Gerard stood just outside the doorway of the hospital room and looked in. Bert was sitting up in bed and watching what sounded like a soap opera on the television mounted in the corner of the room. He was wearing a hospital gown, and his hair had faded to its natural color of dirty blond. Though he'd gained a little weight, he was still thin. Other than seeming a little tired, he looked good.

Bert didn't notice him, and for a moment Gerard wondered how long he could stand there and just watch him, until Bert looked away from the television, until a nurse interrupted him, until Quinn came in from where he was napping in the waiting room. It had been almost two years he'd seen Bert in person, and Gerard wanted to stare at him, just drink him in, for as long as he could.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Bert said without looking at him. He picked up the remote from the bedside table and turned off the television.

Gerard took a step inside the room.

"No one invited you, asshole." Bert threw the remote at him, and it made a cracking noise as it collided on the wall a foot away from his head. Bert sniffed loudly and spit at him, but the saliva didn't even make it across the room.

"Good to see you too," Gerard said with a smile. If Bert was really mad, he wouldn't have missed.

Bert pulled the sheet up to this middle of his chest. "If Quinn sees you, he's gonna be pissed off."

Gerard put his hands in his pockets. "Quinn's the one who told me which hospital you're at." He took another step forward, as if Bert was an animal he had to approach cautiously. "So how are you doing?"

"Great," Bert said. He folded his arms across his stomach. "I was thinking I could use this experience to write a shitty concept album, and then I could tour wearing an ugly outfit that looks like a band uniform for retarded people." He looked down at his hands for a moment, and when he looked up, he was biting down on his lower lip. "Fat retarded people," he said softly.

Gerard lowered his head, trying to hide his smile. "I missed you too," he said.

Bert reached up and scratched a patch of his tangled hair. "Do you have a cigarette?"

Gerard took his pack out of his pocket, and held a cigarette and his lighter out to Bert. Bert held his hand out flat and palm-up, as if going out of his way to avoid brushing their fingertips together, and Gerard played along by dropped the items into his hand without touching him. For a moment he considered saying something about how maybe Bert shouldn't smoke right before his throat surgery, but the thought just proved how long he'd been away from Bert. It probably wasn't Bert's first cigarette of the day. And when Bert walked past him he clearly smelled of Jack Daniels. It was funny, because Gerard hadn't had a drink in years, but his sense of smell for alcohol had heightened. Sometimes, especially on tour with guys who still drank, he'd walk past an open container or a mixed drink, and the smell brought a dull pang to his stomach. It was nothing too overwhelming, but sometimes it made him want to drink. Most of the time it made him want to kiss Bert.

Bert walked to the window, slid it open, and sat on the ledge as he smoked, flicking the ashes to the sidewalk below.

Gerard sat down on the edge of the bed. "So when you write your shitty concept album, will you include another song about me?"

"Interpret my lyrics however you want, douchbag." Bert exhaled a long stream of smoke through his mouth. "Aren't you supposed to be in Europe?"

Gerard nodded, before realizing that Bert was staring out the window and not looking his way at all. "It was a twenty-hour flight to get here," he said. "And we have a show tomorrow, so I actually have to be back at the airport in about an hour."

Bert snorted out a laugh. "You're an idiot."

Gerard ran his hand over the exposed sheets on the bed. They were thin and rough. Bert hated rough sheets. He didn't mind uncomfortable beds, and would gladly crash on a floor, but if he didn't have a decent sheet or blanket he couldn't sleep at all. Gerard remembered one time in a motel in Philadelphia, where Bert flipped out over how the sheets itched him, and kept them both up until dawn. Finally Gerard gave him a Xanax (and with how much they'd had to drink it was a miracle it didn't kill him) and then sat with him on the bed, massaging his shoulders and kissing the back of his neck, until the sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating all the tiny flying dust particles, and Bert fell asleep with Gerard's breath on his skin.

Bert flicked the cigarette out the window and made his way back to the bed, managing to crawl underneath the sheet without touching Gerard, settling so that his body was inches away from where Gerard sat.

