Bob didn't start it, because Bob never really started anything. It might have been Frank, or even Mikey. It was probably Mikey, actually. Hell, some days Bob figured it would be easiest to just blame Dave the bus driver, even though he hadn't actually been around when it happened. But whatever: it definitely didn't start with Bob.

Or Gerard, probably, even though it involved him more than anyone else.

"Bob. Bob. Boob. Bob."

"You're not twelve," Bob said, and turned around to face his webcam.

"I could be," Gerard said. He had his webcam angled weirdly, so that his face looked like an over-inflated balloon. "Come to L.A."

"If you're twelve, does that mean you're doing the thing where you bait me then turn me into the cops? I don't want to go to prison for being an accidental pedo."

"Bob, come on. Mikey's already visited me twice."

"I'm not your brother, either. Little boy." It was hard work keeping the grin off his face, but he managed. "And I'd keep you up past your bedtime."

Gerard flipped off the camera. "Fuck off, asshole, and come visit me."

"That's terrible language," Bob said. "I'm telling your mom."

Gerard took it as the answer Bob had meant it to be and laughed, turning off the webcam.

The update appeared just a few minutes later: @bcbryar: my mom wouldn't care. come to la.

Gerard and his toys, Bob thought, conveniently ignoring that it hadn't actually been Gerard's idea. @gerardway: oh ill come all right

It wouldn't be hard to make space in his schedule, or whatever. Vacations were convenient like that. He called the guy he usually got to babysit his plants and decided to leave the day after tomorrow.

The e-mail from Frank came to his phone as he was leaving to buy road trip food. dude wut is up w u and g flirting if theres sex goin on dibs on telling mikey

Bob rolled his eyes. i think gerards got dibs on that, frank

Frank just e-mailed him back goatse. He'd shown it to Bob last week and apparently forgotten: sometimes Bob wondered if being sick too many times had shaken his brain cells loose, or something.

He was out of touch with the band until halfway between Chicago and L.A., when Mikey called him. "Hey, what's up?"

"Um." For all that he was better than he'd been two years ago, Mikey still had a tendency to default into monotone. "So Frank told me about you going to see Gerard."

"And?"

"Weren't you just there?"

"Like, two weeks ago."

"Uh-huh."

Only Mikey could pack a fuckload of meaning into those two syllables. "It's not like that, man."

"Like how? I didn't say anything."

"I'm hanging up now," Bob said.

"Have fun. And don't forget to play it s -"

Bob hung up. Nothing good was going to come of that sentence.

Gerard was waiting at the door for him when he rolled into the driveway. He wasn't wearing a flowered apron the way Frank's barely-readable text of three hours ago suggested he might be, but he was holding a bowl with something mixed in.

"Welcome back!" he yelled, waving.

"Is this part of a new Zen project, or something?"

"I was never into Zen," Gerard said, flipping him off. "And not really. I'm just making waffles."

"That's a big fucking bowl," Bob said, hefting his duffel and locking his car.

"I'm making a lot of fuckin' waffles," Gerard said. "Guest room?"

"You know I'll probably just crash on the couch anyway."

"What if I told you I cleaned it just for you?"

"I'd call you a liar."

"Yeah, pretty much." Gerard made a face. "Now go. I had a solo zombie movie marathon planned, you better believe I won't wait for you."

He would, of course, but Bob didn't call him on it.

They were all settled down on the couch with one of the hideous knit blankets Gerard loved wrapped around each of them when Mikey called.

"Brains," Gerard said by way of answering.

Gerard kept his phone's volume loud enough that Bob could hear it fine when Mikey said, "Is Bob there?"

"He told you he was visiting, right?"

"Uh-huh." Bob probably couldn't have interpreted Mikey's tone even if he'd been holding the phone, but apparently Gerard could, because he made a face.

"Come on, Mikey. I'm not -"

"I never said you were."

"But -"

"If you think you are, that's cool. I'd support it. But I didn't say it."

"That's cheating," Gerard said. "I mean, I'm pretty sure it is, anyway."

"Whatever," Mikey said. "Kiss Bob hi for me."

"Fucker," Gerard said as Mikey hung up on him.

