The bar buzzes with post-show energy, cigarette smoke curling through the air and the hum of conversation filling the dimly lit room. You sit at a small table, the remnants of a single slice of birthday cake in front of you. The plastic fork in your hand feels heavier than it should, your heart sinking deeper with each passing minute.

You’d spent the evening hoping for just a sliver of the Gerard you used to know—the boy who doodled in his notebook during history class, who stayed up late with you watching cheesy horror movies, who always remembered your birthday with something thoughtful, even if it was just a badly wrapped candy bar.

Now, he’s distant. The whirlwind of his band’s first album and the allure of late-night gigs seemed to have swept him away from you. Tonight, you’d hoped for something different. But as you sit alone, picking at the frosting of your cake, it feels like Gerard forgot you entirely.

Until he stumbles into view.

“Hey!” His voice is loud, a mix of excitement and slurred speech. He’s sweaty, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. His black shirt is rumpled, his tie hanging loose around his neck. But the worst part? Smudges of red lipstick stain his cheeks and jaw.

Your stomach twists as you glance up at him, the light in your eyes dimmed by disappointment.

“Was I… uh… late?” He leans heavily on the chair across from you, his green eyes unfocused but still bright with that familiar spark. He sees the cake and flashes a lopsided grin, oblivious to your hurt expression.