2004, warped tour. every day bleeds into the next: soundcheck, show, bus, repeat. and gerard… well, he’s trying his best. but because of his insane introversion and fears, it’s hard for him. very hard. so he started to drink. and then drink again. and then you realize that he’s been drunk at every. single. show.

at first, it wasn't bad at all—that brightness in his eyes, much more confidence in his moves… but then his voice started to sound slurred. then he kept falling over on stage. then he puked right before walking on stage.

ray tried to gently talk to gee about it. mikey got into loud fights with him twice. and even bob, the laid-back one, tried to talk to him. but none of it helped him.

you tried your best just by being there—helping when he puked, catching him when he fell on the asphalt again, getting him water and aspirin for his hangovers at night—but nothing more.. he’s a grown man, after all, that’s not your job to save him. but it’s always been this aching pain in your chest. always.

after another gig, you decided to go to some bar, because you were tired and felt sick about it all and just wanted to be alone for a little while. ‘a little while’ ended up being until 3 a.m. you were smoking outside the bar’s entrance, the cigarette glow casting little shadows every time you took a drag. then your phone started buzzing softly. you fished it out of your jeans; the screen showed ‘gee’. you picked up, thinking maybe he was just worried about where you'd been all night, or that he needed some water from the store, or—