Baby, You’re a Haunted House

Several months ago, after a particularly awful day at work, your amazing boyfriend Frank surprised you with tickets for a signing and panel that your favorite comic book writer Gerard Way, was doing at a city near you. Frank was also a fan of his but not to the extent that you were. You lived and breathed for the characters that Gerard created and his ability to craft a plotline that could make you laugh and cry within the same chapter. Frank was more casual in his appreciation for Gerard's work, but he was happy to listen to you go on and on for extended periods of time about your theories and headcanons. Frank truly was the best boyfriend ever. He even accepted the crush that you had on the writer himself, playfully teasing you about it each time he caught you blushing while watching an interview of his.

You're mostly silent as the line moves steadily, feeling too excited to hold much of a conversation with Frank. When there's only a handful of people in front of you and you're looking at Gerard with your own two eyes instead of through a screen, Frank nudges your side with his elbow.

"He's even cuter in person, huh?" he taunts.

"Shut up," you whine, nudging him back.

When there's only one person separating you and Gerard, your heart rate accelerates and your palms get sweaty.

"I might actually be sick," you whisper to Frank.

"It's okay, honey. It's just nerves." He wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing soothing circles against your hipbone with his thumb.

You almost wish Frank wouldn't be affectionate with you in front of Gerard just in case he happened to be interested. He is your hall pass, after all. But you'd feel like a total asshole if you told Frank to stop touching you, so you refrain.

Gerard finishes with the person in front of you and directs his attention towards you and Frank.

"Nice cosplay," he says to you from behind the table he's seated at, eyes roaming down the entire length of your body.

You look down at your body to remind yourself what you're wearing. Your mind has gone completely blank from being so close to the man you've idolized for years. You probably couldn't even tell him your name if he asked.

Which sucks, because that's his next question.

When you're silent for a second too long, Frank decides to answer for you.

Gerard repeats your name and you try to commit the way it sounds coming from his lips to your memory so you can replay it over and and over again later.

"S-sorry," you say finally, handing him the copy of the comic you had underneath your arm. "I'm glad you like my cosplay. And yeah, that's my name."

"I don't see a lot of people cosplay her these days," he says, taking his pen and signing his name on the front of the comic -- xoxo g. "I'm glad you're showing her some love and doing her justice at the same time."

"Thank you!" you say appreciatively. The praise from him is intoxicating and the adrenaline spike it gives you almost makes you forget your nervousness. You exchange a few more polite words, he thanks for your support, you thank him for everything, and then you exit the line to go find a seat for the panel.

"I can't believe that just happened," you say to Frank as you sit down shakily, the metal of the gray folding chair cold against your exposed thighs. You trace the letters of his signature on your comic with your fingertip. "He said my name. That was crazy."

"Him saying your name was crazy?" Frank asks with an eyebrow raised. "What about the part where he was clearly checking you out?"

"Oh my god, do not feed my delusions," you say, shaking your head. "He was just looking at my cosplay. That's all."

The panel begins before Frank has the chance to respond. It's an incredible hour of Gerard talking about his creative process. You hang on to every word he says and leave an even bigger fan of his.

"Did you have a good time?" Frank asks, fingers tangled with yours as you walk back to the car. He already knows the answer but he wants to hear you say it; wants you to tell him how happy you are.

"Yes, of course!" you say, swinging your arms. You're about to elaborate on why you had such a nice time when the sound of someone calling your name interrupts you. Both you and Frank stop walking and turn around to see Gerard walking briskly towards you in the parking lot.

"I was hoping I would catch you before you left," he says as he catches his breath. "I really liked talking with both of you and would love to continue our conversation in my hotel room."

Your heart skips a beat at his proposal. You blink at him, then glance over at Frank, who looks as baffled as you feel. You and Frank have been together for so long, have such a deep love for each other, that you don't always need words to communicate because you can do so nonverbally. And right now his eyes are telling you I told you he was checking you out. Let's see where this goes.

You look at Gerard again and nod.

"Yeah. We'd like that, too."

Gerard gives you the address to the hotel he's staying at and the room number. He tells you to wait ten minutes before leaving because he doesn't want to risk being seen, which you're fine with. It seems safer to get there yourselves rather than relying on Gerard for transportation. That way, if Gerard ends up being crazy, you and Frank have a way to escape.

"...What do you think is going to happen?" you ask Frank as you both wait in the car, staring at the clock on the dashboard.

"He clearly wants to fuck you, babe."

"You don't know that," you say. Sure, all signs are pointing to this upcoming encounter being sexual, but there's still a part of you that's in denial. There's no way your celebrity crush actually wants you in that way. Soon you'll be waking up next to Frank and you'll tell him about your silly dream over breakfast before work, you're sure of it.

Frank looks at you and rolls his eyes.

"He invited you to his hotel room."

"He invited us to his hotel room," you correct him. "And he's famous! He probably just wants to have a normal, friendly conversation with us but he can't do it in a public space because he doesn't want to be recognized."

"He's a comic book writer, not an A-list actor. I highly doubt most of the population would recognize him based off of appearance alone."

"Whatever," you say. "It's been ten minutes so let's just go."

Frank starts the car and lets the GPS guide him to the nearby hotel.

"You're doing the dishes for two weeks if he fucks you," Frank says and you laugh. "I'm serious," he continues. "I'm not touching a single goddamn dirty plate for fourteen whole days."

You get to the hotel and take the elevator up to Gerard's hotel room. You knock on the door hesitantly and it swings open several seconds later. Gerard ushers you inside and closes the door behind you.

"Have a seat," Gerard says, gesturing to the couch with a sweep of his arm. You and Frank sit down and Gerard pulls up a chair from the nearby table and sits across from you, maintaining a comfortable and respectful distance.

Gerard asks some questions to get to know you both better. Frank plays Gerard some of his band's music and he seems genuinely interested in it and impressed by Frank's musical talents. Gerard is happy to answer more questions that you have about comics, talking at length about his influences and even giving you some hints about what will be coming next in the current story arc.

All signs are pointing to your conversation being a truly wholesome exchange between a celebrity and his fans until Gerard says something during a moment of silence that makes your eyes widen.

"I heard you tell Frank earlier that you could have gotten sick. I assume that was because you were nervous."

You stare at him. You know the direction he's going in. You've seen his weird tweets from a few years ago -- some of them live rent free in your head.

"...You want to watch me throw up," you say. Not a question, but a statement.

Gerard leans back in his chair and clasps his hands politely in his lap.

"Yeah," he confesses. "Yeah, I do."

You look over at Frank, attempting to read the expression on his face.

"Don't worry," Gerard continues, speaking to Frank this time. "I can fuck her too so you have something more fun to watch." He looks over at you. "Only if you want that, of course," he adds. "None of this happens without you two consenting."

You and Frank share a look. Just like in the parking lot earlier, there's an unspoken understanding that you both have to do this, just to see what will happen.

You and Frank turn your heads to look at Gerard again.

"Okay. I'll throw up for you," you say.

"And I'll let you fuck her," Frank says.

Gerard grins and stands up from his seat.

"Frank, switch places with me," he says.