1.

The first time Gerard met Bert, when Bert kissed him, stuck his tongue in his mouth, bit his lip, and palmed his crotch, all before Gerard knew his name.

Everything had been disorganized and rushed at the start of the tour, so when the other opening band was playing their set on the main stage, Gerard, Frank, Ray, and Bob were standing at a baggage carousel in an airport while Brian stared at his watch and said "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit" and Mikey stood ten people back in a line at the Starbucks across from the baggage claim and refused to leave the airport without a latté. They got to the fairgrounds ten minutes before they were scheduled to go on. They didn't officially meet anyone, and they were only allowed to play six songs before getting rushed off the stage to make way for The Used.

As jetlagged as they were, the set went well, and though there were less than fifty kids watching, it was more of a turn-out than they expected. They got off stage feeling pretty good, and exchanging hugs and high fives. Gerard grabbed a water and turned just in time to see a thin, dirty-looking man approach Brian and say, "Hey Brian. Introduce me to your guy."

"Which guy?" Brian asked.

"The pretty one."

Gerard started walking towards them, and as soon as the man spotted him, he closed the distance between them quickly.

"Hey," he said. "You're pretty." He stopped in front of Gerard and narrowed his eyes at him, as if suspicious. "How'd you get so pretty?"

Gerard's face was frozen somewhere on its way to a smile. He was trying to be polite, but he didn't know what the proper protocol was for meeting crazed drunk people with wild eyes and long, stringy hair that smelled as if it had been washed in Jack Daniels. "Um...hello," he said.

Bert responded by grabbing Gerard by the sides of his face and kissing him. He slid his tongue into Gerard's mouth, ran one hand down his body, grabbed his crotch, and ended the kiss by biting down on Gerard's lower lip so hard that Gerard reached up and checked for blood.

"This is Bert," Brian said. "Bert, this is Gerard."

Gerard's eyes widened. "Bert from The Used? Oh, wow, it's nice to meet you. My band -" he gestured back to where Frank and Ray were talking to each other. "We listened to your CD in our van our whole last tour. It's one of our all-time favorites."

Bert just leered at him, said, "I have to go to sleep," and walked away.

They saw Bert again the following night, when Frank invited Jeph to their tour bus to watch old horror movies, and Bert came with him. Gerard and Frank were already sitting on the couch, on either side of a big bowl of popcorn, but when Bert came in he picked up the bowl, handed it to Frank, and wedged himself as close to Gerard as possible.

"Here to molest my vocalist again?" Frank joked as he held the bowl out to Jeph.

Bert smiled. "Just being friendly." He took a pint of cherry vodka out of his jacket and offered it to Gerard. Gerard opened it, took a quick shot, and passed it back. Bert screwed the lid back on the bottle and put his hand on Gerard's thigh, where it remained for the next four hours.

Twenty minutes into the original Halloween, Bert leaned over and whispered, "See that girl?"

Gerard took note of the young actress on the screen. "Yeah?"

"I would fuck her in the ear," Bert whispered.

Gerard stifled a laugh. "How chivalrous."

"I am a chivalrous motherfucker," Bert said with a grin.

Gerard looked over to make sure the conversation wasn't bothering Frank and Jeph, but they were already ignoring the movie in favor of discussing some indie band that no one but them had ever heard of. "The thing is," Gerard said in a low voice. "I'd be a little embarrassed to admit that I could fit it in someone's ear."

Bert looked over at him with a wide smile, looking half shocked and half delighted.

Gerard reached between Bert's knees to retrieve the vodka bottle.

They finished the bottle, and Gerard passed out with his head on Bert's shoulder and Bert's hand well above his knee. When the two movies ended, Frank turned on the light, and Gerard slowly woke up. Jeph and Bert got up to leave, and Bert said goodbye by leaning over, putting his mouth to Gerard's ear, and making a long, low groaning noise. Even if he knew how to reply to such communication, Gerard was too amazed to say anything.

Gerard was amazed by Bert. And it wasn't because of his singing, or his lyrics, or his stage presence, because even though those were all impressive, it was nothing Gerard hadn't seen before and experienced himself. Gerard was amazed at how Bert lived. Bert walked around like he was the only real person in the world. He looked at people like his eyes could devour them if he wanted. But then Bert would laugh this insane high-pitched giggle that he was completely unselfconscious about. If people upset him, Bert would literally spit on them. Bert got drunk every morning when he woke up, got high every afternoon, got drunk again in the evening, and could still make everyone in the room laugh. Bert was young, five years younger than Gerard, and he lived so comfortably in his skin that it made Gerard feel a hundred years old, and a little bit jealous. Watching him over the next few days, as he danced in the crowd during other bands' performances, made the rounds of tour buses with an ever-growing entourage, and kept spitting at everyone from crowd-surfers to corporate promoters, Gerard noticed that Bert never seemed depressed, or lonely, or worried. And while Gerard wasn't so naïve that he wanted to be Bert, he definitely wanted to know Bert.

