Infinite

“So, we’re dating?”

We are outside, waiting for the cab Gerard called to pick us up.

“I guess we are.”

And with that, he laces his fingers with mine, making it seem he didn’t mean to but our hands merely collided by accident and would you look at that, our fingers are entwined.

“How did you know I was eighteen?” I ask, partly to have something to say. Gerard shrugs.

“I didn’t.”

“Does it bother you?”

There is a short silence, but long enough to make me incredibly nervous.

“No,” he says at last. “I’m game if you are." He smiles at me. "And I didn’t think you were eighteen when we met."

“How old did you think I was, then?”

He looks at me closely, and tilts his head to the side. “Twenty-five.”

“Hah! I do not look like twenty-five.”

“No, I'm kidding.” At this, I stick out my tongue, causing Gerard to smile. “And you’ve just reduced your age to fifteen. I was going to say twenty, but now I don’t know…”

“Oh, shut up.”

He smirks at me just as the cab pulls up in front of us. We get in, and almost instantly when Gerard has told the driver where we’re going (Newark), his arm is around me again, pulling me close to him.

“So, what are you planning?”

His fingers are caressing my earlobe so it’s kind of hard to form proper sentences, but I think I manage pretty well.

“Well since we’re dating, I thought I’d take you on a proper date,” he says.

I look up at him and smile and receive a smile in return, one that makes my heart flutter. Well, everything he does makes my heart flutter.

Gerard knows the city better than I do and leads the way to a less busy street, just a short distance from the mall where we first met.

We stop in front of a small restaurant, not very enticing at first glance. It looks kind of gloomy – not that I’d shy away from gloominess – but it’s apparently open since the signs are out.

A girl around my age greets us as we get inside, and I don’t think I’m imagining that she smiles more at Gerard than at me.

“Two? Follow me, please,” she says, and shows us to a table at the back of the restaurant. Here the gloominess has been replaced by a cozy air, lit up by candlelight and curtained windows. The girl leaves us with the menus and a promise to be right back with our drinks.

As our food arrives twenty minutes later, pasta for me and some kind of salad for Gerard, I realize I still haven’t told him we got signed. When I do, he nearly spits out his mineral water.

“You did?”

“Don’t be so surprised about it!”

“I’m not! It’s just… congratulations,” he finishes, smiling. “Pete and Patrick are great guys. Have you met Travis yet?”

“No, but I suppose we will now. Recording starts next week.”

“What are you gonna do about school?” Gerard asks, chewing salad at the same time. I shrug.

“Pete said they’d work something out. I mean, I don’t think mom will be happy about me not going to college, but graduating high school will at least keep her from breaking down completely. And we’ve only got little over a month left, it’s no big deal. Right now I feel like I just want to jump on this train before it has passed, you know?” I say. I’m a little defensive over the fact that technically, I’m not going to graduate high school. I know I should have a backup plan if the music doesn’t work out.

“Yeah, I get it."

It’s surprisingly easy to talk to Gerard. I thought this would be embarrassingly quiet because I’m not normally a very outspoken person (unless I’m on stage, where I don’t have to talk to people or look them in the eye). It’s not, though. Gerard and I talk like we’ve known each other for a lot more than the few weeks we’ve been texting each other – we even talk about politics. But mostly the conversation moves from music, shows we’ve seen (his experiences are a little more impressive than mine) and albums we love, to movies, comic books and to the future, our families. When our plates are empty (Gerard left the asparagus) we sit for almost two hours talking about nothing and everything.

“Do you think we should leave? The waitress looks kind of stressed out,” Gerard says at last, looking over my shoulder. Seeing as the restaurant has slowly started to fill with people and there are no empty tables left (it’s a pretty small place), I can understand her worry.

Gerard takes care of the check despite my (not so) persistent protests. Outside, it has started to rain heavily and since we don’t have an umbrella we get soaked from just crossing the street. Gerard looks a bit disappointed.

“I was thinking we could go for a walk, but this rain doesn’t seem to be subsiding, does it?”

“We can still go for a walk,” I say, smiling. “We’ll just get a little wet.”

Gerard laughs.

“We’re gonna get drenched! And get sick and then neither of us are going to be able to sing and Pete and Patrick are gonna kill me.”

I take Gerard’s hand.

Walking in the rain may not have been my brightest idea ever, but it is still kind of romantic – we talk about everything but the weather as the rain continues to pour down on us. My feet go numb from the cold, but I hardly notice.

Walking out on the bridge by the Riverfront stadium and stopping at the middle with the view over downtown Newark, we lean against the railing, still talking.

“So, pancakes or waffles?” I ask. Our hands are entwined, resting on the railing in front of us – the bridge is under construction, so above us there is a scaffold that keeps us and the railing dry.

“That’s such a lame question!” Gerard says, laughing. “Pancakes, I guess… Um, Batman or Spider-Man?“

“I used to have a crush on Spider-Man,” I say, and Gerard gives me a ‘what?!’-look. I nod: “Yeah, he’s my dream guy. You better get yourself a red and blue suit and start swinging nets, or you won’t last long in my company.”

Gerard studies me for a fraction of a second like he’s really believing what I’m saying, and then he laughs.

"You’re awesome, Aubrey, you know that, right?"

The rain is still pouring and the cars whooshing past behind us makes it kind of unromantic in a way, but it doesn’t matter. Gerard looks like he’s studying the Newark skyline, but then he looks at me again.

“Your eyeliner is smudged,” he says.

When did his face get this close?

He wipes the black smudge from my eye with his left thumb, and at the same time letting go of my hand.

Oh well, he’s touching my face now and that isn’t really a bad thing.

I’m pretty sure the eyeliner is gone by now, but his hand is still at my cheek and his breathing is on my face.

“You know I really like you, right? Like, really really like you,” he says, looking into my eyes.

“I really like you too, Gerard,” I manage to say. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

He does. His soft lips are on mine and I wrap my arms around his neck and I don’t really know how far we’re taking this, but then there’s his tongue and my tongue and Gerard’s hand on my hip, and when we part I’m smiling like crazy, but I can’t look at Gerard because I’m almost afraid of what’s there.

I’ve never felt this way before in my life.

And although it scares the shit out of me, I’m prepared to plunge right into it.