Woah woah woah woah, back the fuck up.

There, right before Gerard’s eyes, was Short Dude. The same Short Dude who was in his bed no more than an hour ago. The same Short Dude who he was momentarily cuddling in with. The same Short Dude was wearing Gerard’s favourite Morrissey shirt, the fucker.

As Gerard approached him, Short Dude, who had a shit-eating grin on, was taking money from a customer who just bought one of Gerard’s drawings. Being at the wrong angle, Gerard couldn't see exactly which one it was, but he saw a glimpse of colour. It was one of the coloured in ones, fuck.

As the customer walked away, it was now Gerard’s turn to face Short Dude. Gerard wasn't exactly in the know of just how he was going to confront this situation. It hasn't happened to him in a while. At all, actually, this was all new to him. Aw.

“So, um,” Good start, Gerard, keep going, “…You like Morrissey?” For fucks sake, Gerard.

Upon hearing Gerard’s voice, Short Dude’s eyes widened. He froze on the spot, not knowing what to say or do. His mouth kept opening as if he was about to say something, but quickly shut it again. Stop imitating a fucking goldfish and say something to him!

“U-um, y-yeah. I do a l-lot…” Short Dude practically squeaked out. God, he was so nervous. He started biting his lip, nearly to the point where it would bleed. Gerard was about to say something to maybe calm him down, but just then another customer came by. An old lady. What a surprise!

There were only two drawings left being displayed. Two. But still, the old lady took her sweet time looking at each one. One was of the lake that was in the very park they were standing in, and the other was of a statue of some man on a horse that was meant to commemorate something or other.

The longer the lady was having a fucking staring competition with the drawings, the more on-edge Short Dude became. He was visibly shaking with fright and was writhing his hands together, scraping his nails against his knuckles. He was having a panic attack, and Gerard could identify it easily. God knows he got them regularly enough, and he knows how terrible they can be. He was going to stop it from getting any worse if he could. He wasn't just going to stand there and leave the poor guy in misery.

“Hey hey hey,” Gerard soothed while taking a few tentative steps toward Short Dude. “It’s okay, seriously, please just calm down,” Gerard tried, but he hadn't exactly mastered this whole ‘comforting’ business just yet. “I’m not angry or anything, if that’s what you're worried about,”

“I-I’m so s-sorry, I j-just needed the money,” Short Dude blubbered out. He looked so fragile and desperate. How the fuck was Gerard meant be mad at him.

“Yeah, no, I got that much, it's fine, I understand,” Gerard gently placed a hand on Short Dude’s shoulder, “you can keep the money you made, all of it, just-”

“Excuse me, young man!” Old Lady shouted too loud for her own good. Christ, woman, we’re right next to you, calm the fuck down.

“Uh, yeah?” Gerard said, trying to keep his cool and calm.

“I’d like to buy this drawing, thank you very much.”

“Shit.” Gerard heard Short Dude murmur, and the shaking started up again. Gerard was about to offer to actually make the sale for him, but he seemed to compose himself and made his way to the old lady. Short Dude cleared his throat, “Of course!” he exclaimed, shit-eating grin appearing again. “Twenty dollars, please ma'am.” Holy shit, he managed to sell my shit for twenty dollars!

Twenty.

What the fuck.

“Forty if you want it signed by the artist,” Short Dude added. Gerard’s eyes widened at just how fucking suave this guy was all over a sudden. That was a clever move. Short Dude gave him a look that practically screamed 'please just roll with it'. Gerard crossed his arms and nodded dumbly, trying to go along with this charade. There is no way in hell that this woman is going to throw away $40 like that. Gerard isn't well known, who the fuck cares if it’s signed by the artist? It’s not going to add value to the already valueless drawing.

“Oh, you know the artist?” Old Lady shouted. Again, Gerard thought, we’re right next to you. “But of course!” Short Dude shouted back, somewhat imitating the old lady in his own subtle way. It made Gerard do that laugh that isn't really a laugh. That kind of weird thing people do with their nose. A snort. There we go. Gerard snorted. He ducked his head down to try to hide it, but his shoulders were bobbing up and down, and seriously, Gerard, get over it, it wasn't all that funny. But Gerard couldn't help but just laugh at this whole situation. Why not?

