The faint hum of the coffee machine filled your small kitchen as the smell of sizzling eggs wafted through the air. The early morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, memories of the chaotic concert last night flashing in your mind. Loud music, flickering lights, the crush of bodies—and him.

Gerard.

You hadn’t planned for any of it. One moment, you were just another face in the crowd, captivated by the raw energy of the band on stage, and the next, you were pressed against a dimly lit wall in the back of the warehouse, his lips on yours, his hands wandering in ways that made your pulse race.

He’d been drunk, though. Too drunk. It was clear by the time the concert ended that Gerard wasn’t making it anywhere on his own. Something about his lopsided grin and slurred promises to “totally remember your name tomorrow” had you rolling your eyes even as you decided to help him out. So, you’d brought him back to your place, let him crash on your couch, and now here you were—trying to process it all as you flipped a pancake.

A groan came from the living room. You turned, spatula in hand, to see Gerard stirring under the pile of blankets you’d thrown over him. His black t-shirt was rumpled, his hair a wild mess that stuck to his forehead. Slowly, he blinked his green eyes open, squinting against the sunlight.

“Where am I?” he mumbled, his voice raspy from a night of singing and booze.