately protested, trying to argue for the peace of the lake. But it was a losing battle against the real adults.

 Defeated, you decided you weren't going to let your remaining time go to waste. If tomorrow was your last day by the water, you were going to make the most of tonight.

At 10:00 PM, the camp was dead silent. Knowing your mom would absolutely forbid swimming alone in the pitch black, you waited until her steady, deep breathing signaled she was fast asleep before slipping out of the tent in your swimsuit.

The lake was an inkwell, cold and completely still. You swam out for quite a while, the chill of the water shocking your skin until your body went comfortably numb.

 Eventually, you stopped paddling, letting yourself simply float on the upper layer of the water, staring up at the blanket of stars.

The absolute silence broke when a tiny, fiery orange ember caught your eye. It was floating in the dark, hovering right above the end of the wooden dock.

You blinked the water from your eyes, treading softly. Gerard was standing at the edge of the platform, looking straight down at you through the gloom. A rolled joint was clamped between his fingers, the tip glowing angrily in the dark as he took a slow drag and blew out lazy, swirling halos of sweet smoke.

“Hey—where have you been all day?” you asked, your voice cutting lightheartedly through the quiet night air.

“Nowhere,” he said simply. His voice was casual, but there was a distinct, low drag to it.

It was completely dark out now. Without the fire, you could only see the sharp, faint outline of his frame standing tall above you against the night sky. You didn't even realize how hard your neck was craned backward until he spoke again, his eyes tracking your movements as you drifted closer to the edge of the dock, just staring up at him.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked softly.

He exhaled another thick cloud of smoke through his nostrils. The fragrance drifted downward, blending into the damp night air. Inhaling the faint, earthy scent made you feel a wave of overlaying euphoria, your head spinning just a little.

Underneath the water, your body felt electric. You were intensely glad that this trip hadn't landed on your period, but the alternative was proving to be a dangerous game: you were stuck here ovulating. And god, with the way the cool water swept over your bare skin, the primal, aching awareness of it was only becoming more and more noticeable.

Gerard lazily moved to the edge of the platform and sat down. He unlaced his heavy boots, pulling them off before dangling his bare feet over the side, letting them plunge into the water right near your shoulders.

“Did you watch me change last night?”

The question sliced through the quiet air like a razor blade.

“Wha—No!” you shouted, your voice jumping an octave, betraying your panic. You splashed slightly to keep yourself upright, your face burning despite the cold water. “I should be asking you! What exactly did you see when I was changing yesterday?” you added, throwing the defensive shield back up.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, as the two of you just gazed at each other. He was clearly high, his dark eyes half-lidded and distant, his posture slumped into a lazy, unbothered curve. The anger of your question seemed to wash right over him.

“You are seriously gorgeous, Y/N,” he whispered. His voice sounded soft, almost bubbly with a private, hazy adoration.

You froze, the water lapping against your chin as you just kept staring at him.

He was so fucking hot.

The sharp, perfect slope of his nose caught the amber light of the joint every time he took a breath. His eyelashes were long, dark, and wispy, casting heavy curtains over his beautiful eyes. And his lips—his soft lips were the perfect, bruised shade of pink in the dark, parting slightly to reveal the little snaggle teeth that poked through as he offered a slow, wicked smile. God, fuck.

“What?” he grinned, tilting his head. A few strands of disheveled dark hair fell into his face, an effortlessly flirtatious gesture that made your chest tighten.

“Nothing,” you bit your lower lip, dipping slightly lower into the safety of the water.

His pupils were blown completely wide, swallowing the irises whole as he stared down at you. Another long, torturous pause hung over the lake.

“Does—does this—” Gerard paused, lifting a hand to point his index finger back and forth in a small circle between the two of you. “Does this… us… feel different to you?” he softly questioned, the haze dropping for a fraction of a second to reveal a raw, vulnerable curiosity.

“Yes,” you admitted halfheartedly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it. You swam an inch closer, resting your forearms against the wet, splintered wood of the dock near his ankles. “What happens? What will we do?” you asked helplessly, looking up into his face.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur. He ripped his eyes away from yours, looking down at the dark ripples where the lake surrounded his ankles. “We really shouldn’t act on it…”

The night went entirely quiet after that, the finality of his words sinking into the dark water around you.

The next morning was a blur of aggressive packing. The moms were in high gear, barking orders about bungee cords and heavy coolers.

You kept your head down, methodically folding blankets inside the tent while Gerard pulled the metal stakes from the dirt outside.

That was when you noticed it.

Your duffel bag, which you had distinctly remembered zipping completely shut before heading to the lake last night, was sitting open. 

The fabric was pulled back, and right on top- resting against your sweaters was a pair of your lace underwear. It had been buried at the very bottom of the bag. 

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t need to guess who did it. A cold wave of shock washed over you, followed immediately by a heavy, confusing heat that pooled low in your stomach. 

Instead of running out of the tent and screaming, a strange, suffocating silence took over. You slowly zipped the bag shut, your heart pumping thick against your ribs. 

You chose to stay quiet. 

You didn’t say a word as you carried the bag outside, but the secret burned a hole in your chest.

The breaking point arrived an hour later.

To speed up the relocation, the moms sent the two of you ahead in Gerard’s beat-up truck to haul the first massive load of gear to the new inland campsite.

 The cab of the truck was a claustrophobic cage. The air was thick with the scent of old pine tree air fresheners, damp earth, and an unbearable, unsaid tension.

Gerard drove with both hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the winding, deserted dirt road. But he wasn't looking at the road. Every couple of seconds, his gaze would drop, helplessly tracking the bare skin of your legs where your shorts rode up your thighs.

He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. His breathing was shallow, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle began to spasm in his cheek.

It was exhausting. The blushing, the god- awful stuttering, the invasion of your privacy, and now? this pathetic, lingering staring. 

You snapped.

You reached out, violently slamming your hand against the radio dial, cutting off the rigid punk rock music into dead silence.

"Pull over," you demanded. Your voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the air.

Gerard flinched, his eyes darting to yours in pure panic. "W-what? We're supposed to get to the—"

"Pull the truck over, Gerard. Right now."

Scared by the venom in your tone, he yanked the wheel to the right. The truck kicked up dusty gravel as it skidded to a halt on the side of the deserted, heavily wooded road. The engine idled with a low, rumbling vibration.

"What's wrong? Are you- "

"Are you seriously going to keep pretending?" you interrupted, turning fully in your seat to face him. Your hands gripped the edge of the center console. 

"You've been acting like a complete freak since yesterday. You look at me like you're starving, you panic every time I look back, and you stand on the dock telling me we 'shouldn't act on it' like you're making some big, noble sacrifice."

Gerard's face instantly went from pale to a dark, suffocating crimson. He swallowed hard, staring at the steering wheel. "I- jus’- please, just let it go-"

"I found my bag, Gerard," you dropped the hammer, your voice lowering into a dangerous register. 

"I know you went through my stuff while I was out of the tent yesterday. You moved my underwear."

The silence that followed was absolute. 

Gerard had froze up completely, his entire body locking up as if he had just been struck by lightning. The color drained from his face entirely, leaving him looking sickly and undone.

"I-I didn't, I swear i-" he stammered, his voice cracking violently. 

He couldn't even form a coherent sentence. He looked so incredibly small in the driver's seat, his hands trembling against the steering wheel.

