ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 2: Adjust

A/n: a little bit of filler for you to get used to being in 2007 and to flesh out the mc, sorry - Gerard will make his appearance next chapter :)

Your date of birth on your credit card, your driver's licence and your immigrant visa was now 1980. Your favourite CDs from beyond 2007 had all disappeared, gone, as if they'd never existed. You found a sign you'd made to protest the Iraq war in 2003 — when you should've been four.

You were panicking, you were panicking so much. You were running around your house, upturning every piece of furniture, looking for some sign of this all being a sick joke; and it didn't seem to be. You'd even turned on the TV, and had been greeted with the news that 26 people in Baghdad had been killed by Chlorine bombs, two days ago, and on the next channel, a talk show was discussing Britney Spears shaving her head in February.

Five minutes ago you'd been in fucking 2022, and now you were here. It did not make sense. You didn't know if it would make sense if you knew the how and why of the situation.

Now, you were sitting on the floor, frantically looking through your contacts, until you found your mother, desperate to see if she had any answers. Usually you wouldn't dare phone her without being prepared to talk to the woman first, but you really had no choice right now.

The dial tone rang out, making you wince at the volume, till she picked up, with a surprised, "Hi, sweetheart, what's going on? I'm in the middle of doing my nails—"

"Mum!" you burst into tears, too overwhelmed at hearing her voice, finally having a sliver of familiarity to cling onto.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" she exclaimed, and there were rustling sounds from the other end of the line, as if she'd sat up, "Why are you crying? Did something happen?"

"Mum, I don't know what to—" you cut yourself off, and rocked yourself on the ground miserably, taking a deep shuddering breath, "You'll think I've gone insane if tell you."

"Honey, I already knew you were a little bit odd. With everything you've said over the years, I doubt it would surprise me," she replied.

You gulped, before mumbling, "I think... I think I've, uh, gone back in time. I don't know how to explain it, I was in 2022 a couple of minutes ago, and now — now I'm here, and I don't know why."

There was a blatant pause, before she asked slowly, "Is this some kind of experimental questionnaire for your next album?"

"No!" you burst out desperately, "Mum, please, you have to believe me — and if you don't, then — then at least tell me what's been going on in my life for the past few years, because I don't remember making an album, or—"

"Okay, sweetheart," she interrupted, sounding firm, "I don't know what's going on, but I think you might need to see a psychiatrist. Maybe the fame has gotten to your head and you've developed schizophrenia, or maybe you bumped your head."