Three months into a tour, alone in a hotel room, Gerard was so happy he honestly could have cried. Ray was off with his visiting girlfriend, Bob was hanging out with some guitar tech who was his new best friend, and Frank and Mikey were off partying with another band. Gerard had spent the past half hour sitting next to Brian on the tour bus and staring at him as he made phone calls and checked e-mail until Brian sighed, asked someone from the record label to hold on, covered the bottom of his phone, and told Gerard, "Fine; I'll get you a single room." Gerard squeaked with joy, grabbed Brian by the sides of his face, kissed his forehead, and ran off to get his suitcase.

The room was small, with only a full bed, a dresser, and a television. Sitting on the edge of the bed he could stretch his legs and have them reach into the bathroom. But Gerard didn't mind, because the room was all his. After twelve weeks of living on a bus, just the idea of sitting alone in a quiet room where no one else was sleeping, talking, drinking, laughing, sweating, smelling, vomiting, and farting was heaven. He even had his time all planned out, as if he'd arranged a romantic evening. Of course, the person he was romancing was himself, so instead of flowers and dinner and sex, there would be pizza, make-up, a pack of cigarettes, and a DVD of They Live.

He ate three slices of pizza while listening to a mix CD Ray made for him, then went into the bathroom, washed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror. He'd been wanting to do something different with his face for the stage show, but he hadn't had adequate time alone for experimenting. Tonight he would come up with something to make him look cool, or failing that, at least make him look kind of like a gay zombie.

He started by covering his face with white make-up, because despite what Mikey said about that not being cool since 1991, Gerard knew in his heart that he looked cool. He did his eyes first with a thin stripe of black liquid liner, ringed those lines with smudged pink lipstick, and then painted a bar of black across his face freehand, wider around his eyes than at his temples, so that it actually looked like a mask. For a finishing touch he lightly smeared some black make-up on his fingertips and used it to shade his cheeks, making them look hollow.

He liked the finished product so much he decided not to wash it off right away. He took some pictures of himself with his cell phone so he could show the guys tomorrow, then cracked open a Diet Coke, lit a cigarette, turned up on the volume on his CD player, lay down on the bed, and let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding since West Virginia nine weeks ago.

Ray's choice of music was so up tempo that it took a few minutes before Gerard realized that the banging he heard was coming from the door and not the percussion. He turned the music off and the knocking continued, followed by, "Open up! It's an emergency!"

Mikey, Gerard thought, because all his worst nightmares started with Mikey, from the time when they were kids and Mikey hit his head on the kitchen cabinet and the small cut bled so much that ten year-old Gerard grew up to paint himself with fake blood just because it fucking terrified him, to the time when Mikey was driving home from college, and was hours late for Thanksgiving dinner, and Gerard sat on the front porch chain-smoking until Mikey showed up, embarrassed that he'd been unable to change his own flat tire and had to wait for Triple A, and as soon as Gerard saw that he was okay, he'd gone into the upstairs bathroom and cried, his hands trembling as he held them over his mouth so that they couldn't hear him over the sound of the electric carving knife.

Gerard opened the door and saw Pete.

"Mikey," Gerard said. "Is Mikey okay?"

"No," Pete said. "Mikey is completely ignoring me." He brushed past Gerard and walked into the room. "Can I blow you?"

"What?" Gerard turned, closing the door behind him.

Pete flopped down on the bed, holding himself up on his elbows, his shirt riding up and exposing a smooth line of tattooed stomach, his jeans low on his hips. "You're the only other person on this tour right now who isn't drunk, and I've had it with drunk people. Even Patrick's wasted. He just keeps giggling. It's so disturbing." He leaned his head back, which only served to pull his t-shirt up higher. "Joe threw up on my hoodie, Andy passed out, and apparently your brother is completely straight, which he really should've told me before we made out twice and I got all emotionally invested. Wanna take your pants off?"

Gerard folded his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly naked, even through his two layers of clothes and three layers of make-up. "Uh...I'm not really into casual sex." He bit down on his lower lip briefly. "Or...um...you."

Pete picked the CD case up off the nightstand. "I totally know this dude in this band," he said. "Can we listen to this?" Without waiting for a response, he switched on the CD player and skipped to the track in question. He looked over at Gerard. "You look like a gay zombie," he said.

Gerard smiled. "Thanks. You want some cold pizza?"

They munched on what was left of the pizza while sitting across from each other on the bed and listening to the mix CD. Pete had a story for every band. He'd hung out with this guy back in high school, he'd gotten sucked off by this band's sound tech, he'd hooked up with this guitarist once at a festival.

"It's like six degrees of your dick," Gerard said as he finished off his can of soda. "Thank God Mikey isn't sleeping with you."

Pete held up one hand, gesturing for him to stop. "Don't remind me. For real, I'm going to write like a hundred songs about how heartbroken I am."