Instead of the normal triumph and pity, a hot wave of frustration and anger washed over you. Your chest tightened and your eyes blurred with burning tears. There was a tang of embarrassment from him digging in your personal items, but there was also a pull that you were feeling from it. You both were magnets. 

“Stop lying,” You started- trying to push the emotion down.

“Do you seriously think your the only one losing your mind over this? You drive me insane, Gerard. The way you look at me- I can’t- we aren’t supposed to feel this way, We are basically family!” Your voice was loud, and high pitched.

Gerard turned his head toward you. His dark eyes glossed over, and pupils blown. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

He opened his mouth to say something different, but before any noise came out, your lips slammed into his. Your eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as you began to move your mouth against his. He let out a choked whimper at the sudden contact.

His hands found your shoulders, and gently pushed you back into your seat. You stared at his eyes, then the way his hair was shoveled to the side, and stuck to his forehead from the heat.

His eyes stayed on your lips, plump and wet from the feverish kiss.

Slowly, you unbuckled your seatbelt- and you slid over the center console, straddling Gerard’s thick thighs. 

Gerard lightly gasped, his eyes tracking the way your pelvis ground into his. His hands flew up, pausing before he let them sit carelessly on your sides. 

“A- all I wa- wanted was- i-“ Gerard stuttered.

You cut him off. “All you wanted was what?” Your voice was condescending. 

“Show me…” your voice changed dramatically, becoming more velvety and sultry. You pushed your hips down against his again, another whimper escaping his lips. Your head moved closer to his again, your lips grazing the shell of his ear, while your hands trailed up his body, landing in his hair.

You tugged at the soft strands: “show me, Gerard.”

With that, his hips bucked up into yours- his hands sliding down to your hips to put more pressure on his groin. He grunted uselessly, his eyes screwing shut as he began to use you. 

Your fingers were still tangling in his hair, and your lips found his neck, nipping at his pulse point- and leaving dark purple circles all over.

He continued to grind into your clothed core- little grunts and whimpers kept leaving his mouth.

The grinding slowed, your hips rolling against his with deliberate pressure, drawing it out until Gerard's hands clawed at your hips, trying to push you faster, harder.

"Nuh-uh," you murmured against his throat, your teeth grazing his pulse point. "I said show me, baby."

A frustrated sound caught in his chest. His eyes were screwed shut, his jaw tight, his cock straining against his jeans so hard it had to be painful. He thrust up again, desperate, but you lifted your hips just enough to deny him the friction he was chasing.

His head fell back against the headrest with a thud. "Please," he breathed, the word broken. 

"Please, y/n." He said your name with devastation.

"Show me how much you want it."

His hands shook as they fumbled with his belt. The metal clinked and clattered, his movements frantic and clumsy, and you had to bite back a smile as you watched. He got his jeans undone, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers, his cock springing free, hard and slick at the tip- hitting his abdomen with an obscene slap.

You didn't move to touch him. You just sat there, watching, your hips hovering just above his.

"Fuck," he rasped, his hand wrapping around himself, pumping once, twice. "Fuck, look at you."

Your tank top was still on, your jeans still buttoned, and the sight of you fully clothed and perched on top of him like he was your throne had him leaking against his own fingers.

You reached down, your fingers circling his wrist, stopping him. "Not yet, Gerard."

You pulled your tank top over your head, unhooked your bra, and let it fall. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixed on your tits, his mouth falling open. You took his hand and guided it to your chest, letting him feel the weight of you in his palm.

"Feel me, Gerard."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hands were on you, calloused and rough, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked, until you were arching into his touch. His hips bucked up again, his cock sliding against the soaked seam of your jeans, and you let him- let him rut against you like a desperate school boy.

"Take these off," he begged, tugging at your waistband. "Please, baby. Please."

You held his gaze as you unbuttoned your jeans, as you lifted your hips and shimmied them down your thighs. Your panties followed, dark and soaked, and when you settled back on top of him, skin to skin, his cock pressed hot and urgent against your bare stomach.

He squirmed.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his length, guiding the head to your entrance. You dragged it through your slick folds, teasing both of you, watching his face twist with pleasure and desperation.

"Eyes up here," you demanded softly.

His eyes rolled up to yours. He was looking up at you, his face tilted down slightly so he was looking at you through his eyelashes.

You sank down.

The sound he made- a strangled, broken moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

It was worth everything.

His hands flew back down to your hips, his grip bruising as you took him inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, your breath hitching at the fullness.

When you were seated completely, you paused, feeling each and every inch of his length.

"Fuck," he breathed out, his head lolling back. 

"Fuck, no- no i- I can’t y/n"

"Shh." You leaned forward, your lips brushing his. 

"I know, baby. I know, I've got you."

You started to move.

Slow at first, a heavy roll of your hips that had his nails digging into your skin, and his mouth falling open in a silent cry. You set the pace, rising and falling, taking him deep and pulling back until just the tip remained, then sinking down again.

The car windows fogged. His hands roamed your body- your tits, your waist, your ass- he was gripping and releasing like he couldn't decide where to settle.

"H-harder," he gasped. "Plea- please go harder-"

You planted your hands on his chest, your nails raking down his skin as you rode him, fast and deep, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the enclosed space. His hips bucked up to meet yours, meeting you thrust for thrust, his control completely shattered.

"Yes," you sighed, feeling him twitch inside you. "That's it."

His hand found your clit, his thumb pressing tight speedy circles, as you cried out, your rhythm faltering as the pleasure coiled tight and hot in your tummy.

"Come on," he urged, his voice rough, wrecked. "Cum for me, sweetheart. I'm right there- I feel you,"

Your orgasm hit you, wave after wave pulling you under. Your walls squeezed around him, pulsing, and Gerard followed with a broken cry, his release flooding you, his body shuddering beneath yours as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

You collapsed against his chest, your forehead resting in the crook of his neck, both of you breathing hard. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your hair.

Neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your mingled breaths and the faint hum of the forest surrounding the both of you.

…

When the truck finally pulled into the clearing of the campsite, you were surprised to see that most of the work was already done. The fire pit was prepped, and the two tents were already pitched beneath the pine trees.

Your mothers were sitting on a fallen log near the edge of the site, sharing a thermos and looking relaxed.

"There you are!" your mom called out, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. 

"We thought maybe the old truck had finally given up the ghost on those mountain passes."

"It... it had a bit of trouble," Gerard stammered, climbing out of the cab, and heading to the back to unload the remaining crates. 

"We had to pull over for a while."

Gerard’s mom exchanged a look with your mother, a look that was a little too knowing, a little too satisfied.

"Well, it’s a good thing we got a head start on the camp, then," she said, her tone light and airy. 

"Since it took so much longer than expected, we decided to simplify things. We’re heading into the village to grab some real food for dinner. We'll be back late."

A strange feeling prickled at the back of your neck. You watched them walk toward the other car, waving over their shoulders. 

As soon as their taillights disappeared down the dirt road, you turned toward the main tent to drop off your duffel bag.

Stepping inside, you realized why they had been so eager to "simplify?"

The tent was much smaller than the one you’d used previously. Inside, the two individual sleeping bags hadn't just been laid out- they had been zipped together into one large, shared bed. Resting on the center of the pillows was a small envelope.

Gerard stepped in behind you, pausing as he saw the layout. "Wait, did they...?" He said, trailing off..

