POISON

jetset

Money was never consistent in their line of work. One day, he could earn thousands, the next, twenty dollars. Or, very rarely, nothing at all. No matter how much he made, he'd never quite escaped the mindset of someone living on minimum wage since that was how he'd spent his early teenage years.

A metal ring on his favourite red choker had snapped off on stage after a customer had used it to pull him closer, rougher than he'd expected. He'd set to fixing it himself, having retrieved a small toolbox out of one of the old storage lockers at the back of the dressing room.

While everyone else was in the main area of the club earning their share, Gerard was sat at the makeup table, hunched over trying to push the metal clasps back together using a pair of pliers.

Earphones in, he didn't hear Val enter, missing out on whatever insult he'd decided to greet him with.

But Val wasn't having that, so he strolled over and pulled them out.

"Hey–" Gerard whined.

"Play it any louder, 'nd you'll go deaf." He glanced down at the choker Gerard was fixing, then the most pathetic excuse for a toolbox he'd ever seen. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Fixin' shit." He huffed. "I don't have the steady hands for this delicate sorta work anymore."

"Or you're just doing it wrong."

"Fuck off, I can do this no problem–" At that exact moment, the pliers slipped, sending the metal ring rolling across the floor, and the clasp bent the wrong way.

Val fought the urge to laugh. "You were saying?"

Gerard sent him a glare.

"Buy a new one, prairie boy." The ring had landed by his feet, so he picked it up, set it on the table, then dumped his bag on the bench to start getting ready.

"I don't want to; I'm saving up at the moment."

A few days prior, his mother had rung, requesting he send her money, which he couldn't object to even if he'd tried; she'd always been insanely persuasive, guilt tripping him into giving her exactly what she wanted. Besides, he couldn't just leave her to fall into debt again. He made more than enough to help her out, he just hated the fact that was the only reason she ever called.

Gerard tried again, managing to secure the pieces back together. He gave it a good shake to double check, then shot Val a very smug grin, "See, you fucker. I did it."

"I'm busy right now, I'll clear time in my jam-packed schedule so that I can praise you later."

"Good, you can suck my dick while you're at it."

No witty response, Val just stuck his middle finger up at him.

"That wasn't a no," Gerard teased.

"God, I hate you."

"I hate you too, babes." He smiled, diverting his attention to his reflection as he fastened the choker around his neck, the charm now hanging nicely between his collarbones. After storing the toolbox away, he sashayed over to Val, who was fetching his heels and tonight's outfit out of his duffel. "How would I ever survive without you, huh?"

"You wouldn't. Now, fuck off, your fans are waiting."

Gerard placed a kiss to Val's cheek, then started off towards the exit. "I'll see you later – you can give me that praise we were talkin' about."

"You're so desperate for it." Val narrowed his eyes, and Gerard just glared before disappearing into the main area of the club.

For the entirety of his shift so far, the bar had been void of his favourite tender, and he'd half expected him to come in at eleven like he usually did, but it was getting past midnight now, and there hadn't been any sign.