"It’s not anything you did," Gerard was saying when Quinn walked past the open door, and one look at Bert’s face told him exactly what was going on. Quinn froze in mid-step. Bert was just standing there, completely still, with his hands hanging down limply by his sides.
Quinn thought about going in there and punching Gerard right in the face. Fucker damn well deserved it for what this was going to do to Bert. But Bert wouldn’t like it, and right now, not making things worse for him was more important.
He made himself walk by, to the hotel room they shared. He’d seen Bert go through bad break-ups before, he knew how this went. Bert didn’t do things halfway, and certainly not falling in love. But he’d never seen him this happy with someone before, or this crazy in love. Fuck, he should have punched Gerard after all.
There were a couple of glasses and a chintzy porcelain statue on top of the table. He hid them in the cupboard. Not that he cared if Bert wanted to trash the hotel room, but the last thing they needed was for him to accidentally cut his hands open again. Quinn still had that big plastic bottle of vodka in his bag, thank God. He took a big swallow, but it didn't settle his nerves at all. He was just about to go over there and see if his ass-kicking services were required after all, when the door opened and Bert shuffled in.
Quinn automatically braced for the bang of the door slamming shut, but it didn't come. Bert paused in the doorway like he didn't quite know what to do with himself, standing there with his shoulders pulled up almost to his ears - not going for the bottle Quinn had left right there on the table, not throwing shit; he looked less angry than just sad and defeated.
That was so wrong Quinn didn't even know what to say. This wasn't a Bert-like reaction at all. Sure, he sometimes got quietly sad over things, but that was for past things, not shit that was happening to him right now. He didn't deal well with heat-of-the-moment situations; he'd scream and storm out of the house and break expensive things.
But now, he was just standing there, staring at the carpet.
"Hey," Quinn said, and then didn't know how to go on. Bert was the words guy in the band.
"Gerard broke up with me," Bert said, and he still sounded way too calm, like he was talking about someone else's heartbreak.
"Gerard's a stupid asshole," slipped out of Quinn's mouth before he could think about it, but Bert just shrugged.
"Nah, he's - you know, I guess I'm not really… oh, whatever, give me that vodka."
Quinn wanted to say something - Bert was such a fucking amazing guy, so much fun to be around, and if Gerard had told him otherwise, Quinn might have to go and break his nose after all. But Bert had dropped into a chair and was taking a big swallow from the bottle, and the moment had already pretty much passed.
They drank quietly until the bottle was half empty. Bert's hand was shaking a little when he reached for it again, and then he clenched it hard around the neck. At least he's starting to react now, Quinn thought, almost relieved, but Bert just slumped over on the table, dropping his forehead against the wood, one hand still clutching the bottle.
"I really thought he was it," Bert mumbled, slurring the words against the tabletop. "Stupid, right? It's just been a couple months. I just really thought."
He flailed a little with his free hand, and Quinn grabbed it, squeezed. Shit, he was bad at this. His usual reaction to heartbreak was to offer more alcohol, and he was pretty lost when that didn't help.
"'m tired," Bert said. "Bed, yeah?"
Bert curled into a tiny ball under the covers. Quinn stretched out behind him, one hand spread loosely over Bert's ribs. He was expecting to get dislodged pretty quickly, because Bert tended to flail, kick and toss in bed even before he fell asleep, but he was just lying there, stiffly, shaking a little under Quinn's hand.
Fuck, this sucked. This wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened to Bert, not by far, but Quinn was really a little worried that it was going to be some sort of last straw. The last year had been such an endless string of bad luck for Bert, and then all the stress of making the album on top of that... Quinn had been damn glad when things settled down a bit; the album took off, and Bert had seemed so happy with Gerard. Was it really so much to ask for a guy to have at least a little bit of fucking good luck in his life for once?
Quinn tightened his hand, tucking Bert closer against him. He hadn't meant anything by it, but Bert shuddered and flipped around, and then suddenly Quinn had his tongue in his mouth.
It was far from the first time Bert had kissed him with tongue, but that just meant that Quinn knew the way he kissed well enough to know that this wasn't playful. It wasn't a sexy kiss, either. Bert was clinging to the back of his neck with both hands and kissing more like he was trying to cling to Quinn with his teeth, too - and still Quinn almost couldn't make himself pull away.
Bert made a protesting sound when Quinn pushed him off, and Quinn's fingers itched to pull him close again, fuck the consequences. But Bert was still acting so weird, and he wasn't going to let Bert drag them into a huge awkward mess just because Quinn's stupid crush made it hard to resist. He'd had that stupid crush since high school, now was really not the time for a moment of weakness.
"Come on, you know that's not going to make you feel any better," he said gently.
Bert laughed, low and bitter. "What's the matter, you didn't use to think I was that repulsive," he said, and fucking hell was Quinn glad he'd stopped him.
