.because you stop the noise

18Nov09 - "what did i do?"

November 18, 2009 - Los Angeles

4 hours and 23 minutes. Bert was counting the minutes since they woke up. It wasn't something he normally did but it also wasn't the first time. See this only happened on days when they wake up and Bert has no idea why Gerard is so fucking annoyed with him. Bert would immediately know that it's a counting day if he reached out for Gerard in bed and he was either not there, or he immediately got out of bed to avoid Bert touching him. Followed by angry teeth brushing and then just plain not talking to him. No 'Good morning', no acknowledgment, no 'thanks for the coffee, babe.' Nothing. On good days it would just last till after the coffee and then Gerard would soften up and melt around him with a thank you. Those mornings were alright. Bert would know it wasn't really about him. But if the shit persists till after even the second cup of coffee... that's when Bert knew he must've done something.

Normal procedure under these circumstances required that Bert first check his phone to make sure he hadn't received any missed calls or important texts from Gerard the night before he should've known about. Like was he supposed to pick Gerard up from anywhere or something? Second was to check if there were any calls or texts from unknown numbers. Cause while Bert seriously did not cheat on Gerard anymore, You can't always stop the crazy girls, especially the cosplayers from texting sometimes. Third was to check all texts from Quinn, to make sure there was nothing there Gerard could've read wrongly.

If he were lucky, he would find something there. If not, Bert would have to make a decision. 1, he tries to figure out what he did wrong and then make it right. 2, he ignores it, gets wasted and waits for Gerard to get over it. Problem with the latter was that that's what Bert always used to do and well, there's only so much anger he can force Gerard to swallow before Bert comes home to find his boyfriend with three inches of tongue rammed up some punk bitche's ass.

I mean... that was Bert's thought process, even though he was already on his second beer for the day and lazed out on the couch. The rare moments he had to watch Gerard walk around the kichen, making more coffee and... and... Bert started giggling despite the tense air. "Aren't those mine?"

...............................................

Dragging his feet across the floor, Gerard slummed through their bedroom, one lazy foot in front of the other as his long arm fell lifeless to his side. Practically half dead from exhaustion. He wasn's even aware that he was in Bert's pajama pants. Maybe if he stopped to realize his ankles were getting more of a breeze than usual he would've caught on. Alas, he did not and instead crawled into bed, nesting under the covers. This fucking Conventional Weapons recording needed to end.

Bert's lump of a drunk body slowly turned, curling up behind the taller singer with a half groan/burp that provoked Gerard's face to twitch. If he were any more awake, he probably would've squirmed away a little but he just wasn't invested in movement enough at this point. And... and well... it was a cold night and while Gerard's never did well in the cold, Bert's blood always burned hot. So having his reeking, warm body up against him wasn't all that bad.

If Gerard paused for thought, he might've wondered when the last time was that he got in bed next to a relatively sober Bert. 'Relatively' being the key word since let's face it, Bert hadn't been 100% sober since he was 14 years old. And that's just the contract you sign when you decide to involve yourself with Bert McCracken. Expecting to have less than 12 beers and two bottles of Jack in the little shit's system per night is just you lying to yourself and the nation. This was Bert. And it wasn't gonna change, not in any future Gerard could see anyway. It was a miracle Gerard was able to stay sober.

But these thoughts were miles away from his mind right now as he dug half his face into the pillow taking his last sigh of relaxation. His eyes fell closed as sleep begun to set in. Okay, maybe he cracked a little smile when he felt Bert's nose in his mop of black hair, just maybe. But other than that, Gerard was a corpse.