Chapter 9- fine.

25 3 0
                                    

Within two days, it appeared the whole world had descended into panic.

No-one bothered with going to school anymore and a national curfew had been set, the government deciding it was 'dangerous' to be out past 10:30.

So I didn't get much stargazing done outside, where I preferred it.

However, some routine was kept.

Gerard texted me daily and he'd sometimes ask to meet me places but I always refused.

I don't know why, it just suddenly felt very important to spend as much time as possible around my parents. Normally, I'd hate it, but the idea of an almost definite end changes things more than I'd ever have foreseen.

But today, my mom and dad had gone to get tinned food- they feared there would be a food panic soon enough, so had decided to 'stock up now'.

I was bored and otherwise home alone, so I asked Gerard if he wanted to meet me.

He accepted within 5 seconds, inviting me to his instead, and I swore my heartbeat sped up.

---

He was wearing a very worn, crumpled Black Flag shirt that looked like he'd been wearing it for at least a week solid. That, and his usual black jeans.

I swear he never gets changed.

He greeted me with a tired smile and stepped aside, letting me into his home.

Instantly, I felt uncomfortable. New places made me uneasy, and for some reason I always felt unwelcome. I'm not sure why- it was the same with sleepovers. I would always feel as if I'd overstayed, as if whoever I was with had gotten bored of me. And, honestly, I normally ended up getting bored of them and would just sponge off their wifi for the night.

Gerard's house was dark and as messy as he looked.

It was easy to tell that everyone living their liked their own mess, which was fine. Scattered on the table were papers, and a couple of empty or half empty mugs sat on the paper, waiting to be tided up, although it seemed they never would be. The whole room smelt vaguely like a gas station coffee shop that you probably shouldn't trust. That, and cigarettes.

There was a muffled shout of "is that your friend?" to which Gerard replied with "yes!" before taking me to his bedroom, mumbling something about how we wouldn't be disturbed there.

Not that I really cared about being disturbed. All I could think about was that Gerard's family thought we were friends.

Gerard's bedroom was as messy as the rest of the house, although it had some order to it.

It was small, so I guess it needed to be a little organised so everything would fit. His bed was stuffed along the far wall and I was almost certain I could see an old sock at the end of it.

I didn't care.

The left wall was covered in posters and drawings and looked as if it'd taken a short lifetime to put up. Against the wall, he had a small desk, which had a shit ton of art supplies strewn across it. Next to the door was a closet and along the right wall was an unorganised bookshelf and a chest of drawers with three of the drawers left open, their contents spilling out.

Like Driving Toward the Morning Sun || Frerard (COMPLETED)Where stories live. Discover now