One

Bert sat on the concrete divider on the edge of the parking lot, lit a joint, and said, "I'm gonna fuck the pretty one."

"His name is Gerard." Brian held his hand out for the joint. "And he's straight."

Bert took another hit and passed the joint. "There's no such thing as straight," he said.

Brian just raised an eyebrow as he took a long drag off the joint and handed it back to Bert.

Bert put the joint in his mouth and puffed on it, squinting as the smoke went into his eyes. "It's true. I'm gonna write a scholarly paper about it, and publish it in the Journal of..." He waved his hand. "I dunno. The Journal of something." He took one last long drag off the joint and passed it back to Brian. "There's only 'straight until'. Straight until you've met the right person, or straight until you're fucked up enough."

Quinn approached them, hands in the pockets of the same worn jeans Brian remembered him wearing last year when Brian was their tour manager. Quinn sat down on the divider on the other side of Bert.

"For example," Bert said. "I'm straight until Quinn walks into the room."

Quinn reached over Bert to snag the joint from Brian. "You telling him about your scholarly paper?" He took a hit off the joint. "Did you tell him about the formula?"

"Do you have something to write with?" Bert asked Brian, and Brian took a ball point pen out of his pocket. Bert held out his left arm. "If P equals my dick," he said. "And Y equals sucking, then X equals P plus Y." He scrawled x = p + y on his forearm. "X is the number of shots of Jack Daniels someone needs until they reach the 'straight until' part of their biological makeup. So all I have to do is solve for X." He took the joint from Quinn. "And I get my dick sucked." He smiled as he took a hit off the joint.

"I don't think that's really how math works," Brian said.

Bert offered Brian the rest of the joint, but Brian waved it away, and Bert ground it out on the concrete between them.

"It's been pretty much infallible," Quinn said. "Everyone has their X."

"Jeph is a five," Bert said. "Brandon's a seven." He pointed at the tour bus on the other side of the lot. "My goal for tonight is to find out Jerry's X."

"Gerard," Brian corrected him. He squinted into the distance. "And he's coming over here." He turned to Bert. "Please try not to rape anyone in my new band. I just got them."

Bert giggled.

"Hi," Gerard said once he reached them. He was half out of breath from crossing the parking lot while smoking a cigarette. His eyes locked on Bert's. "I just wanted to say thank you again for taking us out on tour with you. We're all big fans and we love your music, so it means a lot to us."

Bert just nodded.

"G!" someone yelled from over by his bus. Gerard turned to see one of his bandmates waving their arms and gesturing for him to return.

"Sorry," Gerard said, turning back to Bert. "Matt just got back from his beer run and I'm pretty much a huge lush, so I'm gonna get over there before they finish it. I'll see you later." He smiled. "I hope. Bye."

When Gerard was safely out of range, Quinn turned to Bert and said, "This is gonna be too easy."

Bert frowned thoughtfully. "You're right. Go tell him I have herpes."

Quinn hopped off the divider and headed towards Gerard's bus.

Later that night Bert watched Gerard perform from backstage. He was full of energy and fearless, growling at the crowd and shrieking his approval when a song was going well. It was odd to see him offstage just seconds later, sweaty and pale, looking shy around the techs, his eyes scanning the room for the rest of his band. Bert ducked into The Used's dressing room before Gerard could spot him.

When The Used performed that night, Bert took a moment in between their first and second songs to thank Gerard's band. He was halfway through his spiel when he realized he'd forgotten the band's name. Something about pesticide? He had no idea. "Give it up for our openers!" he shouted, and the crowd cheered. Quinn spit at him affectionately, and Bert sang the next song so loud that he threw up a little.

When the show was over, Bert went to his bus to retrieve his nearly-full bottle of Jack Daniels. Quinn was in the front lounge drinking a beer and he hooted as Bert rushed by.

"By the way," Quinn said. "It's My Chemical Romance."

Bert stopped in the bus doorway. "How the fuck was I supposed to remember that? That's like eight words."

Quinn raised his beer at him in a salute. "Good luck."

Bert made his way over to the My Chemical Romance bus and knocked on the door. A short guy with a lot of tattoos answered.

"I need to borrow Gerard," Bert said. "It's an emergency."

The guy looked down at Bert's hand and smiled. "A Jack Daniels emergency? He loves those." He turned back into the bus. "G!"

The other guy stepped back and Gerard approached the doorway. He was wearing the same clothes he'd worn on stage, black dress pants and a rumpled shirt, and he smelled like sweat and cigarettes. When he saw Bert he smiled widely.

