Hatchetfield.

i never wanted to love you (like i do)

Steph entered the kitchen to the sight of her dad whistling to himself as he made breakfast, which set off alarm bells for a number of reasons. Solomon Lauter did not cook. He did not whistle. And he was certainly never home when Steph finally rolled out of bed in the mornings.

"Is everything alright?" Steph asked, cautiously eyeing her father as he bustled around the kitchen.

He turned and smiled at her. Actually smiled. What the fuck?

"Of course, Stephanie. Everything is just perfect."

Steph blinked at him. "...Right. I think I might just head out. Don't want to be late to first period."

As she moved to leave, her dad stepped in front of her. He was still smiling. This was quite possibly the longest she'd ever seen him smile outside of a public appearance.

"Leaving so soon? But I made breakfast and everything. At least have some coffee before you go." He held out a mug filled with steaming coffee. She stared at it, uncomprehending. It had an odd blue shine that she had never seen before. Maybe their coffee had gone off? Was that possible?

"I'm ok," she said eventually, tearing her eyes away from the mug. "I'm meeting Pete before school, he's grabbing us coffee from Beanie's."

Her dad's face soured for a moment– finally, a more recognisable expression– before brightening again.

"I'll see you later then, Stephanie. Remember to have a la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah, la dee dah dah day– la dee dah dah day!"

Steph stared in horror as her dad broke out into song. Seriously. What the fuck?

"Ok, I'm going, bye!" She blurted out before turning on her heel and fleeing. She could still hear her dad singing as she slammed the front door.

She paused for a second to comprehend what just happened. She could still hear singing. Was this some kind of mental break? Did her dad finally lose it?

She considered going back inside for a moment before adjusting her bag straps and heading off to school. He was fine. Probably. Maybe Pete would be able to make sense of it.

—

Downtown had also been filled with people singing and dancing. Steph had decided she was on an episode of Punk'd. The entire town had learnt all of this choreography to mess with her specifically. Obviously.

Or they were putting on a town wide musical, and she'd just missed the memo. That sounded like the kind of dumb "community building" bullshit her dad might approve.

Either way, by the time she reached Hatchetfield High, she was fed up with it. It was freaky, watching people burst into song like that. Maybe Richie's weird uncle was onto something with his whole hating musicals thing.

She put it out of her mind when she spotted Pete waiting at their agreed upon spot, two coffee cups in hand. At least one person was acting normal.

"Hey, Pete!" she called, jogging over. "Is today some sort of holiday?"

Pete stared at her for a second, his face blank, before it relaxed into his usual smile. "What?"

"I kept seeing people singing, and my dad was acting really weird, so I figured it might be some kind of new holiday that I missed the announcement for. Hatchetfield Music Day, or something."

Pete laughed, but something about it sounded slightly off. A bit more robotic than usual. Steph shook herself mentally.

He's probably just sick, she thought.

"If it is, I haven't heard anything either." Pete replied, shrugging. "Here's your coffee, by the way."

Steph accepted the offered cup with a small thanks and they began to walk together. "My dad made me coffee this morning." she started as they wandered into the school together. "And breakfast! He's never home in the mornings. Maybe he's just finally lost it. He started singing as I was leaving."

"Maybe you're just tired. Some coffee will help." Pete replied, shrugging slightly.

Steph squinted at him. "What, I imagined all of that because I'm tired?"

Pete shrugged again. "Coffee will help you think better, anyway."

Steph hesitated, but went to take a sip of her drink.

"Get your cup of roasted coffee, your morning cup of joey," Pete sang quietly.

Steph paused, lowering her cup. "What?"

"We'll make a jamming cup of java, mocha latte with the froth for you, Jack," he continued.

"Not you too, Pete. Seriously, what's going on today?"

Pete seemed to shake himself out of the song and simply smiled at her. "Just take a sip, Steph. It'll help."

A bad feeling began to settle in her gut. Pete kept smiling at her almost unnervingly, much like her dad had. She swallowed and removed the lid of her coffee cup. The coffee inside was blue.

"I think I'm good, Pete." Steph said. "Thanks for buying me one, but I'm just... not in the mood today."

"It'll help." Pete repeated.

"I'll just skip gym to take a nap, or something. I'll be alright."

Pete's smile didn't falter. "You'll feel better after some coffee. No need to skip."

For possibly the first time ever, Steph was relieved to realise they were next to her first period class. "Ah, yeah. I'll have some. I'm just going to head into class early. See you around, Spankoffski."

She didn't wait for him to reply and headed into the classroom, slamming the door behind her. She immediately dropped the coffee in the bin, cringing at the sight of the blue... shit spilling out of it.

What the fuck was up with Pete this morning? Was he going crazy? Was she going crazy?

The door swung open again, and Steph turned to find Pete stepping into the room.

"Did you forget something?" she asked.

"You love me, don't you Steph?" Pete asked instead of replying.

"What? Pete, seriously. What's up with you today?" Steph laughed nervously as she spoke, taking a step back.

"I never wanted to love you," Pete sang as he walked towards her. "Like I do."

"Pete," Steph said, backing up until she hit a wall. "You're scaring me."

"I never wanted to hold you," Pete crooned as he finally cornered her. His hands clamped down on her arms. Steph yelled out in protest, trying to squirm out of his grip. He didn't falter. "Like I do."

"Pete. Please. Don't do this." Steph begged, looking into his eyes. She thought she saw fear flicker in them. A hint of the old Pete. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The-being-who-was-Pete adjusted his grip to have one hand holding both arms, using his now free hand to tilt her head up. And then he spat some of that blue shit in her mouth.

Steph gurgled, trying desperately not to swallow it, but he pinched her nostrils closed, forcing her to choke it down as she tried to breathe.

He let her go as she convulsed, falling to her knees. Sobs wracked her body as she dry heaved, trying to get air in her lungs. Then, suddenly, she fell quiet.

The-being-who-was-Steph rose silently, meeting the eyes of the-being-who-was-Pete.

"I wanted, I needed, the kind of love from someone else," she sang. "We hurted, we bonded, like glue pulled off the shelf."