You opened the envelope. Inside was a note in familiar, loopy handwriting.

———

The forest is much quieter at night than the lake. We figured you two might appreciate a little extra warmth. See you in the morning. P.S. We left some 'supplies' in the side pocket.

——— You looked at Gerard, and then at the side pocket of the tent, which held a travel-sized bottle of massage oil and a small box of chocolates.

"I think," you whispered, a laugh finally bubbling up in your chest, "that our moms have been planning this camping trip for a very different reason than hiking."

Gerard looked at the note, then at the shared bed, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. The embarrassment faded, replaced by relief that the ‘secret’ was out.

"Well…" he said, stepping closer and taking your hand. 

"It seems like they finally got tired of waiting for us to figure it out ourselves."

Gerard thought of two things: Either you were bold and unafraid of speaking your mind, or you were just blatant and obviously flirting with him. Both opinions were just as appealing for him.

You walked into the kitchen with the first dress that seemed decent enough for this kind of event, grinning at the screen and Ryan caught your expression. He started groaning loud enough to be heard from the outside of your apartment.

“Oh, you’re getting laid this weekend.”

“No, I am not.” Complaining, you checked yourself on the mirror. “It has been like… five messages.”

“You’re getting laid at the thirty messages mark, then.”

“Dude, we're just having a casual conversation.”

“Everything starts with a casual conversation.”

The debate kept going while you got dressed for a birthday dinner you had forgotten about until that same evening. Of course, after taking pictures of the happiest day of someone else’s life made you forget a little about your own life, but it’s fine. The wedding paid well enough.

While your friends finished getting ready and raided the remains of alcohol in the bottles of your fridge, you kept answering some of your matches from the apps. Especially those coming from the guy with the orange head and the suspiciously colorful clothing choices.

So far, he was enjoyable. Gerard was dry in the way that fit the generational gap that only you knew you had. He answered questions and asked them back, and didn't text like a man trying to speedrun intimacy, although you wouldn’t be opposed to that idea. By the time that you were in your friend’s car, silently regretting wearing your designer perfume since it was too much for this occasion, you knew he designed characters for animation and game studios besides his personal projects, had been divorced for a little over a year, avoided to eat meat for his morals and had once spent four hundred dollars on imported watercolor paper.

He also found out you shot concerts and portraits, lived in an apartment with terrible water pressure, and had recently taken a picture of a band in an anti-drug bathroom because “the lighting was cooler there.”

You had to read that twice before answering.

By the time you got to the restaurant with your very loud friends who wanted to take away your phone, Gerard had asked if you wanted to get a drink with him later that week. It wasn’t a vague “we should hang sometime” or a direct invitation to his place. He suggested a time and a day with a straightforward question.

And he did. Gerard texted you less than three minutes later. And it made you be on your phone and miss a couple of the jokes your friends made because you were way too focused on your phone screen.

And the chatting continued over the next few days. If one conversation ended because Gerard had a meeting or you got pulled into work, another one quietly began a few hours later. He disappeared when he was busy, then came back with a photo of whatever he was doing, a song recommendation, or an observation that reminded him of something you'd said earlier.

You found yourself reaching for your phone whenever something mildly entertaining happened during the day and more often than not, Gerard answered with the same dry humor that had made you swipe right in the first place. He occasionally disappeared for a few hours because of work and every time he came back, he picked up the conversation exactly where it had been left. No apologies.

By Wednesday evening, it felt perfectly normal to hear from him. And you had arranged dinner and drinks with your friends a few days before, and the certainty that someone would insist on taking a group picture before the night was over. You started talking about details of yourlives between drinks and appetizers.

One friend complained about someone who had spent three days asking for her Instagram before ghosting her the moment she agreed to meet.

"And you?" Ryan asked, turning toward you. "You still talking to that older guy?" You nodded. "How's that going?"

"Good." They waited for more, but nothing came. “I know that's a boring answer."

"So make it less boring," another friend said. "Have you met yet?"

"We're meeting tomorrow. I am kinda nervous, actually."

One of your friends asked for a picture, and you showed her his profile picture on your phone. She whistled in signal of approval.

"Cute. Do you actually like him?"

"I do. So far, he seems nice."

A brief silence settled around the table before Alessia spoke.

"Honestly, just go on the date, get laid, have fun."

"You've known him for, what, a week?" Ryan added. "If you like each other, great. If you don't, that's fine too."

Thursday evening, your phone buzzed. You stared at the screen. Who even called these days? Calls usually meant someone had died, someone's car had broken down or a nasty breakup. You were bracing yourself at the catastrophe waiting for you on the other side of the line, but you were greeted by a pleasant phrase on your phone.

Gerard Calling

You answered a little more quickly than you would have expected. You were eager to know his voice.

"...Hello?"

"I was beginning to think you'd let it ring forever."

You laughed, taken aback by his surprisingly sweet and slightly high-pitched voice.

"I was just surprised. I don’t usually call." You settled against your couch.

"I figured it'd be easier to talk like this."

"I can always get used to it."

"So," he said. "What are you doing?"

You looked around your apartment.

"I was cleaning my apartment but I am failing.”

"I respect the honesty."

"And what about you?" You sat down on your sofa, trying to sound as non-chalant and relaxed as you could.

"I'm finishing a sketch."

"Can I see?"

"Definitely… When it stops looking embarrassing."

"You are so dramatic. Whatever you do, I will probably be impressed"

"I have a reputation to maintain."

You talked for almost an hour. You liked his little accent and how with certain words he had a little lisp. He talked to you about concerts, childhood cartoons and your favorite things. By the time you hung up, you realized that you didn’t feel the need to scroll down Instagram Reels not even once. And you stopped thinking about him when you returned to your cleaning duties. When you were focused on scrubbing the bathroom sink, the buzz in your phocket took you out of your trance. You checked it.

Friday morning, your phone buzzed again. This time it was a freaking voice note. You raised an eyebrow before pressing play.

I walked past a record store this morning and they were playing Bowie. I think that was your fault. And now I've had 'Life on Mars?' stuck in my head for twenty minutes. So... thanks for that.

You could hear traffic in the background, the very small vibration in his vocal chords at the end of the sentences. The recording ended and you had no reason to feel so giddy. You giggled out loud in the middle of your kitchen. Without thinking, you held down the little microphone icon.

I am controlling the music all over the world just to bother you. And you know what? That’s a wonderful song to have stuck in your head. You have nothing to complain about.

You sent it, and before you even could think about it properly, you recorded another one.

See you tonight.

You replayed his message once before putting your phone down. It felt surprisingly natural, as if you'd been talking this way for much longer than a few days.

The nervousness started at around four in the evening, the time you started getting ready. You took the most meticulous shower you have taken in the past few months.

At least you knew Gerard liked you, it was obvious. Or he was into you. You were more afraid of the connection and the humor not surviving the face-to-face communication.

You had tried to do the math to arrive a little late on purpose, and it worked because you found him already outside, looking like he had been there for a while but had too much dignity to mention it.

When he spotted you stepping out onto the sidewalk, six minutes late, he had to mentally ground himself.

Gerard did not strike you as a dramatic man, but you could tell that his face showed a soft smile that reached his eyes when the recognition hit him. Then, he straightened his posture a little too quickly as if he had just remembered he was supposed to look normal.

To put it plainly, the photos had been unfair.

