Frerard One-Shots

Pajamas

Written by falloutloveandhim on Deviantart

Sometimes, strange things happen around our tour bus.

Living on tour is never boring.

Okay, yeah, sometimes it is boring.

But what I mean is...it's interesting. The four of us each have our own respective personalities, and living together on a bus is like throwing those personalities into a blender on puree and then voila! You have a strange blend of zany, chaotic, activity and muddled body clocks, weird smells, and a lot of coffee.

It's difficult to have very much privacy or breathing space, no matter what bus upgrade we've earned this time around. For example, when someone (Ray) falls asleep on the couch in the lounge, there is absolutely nowhere to sit unless you fancy being sardined in your bunk for the time said person is snoozing the day away.

Then there's the bathroom, which is a toxic gas chamber, especially when the catering menu offers Mexican food. I swear it needs to be fumigated before I will ever go in there other than to take an emergency shower. Not only that, but doing anything other than checking your hair in there would be pointless; it's smaller than a closet.

You can't really cook much, or at least nothing that takes longer than ten minutes. Produce and dairy products don't last long enough before spoiling, and most of the time we eat what the catering offers, anyway. It's too hard to cook with people walking past, plus none of us really have the patience for cooking. Mikey burns Poptarts every time he makes them, and one time I saw him scrutinize the directions on a bag of frozen fish sticks for at least fifteen minutes before finally asking Gerard for help, because 'this is Chinese or some shit'.

So, overall, we almost always know where each other are on the bus. It's bigger than our old van, I guess, but after a few weeks on the road, hearing Mikey sing Fall Out Boy obliviously loud in the shower gets kind of old (Gerard tells me and Ray, despite our concern, or moreover annoyance, that we shouldn't approach him about it as we might 'damage his fragile sense of confidence').

If you ask me, Mikey's self-esteem is in no way fragile. The cocky bastard makes fun of me when I can't match my socks (our laundry gets mixed up, okay?!).

Try telling that to Gerard, though.

Gerard is really the only one making effective use of our limited space and privacy. He rarely ever complains unless his brother decides to 'borrow' his DVDs and never give them back, or if me and Ray have a burping contest. Most of the time, he perches himself somewhere and sketches. I've observed that his favorite spot so far is the comfy, brown, leather armchair in the front lounge.

Sometimes, I'll get lucky and all of the guys will happen to be gone out for the night, or a good portion of it; Ray likes to go drinking with Dewees, and Mikey either tags along or finds a coffee shop to sit in.

Most of the time, Gerard doesn't go out. He doesn't drink anymore, not really at least. He'll have a glass, maybe, or some wine on the holidays, but nothing more. And he doesn't like to party or hang out in hip coffee shops like Mikey.

So, it'll be me and Gerard staying behind on the bus, because I will most always choose not to follow either the guitarist or the bassist to their extravagant, evening adventure. The truth is, being 'stuck on the bus with Gerard' really isn't a bad thing at all. He's quiet, mostly keeps to himself when he's drawing or reading, and rarely ever sings in the shower or falls asleep on the couch. And he knows how to make fish sticks, too.

Tonight was one of my lucky nights. I had settled down on the unoccupied couch and started up a game of Spider solitaire on my laptop. I was grateful and looking forward to having the bus practically to myself for the night, as Gerard was already hard at work on a sketch of what had looked like Wolverine about an hour ago when he walked past me in the kitchen to grab the potato chips and then head back to his bunk, or what Mikey, Ray, and I had coined 'the lair'.