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.

And with that, they opened Gerard's bedroom door, finding themself a little surprised to be hit with such light, and Gerard: perfectly awake, sat at the desk - fully dressed and indeed a little damp from the looks of it.

Gerard turned around to face Kat as they heard the door click open, and met his sibling's gaze with wide hazel eyes: reddening around the edges, and a cold, almost blue grey tone to his skin, as if he was dead or something equally as preposterous. The reality was the cold, and the weather and it didn't take Kat long to conclude that Gerard had snuck out, wearing only a hoodie and jeans in the middle of what Kat could only assume to be a rainstorm from the way his hair was damp, and in places just plain wet, and stuck together in clumps. His clothes, also stuck to him and were without a doubt incredibly uncomfortable.

"Are you o-okay?" Kat stumbled out, coming to realise that they had indeed just been staring rather dumbfoundedly at their brother for what was easily three minutes now.

Gerard nodded, brushing something away on the desk, before turning around to face Kat properly. "Yeah... I..."

"You went outside?" Kat asked, closing the door behind them, finding the sinking feeling in their stomach cease somewhat.

"Y-yeah..." Gerard nodded: a little uneasy, as his bruised fingers began to tap at the arm of his chair. "I... just... I... went out for... for a walk."

"Oh." Kat nodded, "you should tell someone where you're going, though. I'm not meaning to act all fucking parental on you, but what if I woke up and you weren't back yet, I'd probably have some sort of freak out."

Gerard bit his lip, nodding. Guilty. He'd made a mistake. He'd made so many mistakes. And he didn't deserve anything. And indeed he didn't even remember. It had been one of those nights. He'd opened his eyes at this desk, but here he was: drenched. "Y-yeah... okay."

Kat smiled, "good to know. You want me to make you breakfast or something? You should take a shower or you're going to get sick."

Gerard nodded, "y-yeah," and watched as Kat left the room and tried not to think about how it didn't fucking matter if he got sick. It was the twenty sixth of October and he simply hadn't a care in the world.

Except perhaps for what he could only assume to be a walk in the rain: a walk he'd forgotten. He wondered how much his mind would deteriorate before it ceased to exist altogether, and in some ways it was kind of like a fun experiment, sick as that might sound, but the reality of it, Gerard was very fucking sick, so he could be as sick minded as he liked.

-

Gerard figured it out much sooner that day.

He had indeed always been just so fucking observant, even as he led himself to the end of the world.

Because Gerard did indeed look.

He looked and he listened as he walked out of his house and he noticed the lack of puddles, and the dry tone to the cold air. It didn't settle right in his stomach, for sure, and he didn't quite know what to do about that, because there was a definite disconnection between his own version of events and what was laid out rather plainly before him.

But the thing was, he just didn't quite know whether he could trust his head or the world around him more.

But what indeed did it matter.

Water was all the same in the end: cyclical, continuous, immortal was ever droplet, in a sense. There was little difference between the rain and the ocean, in all honestly, and therefore little cause for concern, but Gerard's head was indeed engineered for nothing less than brutal overthinking and an unstoppable urge to pick at himself until there was nothing left.

Everything was the same in the end.

Black and white, when it came down it, were just shades of grey.

Colours were just differences in light, and feeling only existed as you detected it.

Life was a window, and death was being locked in a dark room, and there were no such things as doors.

Time was a man made construct and so was the concept of existence, and meaning, and good and evil, and pure and sin, and at the end of the world, stood the earth and the ocean.

And Gerard stood, as moments ticked by upon trembling feet. Upon cold feet. Upon wet feet. Upon familiarity in the tide, in the ocean, upon the events of a night prior buried deep inside the hells of his mind.

And Gerard stood, helpless, and with a desire to do anything but scream, because there was no point in that anymore. There had never been. There had never been any hope. There had been rules - there had distinctly been his doctor telling him to take his pills because they'd make him better.

He wondered what defined better, but on much the same notion, he found himself yielded with very little care for the matter.

There was the crashing of the ocean waves and there were footsteps behind him: footsteps he had come to recognise, but they didn't belong to a person he was all that familiar with.

She offered him a small smile from across the beach and somehow took Gerard's lack of any form of response to approach him and even sit down beside him before the tide.

Gerard wondered if Lindsey also possessed enough audacity to question the silence between them: the lack of words in an unwanted conversation somehow rendering itself something to ponder.

Gerard wondered a lot, but a little that related so directly to Lindsey Ballato, who was indeed just that - Lindsey Ballato, Frank's friend.

He'd gathered by now that the fewer people he got to know and in turn formed any kind of emotional connection with, the better. He didn't want to hurt people - he'd never wanted to hurt people, but here he was: still cold, still drenched, because he couldn't bring himself to take a shower.

He couldn't bring himself to do much anymore.

What meaning did three regular meals a day hold?

What meaning a healthy and balanced diet hold?

What meaning did personal hygiene hold?

What meaning did basic self-care and a vague attempt not to drive himself downright insane count for when it was October the fucking twenty sixth and everything was going to fade away into blackness in a short time?

"Are you alright, Gerard?" Lindsey asked after a moment, and Gerard did indeed highly consider not answering here, but there was no one here to speak for him or explain, so he found himself forced into muttering out some form of half hearted response.

He gave a shrug, "yeah?" The lack of certainty in his voice was anything but promise, but still, much as everything else did, it held so little meaning and indeed so little worth in a world ever slipping from his grasp.