Gerard was standing outside his tour bus and smoking a cigarette one morning when he saw Bert walk by. "Hey!" he called out.

Bert turned and gave him a sly half-smile. He walked up to him and took the cigarette out of Gerard's hand.

"Um." It occurred to Gerard that he had no idea what to say. "How's it going?"

Bert took a long drag off the cigarette and handed it back to Gerard. Then he took a step forward, backing Gerard up against the bus. He put one hand up against the bus on either side of Gerard's body, leaned forward, exhaled the smoke in his face, and said, "If you ever need to get your dick sucked, let me know."

Bert flashed a quick, easy smile, backed up, and walked down toward the concession area. Gerard leaned against the side of the bus, and didn't realize he was still holding onto his cigarette until it had already burnt his fingers.

Gerard was certain he was the only person in the world who could be in a hot, up-and-coming rock band and never get laid. He knew it was because he refused flat-out to have one-night stands, to get involved with fans, or even date someone when he thought it didn't have the potential to get serious. Mikey said this was a sign of his fear of intimacy, but Gerard said this was a sign of his having a little brother who didn't know when to mind his own business.

He'd had a grand total of three sexual partners in his life, two female and one male, and he wasn't even sure the male one counted, since it was just a drunken handjob in a dorm room from a friend who then spent the rest of the semester avoiding him. The two women were brief, failed relationships with dull, vanilla sex.

Then the band started, and they were on tour almost constantly, and Gerard spent all his time with the guys and their girlfriends, and never met anyone new, at least anyone who would be around for a significant period of time. He wasn't especially friendly and affectionate with people outside his circle of friends, so all the women he met assumed he was gay and the men assumed he was straight. Gerard was a little of both. But mostly he was just lonely.

That afternoon he sat at the small table in the tour bus, reading a novel he'd found in Bob's bunk and sipping at a cup of coffee, band-aids over the tips of his two burned fingers. Frank walked in, his face glistening with sweat and hair messed up, looking like he'd just crawled out of a mosh pit.

"Hey," Frank said as he went into the mini refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

Gerard closed the novel. "Hey. Do you have any books I could borrow?"

Frank chugged half the bottle, then looked from Gerard to the paperback in front of him. "You really need to get out of this bus."

Gerard looked down into his coffee mug. It was almost empty, and there were tiny flecks of black grinds at the bottom of the cup. Their little coffee pot was shitty, and the coffee at the concessions tasted like watered-down mud. The highlight of his day was going to be performing, after which he planned to hide in the bus until Ray's girlfriend went home and they could write some music together. His one idea for a song involved the concept of a depressed painter who killed himself by bleeding onto a canvas, which was lame even by his standards. In a few hours he'd read almost an entire mystery novel where the main character was a gruff and cynical ex-cop and the suspect was a trashy socialite with a heart of gold.

He needed to get out.

He needed to get his dick sucked.

Frank finished his water and invited Gerard to come watch a band with him, but Gerard said he'd catch up to him later. Then he got changed, spending more time than usual trying to make his hair look casually messy, and walked over to Bert's bus.

Quinn answered the door, looking like he'd just woken up. He had a young-looking face and innocent eyes, but in the first few days of the tour Gerard had already heard stories about Quinn getting into a fight with a cop and taking his clothes off onstage.

"Um...is Bert here?" Gerard said, feeling oddly like a little kid asking if a neighbor can come out and play.

Quinn sniffed, scratched the side of his face, and said, "I think he's throwing up. Come on in."

Quinn directed him to the small bathroom at the back of the bus, where Bert was sitting on the floor shirtless, smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes in the toilet. When he saw Gerard he smiled, though his eyes were bloodshot and dark.

"Quinn said you were throwing up," Gerard said.

Bert shook his head, as if this was a ridiculous idea. "I was dry-heaving."

Gerard laughed. "Well, as long as you're okay."

Bert spit into the open toilet, then took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled through his nose.

