Rated T because there is one swear. Also sexual themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. This is a non-profit fanwork.
The phone is ringing.
Why was it ringing?
What time is it?
Fuck.
These were Gerard's first thoughts when he awoke that Thursday. The digital clock on his nightstand read 2:26am.
Groaning into the pillow, he reached blindly for the phone, accidentally knocking a glass of water over before his hand found the receiver.
"Hello?" Gerard said groggily, voice still scratchy from the sleep he was so rudely awakened from moments before.
"H-hi? Uh, hi, it's Steven."
Gerard removed his head from the pillow and propped himself up on his elbow, frowning at the uncharacteristic stutter. "Hey Steven. Are you alright?" he asked. "Your voice is all… squeaky."
"I'm fine. I mean, everyone is fine. R-relatively."
"Steven!" Gerard half-smiled at the faint sound of an exasperated Charlie in the background. "I would like to get out of these sometime this century, if you don't mind?"
"I'm talking to Gerard right now," Steven yelled back, his voice muffled by a hand that was presumably being held over the receiver.
"My hands might fall off."
"Shut up, Charles." The hand was removed from the receiver and Steven's voice came through clear again. "Okay, um… I know you were probably sleeping," he continued.
"Well, it is 2:30am on a weeknight." said Gerard, rolling his eyes.
Steven chuckled nervously. "Yeah, well, uh, we - I kind of need to borrow your bolt cutters."
"My bolt cutters?" Gerard said blankly.
"Mhm." Steven still sounded high pitched.
Gerard groaned tiredly. "Now?"
"Please, Pittsie."
Gerard frowned again. "The only person who still calls me that is Neil. You're sure you're alright?"
"Yeah, yeah." And Steven still sounded distracted. "Sorry. Don't worry. I'm fine. I just need bolt cutters?"
Gerard rubbed his eyes and stepped out of bed. "Alright. Well, uh, hang tight for twenty?" He yawned. "See you."
Without waiting for a response, Gerard hung up and threw the phone on the bed. True to his word, nineteen minutes later, he was at Steven's door, dressed in an unwashed Yale sweatshirt and clutching a pair of bolt cutters in his left hand. Prepared to press the buzzer to Steven's apartment, he almost jumped backwards into the bushes in shock when the door opened and Steven poked his head out.
"Um… hi?" Gerard said warily, handing the cutters to his best friend. "You aren't being held hostage are you?"
Steven nodded, cheeks bright red. "Hi. Yes. I mean no. Not being held hostage. Thanks so much. See you tomorrow?"
Steven pulled his head out of the door and it started to close. Gerard snorted, putting his hand out to block it. Steven cautiously reappeared.
"That's it?" Gerard asked. "You call me up at an ungodly hour to raid my toolbox and you won't even tell me what you're working on?"
Steven was growing less skittish and more impatient. "Look, Charlie is upstairs waiting…"
"Don't tell me you were working on the kitchen renovation at this time of day?" Gerard interrupted. "Are you insane?"
"No, I'm not insane." Steven rolled his eyes.
"Well, what?"
Steven squinted at Gerard which was also confused him because Steven was wearing his glasses. "You must be really tired if you don't understand what's going on," he said when he finally spoke, neglecting to answer Gerard's question. "Charlie doesn't keep it a secret,"
"Keep what a secret?" Gerard was now thoroughly confused.
Steven waved his hand in a shooing motion. "Never mind. You're obviously out of it. Remind me never to call you in the morning again."
Of course, that didn't really mean anything; Gerard knew that Steven knew that Gerard would do anything for him, even if it was at 2 in the morning. Apparently that's what best friends did.
"Thanks for the bolt cutters," Steven finished, and Gerard removed his hand from the door, taking a step backwards.
"Good night… or good morning, Steven."
Shaking his head in bewilderment, Gerard returned to his car. He had no idea why Steven was so cryptic, but he really was too tired to figure it out. Instead, he started the engine, looking forward to reuniting with his bed.
Six hours later, Gerard was walking to his car (actually awake this time), thinking much more clearly than he had been earlier that morning. And it was only then, when he thought over the events concerning the bolt cutters with a fully functioning brain that he stopped dead in his tracks and whispered in a horrified tone: "Handcuffs. They needed them for their handcuffs."
AN:/ Thanks for reading! If you feel it is worthy, kudos or reviews would be appreciated :)
I can be found on and tumblr as dontchasethesheep.