"Hi," Gerard said.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Bert asked.

Gerard paused for a moment, as if considering whether or not to ask where they were walking to, but then replied with, "Sure."

They walked across the parking lot in silence, and Bert led Gerard in climbing over the concrete barrier and into the field behind the lot. They walked down a small hill and through some dense trees, until they were under a quiet overpass. There were some empty beer bottles and wet cardboard boxes on the ground. There were no streetlights, so it was nearly impossible to see, and it was silent except for the sound of the occasional passing car.

Bert lit a cigarette, took a drag, and handed it to Gerard.

"I like your music," Bert said. The orange light of the cigarette made Gerard look much younger than Bert knew he was, and Gerard's eyelashes cast long shadows over his face as he exhaled and handed the cigarette back.

"Thanks," Gerard said. "For me, it's really about the message. That's something that music and art have in common. You can use it as a medium for bringing up any number of important messages. How many political or social leaders would love to have the access to youth that you and I have? It's important to use that responsibly. We started this band because we wanted to do something that would make a difference in the world. I want kids to listen to our music and see us perform and think, hey, I might be a weird fuck-up, but there are five guys up there who are weird fuck-ups too, and that's okay. It's like Star Wars -"

Bert leaned forward and kissed him. Gerard seemed hesitant at first, but got into it quickly, putting his hand on the back of Bert's head and meeting his intensity. They kissed for what seemed like a long time, until Bert's lips actually ached, and then Bert pulled his head back.

Gerard was staring at him with big eyes, his mouth wet and lips parted, looking ridiculously fuckable. Bert was so horny he could feel his pulse in his dick.

"So in Star Wars," Gerard continued. "You have the rebels trying to destroy the Death Star, right? And it's a metaphor -"

Bert put the tips of his fingers over Gerard's lips. "There are better things you could do with your mouth right now."

Gerard's eyebrows raised. "You want me to..." He laughed nervously. "I've never done it before, but I could give it a shot."

"I'll return the favor," Bert promised.

Gerard reached down and undid Bert's pants. Without hesitating he slid to his knees and took Bert's dick into his mouth. He was obviously inexperienced (he choked himself a few times before Bert showed him where to put his hands) but his mouth was warm and wet and he kept making these hungry humming noises that drove Bert crazy. Before long Bert was gently pushing Gerard's head back, and then he came on the ground beside them.

Bert put his hand on Gerard's shoulder as he caught his breath. Gerard leaned forward and brushed his lips against Bert's lightly. And Bert wondered where the fuck this guy had come from, this fucking weirdo who wanted to save the world, who would follow his crazy ass into the woods at night, who had girl eyelashes and sucked dick hot and sloppy. It was like he'd magically emerged from a wet dream Bert hadn't even known he wanted to have.

Gerard leaned down and picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels. "Mind if I have some?" He asked. "I haven't had a drink all night," and he took a sip from the bottle without waiting for Bert to reply.

The next morning when they were getting ready to leave, Brian noticed X = zero, true motherfucking love written on the side of the MCR bus in Sharpie. It rained that day, and by the time they got to their next stop it was barely visible anymore.

Two

One day, halfway into their first tour together, Gerard came onto The Used bus as soon as they had stopped at the venue. He pushed back the curtain of the bottom bunk, said, "Hey Bert!" and then yelped as he came face to face with a girl with pink hair. Gerard stumbled backwards.

An arm reached out through the curtain and pushed it the rest of the way open. It was Quinn, looking half-asleep and totally naked, leaning around an equally naked pink-haired girl.

"Hi Gerard," Quinn said.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Gerard said. "I thought this was Bert's bunk."

Quinn shrugged. "We're flexible."

"Are we in Atlanta?" the pink-haired girl asked. "I really need to get home." She crawled out of the bunk, picked up her underwear off the floor, and put it on, seemingly unembarrassed by Gerard's presence. Gerard turned his head to the side and covered his eyes.

"It was nice meeting you," the pink-haired girl said to Quinn once she'd gotten dressed. "And the show was great."

Quinn leaned his head out of the bunk, and she bent down to kiss him.

"Thanks for coming out," Quinn said.

She smiled and waved to Gerard, then walked off the bus.

"Quinn," Gerard whispered once he heard the door slam behind her. "Was that a groupie?"

Quinn just stared at him blankly. "She was a Quinn Allman enthusiast."