"What was that all about?" Bob said, not really expecting a straight answer.

He didn't get one. "Oh, you know. Mikey being Mikey."

"Uh-huh," Bob said, nonplussed.

"I mean, Mikey drawing conclusions that aren't – just Mikey. He's Mikey."

Bob wasn't any less confused, but Gerard was turning red, which Bob knew meant he shouldn't press the issue. "Okay," he said, and unpaused the DVD.

Gerard fell asleep slumped against his shoulder, which was nothing new. What was new was the hand fitted against Bob's hip; when Bob tried to move and shift them into a more comfortable position, Gerard's hand tightened almost painfully.

"Christ, okay, I get it," Bob muttered. He was careful not to pull away when he lay down this time, settling Gerard precariously on top of him.

Gerard sighed and rolled into the crack between Bob and the back of the couch. The guy was like a fucking furnace, Bob thought as Gerard burrowed his nose into Bob's armpit. He wouldn't even need a blanket. When Gerard sighed and smiled in his sleep, Bob spared a second to wonder if this was what Mikey had been talking about, this quiet feeling in the pit of his stomach that made it easy to smile back and close his own eyes.

He fell asleep before he'd reached a conclusion.

||

When he woke up the next morning, Gerard was still sleeping. It was really a pity he was a guest, Bob thought; this was the perfect opportunity to give Gerard a permanent marker mustache. He just didn't want to end up sleeping on the back porch like he had that time he'd put cayenne pepper in Gerard's oatmeal.

His eyes drifted from Gerard to the ceiling, and then down to the window. He could just barely see a tree's branches, the leaves all yellow-green.

When he looked back down at Gerard, Gerard was staring at him, eyes huge and round.

"Jesus," Bob said.

"Make me coffee," Gerard said, grabbing fistfuls of Bob's shirt and tugging.

It was early and Bob's body was confused: his first impulse was to pull Gerard closer and kiss him.

That would have him sleeping on the back porch until he went back to Chicago, though, so Bob just rolled his eyes and pushed Gerard up. "Get off me, then."

Gerard flopped back when he stood up, wiggling his toes and singing, "Oh what a beautiful morning..."

Bob laughed and left to make the coffee. Gerard didn't stop singing until Bob pressed a mug into his hand, and even then it was only to make weird, half-strangled cooing noises at his mug. "Yesss," he said. "Man, I should keep you around always, just for this. Fuckin' coffee, Jesus."

"You have weird priorities," Bob informed him.

Gerard smiled beatifically and took another slurp. Bob's stomach chose right then to turn over; he looked away, concentrating instead on his own coffee.

They spent the day lying around playing video games. At six, though, Gerard hit pause and yawned. "Want to order pizza?"

Bob shrugged and handed Gerard the phone.

Somehow between pizza and the book on zombies Bob found lying under Gerard's couch, the video game never got unpaused. Six turned into eight turned into midnight, and then Gerard was saying, "Jesus, I've turned into an old man. Do you want anything before I go to bed?"

Bob shook his head, trying to ignore thoughts of Gerard and bed. He wasn't going to try to tell himself he hadn't had this problem before, but he didn't remember it being this...pronounced. "I can program your coffee maker to have coffee when you wake up, you know."

"It's more fun ordering you around," Gerard said, and went back to his room.

He should go to the guest room, then. Alone. Jesus, it wasn't like Bob hadn't guessed what Mikey'd said - he knew how what he and Gerard were doing looked like. But he'd put those kinds of thoughts out of the way before he'd even joined the band.

And anyway, Gerard's guest bed was fucking soft. A wiggly, smelly dude couldn't add anything good to that.

Definitely.

||

"Hey. Hey. Hey, Bob. Hey."

When Bob opened his eyes, Gerard really was wearing an apron.

Bob groaned.

"I tried to make pie," Gerard said. "Mikey and Alicia and Ray and Krista are coming. But I ran out of flour."

"How do you run out of flour? What time is it?"

"One. I didn't have much, and, uh." Gerard looked sheepish. "It had worms in it."

"So buy more flour."

"That's why I woke you up. Come to the grocery store with me?"

