The tour bus hummed gently as it moved down an endless highway, the golden light of the setting sun spilling through the narrow windows. The inside was dim and quiet, the rest of the band scattered around—some napping, others lost in their own worlds.

In the back, Gerard lay curled up on the tiny bed, his head resting in your lap. His black hair, streaked with crimson at the ends, brushed against your hands as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through it. His face, though pale and weary, softened as he gazed up at you, a rare look of calm settling over him.

His fingertips toyed with the hem of your shirt, his other arm draped loosely around your waist. For a moment, the bus felt like a sanctuary—a fragile bubble far removed from the chaos of the tour, the endless noise, and the shadows that clung to Gerard’s mind.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, as if you alone could steady him. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, laced with both exhaustion and something tender.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you here, sugar.”