ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 11: Date?

"Not at all — I tried to get this idea going for a show called 'The Breakfast Monkey', with my friend Joe Boyle," Gerard explained, as he walked beside you. "We pitched it to Cartoon Network, but they turned us down because it was too similar to 'Aqua Teen Hunger Force'. That's really the only time I ever really pitched anything, I just stuck to being an intern after that."

"Well, you make great music," you offered.

"Thank you," he smiled shyly, glancing away.

"No, I mean it," you insisted, stepping in front of him, and giving him a stern frown, "I don't think you realise how talented you are. Maybe you're worried about getting a big head, but I'll tell you right now, there's a difference between being arrogant and confident in your art, and you deserve to feel good about what you create. Because your band has made some of the most fantastic songs to ever exist."

You paused, taking in his expression of bashful shock; he was cute as hell, it really wasn't fair.

"And I know that it might seem unbelievable, coming from somebody with a huge plaster on their head to hide a massive bruise," you added, "but please just — try and believe it."

Gerard burst into laughter, "Y'know it's not that bad, right?" he teased.

"What? Are you kidding me? It's like someone painted my face!" you retorted, rubbing the corners of the bandaid that Harvey had put on for you.

"You look fine," he softened, and reached out to push away some strands of hair from the hurt area, "I promise."

You raised an eyebrow, "Sure."

"I mean it," he shuffled closer, a black curl falling to dance next to his cheek as he moved. He scrutinised you carefully, his gaze flitting over your expression of concern — "There's not a single thing out of place. You look great."

"Oh," you felt your entire body temperature rise. "Thank you. Uh, wanna find a place to eat?"

"Sure, I'm getting hungry any—" a rumble echoed from his stomach, which made him stop.

You struggled to hold back a snort, "I think that works as an answer," you wheezed.

Gerard narrowed his eyes at you at your amusement, before leaning down, and resting his mouth near your ear, making you freeze instantaneously — his hot breath caressed your skin, as he slid his hands behind his back coyly, parting his lips to whisper.

"Do you think eating is gay?"

The cackle that escaped you made you double over, and Gerard ended up giggling to himself as well; you must've looked a right pair, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, laughing like hyenas. However, in that moment, you'd never felt better.

After controlling yourselves, you two hastily found a small restaurant, which served food that looked pretty good — it was a small, simple diner that didn't have a lot of people inside, much to your relief. As you hovered outside, looking at the menu, you peered through the window, and found there to be a poster on the wall that looked familiar.

"There's a poster of 'The Smashing Pumpkins' in there," you pointed out.

"Oh cool!" he peeked over at where you'd gestured to, before, suddenly, Gerard turned pale, "Shit, what if someone recognises me? I usually wear a hoodie, but I forgot to bring one today."

"Is that a bad thing?" you questioned, wrinkling your nose.

"Well, it depends on if they're a fan, or if they want to beat me up for being 'emo'," he raised his hands to put quotations around the word of importance.

You nodded in understanding, before grabbing the black scarf you'd wrapped around your neck, and untying it with purpose. As you unravelled the fabric, you tried to ignore how he peered at you in confusion, watching as you stretched the thing out; you measured it briefly against his face, brow furrowed in concentration, before looking at him briefly, and asking nonverbally for consent.

He nodded, despite still being puzzled, even dipping a little further forwards so that you could reach him more easily.

Then, you began to wrap it around his head, in a headscarf — he didn't move, instead letting you do as you wanted to, allowing you to put his sunglasses back over his eyes, and complete a loose knot under his chin carefully. He didn't take his gaze off you for one moment, watching your clumsy but caring hands, and your expression of focus, as if he were intrigued by you.

"There we go," you pulled the cloth a little further over his forehead, "a real Princess Leia."

Gerard smiled in a flustered manner, fiddling with the ends of the scarf, "Y'sure this is gonna work?"

"Yeah," you assured, "you look practically unrecognisable."

He glanced into the glass for confirmation, before gasping, "Hey, I look hot!"

You chuckled, then motioned to the door to the restaurant, "Your highnessness," you drawled, in a pretty good impression of Harrison Ford's Han Solo.

He scoffed, and placed one hand on his hip, but slid his arm through yours; "You're funny," he giggled, squeezing your hand.

(Your heart whacked against your ribcage.)

"I was considering becoming a professional clown, if my musical career didn't work out," you joked.

"Ah, that's the reason for the clown makeup! Clever!"

"I like to be subtextual about these things,"

That elicited another angelic laugh from him, as you both walked into the diner.