Infinite

We finish the song in the afternoon, and in celebration of this quick songwriting (we usually take at least a week, and that’s working at a quick pace – sometimes none of us has inspiration and songs can be lying around for ages without being finished) Noel dyes my hair. When we’re done, after several hours of first bleaching my black hair and then applying the new color, my hair is a dark shade of red.

Red is even moodier than usual, looking at me from behind his shaggy brown hair like I’m the reason his dog died or something. Only Billie Joe (the german shepherd) isn’t dead, so there must be something else on his mind.

When we leave the basement after several more hours of practicing, I get another text from Gerard. The show is over and they’re heading to a hotel, and they met some fans who tried to French-kiss Frank. It also says I'll call u 2morrow, which leaves me sleepless for most of the night.

He does call, at five thirty in the morning. Face down into the pillow again, I don’t even have the energy to open my eyes. I just press what I think is the answering button and put the phone to my ear.

“Uh… Aubrey? You there?”

“Mmm.”

“What time is it… oh shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think…”

“S’okay.”

He laughs, a soft sound that’s enough to make me forget any evil thoughts about what I’d do to the person who’s stupid enough to call at five thirty in the morning. He’s in Denmark, so he’s entitled to be confused.

“You sure? It sounds like you’re talking to the pillowcase.”

Pillow talk, I manage to think through the fog of sleep that is my mind at the moment, but I’m too tired to even smile at my own joke.

“I am,” I say.

“Well that explains it,” he says. “I’ll let you go back to sleep in a second, I just… well, I missed you.”

What a great dream. I decide to play along.

Because this can be nothing but a dream, right?

“I miss you too.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised but somehow happy.

I never knew dreams could be this realistic.

“Mhm.”

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Aub.” Oooh, nickname. I have to make sure I write all this down when I wake up. “We’re boarding in an hour or so, and we’re landing at like two thirty, you wanna come meet us at the airport?”

“Mm… what, today?”

“No, tomorrow. Yes, today. Newark Airport.”

“I’ll…” … yawn… “I’ll be there.”

“Great!” he says. I just want to sleep. Go away Gerard, you’re disturbing my dream of you. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Mhm. Fly safe.”

I fall asleep almost instantly, with the phone still at my ear.

Four hours later, at nine thirty, I wake up to the sound of Jamie yelling at Elliott for playing with her cd player. What a great dream I had, it should be in a fanfiction or something.

As I sit up and pull off the covers, something scrambles to the floor. My cell phone. How did it end up there?

Slap in the face.

Gerard.

Airport.

“Oh. My. God,” I say out loud, looking through the list of recent calls. 5.27 a.m. – Gerard.

It takes me more than three hours to take a shower, have breakfast, decide on an outfit, apply make-up, straighten my hair and look up which bus I can take to the airport. There’s no way Mom will let me have the car.

I look at my reflection in the mirror as I’m about to walk downstairs. For once, I’m actually quite happy with how I look. The red hair was a success. It’s under control since I actually bothered to straighten it. My makeup is tolerable. My favorite clothes were actually clean instead of in a heap on the bedroom floor, so now I’m wearing a pair of black drainpipe jeans and a green and black-striped tank top, as well as a Dead! hoodie.

The only problem is that the butterflies are going crazy again. Breathe in.

Out. In… out.

It’s just Gerard.

You’ve met him before. He’s that nice guy who found Jamie at the mall. He’s a normal guy.

It’s just him and his bandmates.

It’s just My Chemical Romance.

I’m early. 90 minutes to be exact, but who’s counting? Good thing there’s a Starbucks in the arrival area, or I probably would have passed out.

I try to write, but nothing comes out of it – I keep checking the time and the screen showing the estimated arrival times, and that leaves no room for creativity.

The newspaper doesn’t tell me anything I didn’t know before. I should have brought a book. That way, I wouldn’t have had time to think.

Who am I kidding? Gerard may have said he missed me, but did he mean anything by it?

And did I mean anything when I said I missed him too? He’s beautiful, something I don’t deserve, he’s much older than me, he’s…

… the first guy to ever pay any closer attention to me.

It’s no lie, even though I want it to be. I’m eighteen years old and haven’t been in a proper relationship. The first time I had sex was with a guy from my Home Ed class, on a dare during a party at Karl’s house. I’ve made out with a few guys at parties but we were both drunk, it was always the alcohol that made it happen, in “real life” I’m always the shy one or the weird one or the tomboyish one, not girlfriend material.

And that’s why Gerard telling me I would look good in anything freaks me out.

How can I assume anything's going to happen?

“I thought I said pink!” Frank calls out as soon as he sees me.

Gerard is nowhere to be seen, but the rest of them are there, carrying or dragging large bags and with a security guard at their tail. He gives me and intimidating stare, as if saying ‘don’t you dare try to French-kiss them!’

“She knows better than to take advise from an Iero,” Mikey says, and Frank gives him an evil look, which Mikey returns with a innocent smile and a shrug.

I shake hands with Bob and Mikey, and before I can react, both Frank and Ray have hugged me.

“Uh, where’s Gerard?” I manage to ask, despite the starstruck butterflies wreaking havoc again. Stupid insects.

Frank giggles and shares a knowing look with Ray which I pretend not to notice, and Bob says:

“Stuck in customs. They probably think he looks like a terrorist.”

“No they don’t, that customs guard wanted an autograph for his daughter,” Mikey says. Just then, the man himself (Gerard, that is) comes walking towards us with a bag thrown over his shoulder, and with another security guard following his every move. When he reaches our little gathering, he puts down the threadbare bag at his feet.

“Did he behave?” Frank asks.

“What? Who?” Gerard says, confused, not really looking at us but giving the Starbucks sign loving looks. Then he turns to us and says: “Oh yeah, the customs guy? He just wanted me to sign some magazine.”

Suddenly, his gaze is turned to me, like he’s seeing me for the first time (which he probably is, since he apparently is in need of caffeine). He smiles. “I half expected you to forget I even called.”

I smile back, trying to keep the unruly emotions in check.

“Might have. Thank God for caller ID!”

We stand there smiling goofily at each other for a moment, and I suddenly don’t really care if I look like a dork. If I would have been a little more aware of my surroundings, I might have noticed Mikey giving Frank a questioning look which he returns with a meaningful nod in mine and Gerard’s direction, followed by a smirk and a silent chuckle from the younger of the Way brothers.

I don’t notice, though. And suddenly Gerard is close to me and we’re hugging, not in a quick, polite way but in some kind of intimate way, with his arms securely wrapped around me and it’s all Gerard’s hair, the warmth of his body.

Normal hugs last for a split second between people who hardly know each other. All in all, I’ve been in Gerard’s presence for a few hours.

But his breath is in in my ear and his heartbeats are close and I never want this to end.

It does end, though. I pray that nobody notices the blush that creeps to my cheeks again.

In thirty minutes I will be convinced that I was alone in feeling this way. But right now, when Gerard smiles at me and puts his hand to the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner before turning to ask Frank something, I’m certain that there’s something there.