November 1st (Frerard)

6: Saturday, October 6th

If Gerard could have seen this, perhaps he happened wanted Kat to come home anymore, but there was of course nothing he could do when it came to the matter of changing the past, and he drowned himself in reality as he stood like a statue in his hallway: eyes reddening from a lack of blinking, as he found himself utterly frozen, and completely fixated upon his parents and Kat, Kat who'd finally come home, Kat who he'd promised so many things to, Kat who'd given him an apology, Kat who he cared for so much, and Kat, who his mother had just slapped across the face.

Gerard was not alone in his shock; his father shared it, and perhaps stood there beside her, beginning to realise what kind of woman his wife was, because he sat down, kept out of it, kept her business as her business, but not this time, because although Mr Way wasn't quite sure what to make of Kat's gender and the fact that they'd practically runaway from home for the past few days, he knew that no child deserved to be hit by their own mother, no matter what they'd done.

But he couldn't find the courage to argue his case for the life of him, and neither could Gerard, not that Gerard ever spoke much to his parents anymore, and not that his mother would listen to either of them in the situation at hand, and as the the trance that had befallen them finally snapped in two, as Kat raised their hand, and slapped Mrs Way right back across her own face, and with seemingly far more force than she had exerted upon them.

Gerard's ears were ringing: it was all too loud, everything was too quick, too loud, too fucking busy, everything was too much, and he felt himself curling up against the wall and closing his eyes, blocking out the sound and opening them back when this had all started.

An hour ago, Gerard had met Kat on the beach, Kat had been armed with little more than a lacklustre apology, but Gerard had been insistent in the fact that he needed his sibling back, and Kat needed Gerard too: Gerard's approval more than anyone else's, and with a few strings of conversation and a smile from Gerard, they'd let themself be convinced, and buried the memories of Frank and Pete and the plethora of mistakes made in the past few days, as they stuck by their brother and put all their trust in perhaps the only one person who'd deserved it.

And an hour later, Gerard stood, convinced he'd failed them, and broken their trust, with the slap from his mother and the silence from him and his father, and the arguments that would linger in the house for days, and in that moment, Gerard didn't blame Kat for getting out - not one little bit, in fact, he only blamed himself for bringing them back, for being selfish enough to prioritise himself, and drag them back into a toxic situation.

Gerard threw away rational in that very moment, as the yelling grew louder, and she slapped Kat again, and his father winced this time, stepping forward, but still with nothing to say for himself, and Gerard noticed the front door: still open, and abandoned as the two had made it in with false expectations that belonged in the fantasy Gerard found himself constructing in his head: where everything was okay, and he didn't find himself out of breath and ready to step right into the ocean, without a single struggle.

He slipped out the house, of course.

He made his way to the beach, of course.

But the ocean brought little comfort in his situation, and he simply glanced upon it as his heart continued to thud away in his chest; he needed escape, he needed release, and he needed everything to stop, because even the silence was too loud, and Gerard couldn't hear his own thoughts over the sounds of the world, and perhaps he should just stop thinking altogether, but he never quite reached a conclusion before he sat down: cross legged, before the ocean, just a few centimetres away from the tide, letting the sand get into his clothes, embracing it even, because he needed this, he needed the ocean, he needed the shoreline, he needed to feel the water as he reached out, and he needed the scrap of paper and the blue pen he kept in his pocket.