ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 11: Date?

a/n: don't ask me where i get these gifs from they just appear in my gallery

The flight was only one hour, but it felt like years. Since you were all going on the same plane, you ended up being around the bands for a long time. You mostly stuck by Frank, Chris and Harvey, who wouldn't quit badgering you the whole time; you meant that in an endearing way, of course.

Poor Gerard, with his flying anxiety, hardly said a word. You sat next to him, while in the waiting area, in silence, and offered him your headphones so he could listen to something to distract himself. He hadn't responded verbally to your offer, but he'd smiled shakily, and took the CD player from you with gratitude.

By the time you arrived in California and got to the hotel, it was late, and you went straight to sleep at midnight on the dot, after the long strenuous day you'd been through. You didn't even bother unpacking, since Harvey had told you that you'd be going on a bus to your next location after this show.

The thought of performing again didn't help either. You felt sick to your stomach thinking about it, having to go on stage in front of a bunch of people once more. What if they laughed at you? What if they booed you? What if you got stuff thrown at you?

The notions plagued your mind all night, resulting in a troubled nap. By the time you awoke, it was ten, and the concerts were due to start at two — your head was aching, and one look in the mirror to see the giant bruise on your temple almost made you burst into tears.

You did not want to be here.

Just as you began your normal routine, a knock at your door surprised you, and made you panic, and half-choke on your toothpaste. Still scrubbing your teeth, you shuffled over to the door, assuming it was just Harvey, come to see if you were actually awake; it wasn't.

It was Gerard.

When you poked your head out, you were mortified to see him, mostly because you were still in your pyjamas, and your toothbrush was sticking out of your mouth stupidly. Your entire presentation was in sharp contrast to him, as he was wearing his signature jean jacket, tight trousers, and his hair looked absolutely impeccable.

In short, he looked like a fucking god, and you looked like an idiot.

"Morning," he smiled in a friendly manner, and held out your CD player, "forgot to give this back. Sorry."

You froze, and sputtered, gesturing behind you apologetically, before rushing back to your bathroom to spit the stuff out. After washing out your mouth hastily, you ran back to the entrance, where Gerard was standing patiently. "No problem," you gasped out, taking the headphones from him, "borrow them any time you like."

He nodded in understanding, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "Hey, uh, dya... wanna go around town and have lunch with me today? The others are all going straight to the concert grounds, but I wanted to have a look around — I figured... well, I had fun in that shop with you yesterday, so..."