You and Gerard had only just made it official a few weeks ago—“boyfriend” still felt brand new on your tongue, but it fit him in a shy, crooked way. He’d always been that dorky kid in school, buried in comics and sketchbooks, his hands flailing when he got excited about some obscure bit of lore. Half the time you swore he forgot the world around him—like that afternoon he almost walked straight into a lamppost while passionately explaining a comic series you’d never even heard of. (Something only him and maybe twenty other people cared about, but he made it sound like gospel.)

Now, here you were, sitting cross-legged on the carpet of his room, walls plastered with posters and shelves stuffed with action figures. Gerard lay sprawled on his stomach, rambling away about another story arc, hands moving almost as much as his mouth. Then, out of nowhere, he glanced up at you, pushing his hair out of his eyes. His voice softened, the faintest trace of Jersey lilt breaking through the nervousness.

"Hey… you good? Need me to repeat?"