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It had been four months since you and Gerard had broken up.
It was a clean break. You two had been fighting for weeks, and it just got to be too much for the both of you. So it ended. No contact. You couldn’t bother to remember the exact details, you shoved it down to the deepest part of your gut and tried your damndest to keep moving.
Every day was more or less the same. You got up, got dressed, worked your shitty minimum wage barista job, and went home. Maybe you’d go out with your friends once or twice a week, get a little too drunk, and stare at his contact until the image was burned into your skull. You never sent anything. Neither of you did.
In all honesty, you saw your friends less than you would’ve liked to. They had gotten deep into the party scene, shoving little bags of coke at you every time you’d come around. Sure, you’d do it, but every time you did you woke up feeling a little bit worse than before. Swallowing your fear that it would turn into a habit, you brushed it off, hoping it was just a phase they were going through. You didn’t go out much anymore.
Tonight, however, they had managed to get you out of the house. The music thumped through your body as you watched your friends dance. The beer in your hand slowly warmed as you nursed it. You thought the same thing you always thought when they dragged you here, This club sucks.
You managed to slink out onto the patio, where you were surrounded by couples making out and weird dudes blowing thick vape clouds from their outdated box mods. You tried your hardest not to stare. You pulled a cigarette out of the crumpled box in your pocket and placed one between your teeth, lighting it and letting your lungs fill with smoke. Your brain went back to where it always went, Gerard. You actually shook your head, hoping it would rid your mind of him. It didn’t, it never did.
You really wished you could socialize. You used to be able to walk up to just about anyone, throw them a compliment, and strike up a conversation. You hadn’t done that in months, four months to be exact.
You cursed yourself for being so bent out of shape over a boy. You were better than this. You were independent, you always had been. You didn’t know what he did that was so special that the breakup still got under your skin, even now. You guess you loved him- no- you did love him. There was no uncertainty there. However, you thought love faded when relationships ended. But you still felt the same way about him that you did four months ago, and the entire two years you were together before that. That’s what bothered you.
You were shook out of your head when your friend who dragged you out approached you, looking like she’d seen a ghost. She said your name urgently, grabbing your attention.
“Dude.” She said, eyes wide.
“What?” You responded, taking another drag of your cigarette.
“You’ll never fucking guess who just showed up.” She said, voice low.
Your stomach sank. She could be talking about anyone. You gathered your focus.
“Who?” You asked, hoping she didn’t hear your voice shake.
“Fucking Gerard.” She said, too coked out of her mind for there to be any real nuance to her words.
Shit.
She must’ve clocked the look on your face. Hers twisted into one of sympathy. You hated when she looked at you like that.
“You wanna go?” She asked, putting her hand on your sweater sleeve.
You stuttered, but no real words came out.
“We can leave. We can go downtown.” She assured, her long nails scratching the woven fabric softly.
“It’s fine.” You said without thinking.
“It’s not like he’s gonna talk to me.” You continued, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.
“I will kill that man.” She said bluntly. You knew that. You managed to let out a soft chuckle.
“There’s no need. It’s fine, really.” You lied, looking at the ground. You very quickly decided you were too sober for this.
“Do you have the bag?” You said, eyes already scanning the patio.
You both rushed off to the bathroom, you kept your head down. She positioned herself on the counter and pulled out the little baggie. You fiddled with your keys before scooping out a bump and taking it. The little rush you felt eased your stomach slightly. You took another, and then two more. You’d hate yourself about it later, but you didn’t really care. You splashed some water on your face and decided to brave the public again.
It was when you flung the bathroom door open and stepped out that you ran into someone, hard. You cursed, looking at who you had just collided with.
You could’ve thrown up then and there. All over your shoes. Those hazel eyes fixed on you for the first time in forever. His hair had gotten longer, and he really needed to dye it again. You probably stared for longer than you should’ve.
“Sorry.” You muttered, brushing past him back into the deafeningly loud club.
