November 1st (Frerard)

18: Thursday, October 18th

They were in love with him.

In love with him.

And his house.

His room.

The view from the window.

The sheets on the bed.

The pictures on the wall.

The look in his eyes.

The nonsense he muttered in his sleep.

The meaningless conversations they had.

The more meaningful ones too.

The crack in the wall from where he'd punched it.

The horrific floral shirt at the back of his wardrobe.

The way he was shorter.

The stupid jokes.

The excessive use of aftershave.

The late nights.

The early mornings.

The whole world, just as long as he was in it.

Kat really didn't get that soppy often; you could tell it was four in the morning, well, half four now. Kat had spent a good thirty minutes laid there in silence as they came to the realisation that they were indeed in love with their boyfriend: laid in his bed beside them, still asleep, because Pete never got up first, and Kat had the whole world to themself at this time of day.

And perhaps that wasn't such a good thing.

They didn't quite know what to do, quite know what to say, besides just lying there, watching Pete's eyelids flicker in his sleep: illuminated only by the moonlight which streamed in through the open window.

Pete always slept with the window open - something that initially unnerved Kat, but they lived in a relatively small, relatively crime free town that in fact mainly consisted of elderly people and families with children - the idea was that you got out as soon as you turned eighteen, but maybe came back to die here.

Kat had always thought that the cemetery up on the hill was awfully pretty, so maybe it wasn't such a bad place to die, but to live, not at all. Kat knew that more than most.

There was also the fact that Pete's bedroom was up two different sets of stairs, and that if anyone wanted to break in and murder them, they'd probably have to be Spiderman, and if Kat didn't mind getting murdered by anyone, it was probably Spiderman. Pete had, of course, also spewed some bullshit about Kat being here to protect him, which Kat had simply rolled their eyes at.

Pete could be awfully sweet sometimes. Emphasis on the awful.

They'd thought about what Pete had said his friend Lindsey had asked of: someone called Mikey and all of that, and how urgent Lindsey had insisted it be. Kat wasn't quite sure what to make of that - they just knew that they couldn't put up with someone calling them Mikey, like seriously just they just couldn't. That was one of the main reasons they skipped school sometimes, and then that they didn't really have friends there besides Gerard, Frank, and Pete; Pete, of course, couldn't acknowledge him there because he was still about seven thousand miles in the closet, which Kat understand, and didn't think too much of though, and Kat would honestly rather stab themself than sit and watch Gerard and Frank be all 'close'.

Kat hung out with the stoners, mainly because you smoked pot instead of making useful conversation, and they were people to skip class with. Kat wasn't an avid pot smoker, or drug user, or anything of that nature really, in fact, they'd never smoked pot outside of school at all, and it wasn't even peer pressure - just something to pass the time. It wasn't something they talked about, and that was good, because people didn't talk about them, and dear god, Kat wondered what would happen if Gerard found out.