"You can't sleep with groupies," Gerard said. "Women deserve to be treated as equals, and treated with respect."

"I used a condom," Quinn said.

"Young women can idolize musicians," Gerard continued. "Taking advantage of this misplaced hero-worship is inexcusable. We should be teaching these young women to respect themselves, to love themselves, to follow the causes they believe in, to fight for social justice, to -"

Quinn kicked the top of his bunk. "Can you make him stop?" he yelled.

Bert stuck his head out from the top bunk. His eyes were bleary with sleep and his hair was more of a mess than usual. "C'mere," he said, his voice low and scratchy.

"But the objectification of -"

"Please come up here," Bert repeated. "Quinn has a secret dark side and I don't want him to mess up your pretty face."

Gerard reluctantly climbed into Bert's bunk. Bert pressed himself against the wall, and Gerard arranged himself with one arm behind his head and one around Bert. Bert leaned in to kiss him.

"You know feminism doesn't just liberate women," Gerard whispered against his lips. "It also liberates men by breaking down the standards which society has put in place for both genders."

"That is so interesting," Bert said. He pressed his forehead against Gerard's, fluttered his eyelashes, and said, "Suck me off."

"It's completely hypocritical of us to participate in anti-heteronormative behavior while simultaneously oppressing the rights of women and denying them..." Bert rubbed his crotch against Gerard's thigh and kissed his neck. Gerard's breath caught in his throat. "Denying them..." He sighed. "Fuck. Take your underwear off."

Three

They were in a hotel, naked against the comforter, and Gerard pushed inside Bert and groaned. He thought they really should turn down the bed, since he saw once on Dateline that hotel comforters are covered with semen. But since the plan was to cover the hotel comforter with semen themselves, Gerard didn't think he had any right to complain.

Bert had his legs so far back they were practically touching his ears, and Gerard pushed him even further backwards with every thrust. "Fuck, you feel good," Gerard panted out.

Bert leaned his head back and moaned. For once he didn't mind Gerard's incessant talking, since it consistent mainly of "fuck"s and "yes"es. He put his arms around Gerard's back and tried to pull him in closer, his vision whiting out and his ears ringing as Gerard brushed his prostate.

"As far back as 1954 there were homosexual interpretations of Batman," Gerard was saying when Bert regained the brain capacity to tune in again. Gerard pushed into him once, hard, then resumed his steady rhytmn. "The original creators always denied it, but you have to admit that he sublimates all his sexuality into fighting crime. This combined with the camp of the original series suggests -"

Bert put his hands on Gerard's shoulders to stop his movements. "G," he said. "Are you seriously balls deep inside me and talking about Batman?"

Gerard blinked at him. "It's just been on my mind today."

"Okay," Bert said. "But maybe we can stick with stuff like, 'Oh. Bert, your ass is so tight, you are the best fuck I've ever had.' And then we can talk about comic books later, like when I'm asleep."

Gerard bit Bert's shoulder playfully, and Bert yelped.

"It's a legitimate form of literature," Gerard argued.

Bert squirmed, wiggling his ass back and forth. "Will you fucking finish already?"

Gerard braced his hands against the headboard and rocked himself against Bert, drawing out a surprisingly loud moan from both of them. After a few hard thrusts, he shuddered, gasped, and collapsed against Bert's chest. Bert put one arm over Gerard and traced a heart in the sweat on his back. Gerard pulled out, rolled over, and lay with his arm around Bert.

"So I'm writing this..." Gerard began. "Well, you could call it a fanfiction, but I call it a spec script. It's got the dark 1950's Batman, pre-Justice League, but I'm gonna have Azrael in it as a young college student who comes to Batman for help when he discovers he's been unconsciously trained to be an assassin. Together they discover the gene-splicing and his split personality. While Batman works to track down The Sacred Order of Saint Dumas, Azrael begins to question his sexuality, and one night -"

Bert interrupted him by violently humping his thigh. "Hey, I'm not getting any less horny," he said. "If anything, I'm getting more horny, since I'm kind of turned on by you being a giant dork."

Gerard put his head on Bert's chest. "Wanna read it?"

"If you stop talking and blow me, I will do anything," Bert promised.

Gerard smiled wickedly. "I'm gonna remember you said that." He slid down Bert's body and licked up the length of his dick. "Later when we're doing shots of flavored rum and playing D&D, remember this moment."

"God I fucking hate you," Bert muttered, but he leaned up against the touch and sighed when Gerard finally took him into his mouth.

