ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 13: Overworked Prodigy Child

"You don't do this often, do you?" he observed, his proximity causing his voice to become soft and low near your ear.

"It wasn't really a thing, in the good old household, to, uh, express physical affection," you admitted, staring at the ground.

"Well, you're gonna have to get used to it, 'cuz I like hugs," he declared, one arm trailing up to cradle your neck. "Now, I want you to promise me something."

"Are you gonna hold this over my head?" you questioned, shrinking into yourself like a turtle.

"No," he assured, with a slight laugh. "I just want you to promise that if you ever want to get away from your mum whilst she's here, then you call me."

"Oh," you felt your face burning, "thank you."

"No problem," he fiddled with a strand of your hair momentarily. "Hey, do you mind, uh..." he became a little apprehensive, his grip unknowingly tightening on you, "well, y'know how I usually kiss people I know when I see them, on the cheek 'n stuff..."

You groaned overdramatically, and swallowed the screech in your throat, "Yeah, sure. You can do the whole French thing with me."

"Don't say it like that!" Gerard exclaimed, though he swayed from side to side with you still in his embrace with a giggle, "I can't believe I didn't get to meet you sooner," he sighed, almost dreamily.

You gulped, and clenched your fists against his jacket, his chest pressing against yours; "Well, I'm glad it's happened now."

-

By the time it was two hours until your show, you were hanging around in the wings, with Frank and Ray, watching carefully as the two men tuned their guitars. You were on edge, since you knew your mother was going to be here soon, so you figured that distracting yourself would be the best option; and Ray and Frank were doing great jobs at providing that.

"Hey, do you know this tune?" the rhythm guitarist addressed you, before doing a twangy riff.

You couldn't help but let out an amused exhale, from where you sat atop the table. "It's the thing from Buddy Holly, isn't it?"

Frank pointed at you, "You, my friend, have great taste."

"How about this?" Ray volunteered, and played a complicated looking few bars of a solo.

"It's the bridge from Jump by Van Halen," you answered almost instantly.

"Impressive," Ray paused, before taking off his guitar strap, "why don't you have a go? As long as you're careful," he warned.

"What?" you felt a panic rise in your throat, "I — I'm not good at guitar, I only really know how to play bass..."

(You weren't lying here. For a small amount of time, you did actually play bass guitar, but your mother put a stop to that. You were subject to acoustic guitar lessons for six months before you again were forced to quit, and moved onto other more 'profitable' things.)

"C'mon, it's not hard," Ray encouraged, holding the instrument out to you invitingly. "I'll even teach you a bit, if you want."

You glanced at the thing, before taking it slowly, and holding it as if it were a newborn baby, with the utmost care. You placed your fingers shakily against the frets, before strumming experimentally, to create a pretty dull but acceptable sound; Frank grinned enthusiastically, leaning forwards in interest.

"Can I show you where to put your hand?" Ray questioned — when you nodded, you allowed him to adjust your wrist, so you were more accurate in position — "There we go," he sat back, "try it out and see what you can do."

You stilled for a moment, before muttering, "I guess I can play one thing."

Positioning your hand, you clumsily played a C sharp minor chord, before going on to play E, B and A; Frank lit up instantly, with a delighted expression, whilst Ray raised both of his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. "That's our song! That's Helena!" Frank exclaimed.

You half smiled, as you stumbled your way through the first verse, incredibly concentrated, only really coming to your senses when someone slid into the room, to lean against the doorway.

As soon as you hit the chorus, you were surprised when the new addition decided to sing along — "What's the worst that I can say?" Gerard's voice was angelic, and almost made you lose concentration, as you stumbled to the next chord of C diminished, "Things are better if I stay, so long and goodnight, so long and goodnight."

Fuck, he sounded so good when his voice was raw and live. It made you want to just — roll around on the floor screaming, or something.

And his outfit — fuck! You hadn't seen him up close in his sheriff clothes, but by god, he looked absolutely glorious, you could not overstate how good he looked. His hair, too, was just impeccable, and his necktie somehow made him even hotter. It had to be black magic, at this point, because of just how attractive he was.

Ray clapped when you were finished, "Why didn't you say you couldn't play?" he asked, with a slight chuckle.

"I'm just not good," you responded dryly, "I can only really play that and maybe 'In The End' by Linkin Park, if I'm stretching it."

"That's still pretty good—hey!" Frank laughed in surprise, when Gerard grabbed him by the back of his shirt to give him a welcome kiss on the cheek.

"One for you," Gerard stated, before moving onto Ray, to push his afro back and give him a peck on the forehead — which made the poor man groan in embarrassment — "one for you..." then he looked up, and moved towards you, as you sat as still as a statue.

You felt your stomach jump, as he placed his hands behind his back to lean down and press his soft lips to your cheek. Your entire face burned, your gut lurching like you were on a trampoline; he hummed as he gave you the kiss, and made an exaggerated 'mwah' sound as he drew away, leaving a wet mark. You glanced at him without moving a muscle — he smiled, and then winked at you, from beneath his black eyeliner.

"And one for you."

You stared at him. Then you muttered, "You drew that out for far longer than necessary."

Frank let out a shriek of laughter, and Ray ducked his head; Gerard just grinned at you like the Cheshire cat, showing his teeth mischievously. You couldn't help but snort, unable to take the situation seriously, despite your early flustered manner.

"Sweetie?" a new voice came from the entrance, one that made your blood run cold.

Everyone looked up in confusion, excluding yourself who looked up in horror, to see your mother, standing in the doorway, bag in one hand, and a bottle of perfume in the other, like she'd just come out of a chick flick.