He Likes Me

3

Gerard spent longer than he expected out on his run, and by the time he came back it was already late afternoon. He was more than a little concerned to find his door unlocked on his arrival home, sweaty and tired and red in the face. He was in no position to fight off an attacker or a burglar, but then there didn't seem to be any signs of a break-in. The lock wasn't forced; it almost looked like it had been opened by a set of keys.

Gerard choked on his own spit when he saw the large, overstuffed duffle bag flung haphazardly onto the foot of the grand, ornate staircase leading up to the second floor. Was it possible that his home had become a home to lock-picking squatters? Gerard was certain he had locked the door when he went out - he always did - and he didn't know anybody who had a key. But, would a squatter not try to hide their presence? Wouldn't a squatter go to extreme lengths to make sure the owner of the house didn't find out they were playing host?

A loud burst of laughter sounded from the television in the living room and Gerard jumped. Fear was quickly overcome by anger; who the hell did this person think they were, coming into his home, sitting on his sofa, watching his television with not a care in the world about being caught?!

Picking up a heavy gold candlestick holder that had been placed neatly on the desk in the hall but never used, Gerard made his way to the sitting room, preparing too bonk his uninvited 'guest' over the head pretty damn hard for inconveniencing him. Who thought they could break into someone else's house and get away with it anyway? Unless they were going to kill Gerard and take his place...they could have a gun or a knife! There could be a group of them in there, just waiting for him to appear to murder him in cold blood and chop up his body! They could bury him in his beautiful garden and nobody would be able to stop them; least of all Gerard and his table decoration.

No, Gerard reasoned, attempting to calm himself down. When his parents didn't receive the eight o'clock call from him, they would know something was wrong and these criminals wouldn't be allowed to get away with it.

Gerard rounded the corner, ready to strike, and promptly dropped the candlestick onto his left foot when he saw who was sitting - or more like being swallowed into - the plush leather couch.

"Mikey!" Gerard yelped in pain as the heavy ornament hit his little toe. He swore he heard a crunching noise, but he couldn't be sure over the sound of Mikey pissing himself on the sofa.

"Oh my God, what were you planning to do with that thing?!" Mikey laughed hysterically, doubling over and clutching his stomach. He even had tears coming out of his eyes, the rude fucker. How typical of Mikey.

"I thought you were a burglar! How the hell did you even get into my house?" Gerard demanded, and he would have stomped his foot if it weren't in so much pain.

"You weren't here when I got here, so I used the keys I had made."

"You had keys made to my house?" Gerard asked, dumbstruck and a little creeped out.

Totally ignoring him, Mikey continued. "I mean, I waited for like, ten minutes but you obviously weren't coming, so I let myself in. Comfy sofa, by the way."

"I thought you were going to mom and dad's?" Gerard asked, plopping down onto the sofa beside Mikey and trying to ignore the fact that Mikey had obviously eaten something crumbly over the leather. There were crumbs everywhere. Gerard made a mental note to clear the mess up as soon as Mikey left.

"I am. But I came here first." He explained slowly, as though Gerard were an idiot and not his insanely rich and famous older brother.

"Why?" Gerard grumbled, turning the volume on the TV down so his ears wouldn't start to bleed. NCIS was so boring these days, and the theme tune made Gerard want to tear his hair out and then sweep it all up so the floor wasn't dirty. Gerard so wasn't weird.