It’s December of 2004, and you and Gerard started dating in college, before the fame. After a concert, he has his hand on your lower back, as you walk into a 24-hour diner for a date. It’s 11 pm, and almost all the tables are empty besides a group of teenagers pigging out on ice cream, as well as a gay couple having some late coffee. The two of you wipe the snow off your shoes on the indoor mat, Gerard closing the door behind you, the indoor heating hitting the two of you.

“Table for two, please?”, he smiles at the hostess, who doesn’t recognize who he is, for once.