The first thing you had noticed about Gerard in person was that he looked taller than you had expected and somehow even more put together than in his pictures.

He stood beside a dark car parked along the curb, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, the other holding his phone as he glanced between the screen and the entrance of your building with glasses low on his nose while he looked down at his phone, thumb moving slowly over the screen. 

He offered to pick you up, but you weren’t suicidal enough to give a stranger your address, no matter how hot, charming or funny they were. You may have texted a guy your address, but never told him that it was you who lived there.

He wore dark jeans, boots, and a nice button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Casual enough to suggest he had not overdressed and neat enough to suspect that he absolutely had spent, at least, ten minutes checking his closet and asking on Reddit if his outfit choice was nice enough to distract his first date from his dyed hair. Something that he would definitely do if he was going out on a first date for the first time in God knows how long.

You took your time walking toward him, thinking a little but too much on the movement of your feet mostly because you wanted the extra few seconds to look at him. And also because you didn’t want to trip and humiliate yourself. You knew it was a bold choice to wear these uncomfortable shoes to a date.

You shouldn't have listened to Ryan’s styling tips.

Gerard moved toward you before you reached the car.

“Hey, hello!”

“Hi.”

He smiled again, smaller this time, and looked at you with enough appreciation to make you feel seen. “You look nice.”

Nice. What a stupid choice of words. He definitely needed to update his flirting vocabulary. But hey, at least it was direct, and you didn’t seem to be grossed out by it.

“You look well yourself, too.” You tucked a strand of your loose hair behind your ear and smiled.

“Thank God,” Gerard said quietly. “I was trying to avoid colors since the hair is distracting enough.”

“It's not distracting, it looks good on you. Makes your freckles pop.”

You laughed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased immediately.

Wow. You noticed he had freckles.

Hopeful you wouldn't notice that he was blushing, too.

He reached for the passenger door and opened it for you before you could even think about touching the handle. You paused with one hand against the top of the doorframe and looked at him.

“People still do this?”

“What?” His brow lifted.

“Open the door.”

“I would hope so. I do it, at least.” Gerard gave you a puzzled look, but he didn't find any trace of negativity in your eyes.

You slid into the seat, still smiling. He shut the door with a quiet laugh and walked around to the driver’s side. He wore a cologne so nice and unique that it was definitely going to remind you of him every time you smell something even remotely similar.

The inside showed no signs of clutter or layers of dust. No mysterious children's toys in the backseat or blonde strands of hair in the passenger seat. 

Once he got in, he set his phone in the holder glued to the console and glanced over at you.

Interesting. He wasn't hiding his phone. Which could mean a few things: One; he was actually being honest and open about what's in there, or two; he's a liar who has everything hidden. Maybe he even has a second phone, who knows.

Both of you fastened your seat belts at the same time.

“Comfortable?”

“Very. Does this car have heated seats?”

“Oh, yes. Is it a bad thing?” he asked, pulling away from the curb. “I’d hate for the first impression to be ruined by my car.”

“Nah, it's fine. I am a little jealous, mine doesn’t.” He laughed, trying carefully to drive and touch the screen on his phone to connect the speakers to his Spotify account. You turned toward him in your seat. “So, we finally meet in person.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t know when was the right time to meet each other”

“I think this week was enough, don’t you?”

He let out a quiet laugh through his nose and glanced at you as he started driving.

“I mean, yeah. I was under the impression that I was competing with at least ten other men to get to go on a date with you.”

“Please, ten?” You scoffed. “It was nine.” You lied.

“Ah. Then I’m honored.”

You watched him smile at the road and felt that to be disgustingly annoying. The immediate rush of attraction you had been trying very hard to keep under control all week came back with all its force now that you had him within an arms distance.

He was handsome in pictures but even more in real life. The stupid dyed hair that didn’t show any growth at the roots, the broad shoulders, the pretty nose and his great sense of humor was enough to knock the breath out of you. 

You were begging with every strand of DNA inside of your body that he wouldn't do or say anything that might ruin the moment. You would have never expected such fine specimen of a man to swipe right to your profile, even less than he would actually text you, leave alone the fact that you were now in his car sharing your location with two different groupchats because you were going on a date.

Of course, you had to go all out for this joyous occassion. And what best occasion to do this than wear a lip gloss you were still paying in monthly installments after three months. And also some extra years of life that you did not live.

“So,” Gerard said, glancing at her as they stopped at a red light, “I should probably confess something before we get to the restaurant.”

Your stomach dropped straight into your feet.

You were hoping that he was going to say that he was a murderer. Or that he's looking for someone to join their open relationship. Or that he thinks that you fit perfectly into his new business idea that allows you to make passive income from home and minimal investment.

Those options seemed way better than finding out that he had found your Instagram last night, had done the math and realized that you were younger than you said you were. That he had seen your immaturity through the lie and still showed up to publicly humiliate you inside his expensive, automatic car. 

You still kept your expression smooth through force of will, your experience working in customer service showing through. “Okay, go on.”

“I changed shirts three times.”

The soft hum of his car and low music on the background were the only sounds filling the silence. You stared at him.

“That’s your confession?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I didn't know if I should wear something casual or a little more dressed up, so I came up with this at the last minute…”

“Now that we're both even...” He sighed, tapping the steering wheel once with his thumb as the light turned green. “I was trying to decide how much effort says ‘I’m interested’ versus how much effort says ‘I own a comic collection.’”

You laughed so hard that you had to cover your mouth to not humiliate you. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself for getting a laugh out of you. “This one won because it seemed the least likely to make me look like an idiot.”

“It works.”

“Does it?”

“It does. Makes you look nerdy in a cool way.”

“Oh my... You know exactly what a man like me wants to hear.”

Just like that, the ten-minute drive was filled with casual conversation, covering topics and things that you had mentioned during those late night talks you have already had but they helped to break the ice a little.

The restaurant he had picked had brick walls and the stupid sort of menu that said that they “do things a little differently here” to justify charging eighteen dollars for a simple dish. Other than that, it was nice without being obnoxious about it. 

Gerard, once again, opened the door for you and this time you just looked at him while stepping onto the sidewalk.

You two walked around the inside of the restaurant looking for a table to sit down at. It took you just one look to agree without words on a table tucked away close to the corner and next to the window. And as you were sliding your purse out of your shoulder, he quite literally moved the chair for you.

“You really do this every time?” The smile you were trying—and failing—to hide betrayed you.

“I was raised correctly,” he said. “Or maybe I'm old fashioned like that.”

Hot.

“My mother taught me those things though. My brother tried his best, but his lessons were more focused on how to lie if I ever broke the decorations on the fireplace.”

“That’s super important for survival.” You answered as he sat down on his own chair in front of you. "What did you break?"

“A vase, I was ten and wanted to fit in. I was really bad at soccer,” He flinched a little as his memories flooded his mind. “In my defense, it was a very ugly vase, but it was my great grandma's or something.”

“Did your brother help you cover it up?”

“He told me to act surprised and say I found it like that.”

You looked up at him. “And did you?”

“I cried before I got through the sentence. I felt so guilty.”

You laughed again, and the hostess that came at the right second smiled at you both in that knowing way people do when two people arrive carrying the bright, nervous energy of a first date. She left one menu for the each of you and then he proceeded to ask what kind of food you wanted to eat, and if you were feeling like drinking alcohol.

Normal questions that you weren’t used to get asked.

