ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 22: Well Earned

The primary sound that registered to you was of intense crying, before you realised that you were being shaken desperately, like a rag doll; your hands stiffly wriggled in response, which made the movement stop. You focused your vision, as the stinging ache of your fall came back to you, and you let out a pained groan. First time it had hurt, the second time had hurt as well.

That thought vanished when you realised that it was Harvey who had been shaking you, and was kneeling over you with a tear-stricken expression of fear and guilt. "Oh my fucking god," he choked out, when you opened your eyes fully, "oh my—"

"Harvey," you breathed as you grabbed him by the arm, adrenaline bursting through you out of pure joy and relief, "Harvey, what year is it?"

"Huh?" he blinked, "It's 2007, why—?"

You didn't let him finish, and instead sat up and brought him into a hug; he eagerly collapsed into your embrace, and sobbed into your neck. "I'm so sorry," you whispered weakly.

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for!" he denied, his voice cracking as he gripped you tighter, "I'm sorry — I've been such an awful manager, I never noticed how much you were struggling, and then you just left, and I instantly knew that you were going to try and kill yourself, and I came here, and you were just — on the floor—"

"I'm not dead," you assured, pulling back to let him look at you properly.

"Well, no shit!" Harvey half-joked, but he beamed through his crying. "I'm so glad you're not," he wiped his eyes furiously, "what even happened? There's a pot of Ibuprofen here, but it isn't open..."

"Ah yeah..." you ran through a multitude of excuses in your head, "I, uh, decided at the last minute not to, y'know, and then while I turned around to go back to the kitchen I slipped and hit my head."

"You do a lot of that," your manager observed.

You laughed briefly, before taking him by the shoulders, and becoming deadly serious, "Harvey, listen, you need to get your heart checked out."

"Huh? Why?"

"You told me that you had a family thing — a problem with your heart, right? You said that, right? You said that. You totally told me that. So, I want you to go and get it checked out, see if there's any meds that might prevent, y'know, heart failure, or something."

"(Y/n), are you—?"

"Just do it," you affirmed, giving him a little shake.

"Okay, I'll do it," he replied, before frowning, "but first of all, I'd like to know everything. I want to know why you even thought of doing this in the first place."

You glanced at him nervously; then sighed, and let everything bleed. Your tiredness from the concerts, the pressures of measuring up to the artists around you, the mind-melting anxiety you got from going on stage, your discomfort around Jimmy Urine and MSI as a whole, even your struggles with feeling things for Gerard. You told him everything except the fact that you were from the future, pouring your guts right out into the open for him to look at.