You felt your heartbeat in your throat. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it wasn’t. You felt the glare your friend gave him behind your back. She was just that intense.
The next twenty minutes were a blur. She bought you a shot, then another. Suddenly, you realized that you were absolutely shitfaced. Good, that’s actually exactly what you wanted.
You vanished back outside. You weren’t much of a chain smoker, but tonight was different. You felt relief crawl down your back as you finally had a moment to catch your breath.
That is, at least, until your eyes fell on him again. He was leaning against the opposite wall, talking to someone, cigarette in hand mirroring yours. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, and you might as well have been shot. His gaze was heavy, full of…something. Anger? Fear? You couldn’t tell. You two held eye contact for a moment before he looked away.
Alright. You decided that was enough for one night. You hit your classic irish goodbye and got the fuck out of dodge. You didn’t even bother calling an uber, you just drunkenly stumbled home. You hadn’t even looked at your phone until you collapsed on your shitty little couch.
4 new messages.
Three from your friend.
“Where u at”
“Did u dip?”
“Text me when u get home i love u so much.”
One from him.
“Sorry I didn’t say hi.”
Well. Somehow you felt like you got shot a second time. You were genuinely surprised by the lack of bullet holes in your shirt. You stared at the words, your drunk and high brain trying to string together a response. You could’ve- no- should’ve waited until you were sober. But you didn’t. You never did.
“No big. It was nice to see u anyways.”
You practically threw your phone to the other end of the couch after you hit send. You heard it vibrate again almost instantly. You lunged for it, eyes scanning the screen.
“I got another bag if you want us to come to u”
Fuck. It was your friend. Her timing was truly immaculate. You rolled your eyes and didn’t respond.
About five minutes later, you received another text.
“It was good to see you too. What are you doing later?”
Later? It was already 1am. You did take into consideration that you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. You hesitated before typing a message.
“My friends might come over, why?”
You chalked up your shaking hands to the drugs, but you knew deep down what the real reason was. He responded almost instantly.
“I wanted to see you.” Plain. simple. Followed by another text.
“Like, actually see you.”
The nausea hit you like a train. The urge to tell him to drop everything and come to you was strong, but no. You were too proud. Play it cool. Before you could respond, a third message came through.
“If you want.”
If you want? It’s all you wanted. It’s all you thought about. You saw this man in every dream you had, he was in every lyric you wrote, every breath you took. You scoffed. If you want. What an insane thing to say.
“I’m home now.” You sent back, figuring you should elaborate.
“I can come back out.” Your heart hammered in your head. Two minutes passed before he texted back. It could’ve been hours, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.
“No need.” He sent back. No need? What does that even mean?
“You still at that apartment on 47th?”
You sure were. The same shitty apartment in the same shitty building with the same shitty posters being lived in by the same shitty person. You snapped your focus back, now wasn’t the time to hate yourself. That’s what tomorrow morning was for.
“Yea. Doors unlocked. Holler when ur on ur way.”
You got up and took a look at yourself in the mirror that hung on the wall. You’d looked better, but you’d certainly also looked a lot worse. You decided not to bother trying to fix you hammered you looked. He’d be fine.
“Be there in twenty.” He sent back. And there was the nausea again. You paced in your apartment for the entire twenty minutes, completely unable to sit down.
The knock rattled your entire body. You hesitated, you stared at the door for a moment too long before walking over to it, your feet heavy.
You swung open the door. There he was. That face. The face you had been sick over for the last four months. You studied it for a moment, he looked the same, maybe a little more tired. Your name left his mouth, his tone a mix of relief and hesitation.
“Gerard.” You responded, trying not to completely unravel.
You stepped to the side, allowing him to enter your apartment. It was a wreck, you should’ve picked up. He looked around, taking in the scenery like he hadn’t been there a thousand times.
“You been alright?” He asked. Always so awkward. You didn’t answer right away.