"Um." Gerard looked down at his feet. He really had to stop initiating conversations with Bert when he didn't really know what to say to him.

Bert flicked some ashes into the toilet. "Why don't you come here after the show?"

Gerard looked up at him. "To your bathroom?"

Bert put the cigarette between his lips and squinted up at him. "I'll meet you after our set. The other guys are going out tonight. They won't be here."

"Oh," Gerard said. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll meet you here."

Bert smiled. "Good." He took another hit off his cigarette, dropped it in the toilet, spit into the toilet again, and slowly got to his feet. He turned around, stood over the toilet, and undid his pants.

"I'll see you later then," Gerard said, and he backed out the room so fast he tripped over one of Bert's shoes in the hallway.

There are moments when you feel your life changing, and you can't do anything to stop it, just listen to the low hum in your ears that sounds like a train, dragging you into something different, frightening, amazing. Gerard heard that noise when he got accepted to art school. He heard that noise when he quit his job and called up Ray to ask him if he wanted to start a band. And he heard that noise all through their set that night, as he gave everything to the performance, singing and screaming until his lungs ached, roaming the stage and pressing against Frank, Ray, Mikey, and even crawling over the bass drum to scream at Matt, feeling their energy vibrate against his, kicking over monitors, leaning into the crowd, and wondering if somewhere in the audience, Bert was watching him.

Before going onstage Gerard had made a mental list of things he could talk about with Bert, so he wouldn't again find himself in the awkward situation of staring at Bert silently. There was a bill being debated in Congress about stem-cell research. He'd read that Utah, where Bert was from, had some nice state parks, and he could ask Bert if he'd ever gone camping. He'd heard a song on the radio recently where the singer sounded a lot like Bert, and he could mention this to Bert and then ask his opinion on whether he thinks musical imitation should be taken as an insult or as flattery.

Stem cells, state parks, song on the radio, Gerard thought as he walked out of his bus, having cleaned up and told the guys he was going to talk to Bert about a possible band collaboration. Mikey had looked up at him suspiciously, but the rest of the band was too tired to question him.

Bert answered the door of the bus looking the same as he had during his band's performance. He was wearing knee-length shorts and a ragged black t-shirt, looking a little sweaty and a lot drunk. He stepped backward to let Gerard in, then shut the door behind him.

"So," Gerard said. "I heard this song on the radio –"

He was cut off by Bert grabbing him by the shoulders, pushing him onto the couch, shoving his thigh between Gerard's legs, and kissing him.

The way Bert kissed – hard and fast and needy and bitey – made Gerard dizzy, and not just because the minute Bert touched him all the blood had rushed out of his head and into his crotch. After a few minutes of these rough, desperate kisses, Bert opened his mouth against Gerard's, pushed against him once, hard, rocking their hips together, and let out a groan that turned Gerard's stomach into liquid.

"Fuck," Gerard gasped.

"Yeah," Bert said, tugging open the top button of Gerard's pants. He moved his head to the side and sucked Gerard's earlobe between his teeth.

"Fuck," Gerard said, the word turning into a breathy moan.

Bert moved his head back and smiled at Gerard. "I concur," he said, and he reached down and pushed Gerard's pants to his knees.

Gerard hadn't ever quite experienced this, but it wasn't for lack of opportunities. On their last tour a woman had even grabbed his ass and openly offered to blow him. Naturally, Gerard hid behind Ray until she went away. It wasn't just his refusal to engage in casual sex; he had never even considered soliciting oral sex from either of his girlfriends. He respected women. He respected men too. He respected his ex-girlfriends, his female friends, his friends back home, the people he met on tour, the fans, Frank. Gerard pretty much walked around respecting the fuck out of everyone, and never getting so much as a hand job as thanks.

Which is why, when Bert knelt in front of him, grabbed his hips, and took his cock into his mouth, Gerard lasted about two and a half minutes.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he began chanting softly as soon as Bert's wet lips touched him. Bert took him deep, pulled off slowly, and continued a slow, easy rhythm as Gerard gripped the side of the couch and tried not to moan. Gerard came hard and collapsed back against the couch, panting like he'd just run laps around the venue. In front of him, Bert leaned back on his heels and licked his lower lip.

Gerard felt like he should apologize for something, but he was sure Bert would laugh at him if he did. But he had to say something. "Um," he said as he reached down and tried to pull up his pants.

Gerard's phone tumbled out of his pocket and hit the floor, and Bert snatched it up. "Can I put myself on speed dial?" he said as he tapped the keypad rapidly. "Who's number 1?"

