.because you stop the noise

12Jan11 - .50 ways to leave our lover

January 12, 2011 - Los Angeles

Gerard's knees were pulled up to his chest as he sat up against the headboard in nothing but a pair of Bert's boxers that had been tangled under the sheets for days probably. His puffy red eyes staring out the bay windows to his right, catching the doves perched on a branch. Or maybe they were pigeons... who knows? He was sure they picked at each other's eyes just the same.

He felt the thud on the bed and refused to look over. He refused to confront what was happening even though he could clearly hear the sound of clothes being shoved into a bag. There was no way in hell he would actually watch Bert walk out. They could get through this. It was no where near as bad as last time. And they were older now, together for longer, they had more to lose than they ever did before and even back then they still found a way to put it all behind them and just fucking be together like they were always meant to be.

"This is our home, Bert." His voice came out cracked and raw. He'd always hated crying in front of people, even Bert but this morning was different... is couldn't be stopped or helped. The first tears fell the moment he made his confession.

Bert wasn't nearly as emotional as Gerard at the news. He was angry but he was calm, which was what scared Gerard the most. An emotional Bert he could deal with. Bert is normally a feel first, think later kind of guy. But this quiet anger scared the shit out of Gerard.

"I'm not fucking going aaanywhere." Bert scoffed as Gerard heard a second bag being zipped open and more clothes piled in.

Finally he looked to see that one bag contained all of his daily clothes... which to be fair there wasn't much variety of. But it was all the things Gerard loved to wear when he was just trying to be comfortable. As he looked up he watched as Bert pulled out hanger after hanger of less than comfortable, tight, skimpy, shiny, strappy little numbers that Gerard had collected over the last 8 months and shoved it all into the second bag. It was then that even though Gerard thought he must've already cried all his tears out that morning, they fell again, rapidly and without warning. "Where'm I gonna... go?" breath hitched as he wept.

"Your bother..." Bert just adds without hint of being affected by Gerard's heartache, "... your parents..." as he adds another scoff, "... a hotel. All the options your Black Parade money can afford." and continued shoving item after item in the bag.

"I... love you." It came out as a whimper soaked in tears. Bert was... a disgusting guy. He weighed more than he ever had since they met and far more than he should for his size, he stopped taking care of himself ages ago, he drank like a fish and then he drank some more, he was an addict, he ate his own snot, he ate other people's snot, he was obnoxious, loud, inappropriate, attention-seeking, more talk and less action, lazy, he had a God-complex, narcissist, verbally abusive when he didn't get his way, selfish, he has small hands, short legs and just under 6 inches of cock, but he was everything... everything Gerard wanted and wished he didn't need. He was the only thing keeping Gerard from falling into that hole he tends to dig for himself. He was the only one Gerard couldn't hide from or run away from. He made Gerard feel good and loved, wanted... he made Gerard feel like it was okay to be a mess, okay to just wear the same t-shirt and stale jeans for 2 weeks in a row, okay to just be in his skin, to lose weight and gain it back in double. Bert didn't care what shape Gerard's body was in, so long as he got to touch him. He made Gerard feel sexy and strong. He took that 5.8 inch cock (yes Bert messured it) and made Gerard come harder than The Devil in Miss Jones.

"I know." Bert sniffed, adding yet another pair of tight pants to the second bag with a sigh. It took a moment of him just stairing into the bag, running his fingers over the red leather of the pants before he finally looked up to Gerard's hopeless eyes staring back at him for some kind of reassurance. "Look... you're gonna take both these bags. You're gonna leave. I'm gonna record my fucking album... and by the end of it you're gonna tell me which bag you're gonna keep... and which one You're gonna burn."