You never knew what version of Gerard you were going to get.

Some days, it felt like he was yours — laughing in the softest ways, brushing your fingers with his, leaving kisses on your shoulder like they were promises. And other days, it was like he had built walls too tall for you to climb, answering your texts hours late, distracted eyes avoiding yours, his voice distant.

“I don’t get you,” you finally said, one quiet evening. The house was dim except for the flicker of the TV you weren’t really watching. “Yesterday you told me you loved how I understood you, and now you can’t even look at me.”

He sat still for a long time, his jaw tight, fingers clasped together like he was holding something in. “I’m tired,” he said eventually. “It’s been a long week.”

“That’s not an answer,” you whispered.

There was a beat of silence that settled between you — heavy, unwelcome.