ROLL WITH IT [g.way x reader]

Chapter 21: A Change In Perspective

A sudden notification from your phone popped up, and you turned it over, now unused to such advanced technology; there was a message from your bank, saying that five hundred had been taken out of your account. You sat up in shock, but then froze when another text showed up, illuminating the screen, this time from your mother.

Mum:
Hi sweetheart
just taking my
monthly allowance
like we agreed!

Monthly allowance? Of five hundred dollars?

You did remember that before you'd ended up in 2007, your mother had been subtly pushing her idea that you would give her some money every so often. Since it was August now, it must've meant that while you were here, you'd caved to her demands.

But since you'd somewhat grown a backbone, since being in the past, now the notion was sour on you. You put your phone back on the desk, and slunk down in your seat — there was something hysterically awful about the whole matter at hand.

Glancing behind you, you stood up slowly, and crossed back into the living room, staring out through the window at what would be your building, before checking your watch. Four in the morning, ish, it wouldn't hurt to at least go down and see what the hell was going on.

So, you changed clothes, slugged on a coat that you found lying on your couch, grabbed your keys, being incredibly careful not to slip on anything as you walked; then you shuffled out, locking the door behind you. The journey down felt a little odd, as there were a few posters in the elevator urging the public to wear masks, and there was even a Maga advertisement that had been vandalised with black marker.

Outside, there was nobody around at all, though you did note that the supermarket had returned, and that you were now apparently living in the apartment above it. A quick look from left to right, and you had crossed the road, to the entrance of the opposite building, where you were quickly stunned.

Laid by the doors were tens of flowers, bouquets, or even singular roses — there were also stuffed animals, and signs and cards, the majority of them scribbled with 'we miss you'. You hovered to read them all over, before noticing that there were also little polaroids of you, dotted against the wall. 

You leaned in to see the details, and a disbelieving laugh escaped you, because you had never seen half of these pictures. They were probably a product of your recording days, before you'd been taken to 2007, considering that most of the photos looked to be taken inside a studio. You moved along slowly, reading each and every one of the kind words your fans had written for you, about how you'd been a fantastic musician, how your presence had brought light and joy to so many people.

It caused a soft, but crushing, sadness to engulf you, as you began to realise that your actions had affected so many. You'd thought you'd been doing the right thing, for them, and yet — you'd left your mark already. There were even a surprising amount of open letters about how the fans had gone to your concerts at Projekt Revolution, and how much they'd loved your shows.

Walking over to the doors, you found a laminated card, and stopped to scan it.

(Y/n) (L/n),
An artist who believed in other people, and brought a new perspective to the musical world. Loved, and was loved.

A lump grew in your throat, and your feelings only spiralled further when you saw a little drawing, below the sheet.

Gerard had drawn it. You didn't even have to look at the name to know it was him, the style was too distinct. It was a little portrait of you, cartoonish but touching, in simplistic black and white colours, with a little message beneath it.

I still miss you.

And beneath that, there was a little list of dates, where he'd scribbled, to note down each time he came back here. It went from 2007 all the way to 2022, in such a shocking motion of dedication that you could feel water pricking at the corners of your eyes.

This had been a mistake.

You began to cry miserably, in front of the memorial to yourself, with only the early morning wind to keep you company, your tears hitting the concrete below. It wasn't a bellowing, anguished type of sobbing that you'd done before, this was quieter, but not less painful in the slightest.

For five minutes, you shuddered in the cold light, snivelling like a child, before you decided to go back inside, back to your new apartment, back to your new life. As you got back into the flat, you wandered aimlessly towards the bathroom, to clean up your face, you almost stepped on something, but quickly stopped yourself, and looked down to see what it had been.

Only your CD player. You picked it up, and inspected it for a moment, before placing on the headphones, and pressing play to see what would come up.

Track 7, the one you'd shown Gerard, way back when.

You swayed from side to side, taking comfort in the familiar sound, wondering if he still remembered that now — staring at the spinning disc within the device, your mind wandered into the far offs of 'what ifs', and what could've happened if you'd just stuck it out.

But you couldn't go back now.

Could you?

You'd gotten here, could you get back, if you tried? If you really, really tried? Would that work? Or were you just being stupid?

'But if you try, then you might get your happy ending,' the song assured.

You took a deep, shaking breath, took off your headphones, and placed them on your bedside table, before speaking out loud, "I want to go back. Please let me go back."

You didn't know who was listening. You could only hope.

And so, with your eyes shut tight, you weakened your knees, and allowed yourself to drop; you went smack on the floor, with a thud, and knocked yourself out cold.