“I’m adjusting.”

“To the bar?” Looking around him, he questioned if it was a great choice.

“Adjusting to the fact that you open doors and slide chairs”

He looked faintly amused. “I can stop if it’s upsetting.”

“No, please. I want to see where this goes.”

“It usually goes to me also paying for dinner and getting judged by women under thirty.”

“I’m...” You caught yourself just in time before you messed it all up. “Still in my twenties,” and the smile you gave him didn't quite reach your eyes.

Gerard didn’t seem to notice. “That’s still under thirty.”

A server came by with water and took your drink order. Gerard asked for a negroni and you ordered something pink and sweet with a sugared rim and a weird name. Gerard glanced at the cocktail menu, then at you, but didn’t comment on it.

Each drink came with a sticker of a certain artist. The Negroni came with a Ramones ones and yours with a Britney sticker.

“You picked that just to embarrass my taste, didn’t you?”

“I picked it because I’m fun, who doesn't love Britney?” Instead of fighting back like you would usually do, you smiled sweetly.

“Okay, I do love some bubblegum pop.”

“Are you going to make fun of my fun drink when it arrives?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. I’d worry if you don’t.”

He folded his menu and set it aside. “So. I’ve spent the past week learning about your friends, your opinions on rock music, and your hatred of doing the laundry.”

You leaned back in your chair. “Hate is a strong word. I heavily despise it. You also know I once almost got expelled at school from painting a heart with spray paint.”

“I was actually waiting for the full story on that.”

“It sounds cooler than it was. There was paint, I wanted to look cool and knew how to draw a heart.”

“I think it's brave of you that you’re willing to admit that.”

“Only because I survived my parent's scolding. The money for the paint came from my savings.”

The drinks arrived and Gerard analyzed yours for a long moment. Your drink was bright pink. It had raspberries on the bottom, a sprig of mint, a sticker attached to the straw and enough granulated sugar around the rim to concern a dentist.

He looked at it and remembered that you had ordered it. It seemed fitting for you.

“That looks radioactive.”

“It’s beautiful.” You removed the sticker and took a sip from the straw. While you sucked on the little plastic tube, as much as you wanted this man, you tried to avoid his eyes to not look so desperate. “And delicious. I say you’re jealous.”

Gerard tasted his negroni —without a straw— and gave a slow nod. “I am definitely not jealous of your liquid candy.”

“You should be. You want a taste?”

“Mhm, okay.”

And he took a sip from the same straw, which you found interesting.

He took some time to process the taste, the thinnest line forming between his eyebrows as he chewed and smacked his lips a little.

“It's great, not my cup of tea though.”

He said it in the same tone one might use for a child presenting a shapeless drawing. You giggled and sat back again, and Gerard watched you with a look that made your chest tighten in a way you deeply resented. He listened with his whole body and looked at you like he was interested in every sentence before you had even finished saying it.

You needed to go home with him.

“So,” you said, curling both hands around you glass. “Tell me something you did not put in your profile.”

He considered it, trying to find something to tell you that might not throw him under the bus. “I am actually bad at playing the guitar. My two best friends are literally at Jimi Hendrix level.”

“I need to judge that for myself. They didn't teach you?”

“Oh, they tried. Trust me.”   “I failed.”

“That’s nice but I need more facts.”

He smiled. “I hold one of the biggest special-edition comics collections in the country.”

“You do?” You eyebrows shot up. He had told you that he had a collection, but never specified how big.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Gerard took a slow sip of his drink, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Enough that I lost count a long time ago. It takes like… Three entire walls in my house.”

You laughed so suddenly that the people at the next table glanced over.

“Gerard, sorry for talking about money, but that sounds… Expensive.”

“I have been collecting ever since I am fifteen, so it’s difficult to know how much money I had spent.”

“How much approximately?”

He lowered his voice like he was confessing to tax fraud. “I could've bought an apartment, probably.”

In Manhattan. With a bath tub, washer and dryer and backyard access.

You slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing louder. “No way.”

“Some of them were gifted, though… I can resell them someday and make double.”

“That does not help your case.”

“Trust me, it's an investment.”

You were still grinning when the server came to take your orders. Gerard asked what you wanted first, and when you hesitated between two things, he suggested to order both and share. You agreed.

“Do you trust me with your food on the first date?”

“No,” he said. “I’m trying to impress you with different options.”

“Good answer.”

You had ordered too much on purpose.

Once the menus were gone and the first wave of small talk had passed, he told you about his studio, about spending twelve hours drawing the same hand from six different angles because one art director had told him that the fingers looked like playdough. He had to ask a friend for a video of her doing random hand gestures to use as a guide.

You told him about the time you and your friends had come back drunk to your friend’s dorms, managed to sneak in and had to sleep in the bathroom and leave before sunrise. Gerard laughed into his glass and shook his head.

You were used to first dates being performances with snacks. A series of selective truths, and trying to seem interesting without appearing to care. Gerard made the whole thing feel less exhausting. It was nice to know what when you mentioned a photographer you loved, he knew her work. When he talked about animation, he did it without condescension or the bored confidence of a man explaining his own job like a TED Talk.

He really was older and divorced, you thought. And it showed in the way he spoke without rushing to fill the silence, in the way he held eye contact without making it feel like a game. Gerard did not seem interested in performing coolness. And you, although very aware of common sense and remembering that he was still just a man at the end of the day, found that very hot.

“And how bad was downloading the app for you?” you asked. You wanted to know the reason why a man who seemed so cool was single, and asking about his divorce on the first date wasn’t the right move. You had to work around with the crumbs of information he would give you and read between lines.

He had also seem to not really be into dating apps. You figured that either he could be faking it or he actually did to not go on many dates.

Gerard groaned and tipped his head back, brushing his hair back. “Honestly? Humiliating.”

“Walk me through it.” 

“My friends came over and downloaded it without my permission.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, smiling through the shame. “And they went through my phone gallery choosing pictures. They left the bio for me to write, though.”

You laughed. “So I guess it worked?”

“Apparently yes, because I’m here.” The side smirk he gave you told you enough. “They refused to let me add pictures of my nerdy stuff though. And then they forced me to write a bio while all three of them shouted suggestions over each other.”

“Is there anything that you wanted to put in and you didn't?”

“That I don't like parties or going out.”

“Really?” Your smile dropped as you nearly dropped your glass.

“Yeah, never got into it.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Frank, my friend, told me to not write it because it will make me get less matches or something. Something about the algorithm picking it up, he said.”

“Did you keep that friend?”

“Unfortunately. He’s here to stay.”

You laughed into your hand while Gerard shook his head and looked down at his drink.

He couldn't get mad at his friends, they are the reason why he's on a date with a pretty woman at the end of the day.

“And then what?” you asked.

“And then I matched with a photographer who had a picture holding a drink that seemed to be three feet tall and thought that seemed promising.”

“It was my birthday present.” You narrowed your eyes, remembering that day. Not quite. Remembering the few fragments you could collect from your memory of that day.

“Did you drink the whole thing?”

“We all drank the whole thing. I took it to the after party.”

“And it didn't get warm?” He asked, way too invested in the story.

“None of us were conscious enough to care.”

He laughed, and you found yourself staring at the shape of it, at the way his mouth curved around amusement like he didn’t use it carelessly.

