"Oh, wow," Hot Train Guy says. "That's—wow."
Gerard looks up just as the train starts moving and stumbles into the post, trying frantically to keep his balance and his coffee.
"Sorry, dude, whoa," Hot Train Guy says. "Didn't mean to freak you out." His hand is on Gerard's elbow, holding him steady; Gerard shrugs.
"I'm just not used to that much excitement this early," he says. Hot Train Guy grins, letting go of Gerard's arm to gesture at his head.
"Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you hit the peroxide," he says. "Is it true that blonds have more fun?"
"I—" Gerard blinks, fishbowl-awkward, and then shrugs again. "Ask me in a week or two," he says, and goes back to his coffee.
It's just another morning with Hot Train Guy.
*
It's not like Gerard's stalking Hot Train Guy or anything. He doesn't know his address, or what he does, or whether or not he's single, or his name, or anything really, except that he takes the 7:45 train from Hoboken to the WTC, loves the Times crossword, has at least one tattoo, and is really, really hot. If Gerard ever got to the train station early, he might know more than that—Hot Train Guy, unlike Gerard, is always there well ahead of time—but since that would involve actually striking up a conversation, it's probably for the best that Gerard is chronically almost-late.
And, really, that's all Gerard wants to know. Probably Hot Train Guy kicks puppies or robs grandmothers or thinks that comics "aren't real art", but as long as Gerard sticks to the occasional awkward train conversation, none of that matters. He can help Hot Train Guy out with the crossword, and complain with him about the train getting stuck between two stations for twenty minutes, what the fuck, and he can stare at the tattoos that peek out above the collar of his shirt, and that's fine—that's plenty. Anything more would be way, way too much for Gerard to deal with.
It's not that Gerard's life is exciting, or even all that busy. He works for Cartoon Network, which is kind of his dream job but also involves a lot more meetings and a lot less drawing than he really wants. Some of that's just the shine wearing off, seeing the relentlessly bureaucratic underbelly of his dreamworld—but some of it is just that Gerard only got hired two years and one month ago, so he's still basically the low man on the totem pole. Maybe someday, he'll be good enough and lucky enough to break away, draw his own comic and not have to follow other people's lines. In the meantime, though, it's a job, and they don't care if he doodles or hums or bleaches his hair over the weekend, which is really pretty badass.
But Gerard is awkward, and Hot Train Guy, while definitely attractive, has a tendency to blush and fidget, and, really, it's just better that they stay train buddies. That is what Gerard's decided, and that's what he's going to do. He helps Hot Train Guy with his crossword—and, yeah, sometimes Gerard looks at the clues over his shoulder to give himself time to think of the answers in case Hot Train Guy asks him, but whatever. That's normal, that's Gerard being a helpful human being and looking out for Train Guy's crossword puzzles.
(Mikey, when Gerard tells him this, doesn't say anything, doesn't even look up from his phone.
"Come on, Mikey," Gerard says. "It's not that lame."
Mikey snaps the phone shut and turns sideways, swinging his legs over the arm of the chair. His phone buzzes, and he flips it open again.
Gerard shifts, uncomfortable. "Well," he says. "Yeah, okay, it kind of is."
Mikey glances up, rolling his eyes. "Well, duh," he says, and Gerard grins.
"Love you too, Mikes," he says.)
