November 1st (Frerard)

26: Friday, October 26th

Kat was happy.

Happy besides the uneasy sensation in their stomach, but above all, happy.

But the question it all begged was indeed just when bearable became unbearable, when happy became unhappy: where was that line and how did you know you had crossed it?

There was, in truth, no telling of such a matter, and that was what left them puzzled: a weight on their chest as they lay awake, far too early, as they had before, as they perhaps would for everyday they lived.

There was no tell of how many days that could and would be, as well. Because much as you never knew what day would be your first, you never knew what would be your last.

Kat wondered what such a morbid topic of thought was doing upon their mind at such a time in the morning, but indeed managed to conclude that it would be okay, because they were happy, and if they died as they were right now, perhaps it wouldn't be such a shame. Sure, they would have died young, but that would have been out of their control.

They were happy, and that was what mattered.

But the sinking feeling in their stomach did not cease, and hadn't for a good twenty five minutes now, and it was perhaps at that point at which they crossed the line; the sinking feeling becoming a hassle and a problem instead of just ignorable and easy to pass off as meaning very little in general.

They couldn't pinpoint as just what had called for the crossing of that line, but they were perhaps too concentrated on the sinking feeling itself to really consider the matters of lines and crossing them.

It was a sense of uneasiness: the sinking feeling.

But such uneasiness was indeed entirely uncalled for and held no meaning and no worth in their current situation as they lay awake in bed: curtains open, watching the dark sky become a sunrise, because they saw little point in getting out of bed, just yet.

They were safe. They were at home, they were not in danger, but despite all that, something was wrong, and the feeling grew even stronger - and if whether simply as a result of obsessive thinking about it, or for any logical reason, Kat got out of bed.

Kat crossed another line.

Because it was that simple: everything was made up of little opportunities and choices, lines and whether you crossed them or not. The whole world could revolve around whether you took a left or a right turn on your way home, but indeed you would never know, as sure you could go and take a different route on your way the next day, but it would never be the same situation - it would never be that same moment, and in that current moment, Kat couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The house seemed to creak a little as they made their way through it: closing their bedroom door and fumbling with the lightswitch as they made their way out into the hall, and wincing a little as a light far too yellow and far too intense flooded their vision, allowing them to make out the shapes of objects and furniture that meant little at all.

There was nothing, as far as they could see, nothing out of the ordinary, but their heart and their stomach, and the little voice at the back of their mind disagreed.

And they had to listen, as a being constructed on a foundation of instinct and impulse, they did have to listen, and step further down the hallway, considering just where to go and what to do, as before them lay the bathroom door, and to the right, Gerard's room, and then their mother's room further down the hall, behind them, but they were left with no sense of anything at all.

Until, came a quiet muffled, "fuck..." from the left. Gerard's room.

They stood frozen for a moment, recognising that voice to indeed be their brother's, and finding themself instantly inclined to brush it off as something meaningless - something spoken in his sleep, perhaps, but the sinking feeling in their stomach yelled to disagree.