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"Honey," Gerard shouted playfully, slamming his car door behind him and trampling excitedly towards the center of an expansive wheat field. "I'm home!"
He panted slightly upon reaching his destination, spinning around once before calling out again. "Babe?" And again, "Master?"
Not a single word was returned in reply, as usual. Yet he was intimately familiar with this particular kind of silence. It was comfortable, almost, but something seemed off. "Hello?" he ventured, concern edging into his voice. Still no response, and though wheat tended to be rather on the silent side, a turbulent pit of dread bloomed quickly in Gerard's stomach. He wasn't even spared a chance to remember, much less implement, any of his therapist's many suggested coping mechanisms or self-soothing techniques before the sudden pangs of trepidation devolved into a full-blown panic attack. Though the rational portion of his brain fought in vain to regain control he was ultimately powerless to stop himself from plunging into a violent spiral. Gerard was tangentially aware of his breath, coming in shallow, desperate gasps as something in his throat tightened like a drawstring bag. He sensed his hurried and irregular pulse throbbing in the side of his neck and beneath the feverish skin of his forehead. Thoughts raced through his mind unfiltered, disembodied feelings of horror and worry and doom and regret, visions of pain and suffering and everything in the world he feared most. His head and body were no longer his own; he was simultaneously being torn away from and trapped inside his own flesh and everything spun rapidly before he collapsed to the ground, sweaty and trembling. He never knew how long these episodes would last but he truly felt like he would die each time. Like his last moments on Earth would be spent, sick with terror, immobile, in the middle of nowhere.
When the intense cloud of darkness started to drain away all his energy went with it. He felt exhausted. And then, he realized, embarrassed. It was so stupid. There wasn't even any credible threat, he knew that, and yet there was nothing he could do to keep himself from succumbing entirely to the overwhelming flood of anxiety. He sat there for almost twenty more minutes, head between his knees and arms wrapped around them, trying to calm down. "Steady breaths," he heard his therapist's voice in the back of his mind. "Just one after the other, one at a time." Gerard had no idea where he'd be without Brendon's constant guidance and support. He was the one guy who was always on Gerard's side. Even though Gerard knew, without a doubt, that Brendon didn't truly believe in the wheat.
Nobody did.
Nobody but Gerard.
He sighed and lifted his head. It was fucking cruel to play with his feelings like that, and he knew it - he knew the wheat was a strict lover - but there must have been a reason. It wouldn't let Gerard worry so much if there wasn't a legitimate reason, even if that was only to teach him a lesson about neediness. "Hello?" Gerard finally spoke again, his voice weak and fatigued. An answer came only in the faint scuttling of harvest mice and a distant rustle of wind in leaves.
Brushing himself off, he stood up and looked around once more before walking back towards his car, which he had left parked by the side of the road. As he slid into the driver's seat and wiped lingering sweat off his brow with his hoodie sleeve, he waved goodbye to the field. The beautiful, seductive, harsh, unforgiving field. And as he started his car's engine with a soft rumble and pulled out onto the deserted freeway, he nodded solemnly. "Master field knows best," he repeated to himself, over and over. "Master field giveth and master field taketh away. Some day I will be worthy of the harvest, if I follow instructions and behave like a good little boy. Master field always knows best." Gerard glanced down at the package that had been left on his car's passenger's seat sometime while he lay in the field. It was plain and unassuming, with a tiny note attached to it. Details of his next assignment. Keeping one eye on the empty road, he grabbed the slip of paper. On it, in dark ink, was nothing but a name and an address. "Follow instructions and behave like a good little boy. Master field always knows best." Gerard repeated once again, low and steady. He would do anything for the wheat's love. He would do anything to be worthy. "Master field always knows best." And with that he programmed the address into his phone's map app and carefully untied the package. A knife this time, smooth and silver. Gerard smiled. Knives were his favorite.