Infinite

On a regular and wonderful day on the bus, Ray is kicking Bob’s ass at Guitar Hero. Matt is sitting in the front, reading, and Frank is in the back calling his mother.

Gerard is lying on his stomach, occupying a couch by himself, and when I see him after coming out from the kitchen area with my very own jar of B&J’s, I stop to watch him for a few seconds. He’s drawing something that’s hidden from where I stand, and despite the noise around him he’s completely focused on what he’s doing.

I move a bit closer, trying not to disturb him and placing my ice cream on the counter.

He’s so beautiful and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve him.

He’s drawing me. A too beautiful me, but it’s still me, the slightly upturned nose and the long bangs and the smile. I feel a lump starting to form in my throat and just then, Gerard notices my presence and turns his head. Covering the sketchbook with his arm and sitting up, he looks a bit embarrassed.

“Gerard…” I say, sitting down next to him, and taking the pad from his grip, flipping it open again to the drawing.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I was gonna give it to you later,” he explains, sounding a bit hesitant. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna like it.”

“I like it,” I say, grinning, and even though he doesn’t outright say it, I know deep down that what we have is something a bit more than a crush and sneaking behind the tour bus to make out.

Berlin, 7th of July.

“Why does my ice cream always melt?”

Gerard is actually pouting, and I try not to laugh as the melted vanilla ice cream drips from his chin, making him look like a vegetarian vampire drinking milk. He desperately tries to save what’s left of his forgotten ice cream cone (I finished mine in a matter of minutes, realizing that it wouldn’t last in the heat) but only succeeds in making it drip even more.

“Gee, give it up, that ice cream is long gone,” I say. “It’s time to move on.”

“Oh, okay,” he sighs, throwing the cone in the trash can next to the park bench were we’re sitting. “Great, now I’m all sticky.” He makes a move to wipe away the melted ice cream with a napkin, but I grin and lick it from his chin before he’s had the chance to.

“Melted ice cream does seem to have some good qualities,” he says when I’m done, smiling and giving me a peck on the lips. “We should get some more and… do stuff… with it…?”

His suggestive tone and ridiculously wiggling eyebrows makes me laugh out loud.

“I am NOT licking any ice cream from anywhere than your chin, mister!”

He pouts again, and I find it adorable although a little weird. He looks like he’s suddenly reduced his age by twenty-five. He sighs as he realizes he’s not getting any of his ice cream dreams to come true.

“A guy has to have dreams, right? I had the feeling you were a champ at ice cream-licking.”

It’s not that I don’t want to lick ice cream off of every inch of his body. I’m just not that fond of vanilla.

He tells me that he loves me before he reenters the stage for the encore in Italy. He’s ecstatic, almost vibrating with the energy from the show, and he kisses me and he smells like sweat and he says "hey, you know I love you, right?"

My heart is about to burst.

"I think it’s pretty obvious that I love you too."

Gerard looks like he wasn’t expecting me to say it back, and grabs a handful of my hair before he kisses me.

He goes back onstage.

That night, he tells it to me again and again, like he’s trying to get used to saying it. It’s like he can’t really believe it either.