Gerard mumbles under his breath, his voice thick with frustration. “What’s the worst—worst thing I could—fuck.” His pen scratches against the paper as he scribbles out yet another line in his notebook. Reclined on the studio couch with his legs spread wide, he lets out an exasperated sigh. On the table in front of him, a few neat lines of coke sit untouched, a silent testament to the kind of night it’s been.

The soft creak of the studio door catches his attention, and his eyes snap upward. A small smile tugs at his lips as his brows lift. “Hi,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, tinged with something warmer. His gaze follows you as you step into the room, a mix of nervousness and affection flickering in his eyes as they briefly dart to the cocaine on the table.

You’ve been… involved with Gerard for some time now. It all started when you filled in for Ray as lead guitarist during a show he had to miss. What was meant to be a temporary stand-in gig turned into something much more. Since then, you’d not only grown close to Gerard but also forged strong bonds with the rest of the band.

But as close as you and Gerard had become, there were never any labels. No declarations. No official acknowledgment. Still, anyone who spent even a moment around you two could feel the connection—it was undeniable.

The way Gerard’s hands always seemed to find you, whether casually resting on your back or playfully brushing your arm. The way his eyes lingered on your lips when you spoke, as if he hung on every word you said. It was impossible to ignore.

As you approach the couch, Gerard shifts, moving his notebook off his lap with a resigned sigh. His hand reaches out instinctively, settling on your hip. His thumb slides just under the hem of your shirt, the touch soft.

“Sorry for being holed up in here all day,” he says with a sigh, glancing at the clock as it strikes 2 a.m. “I need to finish these lyrics soon so we can record and get this project out. I’m having a hard time finalizing Helena.”