Four

Gerard pressed his head against the bars of the jail cell and said, "Brian is going to kill me."

Bert was sitting crosslegged on the cot against the back wall of the cell and playing with his shoelaces. "Relax," he said. "I can handle Brian."

Gerard closed his eyes. "And Mikey's gonna tell our mom, and my mom's gonna kill me too."

Bert snorted. "Way to embody the spirit of rock n' roll, G."

Gerard turned around to face him. "This is all your fault. You're the one who said we should pee on the front door of a building."

"I didn't know it was a police station," Bert said defensively. "And if it's anyone's fault, it's your fault for bringing so much beer."

Gerard walked over to the cot and sat down next to Bert. "This is a disaster," he said miserably. "It's gonna make all the papers, and we'll look like idiots, and we'll be answering questions in interviews for months about it. We could get dropped from the label for this." He turned to Bert. "Oh god, do you think we could get dropped from the label?"

Bert put his arm around Gerard. "No one ever got dropped from a label for peeing."

Gerard sighed. "It's just, I wanted our band to be...not role models, exactly, but I wanted kids to be able to relate to us. And how can they relate to some drunk loser pissing all over a plate glass door right in front of a cop?" He put his hands over his eyes. "I'm gonna get a reputation for being a fuck-up, and no one will take our music seriously, and -"

Bert put his fingers on Gerard's temples. "Breathe deeply," he said. "Through your nose."

Gerard closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and exhaled.

"Good," Bert said. He stumbled to his feet, stood in front of Gerard, and undid his pants. "Now suck me off."

Gerard's eyes flew open. "What? Bert! We're in jail."

Bert glanced behind him. "Yeah, but it's the middle of the night and no one's come to check on us since they put us in here." He cupped Gerard's cheek affectionately. "You're about to fucking hyperventilate, and nothing calms you down like dick in the mouth."

Gerard scowled at him, but still reached into Bert's pants and took out his dick. He actually did calm down, breathing steadily through his nose as he sucked earnestly. Bert pet his hair and made soft noises of approval.

"You're so fucking perfect," Bert said softly, and Gerard looked up at him, and that alone was enough to put him over the edge.

Gerard swallowed, tucked Bert's dick back in his pants, leaned back and said, "You're right. I do feel better."

Bert sat next to him. "Yeah, so, this wasn't an entirely wasted night."

Gerard looked over at Bert and laughed. Bert grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and kissed him.

"You know," Bert said against Gerard's lips. "I kind of fucking love you."

"Oh, fuck, you didn't." Gerard laughed again and buried his face in Bert's chest. "You didn't just proclaim your love for me while we're drunk in prison. We have to tell this story to our grandchildren, motherfucker."

"Grandchildren?" Bert asked. "That's a little forward-thinking, isn't it?"

Gerard lifted his head up. "Like you'll ever get rid of me." He kissed Bert long and deep. "I love you too, you dumb shit."

They heard footsteps approaching and broke apart. A police officer appeared, followed by Brian, and the officer unlocked the door. "You're free to go," the officer said.

"Brian, I'm so sorry," Gerard said as he hugged him.

"It's okay," Brian said, patting him on the back. "They're not pressing charges and they'll be no written report, so this should all fly under the radar."

"Thank God," Gerard said as he stepped out of the cell.

Brian reached over and smacked Bert on the back of the head. "What were you thinking, Bert?"

Bert grinned. "Gotta have stories to tell the grandkids," he said, and he skipped into the hallway.

Five

Bert knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Gerard's mother, Donna, who brightened immediately upon seeing him.

"Bert!" She said as she hugged him. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Hi Mom," Bert said into her shoulder. "Is he okay?"

"He's sleeping. Come in."

Bert followed Donna into the kitchen, where she turned on the stove under a teapot. "Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I know it's not your usual poison, but I got rid of all the liquor when Gerard got out of rehab."

"Tea's fine," Bert said as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

Donna leaned against the kitchen counter as she waited for the water to boil. "Have you talked to him?"

"Not a lot," Bert said. "He told me not to visit him in rehab."

Donna reached over and put her hand on Bert's shoulder. "It's not you, honey. He told everyone to stay away. It was a rough time for him."

"Yeah, I know," Bert said softly. "It's just..."

The tea kettle whistled, and Donna prepared two cups of tea and brought them to the table, sitting across from Bert.

Bert looked into the teacup for a long moment, as if trying to find some meaning there. "It's just that half the time he was falling-down drunk, I was there with him."

