Infinite

Gerard gets his precious coffee, and after hearing Mikey complain loudly that he only has Euros to pay with, we all contribute with a few coins each to buy him a cup of his own.

“Otherwise we would have been deaf by the time we got home,” Bob sighs.

Outside, we manage to catch two cabs, Ray, Mikey and Bob squeeze into one of them and Gerard, Frank and I get into the other.

Three people in the backseat means sitting very close to each other, and since Frank practically pushes me in front of him so I get to sit in the middle, I’m squeezed between the two of them for the next twenty-five minutes.

“Uh… Aubrey, we kinda forgot to ask you… do you wanna go home or something?” Frank says after a few minutes of silence.

“Uh… I… well I… we have a gig tonight, but I won’t have to be there until eight or so,” I say, feeling unbearably unsure of myself. “Where are we going, then?” It’s hard to speak since I’m so very aware of the nearness of Gerard’s body.

“Well I think the guys wanna go home for a bit, so I guess we could just… hang out somewhere,” Gerard says.

“’Somewhere’ being…?” Frank asks, and Gerard shrugs a little.

“I dunno, maybe we could go somewhere to eat or something. But hey, don’t you wanna be with Jamia?”

“’Course, but she’s visiting her parents, won’t get back until tomorrow morning,” Frank says, obviously a little disappointed but not showing it too much. “And I couldn’t leave you two alone anyway.” Knees, look at his knees, or even better – look at your own knees.

I really don’t want to look at Gerard but curiosity gets the better of me. He’s not looking at me, though, which saves me from further embarrassment. For a second I can see myself putting my head on his shoulder, but I quickly dismiss the idea – I don’t know why really, it just doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. (And it would be just a little awkward with Frank there.)

“All right, but I need to get home before the gig, get my stuff and change clothes, you know…” I say. Gerard looks at me like I’m crazy, and suddenly our faces are too close for it to be completely comfortable. I look down again.

“What’s wrong with the way you look now?” he asks, bewildered. I’m not going to argue about that, there’s really nothing wrong – except for one tiny detail.

“My guitar is in my room."

“Hmm.” He seems to be in deep thought for a few moments.

“Get your bandmates to get that for you. Or let me interpret for you, since you don’t speak Gerard: If you'd like to, we want you to hang out with us, and especially Gee,” Frank says, grinning at his own joke.

“Shut up, Frank.”

But this time Gerard glances at me and then quickly looks away when I meet his gaze, turning his face towards the window.

I return to my studying of the knees, trying to contain my smile.

We get dropped off just a few blocks away from The Grudge. Ray, Bob and Mikey all have gone home, but Gerard calls them and tells them to get their asses into the city for our gig tonight. Somehow, all the luggage ended up in the other car - good for us, but worse for the others who have to take Frank's and Gerard's unwashed clothes with them tonight.

I call Karl and tell him to get my things.

“You expect me to tell the difference between the emerald eyeshadow and the woody green one?” he says when I try to tell him what make-up to get.

“Yes.”

“You’re overestimating me.”

“Light green and yellowish green, then?”

“Hm. I might be able to tell the difference. But why can’t you get it yourself?”

“Because Gerard called me at five thirty and asked me to come meet them at the airport.”

There is a slight silence.

“There’s something going on between you and him, isn’t there?” he says, amusement evident in his voice. I clear my throat while trying to come up with something to say.

“I don’t know,” is my lame reply. I can see Gerard giving me a look from where he and Frank are, like it's not hard at all to figure out what I'm talking about. Karl laughs.

“You don't know, or you just don’t want to admit it?” he says. “All right, I’ll get your stuff. Seven thirty?”

“Yeah."

“And take it easy with Gerard.”

“Shut up.”

“Thanks a lot!” There is another pause, in which I think of Red. Apparently, Karl does the same. “You know Red’s gonna be pissed, right?”

After we hang up, I turn around to see Frank and Gerard waiting for me.

“Lunch?”

We find a small restaurant a five-minute walk away that has a decent vegetarian menu. The waitress who serves us obviously recognizes Gerard and Frank, but not in a fangirly way – she smiles at me just as much as she smiles at them, although with a curious expression on her face. She shows us to an available four-seat table and Gerard and I sit on one side, while Frank takes the other.

After ordering our food (veggie burger for Frank, caesar salad for me and some kind of chicken salad for Gerard), Frank and Gerard get into a conversation about the upcoming leg of the tour, while I sit in silence, watching them.

I really am extremely lucky. If anyone would have told me a few months ago that I’d be having lunch with two of the members of My Chemical Romance, I would never have believed them. Me, and My Chemical Romance?

Me and Gerard?

But it doesn’t feel all that strange to be around them. I usually find it a bit hard to talk to people I don’t know that well – I might talk but I sure as hell don’t feel comfortable – but recently I’ve discovered that it totally depends on what kind of people I’m around. Frank and Gerard are people I can get along with just fine without feeling uncomfortable at all (unless I’m crammed in a backseat with them, that is).

I don’t know why I ordered caesar salad, I don’t even like salad. At least Gerard’s looks a little more edible, with meat in it instead of mostly breadcrumbs.

I poke around with my fork without any appetite, partly because I’m not very hungry but also because the thought he’ll never feel the same has crept into my mind.

I’m so stupid.

But what about that hug? What about what Frank said?

But you don’t know.

I don’t know how people are supposed to act in these situations, I don’t know how guys show interest when they’re not drunk, I don’t know why I’m even bothering thinking about it because it’s Gerard Way and I’m just an unknown eighteen-year-old from Madison, New Jersey.

Gerard probably senses my discomfort, because he takes a break from eating his salad – more chicken than green stuff in it so you can say it’s chicken with salad – and asks if there’s something wrong.

“Uh, no, it’s nothing,” I say, trying to dismiss it.

“Really? You look kinda down,” he says.

What am I supposed to say? No, I’m just a little concerned about the fact that I’ve known you for an insignificant amount of time and I’m already developing a fierce crush on you, don't worry about it.

“It’s because of the salad,” I say, holding up a lettuce leaf with my fork to demonstrate.

“What, you don’t like it?”

“I’m not very hungry..."

“You should try some chicken, this is awesome!”

And before I can protest, he has stabbed a piece of chicken on his fork and put it in front of me.

“Hmm, this is good. I might rethink my hungriness,” I say, smiling despite my previous worries and chewing happily.

Gerard smiles brightly. On the other side of the table, Frank rolls his eyes.

“Way to make me feel like the third wheel, guys.”

“Aww, you want chicken too Frankie?” Gerard says, and I admire his ability not to seem embarrassed.

“No.”

“Then what are you whining about?”

“Nothing! But there are easier ways of swapping saliva, you know.”

I fight the urge to kick Frank under the table.