"You don't actually need me to," Bob said instead of answering straight off. "I mean, you can get there by yourself."

"Yeah."

Bob didn't move. Gerard looked at him expectantly. Bob closed his eyes. When he opened them, Gerard was still watching him, this time with raised eyebrows. "Fine," Bob said. "Get out so I can get dressed."

He didn't exactly wait for Gerard to leave, pushing the covers back before the door was completely closed. "I didn't know you slept naked," Gerard said through the crack in the door.

"Get out!" Bob yelled. He was blushing now, too. Fuck being blond.

"Okay, okay," Gerard said, but being out didn't mean he really left. "We should buy, like, vegetables, too," Gerard said. "Ray likes vegetables. And hot dogs, for me."

"And me," Bob said, pulling his shirt on. His hair wasn't really combed; oh well, he thought, and opened the door. "Also maybe some so -"

He caught Gerard as he stumbled backwards. "Dumbass."

"Shut up," Gerard said, craning his neck.

Their faces were really fucking close, and for a second Bob wanted to lean forward and -

Gerard pushed himself up. "Anyway. I guess I should take my apron off."

His cheeks were red. Fuck it, Bob thought. "You don't have to. It looks good on you."

"Shut the fuck up," Gerard said, but he was smiling – not grinning like he would with a joke, but just smiling, his mouth turned up the tiniest bit at the corners.

It couldn't hurt to try, Bob thought, taking a step forward and untying Gerard's apron. "Come on."

Gerard stuck close to his side all throughout the grocery store, leaning across Bob to pull shit off of shelves and making a huge show of kissing Bob's cheek when Bob grabbed the right kind of flour. Bob hadn't exactly missed out on Gerard's fail-filled flirting attempts on tour, so he knew exactly what was going on now.

He did wonder what Mikey would say, though, especially when he tugged Gerard's hair a little and Gerard leaned into the touch like he'd never considered doing anything else. The only person more annoying than Mikey when he was proved right was Gerard himself.

"That was nice," Gerard said when they carried the bags in. "Homey."

"Well, we were buying groceries for your home."

Gerard actually rolled his eyes. "Come on, Bob, that's not why it felt like that."

"You should probably elaborate, then."

"Mikey played hooky on a huge World of Warcraft raid to lecture me on how if I was going to treat you like a husband I should, like, buy curtains," Gerard said. He was smiling a little again.

Bob froze.

"Also, you have a nice ass. And nice thighs. It's just a nice...region."

"Um," Bob said.

"I'm just saying."

Bob shook his head. "So you're saying tonight is a triple date."

Gerard's smile was starting to slip. Bob could barely believe how guilty he felt. "Only if you want it to be," he said quietly.

Bob answered by setting the flour and frozen pizza down and taking a step forward, putting a finger under Gerard's chin and tilting his head up. The kiss was soft and warm, equal parts incredibly strange and mindblowingly hot.

He didn't realize Gerard hadn't put his bags down until the crack announced a dozen eggs breaking. "Oops," Gerard mumbled against Bob's mouth.

Bob rested his forehead against Gerard's and laughed.

||

"This is weird."

"Your brother's the one who won't stop staring," Bob said.

"This is so weird." Mikey pushed his glasses up. "Why did I suggest this? You guys are gross."

"I love you, Mikey," Gerard said.

Ray made a big show of gagging. Mikey just put his head in his hands.

"Gross."

||

Of course, Bob had to go back to Chicago. He and Gerard spent an entire day having sex with Star Trek running in the background, which meant Bob would be stuck with weird Kirk associations for the rest of his life. Small price to pay, he figured.

He hadn't even turned onto the highway when his phone beeped with Gerard's demand for pictures. "Demanding motherfucker," he texted Gerard privately, but he obeyed.

The album was going to drop sometime, and after that, another fucking endless round of touring with breaks that inevitably went from a month or two to a day, or even half a day. Bob was pretty sure he wasn't going to be getting laid a whole lot more than he already had been pre-Gerard.

But it was pretty awesome anyway. Especially since Gerard still hadn't discovered the 24-hour itching powder Bob had slipped into his favorite pair of Smurf boxers.