Bert closed his eyes and was silent for a few minutes, and Gerard wondered if he'd fallen asleep, if he'd somehow managed to pass out on those God-awful sheets. He wondered what else must have changed about Bert in the years since they'd spoken. He wondered if Bert still laughed too loud, and sang 80's pop songs in the shower, and mumbled when he was dreaming, and kissed everyone he met, but showed that he really liked someone by pulling them into a public bathroom, licking a line up their neck, and biting their earlobe.

"I'm not like you," Bert said.

"I know," Gerard said softly. "I'm prettier."

"I don't have three careers I can fall back on," Bert continued without opening his eyes. "I don't have tons of family, half the fucking Italians in Jersey related to me and inviting me to barbeques. I don't have every band I've ever toured with wanting to be best friends. I haven't spoken to my parents or my brothers and sister in about a year." He lowered his voice. "This is all I have, and if this surgery fucks up my voice, I'm going to have nothing."

"You'll be fine." Gerard reached out to touch him, but thought better of it, and instead rested his hand on a patch of scratchy sheet between them. "I looked it up. It's routine surgery. There's usually not complications."

Bert opened his eyes, but his expression was blank. "How's Bob?"

Gerard nodded. "He's good. Still with Kara. They're talking about buying a house together."

"That's good. She's cool. How about Brian? He still into all that anime shit?"

Gerard laughed. "Oh my God, it was so funny. For his birthday, me and Mikey bought him this book –"

A nurse walked into the room and they both looked up at her.

"Good news," she said. "We finally got an OR for you. They should be around to pick you up in about ten minutes."

Gerard felt Bert's hand around his wrist, and his skin was soft, and warm, and urgent, and everything Gerard remembered. As the nurse left the room, Gerard twisted his body to the side, forgetting about the invisible barrier between them, knocking his knees against Bert's hips and holding both his hands. Bert had his head bowed, his eyes unfocused.

"I really like your new album," Bert said.

"Stop it," Gerard muttered.

Bert blinked rapidly. "Your music's amazing, your lyrics are great." He sniffled. "Your live show's solid, and your girlfriend's really beautiful."

"Shut up." Gerard rested his head on Bert's shoulder, pulling Bert's face against his chest. "Shut the fuck up."

Gerard squeezed his eyes shut. When he'd first met Bert, Bert was larger than life, a real rock star with a successful album on a major label, more tour offers that he could accept, the biggest crowds during his set, the most friends among the other bands, the best stories about almost dying from alcohol poisoning. Bert threw up and passed out, collapsed on stage and was rushed to the hospital, but every time he fell apart, he emerged from his bus the next morning with a cigarette, a beer, and a smile. Bert was his idol. Bert was immortal.

Bert took a few deep breaths, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaky and weak. "Will you get Quinn?"

"Yeah." Gerard released him and stood up, still feeling the press of Bert's body against his. He wondered how long the sensation would last; if he could take it with him to the elevator, the lobby, the cab, the airport; if ten hours from now he could be sitting in a plane over the ocean and still feel Bert's heart beating against his stomach.

"I'll call you when I get off the plane," Gerard said.

Bert looked up at him. "I won't be able to talk."

"Then it'll be our best conversation ever."

Bert smiled. "Fuck you, you ugly-ass talentless cocksucker."

Gerard leaned down. "I love you too," he whispered, and he kissed Bert softly on the lips.

Gerard walked out into the hallway, where Quinn had already received the news from the nurse. Quinn slapped him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture, said, "I'll text you when he's out of surgery", then went into Bert's room.

Gerard got into the elevator, where the mirrored walls and overhead lights made his skin look sickly pale and his eyes seem bloodshot. He got out and walked down the hallway, behind a family with an old woman in a wheelchair, and past a gift shop window displaying stuffed pandas and "Get Well Soon" Mylar balloons. He nodded at the security guard, put his hood up over his head, and almost made it to the revolving doors before he started crying.