The food arrived all together and quickly took over half the table. Gerard thanked the server every single time she set something down. It should not have been attractive because that's basic human decency, but it was nice to see. He served you first, passing over plates and nudging the better-looking portions toward your side.

“You’re very polite,” you whispered after he handed you the last dish, not being aware that he had picked it up.

Gerard glanced up. “Is that still a bad thing?”

“What? No. Sorry, it was just a silly comment.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m too old to pretend not to have table manners.”

“I have the feeling that you keep saying things like that on purpose.” Grabbing your fork to start eating, you avoided his eyes this time.

“Like what?”

“Too old, your age… Stuff like that. You want me to object.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Gerard smiled into his glass and took another sip.

You stared at him for a moment before leaning forward the table. You remembered, in fact, you checked his profile many times this week. You looked at him over the rim of your glass, and for a second the teasing slipped. He was watching you with that same warm, careful focus.

What if he had lied about his age like you did?

“How old are you, exactly?”

He met her eyes. “Thirty-nine.”

You already knew that. His profile had said thirty-nine, and you had spent a full twenty minutes thinking before deciding that thirty-nine was close enough to thirty-five if nobody thought too much about it.

Still, hearing him say it out loud did something strange to you.

Maybe it was the confidence or it was the simple fact that he looked like a man who had lived an actual adult life. Or simply that you liked older men.

“And how old are you, exactly?” he asked.

The smile never left your face, but you felt the lie caught in your throat, hiding in a neat little dress with lip gloss on.

“Twenty-nine,” you said smoothly.

The answer came out easy because you had practiced it.

You let the little wheel with numbers on the app roll a little bit more late one night with the casual recklessness of someone changing a typo in a normal text message, thinking it would widen the pool and wouldn’t really matter because you rarely took any of these men seriously anyway.

Then Gerard had happened, which felt inconsiderate since he had shown you to be genuine so far. He nodded once and cut into a piece of grilled fish like he had no reason in the world to doubt you. “You seem twenty-nine”

“And what does twenty-nine seem like?” As the napkin wiped your lips, you asked.

He looked up, considering you with open amusement. “Like you are enjoying your last hangovers before age catches up to you.”

“Very insightful,” you laughed, because he was right.

“I’m observant.” He spoke, resting his elbows on the table and locking his hands together.

“You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“I’m lucky in general tonight.”

He said it lightly, but his eyes stayed on your a beat longer than necessary, and the heat climbed right back into your face. You could only look down at the plate before you did something embarrassing, like smiling too hard or throwing yourself at him.

At one point you just had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to give yourself a second to text your friends to let them know that the date with the old man went well and to catch your breath.

He looked even older in person than he had in photos. Thirty-nine suited him, and it showed in the details and in the way he had asked if you wanted another drink only after noticing you had finished the first one and not a second earlier.

Twenty-nine felt flimsy in your mouth all of a sudden.

You had to come back to the table.

By the time dinner plates had been cleared, you had learned that Gerard had once spent three months helping design creatures for a game that never got released and that that you weren’t a great dancer, that you had once accidentally made out with a woman in a bathroom line because they were both drunk and you had mistaken her for someone else, and that you also liked old horror movies even when they were not realistic.

“Any favorites?” Gerard asked.

You listed three, and felt a little proud when he nodded approvingly at two of them, looked disgusted by the third, and then spent five full minutes explaining why it was “a waste of budget” while you laughed.

By dessert, you were leaning forward over the table, chin in hand, listening to him talk about an animator he admired while pretending you were not looking at his mouth every time he smiled. He spoke with his hands, something that definitely didn't go unnoticed by you.

Gerard, to his credit, seemed to be having a similar problem.

You had noticed it first when you licked a bit of the whipped cream of your dessert from the edge of the spoon and his sentence faltered for half a second before he recovered, clearing his throat. Then again when you pulled your hair back and let your necklace dangle a little bit in from your neck, and his gaze dipped briefly to your chest before snapping back up to your face with enough restraint to earn him an award.

The check came without either of you asking for it. Gerard reached for it automatically.

You were faster than him. “No.”

“No?” He looked up, his orange hair catching the warm light of the restaurant. 

“I can pay. Or we can split.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“Then let me.”

“Nope, sorry.” Gerard smiled and kept one hand on the little leather folder. “I invited you.”

“That feels archaic.”

“That’s because I’m old and mysterious.”

“You really won’t let me split it?” You narrowed your eyes.

“I really won’t. I asked you out, I pay.”

“Fine. But I need you to know I am really uncomfortable.”

“Come on. You aren’t.” He teased you, grinning a little bit.

You folded your arms. “I am uncomfortable at how little I don’t like it.”

He paid before you could keep arguing, thanked the server, and stood to help you into your coat. Sadly, you couldn’t see how much he tipped, but it didn’t look like a little. His hand settled lightly at the middle of your back as you walked out of the restaurant, and that tiny point of contact gave you goosebumps.

The night air outside had cooled just enough to feel good on the skin.

Gerard stopped beside the car and looked at you. “Do you want me to take you home?”

Polite and casual. He really had a way with words. He was giving you enough space to let you know if you didn’t want to keep going with this, but also there was a silent and mutual awareness of the fact that the date had gone very well and both of you knew it, and didn’t want to end it yet.

You looked at the patience in his expression and the way he was giving you room to decide without pressure. At the small, almost careful smile at the corner of his mouth.

Then you glanced down the street toward the bar with the music.

“Actually,” and you paused, “I’m not ready to go home yet.”

Gerard’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “No?”

“Nope.” You stepped a little closer, enough to smell his cologne again, warm and clean and annoyingly good. “There’s a place around the corner that does live music on Fridays. Unless that’s too reckless for your very mature, old and planned evening plans.”

He looked down at you with that amused, focused expression that was quickly becoming a problem.

“Are you making fun of me because I made a dinner reservation?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Gerard smiled, rising his arms in surrender. “Lead the way.”

The bar was dim, crowded, and much louder than the restaurant had been. A local band was halfway through a cover of something seventies and dramatic, and every small table near the stage was already full. Gerard kept a hand at your back as they made their way toward the bar, more to keep from losing each other in the crowd than out of any need to perform chivalry, though you suspected that he enjoyed that part too.

You ended up in a narrow pocket of space near the side wall with drinks in hand and barely enough room between them for plausible deniability. You left your bag and yoru coats in a bar stool close to you.

“This seems more your kind of thing,” Gerard said, glancing around at the crowd.

“Explain my kind of thing, please.”

“This place fits your vibe, as much as I can tell.”

Gerard didn’t know you very much, but he could definitely tell that you were more energetic and carefree than him, which seemed a great fit for him during this time of his life.

The band shifted into another song, and his sudden interest into the people playing on stage allowed you to notice something Gerard clearly hadn't.

People looked at him, rheir attention stood on him for a few seconds before moving on. A woman waiting for her drink glanced over while he spoke, a pair of guys near the bar gave him a quick look as he spoke to you about the bass of the guy playing. Even the bartender seemed to brighten when Gerard stepped up to order.

Gerard carried on without a trace of self awareness of the effect the held on other people. Pretty privilege at its finest.

You moved half a step closer to Gerard without realizing. The mental essay on men and their privilege you were writing in your mind distracted you from the fact that his attention stayed exactly where he wanted it: You.

Eventually, after both of you pulled out your phones to take short videos and pictures, you stopped caring about the band playing and returned to the conversation.

