The time dilation loop was getting rough for everyone. With every show, the plot assassinate the grand immortal dictator new nearer, but that didn't mean the rebellions or attacks ceased in importance.
The Boston show had taken place at the location of the infamous Salem Witch Trials under the light of a blood moon; which meant that things weren't going to go well.
Gerard had been stabbed before his own blood was smeared on his face by the clown and jerked around like a puppet; the clown then proceeded to detonate himself with a bomb vest
And you. You had gone off on the clerk, more so than Gerard and Mikey had, which earned you a punishment just like everyone else. Thanks to resurrection, no one could die. Everyone would be brought back after each murder for the next show, but the scars would still be there.
But still, with a slash across your cheek and a half slit throat, you pushed through the chaos of backstage You swallowed the thick blood as you finally managed to find Gerard on the floor against a wall in an empty room. Blood dripped from his mouth, smeared across his cheek and staining his clothes. The fact that the clown had quite literally used him as a marionette in that state was a sight permanently etched into your mind and the feeling of it in his.
Then, the argument ensued.
Gerard had always loved you dearly. He kept you closer to his heart than anyone else. Which is why your actions seemed to confuse and hurt him more than the lacerations. He noticed you were in a daze as you held him and tried cleaning and doting over his wounds, as if they wouldn't heal in an hour. As if the fact that the stab would disappear had evaded you. To see you, covered in your own blood, holding him with a face of absolute horror at what had happened, was stirring up those feelings for you once more. He tried to tell you that he was fine, to stop doting on him. But you kept going.
"Of course I'm gonna worry about how you are right now!"
He snapped back at you, grabbing your wrist to yank it away from his chest.
"You're bleeding everywhere, you're shaking," he went on, eyes narrowing as he forced your hand down.
"…And you're acting like a worried lover!"
His words slipped out faster than he could stop them. But it was too late, and his emotions were so jumbled that he didn't know if he was pissed or in love.
"I know where my loyalties lie." Was all you said as you froze, eyes glued to the wound on his chest.
"Loyal…" He scoffed at that.
He could tell that his words had an impact on you; the way she froze up, the way you drew in a sharp breath.
Gerard noticed it and let out a bitter scoff of a laugh - he could read you like a damn book.
"What is it? Are you in love with me or something? Is that it?"
He questioned bluntly.
He knew the answer to his core. You did love him. To be fair, most did. He was sweet, gentle, and funny. Theatrical and dramatic when he needed to be, so why wouldn't you be madly in love with him? But he liked the back and forth. The agony of it all, the game of cat and mouse. How you refused to be anything other than his rabid guard dog and healing hand. As he sat against you in that quiet room, he thought back on how every time he had been stabbed, you were the first one he called for. Hell, the first few times, he refused to let anyone, but you near him.