"You think he blames you?" Donna shook his head. "Gerard has always had a mind of his own. He would never make his problems someone else's fault."

Bert took a sip of tea. "But what if getting sober means getting rid of me?"

"You think he'll drop everyone he knows who drinks?" Donna asked. "He won't have much of a band left." She reached out and took one of Bert's hands. "He loves you. This won't change that." She released his hand. "Go wake him up. He'll be happy to see you."

Bert had been in Gerard's basement bedroom before, but it seemed darker and more pathetic than usual when he walked in. Gerard was awake, lying on the bed, and writing in a notebook. When he spotted Bert he smiled widely and sat up. Bert launched himself into Gerard's arms, and they clung to each other for a few minutes before speaking.

"You came," Gerard said into his shoulder.

"Of course I came," Bert said. "How are you?" They broke their embrace and sat on the bed facing each other.

"Okay," Gerard said. "Getting by. I'm a little shaky and I hate going outside, but it gets better every day."

Bert nodded. "Look, if you wanna come spend some time at my place, I'm off for the next month."

"Thanks," Gerard said. "But we're going on tour in a week."

"A week? You're up for that?"

Gerard shrugged. "I've never performed sober before, but I'll have to do it eventually."

"You'll do great," Bert said, and kissed him.

It had been a while for both of them, and before long Bert was stretched out on top of Gerard, kissing him hard and deep, rubbing their bodies together and gripping each other's clothes.

Bert pulled his head back just far enough so that he could see Gerard's eyes. "I'm gonna do it too," he said softly. "I'm gonna quit drinking. Drinking and everything."

Gerard reached up and tangled his fingers in Bert's hair. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Bert said. "I want you to visit me and feel safe. I want to tour with you again. I want us to get together and do stupid shit and have absolutely no excuse for doing it."

Gerard laughed. Bert dipped his head down and kissed Gerard again, catching the inside of his smile, then moved down the length of his body and unzipped his pants.

"Oh fuck oh fuck I missed you," Gerard said as Bert's lips wrapped around his dick. Bert made a noise somewhere between a hum and a giggle, and Gerard came into his mouth in a matter of minutes.

Bert crawled back up Gerard's body and put his head on his chest. Gerard pushed a tangle of hair off Bert's face, then let his hand rest there.

"So are you going to AA?" Gerard asked.

"Dunno," Bert said. "Maybe I'll just do it on my own."

"AA's a good program," Gerard told him. "They understand that alcoholism is a disease, and you have to work to overcome that disease. The twelve steps involve admission of powerlessness over alcohol, acceptance of a benevolent higher power, moral inventory, restitution to those harmed, and asking for direction, guidance, and power from your higher power. If the 'higher power' thing turns you off, they don't really press it. But it's not just about quitting drinking; you have to change who you are. You undergo a spiritual awakening and a personality change. All the shit you tried to solve with alcohol is still there, and you have to work through it. I have a book if you want to -"

Bert sat up, swung a leg over Gerard's shoulder, and pressed his crotch against his chin.

"I take it you've heard enough?" Gerard asked.

Bert undid his pants and pulled out his dick. "If you're going on tour soon I won't see you for a while," he said. "So I just want to fuck until my balls fall off." He thumped Gerard on the face with his dick. "Or until your mom cooks dinner, whichever happens first."

Gerard laughed, and Bert's dick smacked him again. "Fuck, Bert, not in my eye," he said.

He reached up and guided Bert's dick into his mouth. Bert's whole body tensed, and he leaned up on his knees to get a better angle. Gerard grabbed onto Bert's hips and Bert thrust in and out of his mouth until his motion stuttered and he came gripping the headboard and nearly crying.

Bert fell onto the bed beside Gerard, and Gerard put his head on Bert's shoulder.

"Everything's gonna be all right, right?" Gerard asked softly.

Bert ran his hand down Gerard's arm and curled their fingers together. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's gonna be fine."

And One Time He Didn't

"Hey bitches!" Bert said as he bounded onto the MCR bus. Ray was sitting in front of the television playing a video game, and Mikey was in the kitchen reading a magazine.

"Hey Bert," Ray said.

"Hi Bert," Mikey said without looking up from his magazine.

Gerard walked in from the bunk area, smiled, and they moved into an easy hug. When they released each other, Bert realized that Ray and Mikey were gone.

