Peroxide (Peterick)

i am a smol rat

Human festivities are all I see around me: a large Christmas tree looming overhead, variegated glasses of liquid spilled on the counter, commercialized music being strummed through the speakers. Christmas in general.

I'm pretty sure no one in this house has ever had a knack for spiritualism, which makes it all the more enticing when we sing Christmas carols about our love and devotion towards the savior, Jesus Christ. It's all in the irony, I suppose.

Gerard carries a drunken stupor, though only by saturation from the sparkling apple cider, as he dances clumsily with Frank, proving to be quite the struggle for the shorter boy in the ugliest yellow cardigan I've seen, most likely to be more ironic than all of us.

Dallon only observes from the corner, Lindsey chatting away and thinking he's listening, his sapphire eyes capturing many sights before settling to a seismic cessation on me, who unfortunately happens to be a lonely fellow in the opposite corner with my best friend swept away by the flamboyant Brendon Urie as Ryan wrestles to hold on to them.

Dallon's hand protrudes cautiously to stop Lindsey's bubbling personality, and he rouses from the sofa to offer me a dance.

"Why would I dance with you?" I scoff, backing into the wall until there's no place left to go.

A smile reflects the mood of the glittering lights around us, and his voice portrays a standard Victorian man on a holiday. "Because it's Christmas, and the spirit is in the air."

"It's just another day out of three hundred and sixty-five."

"Your friends are watching," Dallon reminds me through unnecessarily gritted teeth, and before he can progress with any manipulative schemes, I enclose my fingers around his gloves and lead him into the foyer, where the aforementioned chaos proceeds.

"I hope you're having a nice time," my attacker wishes, vision absent from me and twirling through the room with the dance skills he's never had.

"Not really."

"That's a shame."

"Hmm," I say, loosely witnessing the other events flicking the air with their holiday joy of which I will have no part, such as Gerard dipping Frank and almost dropping him, or Lindsey rising to put Ryan out of his misery of trying to dance with both Pete and Brendon and tangoing with him instead.

"You used to love Christmas," Dallon reminisces, oblivious to my lassitude.

"I used to love a lot of things." My spotlight then subsides onto him, austere. "Including you."

"But now there's just hatred, yeah?"

"Basically."

Dallon chuckles dryly, fake merriment tarring his disposition that I know to be malevolent. "Won't you lighten up for Christmas?"

"Not likely."

"I've noticed that your answers have been getting shorter." Dallon nods in agreement with himself, considering his hypothesis to be stable.

"Like my patience with you."

"Ah, that had more words this time!" he chirps, muscles tensing from thrill underneath my quivering grasp.

My blood is cleaned with ice, having had enough of this man's antics. "I hate talking to you. That's why I don't say much, and you should've recognized it sooner from the way I abhor your presence."

No signs of damage stamp Dallon's face, but I still assume them, for he's always been adept at shadowing his emotions beneath arrogance. "You really detest me that much?"