While Gerard was caught up in laughing at absolutely fucking nothing, he suddenly felt an arm snake over his shoulder. Short Dude! “This is the man himself, Gerard Arthur Way! Studied at SVA in New York. He’s the real deal, and for just $40, you could own this one of a kind masterpiece!” Short Dude is really good at bullshitting, Gerard noted. Even better than him, and that was saying something.

Then something dawned on Gerard. “Wait, how do you know my midd-” “I’ll take both of them, please. Signed.” Oh holy shit. Before Gerard could comprehend what was happening, Short Dude handed him a pen to sign the two art pieces. Gerard didn't know the best way of doing this. He never signed his work, he had no reason to. But alas, here he was, about to sign something that resembled a signature while Loud Old Lady was forking out $80 to hand to Short Dude.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Short Dude said all professional like while Gerard handed the drawings over to her. “No, thank you,” Loud Old Lady drawled out, still not understanding this whole standing right in front of you concept of speaking.

As she began to walk away, Gerard could feel the air shift between himself and Short Dude. Short Dude was adamant in not making eye contact with Gerard, Gerard was more focused on how well his Morrissey shirt fitted Short Dude.

“So, um,” Oh great, Gerard is trying to small talk. Surely, there are plenty of things to talk about at this stage. Perhaps ‘How did you know my middle name is Arthur?’ or ‘When did you take those drawings?’ or maybe even a simple ‘What is your name?’ But no. This is Gerard we’re dealing with here.
“So, um…you still like Morrissey?” Oh, Gerard. Short Guy snapped his head up from counting the money and just kinda gave Gerard this look. A look that said ‘You are really shit at this, aren't you?', but he didn't look so terrified as he did a few minutes ago, so Gerard counted it as a win.

“Y-yeah,” Short Dude said in a somewhat shaky breath. He inhaled for a few seconds, almost as if he was trying to pluck the courage to actually speak. “Yeah, I s-still like him since the l-last time you asked me like f-five minutes ago.” Gerard thought it was incredible how this guy’s demeanour changed so quickly from a few moments ago. He was so confident and well spoken while selling off his paintings, but now while he’s alone with Gerard, that part of him is hiding himself away.

Short Dude swallowed loudly, and extended his hand that held the money. “Look,” he started. Gerard could see his eyes start to water again. “I know it w-was selfish of me t-to take your drawings to s-sell them to gullible shouty old ladies, I can't e-even imagine h-how long it took you to finish them, s-so here,” he lifted his hand higher, “take the m-money. Please.” Gerard studied the bills in his hand, and holy fuck, Gerard was no math genius, but there was well over a hundred bucks there. If Gerard had known he could make money out of his drawings so easily, he would have stopped working for Dickhead a long time ago. “I d-didn’t take any more drawings, I promise, I was just stuck for cash and p-panicked and-” Gerard couldn't take this much longer. Short Dude was close to hysterics at this point looked really fucking vulnerable. Even though it was Spring, it was still bitterly cold (something to do with Global Warming or politics, Gerard never understood the staggering difference between the two) and Gerard wondered just how freezing Short Dude was, considering he was wearing denim jeans with the knees cut out, and the ever so present conversation starting Morrissey shirt. No jacket or anything.

“Hey, look,” Gerard began, trying to think of the best way to coin a sentence “if you're so stuck for a place, I guess you can crash in my place. I-I mean, you stayed there for like two months, right?” Gerard asked.

“Um, maybe a month and a half, I think. Sorry,”

“Well, that's just it. You kept the place in great shape. You bought milk. I don't even do that when I’m supposed to,” Gerard wasn't sure where he was going with his sentence, but okay then.

“I, um, yeah, but no. I can't. S-see ya.” And just like that, Short Dude ran off into the Sea of Grandmothers, leaving Gerard just standing there. He took the money, which Gerard didn't mind, but there was one thing that still bothers him.

“I still don't know his fucking name,” Gerard told the cherry blossom tree.

The cherry blossom tree doesn't reply.

Notes