Gerard thought speed dial 1 was Verizon Wireless customer service, but his voice didn't seem to be working.

"2, Mikey," Bert said. "3, Mom. Awwww." He hit a few more keys and then tossed the phone onto the couch beside Gerard.

Gerard finally managed the coordination required to button his pants. "Um," he said.  "I respect you."

Bert raised himself to his knees and undid the top button of his pants. "I don't need your respect," he said. "I just need your hand on my dick." Gerard thought that was the most romantic thing he'd heard in a long time.

2.

When Gerard pretended not to know the meaning of haute couture, just so Bert wouldn't feel stupid, even though he knew what it meant, and even though Bert knew he knew.

3.

When Gerard told Bert about their new DVD, and Bert said, "Life on the Murder Scene? Why don't you just call it Five Dorks on a Bus Playing Magic the Gathering, you fucking loser?" And Gerard laughed so hard soda came out of his nose.

4.

Gerard was drunk the second time they hooked up. (And he couldn't believe he, the basement-dwelling, anti-social, practically-celibate loser was "hooking up" with anyone, much less with the singer of his favorite band.) It was late, well after the show, but most of the bands and crew were hanging out in the parking lot behind the buses, drinking beer, talking, jamming, and even playing an ill-advised game of drunken baseball in which Gerard was pretty sure his little brother was going to be injured and/or killed.

Gerard hung out with Ray, listening to some of his new riffs, while he half-watched Bert just a few feet away, talking to Quinn and occasionally bursting out into high-pitched insane laughter. After a while Quinn joined the football game, Bert seemed to disappear, and Gerard became engaged in a conversation with Ray and one of The Used's guitar techs about Bruce Springsteen.

Ten minutes into a discussion of The Rising, Gerard felt a presence behind him, followed by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Bert, and though the only light nearby was a dim yellow streetlight, he swore Bert's eyes were sparkling.

"Wanna see something?" Bert asked.

"Yeah," Gerard said, his voice barely more than a breath. He turned back to his friends, but Ray wasn't paying attention, so he stood and followed Bert into the darkness of the parking lot.

For a moment he thought he'd lost Bert. His footsteps got softer, then stopped, and Gerard stopped in his tracks, panicked, what little he could see spinning in front of his face. But then Bert's hand was on his arm, guiding him into the backseat of a red Jeep. The overhead light was only on a moment before Bert shut the door behind them, plunging them back into darkness.

They hadn't gone far, and Gerard could still hear someone laughing, and what sounded like Matt yelling, "Ground rule double, motherfucker!"

He heard Bert breathe in once, and then he was on top of him, his mouth hot against Gerard's neck and his hands fumbling with Gerard's belt. Gerard made a soft, surprised noise, but Bert cut him off with a quiet, "It's okay."

His pants undone, Bert snaked his hand inside and around Gerard's already-hard dick, and Gerard grunted. They were too public, too close to the group. He could hear Mikey's voice and Ray's guitar, and Brian's voice, and shit, this was Brian's car, he would kill them -

"It's okay," Bert whispered, as if reading his mind. He licked Gerard's neck and gripped his dick. "It's okay."

Gerard tilted his head forward and concentrated on the feel of Bert's wild hair against his mouth, widening his eyes, trying to see Bert, but he was blind in the darkness. It was all sensation, sweat and smell and sound, the rustling of his pants and Bert's hard hot breath. But Gerard was way too drunk to come. Bert was wasting his time. Gerard put one hand on Bert's shoulder, as if preparing to push him away, and said, "I can't, I -"

The Bert rubbed the head of his dick, bit down hard on his earlobe, and Gerard was gasping and coming in his hand.

When Gerard came down, panting and sweaty, he could feel Bert's mouth on his, a smile against his wet lips. Bert kissed him, pushing his lips apart, pulling down on his lower lip gently. Bert had put his tongue in Gerard's mouth and his mouth on Gerard's dick, but this felt like the first time they'd really kissed. Gerard put his hand on Bert's jaw, and he didn't care if it was cheesy. They kissed like that until Gerard noticed that Bert was hard, and he cupped his hand over the bulge in Bert's pants.

"Yeah," Bert whispered. "Like that."

Gerard rubbed him tentatively, then with more of a purpose, and Bert sighed against Gerard's open mouth.

"Love you," Gerard said. He rubbed his hand against Bert's crotch faster, sucked on his lower lip, cupped Bert's face in his -

Oh, shit, Gerard thought. Oh shit.

