As Snow Falls on Desert Sky

My, he had made a mess in there. At one point, he missed the toilet while throwing up and his alarm clock was hardly salvageable because of its strong smell of piss. Just an average day for Gerard. He cleaned everything thoroughly, only gagging thrice at the horrible stench of his vomit before he finally decided he could sit down and watch TV for a while, maybe make some (most likely expired) Beefaroni when his stomach settled again. But for now, he was stuck watching some annoying kids show because he really didn't want to get up and change the channel and the batteries in his remote were long used for something more useful in the house.

After a few episodes of literal shit, he stood and walked into his small kitchen, pulling out a can of Beefaroni and a bowl. He checked the expiry date and chuckled sadly to himself.

09 10 2003

That was a month ago, but he didn't give a shit. He opened it and poured it in, microwaving it as he pulled a beer from his fridge. He cracked it open on the side of the counter and pulled his bowl out before it beeped, burning his hand.

"Shit, fuck!" He yelled, dropping the bowl back on the counter as he quickly pulled his fingers into his mouth. He huffed and sat his beer down, searching for a rag before someone knocked on his door. He sighed around his fingers (his two fingers were still in his mouth because he heard you should get a burn down to body temperature before putting it under cold water) and quickly walked to the door, opening it to the short, really nice looking, neighbour guy. He widened his eyes at him, mumbling around his fingers before blushing and pulling his hand to his side quickly.

"I, uhm, heard a crash and cursing when I was bringing in my last box. Wanted to make sure you're okay." He smiled at Gerard. But, dumb old Gerard just stood there and blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he actually answered.

"I-I'm fine," he mumbled quickly, his voice got really high so it sounded more like a squeak. "I just dropped my food because I burned my hand - that's why I was - sucking - yeah."

The guy just grins and Gerard swears his cheeks could not get any redder. Tattoo-guy nodded and patted Gerard's arm awkwardly. "Well, be careful with that Beefaroni I smell, buddy. It'll get ya.'"

Gerard blushes harder and nods quickly before slamming the door into his face. Jesus, he could smell Gerard's Beefaroni. Is Gerard allowed to take that as suggestive?

He was, in fact, still standing at his door nearly 20 minutes later when he heard the guy - which now had the designated name tattoo-guy - and some other - some other being outside his door. He peeked out of his door's peep hole and frowned to himself when he saw tattoo-guy escorting a beautiful girl down the hall. They're totally dating. Tattoo-guy is straight. Gerard has no hope - but wait, they could be friends. Just friends, hugging and holding each other's hands.

That's cool, right?

And then she leans over and kisses him quickly as they laugh and Gerard curses himself for thinking someone as hot and sweet as tattoo-guy could be gay, or you know any other sexuality he would get a chance with. Gerard sighs and just returns to his Beefaroni, ignoring the fact that it was as cold as the weather outside and his hand was still burning against the bowl.

If anyone ever told you expired Beefaroni tasted the same as fresh Beefaroni, they were probably high off their ass or had burned their taste buds off in some nuclear accidents. Gerard was sat in front of his TV, finally having changed the channel to the news before he sat, eating this somehow stale, yet slimy Beefaroni. He would probably have just thrown it away if he wasn't dirt poor and tipsy from the five beers he destroyed since he got home. So he just sat there, chewing some chunks of meat as the murders of the day flashed across the screen.

At least he wasn't one of the murders? Honestly, he would be better off dead but with the muddy liver of his, he's on his way. Of course, he couldn't finish his whole bowl of food in fear of gaining a pound so he got off the couch and pulled on a freshly washed jacket and some old shoes, hoping that he looked really good. But of course this was Gerard we're talking about. Gerard who hasn't showered in a week, hadn't brushed his hair in at least three and had been recycling his dirty clothes to put off doing laundry for at least a month.

Gerard just rolled his eyes at himself, opening the door. He scoped out the hallway before pulling his key out and locking his door, triple checking he couldn't push the door in with his shoulder. He didn't exactly have anything valuable but that's what scared him - someone taking the little he had and leaving him with literally nothing. He'd been there after he moved out from his parent's house and it wasn't somewhere he planned on going back. So he walked down the hall slowly, completely planning on going to the bar before his headache stopped him at the steps.

How could his body betray him like this? He just needed a drink but of course he could only make it down one step of his building before he collapsed on his ass. He was the creep that everyone thought would mug him now, great. That's just how his night was supposed to go.

He rubbed his eyes slowly, trying to calm his previous hangover enough to cause another as people walk past him, in and out of his building. He didn't expect anyone to stop, he sure wouldn't. So, of course, no one did. He tried to keep himself composed, breathing heavy as he zoned out into his head, really just focusing on how his frontal lobe seems to be separating from his head and seeping out his nose.

Wait, what was that shit under his nose? He wiped under his nose slowly, frowning as he pulled his hand back to see a shit ton of blood. Now, here came Trance-Gerard, showing him every possible fucking scenario that could be wrong right now. Is he just having a nose bleed? Did a bug crawl up his nose when he wasn't paying attention? Was he having an aneurism? As his brain flitted through every horrible, traumatizing scenario, the punk, neighbor, tattoo-guy was trying to talk to him. Embarrassingly, he had to snap in front of Gerard's face a of couple times to get his attention.

"Huh?" Gerard mumbles, his head snapping up, snot and blood leaking down his chin and over his shirt. Tattoo-guy visibly cringed, his 'fuck-toy' gone now, leaving just him and Gerard.

"Your nose is really bleeding there." He says, nodding at Gerard. Gerard raises a hand to his mouth, sighing as he nods, trying to stand up to get back to his apartment.

"Yeah, I'm probably dying." Gerard mumbled as he made it to his feet, a firm hand under his arm. Gerard looked at it and blinked.

"No, I get them a lot. Let me help." Tattoo-guy insisted. Of course, Gerard was the equivalent of a lost puppy so he just nodded and let this guy lead him up to their floor and in front of their doors. The guy disappears for a minute before coming back out with some tissues. Surprisingly (to Gerard, anyway), he wiped up Gerard's mouth and shirt, using a new tissue to pinch Gerard's nose. "It'll stop soon."

"Th-Thanks?" Gerard mumbles, just staring at the guy. I mean, really staring. The guy was visibly put off by it, but Gerard had zoned out, his eyes going glassy. I guess tattoo-guy decided Gerard was freaky enough, so he walked into his house, locking the door. Gerard sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He didn't have to deal with that anxiety anymore, just the anxiety of thinking he was dying.

He pulled his key out and opened his door, pushing himself through the door. For once in an extremely long time, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled in bed early. He wasn't sleeping on his bathroom floor, he wasn't totally shit faced, and he might get a good sleep. If he didn't get a nightmare, of course.

Notes