“I’m alive.” You responded with a dry chuckle.
“You?”
He didn’t look at you.
“I’ve been better.” He admitted. You could tell, he looked like shit.
“Yeah.” You breathed out.
“Didn’t expect to see you in a place like that.” You said, trying to sound casual.
“Frank.” He said, his one word explanation giving you all the information you needed.
“Ah.” You said, nodding.
The silence hung thick between you.
“Hey.” He said, slicing through the air.
“Hi.” You said, voice cracking slightly.
“Seeing you tonight…” He started, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing to avoid eye contact.
“I…I think I’ve been waiting for that.” He said softly.
You tried to steady your breathing before croaking out a pathetic “Yeah, me too.”
“I mean, I think about you all the time.” He admitted.
“You never really stopped being a part of my life.” He paused for a moment after that.
“You just stopped being in it.” His voice wavered. It almost sounded like he was about to cry. To be fair, you were right there with him.
“Yeah…” I said, hissing out a breath through my teeth.
“That’s just kinda…how things go, I guess.” You said, all of the coke fueled confidence melting away.
“I miss you.” He said, as if it was the most simple and obvious thing.
“Yeah.” You repeated yourself, not really knowing what else to say. You fiddled with the sleeve of your sweater.
“I uh-“ You stuttered. “I’ve missed you too…more than I’m willing to admit.” You confessed.
“Do you think we might’ve jumped the gun a little?” He asked, finally looking at you.
“What do you mean?” You said.
“Just…ending things the way we did.” He elaborated.
You paused for a long time as if you had to think about it. You thought about it constantly. You regretted every single moment since you walked out of his apartment that night.
“Yeah, sometimes.” You lied. It was all the time.
Another silence fell between you, you stood about ten feet apart, on either side of the couch. You tried not to look at him for too long, your eyes darting around the room anxiously before he spoke up.
“I think I fucked up.”
“Yeah, me too.” You responded almost immediately.
He let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
“Were a couple of fuck ups, huh?” He said, eyes glued to the floor.
“Yeah.” You agreed quietly.
“Look.” He said your name again, “Being broken up sucks.” He said plainly. He wasn’t wrong.
“I want to…fix everything.” He paused.
“I want things to be the way they were.” He said, softer this time.
You hummed and nodded, not knowing what to say.
“I guess what I’m asking is…What do you think?” He asked, voice lined with the slightest glimmer of hope.
That really broke you, tears began falling before you even realized it.
“I think that I still love you.” You said, voice cracking.
He took a step towards you, then another, until he was face to face with you. A shaking hand reached up and lingered for a moment before cupping your cheek.
“Look at me.” He said, voice quiet, breathy, desperate.
You made eye contact for the first time since he got there. You tried to hold back, but the tears kept flowing.
“I love you, too.” He said, voice cracking.
“I never stopped. Not even for a moment.” He assured you. A sob wracked your body. Before you could even think, your arms were wrapped around him, holding your trembling bodies together. You two stayed like that for a moment, both crying softly into each others shoulders.
As much as you would’ve loved to continue in this moment, a shot of insecurity ripped through your mind. He was drunk, you were drunk, what happened in the morning? What happened when you two looked at the situation with sober eyes? Who were you kidding, sure, you wanted this while drunk, but you sure as hell wanted it sober too. You pulled away, sniffling.
"what do we even do? I mean," You paused, "Where do we even go from here?"
He sat with your question for a moment, you could tell from his face that he didn't really think that far ahead. His mouth hung open for a moment before he spoke again.
"I mean it's not like we can just start over..." He said quietly, his own face painted with tears.
"Yeah." You responded at the same volume,
"Can I...Uh, let me take you to dinner?" He said, there it was. There was your sweet, awkward boy.
You chuckled softly, which grew a little louder as it went on.
"Dinner?" You asked, a smile cracking across your face.
"Sure, dinner sounds good."