When you spoke, he listened with complete focus. He smiled easily, asked questions, remembered details from conversations you'd had over text. Every so often he laughed, and the expression reached his eyes before fading into the same relaxed smile he seemed to wear naturally. You had a feeling he had no idea how handsome he actually was. Or maybe he did, and it wasn't something that showed.

His free hand came up to your waist at one point, and you cheered internally. The conversation wasn't interesting enough and, honestly, your lips could do the talking anyway. He felt the same way, because Gerard’s eyes dropped to your mouth and then came back up to your eyes, slower. The noise of the bar seemed to pull away from you both all at once.

“Are you having a great time?” he asked, and his voice had changed a little, dropping a few tones. 

You nodded, aware at the contact of his hand was still at your waist. Neither of you seemed to rush to address that. And the lack of hurry in that allowed tension to build. Gerard’s gaze moved over your face, as if he was trying to make a responsible decision and failing by degrees.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

The question was enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach.

Quiet and direct, he asked like he genuinely cared whether you wanted him to. The smile came faster than you meant to, and you couldn't fight back the urge to tease him a little.

“Do you always ask first?”

“Usually.”

Not exactly.

He didn't have to ask his ex-wife to kiss her, and he doesn't really remember when was the last time he kissed someone who wasn't her.

“That’s very polite.”

“I’m trying to seduce you, not alarm you.”

How wonderful it was to listen first-hand that he was interested in you. And even more wonderful was the fact that both of your smiles synced.

You let your hand reach up, touched two fingers to the collar of his shirt, and said, “Yes.”

He kissed you carefully soft, giving you room to change your mind if you felt like it. One hand stayed at your waist while the other came up to rest lightly against your jaw, his thumb just beneath your cheekbone. The first kiss was warm enough to make you melt.

The second kiss was purely to analyze the other, to know the way their lips moved and exactly how much tongue you were willing to use.

You leaned into him, and if it wasn't because your hand was touching his throat and you felt the vibration, you wouldn't have realized that Gerard had moaned.

You kissed him back with enough enthusiasm to make your point clear: You wanted him. Gerard’s hand tightened slightly at your waist before he forced himself to ease up again, which you found both gentlemanly and extremely inconsiderate.

When you finally pulled apart, it was only far enough to look at each other. Gerard was still holding your face in one hand while the front of his shirt was securely clutched in your hand.

“Well,” you said softly, because somebody had to say something stupid after a kiss and you had never once made a wise choice in your life, “that was way better than your profile pictures.”

“What a relief.” He laughed, forehead nearly touching hers. “You are trouble, indeed.” Gerard smiled, slightly dazed at the realizaiton of what he had just actually done.

“You say that like you don’t enjoy it.” You tilted your head while still feeling your lips wet from the kiss.

“I never said I don’t.”

He kissed you again before you could give him a snarky answer, quick this time since he had decided one more was allowed. You were still smiling when he pulled back.

The band started another song that broke off the bubble of the moment. Gerard took a small step back only to lace his fingers through yours, casual as breathing, and lifted your hand between them.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“You wanted live music.” His mouth twitched. “I’m assuming that means dancing.”

You looked at him in open disbelief, and slightly disappointed that he didn’t mean to go to the bathroom or the backseat of his car. “You dance?”

“Not at all, but I can have some fun.” Gerard grimaced, trying to push himself out of his comfort zone.

You laughed and let him pull you toward the edge of the crowd anyway, where there was barely enough room to move and absolutely no reason to care. Gerard danced exactly the way you had expected a man like Gerard would dance, a little stiff at first, self-aware for all of thirty seconds, and then surprisingly good once he gave up on pretending he wasn’t enjoying himself.

You had caught him smiling fully, openly, while you sang the wrong lyrics into your drink and swayed into him with zero technical skill. He looked at younot believing that this was his Friday night, this loud girl dragging him into a crowded bar after dinner and kissing him between strangers and guitar feedback.

By the time you left the bar, it was later than any of you had expected the date to last.

You ended up walking for another while because you said that you “wanted to smell some fresh air” and Gerard, after a pause that looked suspiciously like restraint, had said okay and turned in the same direction you did. Once again, neither of you wanted this date to end.

You had learned his brother’s name was Mikey, that he lived in Pasadena and had two children under the age of six, and that Gerard loved them even though they drained every bit of energy out of him each time he offered to babysit them.

“You don’t want any?” you asked before you could stop herself. This could also serve as another chance for him to tell you if he had any children that he might have so oh-conviniently forgotten to mention.

“That’s an ambitious first-date question.”

“You brought up the tiny humans into conversation.”

“I don’t know anymore,” he said finally. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and thought about it for a second. “I used to think I had a very clear picture of what my life was going to look like. The carreer, marriage, house, maybe kids after that if it happened that way. Apparently I spent a decade being wrong about that.”

His tone stayed light, but you could grasp the weight of the topic for him.

“That sounds bad.” You looked ahead at the sidewalk. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad.” He rose one hand, slightly defensive. “It was a marriage. It was very good for a long time, until I was too stubborn to notice things had changed.”

That didn’t help you at all. You wanted to ask more. You needed to know more about the ex-wife, what had changed, how someone could stop loving a man who looked like that and maybe know if he was actually telling you the truth. But first dates came with rules, and one of those rules was that you do not go digging through divorce trauma.

So, much to your dismay, you went through the safe path, “Well, at least your friends were right to shove you back into society.”

Eventually, you had to reach his car again. He unlocked it from a safe distance and, once again, opened the door for you.

“I liked the bar. I’m sure my friends are going to love it, if they don’t already know it,” he said, playing with his keychains.

“I know. I have very good taste.” You leaned against the car door and smiled up at him.

He looked down at your mouth for one brief second, then back up. “I am going to kiss you again.”

That caught you off guard more than the door-opening had. He kissed you with one hand on the roof of the car and the other in your waist, still holding the keys in his fingers. Maybe it was because of the incredible amount of tension that had been building between you or the fact that you were probably ovulating, but it felt even worse than if he had pinned you against the door and ruined your life on contact. 

He was kissing you in the street like he had all the time in the world and no intention of wasting it. When he pulled back, your fingers were gripping the sleeve of his shirt.

Gerard looked down at your hand with that same restrained amusement.

“Do you need help letting go?” he asked.

“Oh my God, don’t tease me.” You dropped his sleeve immediately, embarassed by your sudden movements.

If that didn't let him know your intentions, then you didn't know what could.

“You should get in the car, then.”

You were good at following commands.

The walking and dancing took a toll on you, and without asking him you had kicked off your shoes in the car and tucked one foot beneath yourself in the seat. Gerard kept glancing over at you at red lights with that same faint smile he had been wearing for the past hour like he still had not fully come down from the evening.

You were unpredictable, and he liked that. He assumed he had to take you home, or the same address that he picked you up at.

When he pulled up outside the building, neither of you moved to get out right away.

“Well,” you said, turning toward him. “You survived.”

“Barely. The pink drink was touch and go. It changed my blood sugar. for sure.”

You laughed softly and looked down at the shoes in your lap before glancing back at him. The car had gone quiet in that close, intimate way cars did at the end of dates. He wasn’t rushing or giving you any signals that he wanted to come upstairs with you, which kind of broke your heart a little.

“I had fun tonight,” you said.

“Yeah. Me too.” Gerard’s expression softened again, all the humor easing into something gentler.