"Whoa," he said. "You gotta teach my band to do that. They're always up my ass when I'm trying to get laid." Bert leaned forward to kiss Gerard, but Gerard ducked his head and took a step backwards.

"We have to talk," Gerard said.

Bert grabbed him by the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. "You talk too much. You know what fixes that?"

Gerard knocked his hand away. "This is serious."

Bert felt his stomach flip, like he'd been drinking, even though he hadn't had so much as a beer since last night. "Fine, talk."

Gerard dug a cigarette out of his pocket, and held it between his fingers, but didn't light it. "I think we should spend some time apart," he said softly, his eyes on the cigarette.

"What?" Bert said. "I haven't seen you in two months. That's plenty of time -"

"I mean we shouldn't see each other anymore," Gerard said, his eyes focusing on the floor. "I just...I think we're moving in two different directions, and we need to give each other the space to -"

"Shut the fuck up," Bert said, talking a step closer to him. "What is this, some therapy bullshit? We're not moving apart. I'm right fucking here."

Gerard finally looked up and made eye contact, and Bert was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. Bert had this hysterical urge to punch him in the face, to say, no, you're dumping me; you don't get to cry.

"You've felt it," Gerard said. "Things haven't been the same between us."

"Everything's fine," Bert spat out.

"The last time I was at your house I spent the whole time reading," Gerard argued. "And the last show you came to, you didn't even watch us. We fucked in the bus and then spent all night hanging out with different crowds." He paused to wipe at his eyes. "Ever since I got clean we're just going through the motions."

"Is that what this is about?" Bert said. He held his arms out in a gesture of surrender. "I don't fucking drink around you anymore. And I'm getting clean too, it's just...it's not as easy for me..."

Gerard's eyes narrowed. "You think it was fucking easy for me?"

"That's not what I said!" Bert yelled. "Fuck, G..." He ran his hand over his face. "You're just stressed out from touring. Wait until you have a break, and I'll come visit you in Jersey, and we can -"

"No," Gerard said softly. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the heel of his hand. "I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

Bert took another step closer to him and clenched his fists. Gerard looked at him with calm, sad eyes. Bert didn't know what was worse - that he wouldn't hit Gerard, or that Gerard knew he wouldn't hit him.

Instead, Bert spun around and punched the wall of the bus. He felt something in his hand snap. His vision blurred, and the room seemed like it was shaking.

Gerard reached out to touch Bert, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back. "Do you want some ice for that?"

"Fuck you," Bert muttered. He thought about turning around, facing Gerard, and saying one last hurtful thing before he went. But he couldn't think of anything to say, so he just walked off the bus and into the oppressive sunlight.

He found The Street Drum Corps bus easily, since it was smaller and a little more beat-up than all the other buses. He walked onto the bus and found Bobby Alt sitting at the kitchen table eating a Pop Tart.

"Hey, you're early," Bobby said. Bert lifted his head and Bobby frowned. "Bert, are you okay?"

Bert took a deep breath. "Just having a little problem," he said, his voice shaking. "A math problem." He sat down at the table beside Bobby. "You got anything to drink? I can trade you some weed."

"Nah, man, it's okay," Bobby said, standing up. "I can cover you." He opened and closed a few cabinets. "Shit, I think all our liquor's in Adam's van. I'll be right back." He hurried out the bus door.

Bert traced invisible numbers on the surface of the table, ignoring the swelling in his fingers. "Two," he whispered. Two years. "Three." Three tours.

Six traded t-shirts. Three flights to Jersey. Four tour buses. Sixteen hotel rooms. Thirty-nine blowjobs. Twenty-two handjobs. Eighteen times with full penetration. Two Christmases. Three mattresses. Four bunks. One tattoo. Eleven declarations of love. Four times in a bathroom right after a show. A thousand kisses.

X = 22 Bert traced on the table as Bobby walked back into the bus and placed a bottle of vodka and a shotglass on the table.

"I'm gonna need 22 shots," Bert said.

Bobby sat down next to him. "After that you'll probably need an ambulance."

Bert took his cell phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table. "Just call Quinn when I pass out."

Bert slid the shot glass in front of him, twisted open the top of the vodka bottle, and poured until the small glass overflowed. The vodka burned his bloody knuckles, and smelled like rubbing alcohol. When he lifted the glass, his hand was shaking, but he ignored it and downed the drink. It burned from his tongue down to his stomach, like fire, like vomit going the wrong way, like the breath of someone who doesn't love you anymore.

Bert slammed the glass on the table with a thunk. "One."