FicWad

Meanwhile, Gerard was at the local Starbucks trying to be as nondescript as possible. The face-hiding sunglasses seemed to be helping a lot. He sat down at a table with one chair and looked around the café aimlessly without planning to order anything. There were teenagers everywhere, something that only crushed his spirits further. He could hear low whispering nearby.
"That's really him isn't it?" asked one girl in an excited voice.
"I don't know, I don't really recognize him since he dyed his hair again. Should we go ask him for an autograph?" her friend responded. He finally took off his sunglasses and turned around to look at the two black-clad teenagers.
"Only if you don't tell any of your friends," he said, catching them off guard. They agreed instantly and watched with fascination as he signed their identical black backpacks, then started absentmindedly drawing on one. The girl who owned it nearly fainted.
Gerard wasn't even paying attention to the simple doodle. There was too much on his mind for him to even think right now. 'This shouldn't be bothering you,' he thought to himself. 'It's only a one-day difference. It's not like you're suddenly jumping forward twenty years.' He sighed sadly as he continued the drawing, outlining it carefully with the silver Sharpie. 'But it feels like it,' he told himself. 'I feel old already. Here I am drawing a doodle for someone half my age...that can't be normal...' He signed the drawing with a lowercase letter 'g', as usual, and almost handed the marker back to its owner, when he saw the sad look in the other girl's eyes. He smirked and started a drawing on her backpack, too. He took a quick glance at the other work of art for a reference, and saw that he had drawn Mikey without even realizing it. He decided it would only be fair to draw the other members, too.
'This is why you're in this band. You're here for the fans. Don't forget it,' his conscience told him. 'You once said, 'Every record you make brings you closer to the end of your band. That's what makes it so painful, but that's also what makes it so special.' Well, it's not just special to you, moron. It's special to all of /them/, too.'
It dawned on him suddenly, though he continued drawing as if nothing had changed. That's what was bothering him. He was glad he'd finally figured it out. He didn't just feel old. He felt useless.
After agreeing to a few photos with the teens in order to prove his existence, Gerard ordered his coffee. He sipped it thoughtfully as he walked back to where the bus was parked just two blocks away. His steps were slow and methodical, almost like he was trying to delay the inevitable. He recalled the words he was telling himself just a few minutes earlier. 'Every record you make brings you closer to the end of your band...the end of your life, even...But that is what makes it special...because you have to work that much harder. It means that much more to you.'
He crumpled the now-empty coffee cup and tossed it into a nearby trashcan, suddenly quickening his pace. He had that feeling again, the same one he'd felt just a week and a day ago when the others had performed their version of Bob's favorite song.
They were definitely up to something.