“No, I mean a lot of fun.”

His mouth curved. “I got that impression when you made me dance in public.”

“That was a bonding experience.” You grinned, then watched him for a second too long to emphasize your words. “Thank you for dinner.”

“It was nothing.”

“And for behaving like a gentleman every ten seconds.”

Gerard huffed a laugh. “You’re still making fun of me?”

“A little.”

He leaned one arm against the steering wheel and looked at you in amusement. “You should know I’m probably going to do it again.”

“Will you open more doors for me?”

“Open doors, dinner, picking you up. All of it.”

The isolation from the outside world that the car provided helped the warmth spread low and slow through your chest. Gerard said things so simply. While you usually were the one to drown in a glass of water, he seemed to be calm. He just offered the truth and let it stand there, not needing to half-joke to escape in case you reacted badly.

‘That sounds way too much like a second date.”

“That’s my intention, yes.”

The look you held after that felt almost unfair in its intensity. He reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering lightly near her temple before dropping back to his lap. “Text me when you get upstairs.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip, half because of his gentle touch and the other half because he will be definitely not coming home with you.

“Yes, sir.”

Gerard groaned immediately. “Please don’t call me that.”

Your grin widened. “Why? You’re older, mysterious and, apparently, a little gentleman-y”

“I said none of those things.”

“You did. Or at least, you implied all of them.”

“I’m taking them back, then.”

“Too late.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Get out of my car.”

The smile never felt your face as you put on your shoes. Once comfortable, you leaned across the console to kiss him one last time. Quick, sweet, and very much on purpose. When you pulled back, Gerard looked at you as if he had forgotten how conversations worked. He cleared his throat. “Text me.”

“I heard you the first time.”

You slipped out of the car and shut the door behind you. Gerard waited at the curb until you got inside the building, just like you suspected he would. When you turned back from the lobby window, ever the gentleman, he was still there, with one hand resting on the wheel, watching to make sure you were safely in.

You stood there for a second, trying to relax your heartbeat with a ridiculous smile on your face only because of the feeling from his mouth on yours.

You pulled out your phone before you had even reached the elevator, and he was already texting you back in the first red light he encountered. That was until you had, very explicitly and in capital letters warned him about the dangers of the road.

He made the wise choice of leaving his phone and driving home. He texted you again approximately twenty minutes later.

You laid back on your bed, now dressed in your pajamas, phone balanced on your stomach as you closed your eyes.

Gerard still spent most weekdays inside his studio, jumping between meetings, Zoom calls, deadlines, revisions, and the kind of creative decisions that seemed invisible to anyone outside his industry. Some mornings began before sunrise because a client lived in Japan and others blurred between the night because he disappeared beneath piles of sketches, reference books, and half-finished cups of coffee that he inevitably forgot to drink while they were still hot.

Some mornings you photographed engagements and others you had an editorial shoot for a fashion magazine. You edited until late at night more often than you admitted, surrounded by memory cards, external hard drives and enough open tabs to make your computer hot enough to fry an egg.

The two of you quietly made room for each other somewhere inside those routines. A picture of the backstage of a shoot arrived while Gerard waited to join a Zoom call and a photo of his cat almost occupying his entire couch appeared halfway through one of your editing sessions.

A couple weeks later, Frank dropped by Gerard's place carrying two take-away bags and enough confidence to let himself in without knocking because he had already called beforehand.

"I brought your favorite," he announced, setting the paper bag on the drafting table before looking around. "You're welcome."

Gerard didn't look up from the phone in front of him.

"What the fuck is in that little device that got you all giddy?"

"You're imagining things." Gerard sighed and finally set the phone down.

"I've known you for fifteen years." Frank started opening the bag and the white box with food. "I know what that little smile of yours means"

Gerard leaned back in his chair.

"I've been using that funny app, I’ve been talking to a few women…"

"I figured."

"I only met one."

"And?" Frank nodded, trying to make him keep talking.

"And that's the only one I've wanted to meet. That’s all."

Frank chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

"So the apps actually worked?” Gerard nodded, which only made Frank want to dig in further. “How's it going?"

“Great. We talk, it’s fun." Gerard frowned, starting to eat his own food and regretting not grabbing the drink in the fridge.

Frank waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

"You start dating again after ten years and one divorce and you talk?" He signaled inverted commas with his fingers at the last word.

“Yeah, man. Just taking it slow.” He spoke with a mouth full of food. “One step at a time.”

"You've been on... what? Five dates now?"

"I think so. I wasn't keeping score."

"So tell me more about her."

"There isn't much to tell." Gerard thought for a second, allowing himself to swallow. "She's twenty-nine."

Frank nodded once, not focusing too much on the number.

"What does she do?"

"Photography."

"What kind?"

"Everything. She’s really good."

He unlocked the screen and went through your business Instagram account, giving his phone to Frank to see. He leaned back in his chair, still chewing on his food.

"Small businesses, maternities, weddings. Everything."

"Freelance?"

"Yeah."

Frank looked impressed, scrolling through the account and remembering the username to check on his own later.

"That's hard. It seems to be going well, though."

"She's really hardworking."

"You've seen her work?"

"A little." He went through your Instagram highlights more than he would like to admit.

"I'll bet you have." Frank smiled mischievously and Gerard ignored him.

"What else?"

"She's funny. She doesn't really stop joking." He smiled faintly. "I don't think she's capable of answering a question without making one."

"Sounds exhausting."

"I like it. It keeps me on edge. She’s the kind of good unpredictable."

Frank noticed how quickly the answer came.

"What else?"

Gerard looked toward the ceiling as he searched for the right words.

"She goes out a lot."

"Parties?"

"She’s not a social butterfly, but she enjoys going out." He counted absentmindedly on his fingers. “Concerts, road trips, dinners with friends. She seems to know everybody."

"Opposite of you." Frank nodded.

"Completely."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

 "No." Gerard grabbed a napkin, wiping his lips and his fingers. "It actually sounds… kind of refreshing. When I first looked at her Instagram—"

"When you first stalked her, you wanted to say." Frank ignored and started laughing at him.

"I was curious and scrolled back three years." Gerard finally smiled.  "I wanted to know who I was meeting. And she's exactly the same in person."

Gerard grabbed his phone back from Frank's hands as soon as the familiar ring came from the little device, read the message he just got from you, and typed a quick reply, already expecting one coming back.

A year earlier, Gerard had barely tolerated conversations about dating. Every suggestion had been met with polite excuses, followed by another evening spent working late or staying home with a comic and the cat. Frank had stopped pushing because grief, even the quiet kind that followed a relatively amicable divorce, refused to follow anyone else's schedule.

Now Gerard sat across from him smiling at his phone without realizing it. It was the first time in a long while that Frank thought his friend might actually be ready to let someone into the life he had rebuilt.

For the first time since downloading Tinder, Gerard wasn't wondering whether he should ask someone out and go through the tedious process of getting to know someone new.

He was already thinking about the next time he would see you.

He already knew enough about you to drop little things he knew you liked into conversations to keep them flowing. He had also picked up your writing style and he found it really interesting of you that you didn't use uppercase letters. You also loved taking pictures of everything (to no one's surprise) and you enjoyed receiving pictures, too.

And that following morning, he had managed to twist and pull the conversation using social skills and courage he didn't know he had to arrange the next time you would be able to hang together.