The air is like a blanket, smothering the rotten streets of Belleville with an eerie calm that Gerard has always loved. He walks briskly though, as the heat of the sun has been lost to the night for some time now, and the woman’s cut leather jacket does little to protect him from the chilled air.
He cuddles his jacket closer and curses under his breath when a particularly cold gust of air knocks around him and his hair whips violently across his face. It isn’t far now, two more minutes of the icy cold and the danger of being jumped, then Gerard will be warm in the bar with Mikey.
As he rounds the last corner the dull ache of the silent night trips into a typical, Tuesday evening at the House Of Wolves; the air is soon full of loud, drunken Jersey girls and couples fights that have been forced from the confines of the old pub and onto the bitter streets. Gerard almost smiles to himself at the familiarity as he pushes past a group of teen girls, smoking outside the door, all clad in grey sweatpants and Fred Perry jackets.
Gerard remembers coming here as a teen, he knows exactly what it’s like for those kids, all eager to grow up and drink and smoke and just be in a bar. He sort of misses how excited it made him feel. With his age, a long with many other things, Gerard lost that fear element of staying up late and drinking beer.
Gerard spots Mikey almost instantly in the bar area where The House is not as busy, most of its occupants choosing to lounge in the back room where the bands play, every Tuesday, Thursday nights weekdays, and then all weekend.
Mikey always chooses the same spot, the booth with the faded red seats on the left of the door leading into the back. His hand rests on the table next to his tall coke, fingers not touching the wet, smooth surface of the glass, but close enough to signify that Gerard shouldn't try and steal a sip.
Mikey nods his head, not quite in time with the fast punk band spilling from the back room and Gerard notices how comfortable Mikey looks, sitting alone in a New Jersey bar.
Gerard is fine with being alone, he spends most of his life sitting in that empty apartment shouting “Fly, you fools!” whilst he paints. It’s just that he hates, completely and utterly hates, being alone with people.
Gerard can’t quite stand that Mikey got over his fear of people before he did.
Gerard sits down opposite Mikey and grins a little as Mikey jumps, clearly shocked to find that he is no longer alone in this sea of bodies and aggressive guitars. “Fuck you scared me.” Mikey swears.
“I do try.” Gerard smirks then steals Mikey’s drink because he hates that.
“Asshole.” He snaps when Gerard finally passes back the frosty glass of coke.
“Who’s playing tonight?” Gerard asks after a few moments of silence between them.
“Oh uh, Frank’s band; I Am A Graveyard.”
“Frank’s in a band?” Gerard gawps, guppy faced.
“Yeah.” Mikey says. “Did he not tell you on your night of intense conversations?”
“No he did not.” Gerard replies. “And it was not a night of intense conversations, we just chatted.”
“What about the in-depth details of your depressing childhood?”
“He told you what we talked about?”
“No, lucky guess.”
“Oh” Gerard says and looks back down.
“He did say you were really cool though.”
And Gerard can’t help but grin, surprised and delighted by the compliment. Cool has never been a word used to describe him before, most people settled on words like ‘loner’ or ‘interesting’ unless of course they are MikeyWay in which case, more often that not, terms like ‘Delicate little fairy’ or ‘princess’ are recurring.