"I probably won't buy your next album," Gerard muttered.

Pete dropped the crust from his last slice of pizza into the box, closed it, and set it down on the floor. Then he braced his hands on the bed and leaned in, so he was just inches from Gerard's face.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Gerard asked.

Pete rocked forward and kissed him.

Gerard screwed his face into a grimace and pulled back. "Oh, um, no." He scrambled to the edge of the bed and put his hand in front of his mouth, like he'd need to ward off further kissing attacks. "Really, no. I'm just not into stuff like this."

Pete cocked his head to the side. "You're not into kissing?"

"I'm not into kissing you," he said.

Pete's eyes widened.

"I mean, I don't kiss people I don't know."

"You've known me for like a year," Pete argued.

"But not in a dating way."

Pete sat back down on the bed, crossing his legs. "So you'd want to date me for a year before you'd kiss me?"

"I don't want to date you!" Gerard said, his voice coming out louder than he intended. "I don't want to...anything...you." He sighed. "I just want to sit and watch a movie and relax in my nice little room."

Pete stood up and walked over to Gerard, somehow looking predatory despite his slight build. "Let me blow you," he said.

Gerard put his hand on Pete's chest so he couldn't advance further. "If you don't stop it I'm gonna...I'm gonna call Ray." Gerard raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was an intimidating way.

"You don't have to do anything except stand there," Pete said with a small smile.

"Look," Gerard said, shoving Pete's chest so that he was forced to take a step back. "I'm sure you're wonderful at what you do, and you're world-renowned for your blow job skills, but honestly, I respect you too much as a friend to get involved with you."

Pete smiled and tilted his foot to the side, swinging his hip out in the process. "That's so sweet," he said. "That just makes me want to blow you more."

Pete took a step forward, and Gerard responded by stomping down on his foot. Since Pete was wearing shoes and Gerard wasn't, the effect wasn't what he'd hoped, but at least it made Pete stop advancing on him.

"What was that about?" Pete said.

"I am not having any sort of sex with you," Gerard said, and punctuated his statement with a weak kick to Pete's shin.

Pete looked down at his feet. "Was that supposed to hurt?"

Gerard pointed at him. "You are a very bad person and I'm telling Ray what you're doing."

Pete twirled around, obviously undisturbed by the threat, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry," he said. "Its just...it's not easy being the only sober guy at the party. And I thought you'd understand."

Gerard sighed. "Of course I understand. Why do you think my biggest thrill lately is getting my own room?" He sat down on the bed next to Pete. "It sucks out there without a buffer, without something to soften the edges of reality, protect you from every shitty thing in the world that can hurt you. The disappointments, the failures." He looked over at Pete and smiled sadly. "The people who don't love you back."

Pete returned the smile. "Can I stay?" He held up his right hand. "No sex; I promise. I'll even let you do my make-up."

Gerard paused to consider this. "And will you watch They Live with me?"

"Yep."

"And will you let me explain the metaphors to you?"

"Whatever gets you off, man."

Gerard grinned as he got to his feet, practically bouncing on his toes. "Do you wanna see my skeleton pajamas?"

Pete leaned back against the pillow and put his arms behind his head. "I would be honored."

"Okay, so I know you're just into plain eyeliner," Gerard said as he backed into the bathroom. "But with your coloring, I think I can do some really nice things with fake blood."

"Sounds good," Pete said.

"Great." Gerard turned and started gathering up his supplies.

Gerard woke up the next morning when someone shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Mikey standing over him.

"Hey," Gerard said through a yawn. Then he felt someone's hand on his back. He sat up quickly and looked beside him, where Pete lay asleep on top of red and black-smeared sheets.

"Um," Gerard looked from Mikey to Pete and back. "This isn't what it looks like."

Mikey raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "It looks like you put make-up on Pete and then you both fell asleep watching They Live."

"Oh," Gerard said. "Then yes, that's what it looks like. I mean, that's what happened."

Mikey nodded. "Did you guys have a good time?"

"Not bad," Gerard said with a shrug. "So I heard you're completely straight now? Mom will be thrilled."

Mikey looked over at where Pete lay on the bed, his face covered with red gashes and his lips slightly parted, and his face broke into a wide smile. "Don't tell mom anything just yet."

"Slut," Gerard muttered.

"Bitch," Mikey said.

"Whore."

"Asshole."

"Skank."

"Slut."

"Repeat. I win." Gerard got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. "How long until the buses leave?"

"Hour and a half."

Gerard picked up the clothes he'd been wearing the day before from the bathroom floor, found a clean towel, and turned on the shower. When he walked back into the room to get his soap, Mikey was sitting on the bed with one hand motionless on Pete's back. He looked up at Gerard and gave him a half-smile.

"You look like a gay zombie with fucked-up make-up," Mikey said.

Gerard smiled back. "Thanks," he said, and he went back into the bathroom and closed the door.