He could feel his insides turn to liquid, but Bert didn't react, and for one hysterical moment he actually prayed to God and Mary and the little drummer boy that Bert hadn't heard him, holy fucking please baby Jesus amen. Then Bert bucked against his hand, his breath stuttering and his pants wet, and collapsed on top of Gerard, straddling him, with their foreheads touching. When Bert caught his breath and backed up, Gerard could just barely make out the look on his face, but oh shit, oh shit he heard it, he must've.

Bert's breath skipped a beat, and then he leaned in to kiss Gerard again. "It's okay," he muttered against Gerard's lips. "It's okay, it's okay," he chanted, barely audible, and if Gerard was just a little drunker he probably would've cried, because the whisper of Bert's breath on his mouth sounded like every song he wished he could write, like the perfect notes rising within him, like life and music and everything else he needed so much.

5.  

Gerard lay on the hotel room bed with a sheet over his head. He had two hours before he had to be on the set of the I'm Not Okay video shoot, and he couldn't move. His head ached, his eyes stung, and even though he had just slept for twelve hours, he felt so tired, like the exhaustion was lead in his bones.

His sponsor had warned him about this. After getting clean, he'd be faced with all the problems he'd been self-medicating. So here he was, a genuine rock star with a hit single and a big-budget video, and all he wanted to do was cry.

Outside his hotel room door he could hear Brian talking, probably trying to explain to someone why his lead singer was an ungrateful pathetic excuse for a human. He'd told Brian how he'd felt, but only half-listened to Brian's reply. Therapy. Meetings. Maybe antidepressants. Just having to lie there with his eyes open was too tiring to bear. So he chased Brian out with a cutting remark, hie eyes watering and his voice breaking, and pulled the sheet up over his head.

He felt like a corpse in a morgue. He wished he was one, dead, without any obligations or people around to make him feel guilty and undeserving of their concern. But death wasn't a party. It wasn't a theme park or a parade. Though, Gerard thought, that would make a cool song.

There was a clicking sound, and Gerard heard the door open and shut softly.

"Brian?" Gerard said from underneath his sheet. "Look, I'm sorry I'm such a dick, but I just can't deal with this right now. Could we maybe postpone -"

He heard the click of a lighter. Gerard pushed the sheet back.

Bert was leaning against the dresser, smoking a cigarette and smiling.

"I'm here to cheer you up," he said.

Gerard turned onto his side. "Thanks for coming, but honestly, nothing could cheer me up right now."

Bert nodded, flicked his ashes on the floor, and dropped his cigarette into a can of soda on the dresser. He took a step forward, unzipped his pants, and shoved them, along with his underwear, to his knees. Bert began singing and bouncing slightly on his toes, so that his genitals bounced and swayed in time with the music.

"Take me out to the ball game," he sang. "Take me out to the crowd. Buy me some penis and cracker jacks. I don't care if I never get back. Cause it's root root root for the home team. If they don't win it's a shame. Cause it's one! two! three strikes you're out at the old ball game!"

And Gerard couldn't help it; he smiled.

6.

"Mikey, you jerk!" Gerard called out as he moved from the bus' lounge to the bunk area, their laughter still echoing. He was going to kill Mikey. He was going to rename the DVD "Mikey Way is Dead". Also, he might tell their mom. He picked up his phone and hit the keypad.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was familiar, though he hadn't heard it in years, and it took Gerard a moment to place it.

"Oh," Gerard said. "Oh, um, I didn't mean to call you, I just..." He pulled the phone away and stared at the numbers, then put it back to his ear.

"Gerard?" Bert said.

"Yeah."

"Why the fuck -"

"I was trying to call Verizon Wireless Customer Service," Gerard said quickly. "Mikey changed my ringtone to Britney Spears and I don't know how to..."

There was a long silence, and Gerard could hear Bert's shallow breathing on the other end. He could tell from Bert's breathing that he was upset, and he thought of how he knew that, of all the nights when he slept with his body pressed to Bert's, memorizing the rhythm of his breath.

I miss you, he wanted to say. I barely remember why we haven't spoken in years and I want to at least be your friend again. You're still important to me. I still love you.

But instead he said, "How are you?"

On the other end, Bert held his breath a moment, like he always did when he was trying to push down some emotion.

"To change your ringtone, go to Tools and then Sounds."

"Bert - " Gerard said. "Bert, please - "

"And to erase me, go to Contacts and then Speed Dials," Bert said. And then he hung up the phone.