"Shut the fuck up," he said. "I'm not letting you make us about him, too."
Bert hissed at him, and for a moment Quinn almost expected a punch, half-relieved - this was the Bert he knew, not that freaky quiet shadow - but then Bert dropped his head back down to the mattress. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Forget it," Quinn said, and then, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake: "Just… if you, like, actually meant it, ask me again when you're over him."
Bert didn't react, and it was to dark to see his face, but he inched a little closer and didn't flinch when Quinn put an arm around him again, so probably Quinn hadn't fucked anything up too badly.
Bert didn't bring it up the next day, and he acted like nothing had changed between them, so either he was pretending it hadn't happened, or he'd been drunk and tired enough to have forgotten it completely. Quinn didn't quite know what to hope for.
They were horrible on stage that day. Bert wasn't even drunk, or singing that badly, but he was obviously listless and tired. Quinn was so busy watching him he missed his cue a couple times. The lack of energy translated to the crowd, too, and there were more people staring at them sullenly than people who seemed to have fun. Jepha came over a couple times to lean his shoulder against Quinn's while they played, and Quinn stuck close to Bert as much as he could, and then the show was finally over. For maybe the first time in his life Quinn felt nothing but relieved to get off stage.
Bert spent that night getting quietly drunk, curled up with his head in Quinn's lap. Quinn combed his fingers through Bert's hair and tried to think of something to say to cheer him up, or distract him, or, hell, he'd settle for Bert at least getting angry at this point.
Despite the disaster of the last show, Quinn still hoped that things would be better when Bert got on stage that night. Music always made everything better.
The show was better, kind of. Bert somehow pulled himself together and managed to give a halfway decent performance, but the usual energy was still lacking, and Quinn could tell how much just this much took out of him. From up close, he looked pale and exhausted, although Quinn doubted anyone could tell from the pit. Jepha mostly picked up the slack for them, throwing himself around the stage and doing most of the talking, and the kids seemed to be having fun.
After the last song was over, Bert stumbled down the steps to the backstage area and all but collapsed into a folding chair. When Quinn came to stand next to him, Bert leaned his head against Quinn's hip, half hiding his face.
Thankfully, they had a hotel night that evening, so they sprawled out on one of the beds next to each other, Bert's sweaty arm pressed tight to Quinn's side. Quinn let Bert have the remote, even though Bert liked to change channels every other second, which wasn't even enough to tell what show they were skipping, never mind if it was any good. It was kind of exhausting when you were stoned, and that was probably why Quinn didn't react fast enough when Bert suddenly stopped hitting buttons.
"…enthusiastic applause for the night's second opening act, My Chemical Romance," the announcer was saying, and behind her they showed a couple seconds of footage, just a few clips - Gerard smiling broadly into the camera; Frank on his knees with his head tossed back; Gerard, smiling, hand on Frank's ass.
"The up-and-coming New Jersey band-" the announcer was saying, and then Gerard's face behind her shoulder disappeared in a shower of sparks and broken glass as Bert threw the remote right into the TV.
"He's not even sad," he snarled. "Can you believe that? He breaks up with me and then he just goes making out with Frankie like we weren't…" Crash. The bottle from the bedside table shattered on the wall next to the ruined TV.
Their manager was going to kill them. It was going to be worth it, though.
"I fucking hate him," Bert said, and then he threw a pillow after the bottle, because there wasn't anything else movable in reach. It bounced off softly in a very unsatisfying way. Bert snarled.
"Fucker. Stupid fucking fucker. We should go scream at their fans with a megaphone."
"Give me five minutes to find a megaphone," Quinn said, and he couldn't stop smiling. If Bert was making revenge plans, he was practically over it already. He was going to be fine.
"Can we spray-paint their bus?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely."
Bert was giggling now, still sort of fake and careful, and Quinn reached out and hugged him hard, just because he wanted to. Bert wheezed a little.
"Can we post his cell phone number on the internet?"
"Anything you want," Quinn said. Bert tilted his head to blink up at him exaggeratedly through his lashes.
"Can I have a blowjob?"
Quinn froze. Bert wasn't over Gerard, and he wasn't okay, and Quinn had wanted this for what might as well be his entire life. Maybe they should wait, maybe this wasn't such a good idea, maybe…
And then Bert giggled, high-pitched and for real. "You look really stupid with your mouth hanging open."
Oh, fuck waiting, seriously. It was Bert - who the hell could say no to Bert? Not Quinn, that was for sure. And anyway, things always worked out well for the things Quinn and Bert did together, or they'd both still be serving fast food in Utah.
Bert squeaked when Quinn flattened him to the bed, and then he giggled into Quinn's mouth. It should have been totally weird and unsexy, but mostly it was just hot. Quinn had always been a little too turned on by too many of the stupid things Bert did; it felt really awesome to realize that that was going to be a good thing from now on.
The End