"You don't sound convinced." She told him, narrowing her gaze a little, she paused for a moment, "you should feel good. Good about yourself, because a lot of people care about you. Frank in particular."

Gerard questioned the logic in her words, but instead only raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he's... he..." She trailed off, kicking at the sand with her boots, "he's... he's, honestly, Gerard, he's in love with you. That's quite clear, don't you think?"

And Gerard's stomach was a stone thrown into a river, as he lost touch with the entirety of the English language, and perhaps even indeed himself.

This was too much.

Liking one another had been too much, and now-

"I didn't mean to overwhelm you, Gerard, I just feel like you should feel better about yourself," she offered with a smile.

Gerard forced himself to return her smile as his head felt as if toppled right off his shoulders, rolled down his body and into the tide, only to be swept away into the ocean.

He'd never asked for this.

In fact, he'd easily made himself the least lovable person on Earth, and yet.

And yet.

And yet...

-

It was a sense of wrong.

Not uneasiness as a lack of safety, but the uneasy feeling that came with getting something wrong. Being wrong about something that mattered.

The heart destroying realisation that somewhere, somehow, down the line you'd gotten something wrong and in consequence, fucked up rather spectacularly.

It was obvious in retrospect, but then again, so were most things, and unfortunately, you couldn't live looking over your shoulder, and indeed in the moment, in the present it had been a sensible mistake.

A very human mistake, and perhaps that was what was quite so important about it.

But they had been wrong.

So very wrong.

And the realisation only hit them later that day. The twenty sixth.

It hit them as they sat at home with their mother, as she didn't work Fridays and Pete couldn't hang out with them until tomorrow, which was seriously bumming them out, because they'd grown rather accustomed to just staring at Pete in a lovestruck manner, because, hey it wasn't like anyone was there to stop them.

They sat in the living room: the TV on in the background as their mother sipped coffee and watched it, and as they scrolled mindlessly through various websites on their laptop - not really paying the TV a great deal of attention until their mother brought something to their attention.

Something rather meaningless, but something that brought with it the power to change the world. "Going to rain tonight. Pouring down."

Kat looked up: nodding vaguely. "Mmm."

"Don't go out to Pete's and get soaked, will you? I don't want you dying of hypothermia, and I know you always come back at ridiculous o'clock in the morning." She smiled a little, tutting only half heartedly, as Kat couldn't help but blush.

"Maybe you should be telling Gerard that, not me." Kat offered.

"What? Gerard's sneaking out to see your boyfriend?" She laughed a little.

"No," Kat sighed - Gerard was most likely sneaking out to see his boyfriend, which was something Kat couldn't quite get to grips with, because in their mind, Gerard was still so young and so innocent, and not seventeen and didn't have a boyfriend or a world full of worries. "He just... last night he went out in the rain - absolutely soaked: drenched, his hair, his clothes, everything. In fact, his skin was even a little blue: chilled to the bone."

Mrs Way paused for a moment: puzzled. "Didn't rain last night." She told them.

Kat looked at her oddly, "must have."

"Yeah..." She trailed off, "must have- but no, I'm sure of it - I checked the weather and- the. Mi- Kat, sorry..." She blushed; he nodded to say it was okay, because in all honesty, she was trying, "look outside, though. There's not a sign of rain, are you sure this wasn't the other night or something?"

Kat got up and looked through the window, and indeed surveyed the world around them, and there was indeed no signs remaining of such a dreadful rain storm that they'd be certain to have only occurred hours ago. "It was last night."

"Didn't rain last night." She told them, "you must have got it wrong, honey."

Kat bit their lip, "didn't rain last night. I got it wrong."

And then came the sinking feeling.

Because they had been wrong, but not about the night, because last Gerard had come in drenched and frozen. They couldn't quite piece it all together. But they knew for sure that they'd gotten it wrong somehow.

Kat stood for a moment, taking in the situations and the clues and the facts, and things that didn't quite add up, and glanced back to their mother, "Gerard lied to me. He lied to me. He doesn't lie. He doesn't like lying."

Mrs Way paused, "this seems odd," she thought it over in her head, "he went out, so we can't even ask him until he comes back-"

"We?" Kat raised their eyebrows, "no, this isn't your business, and he doesn't want you peering into his thoughts. You don't get him like I do. He's my brother. I know him."

"You don't own him." She narrowed her eyes at them, "if you fully knew him then this wouldn't be an issue because you would have known the truth, wouldn't you?"

"Oh stop being fucking petty." They snapped, running a hand back through their hair and storming out and into Gerard's room, hearing their mother call back after him: a tune to the chorus of 'don't speak to your mother like that', but they couldn't give a fuck.

Because this was the sinking feeling.

They'd been wrong and now they needed to be right.

They needed to fix this.

They needed to fix him.

Because perhaps there had been more lies than Kat had ever accounted for, and perhaps Gerard had not been getting better but getting worse, and perhaps early mornings were just late nights.

They couldn't fix him.

The realisation dawned.

Gerard was a person of his own control and emotion.

The realisation dawned a little too late.

A little too late.

Kat was in general a little too late as they stood amidst their brother's bedroom with worry on October the twenty sixth, and still, they didn't have a clue. They didn't have a clue in the world what could possibly be going on in Gerard's head, and they did indeed doubt that they ever would.

Gerard's room was far too messy.

Gerard did indeed find himself inclined to a certain order to things, and his room did anything but reflect that. It lay as a mess with photographs scattered vaguely across the desk and in some cases, the surrounding floor.

Kat knew there was something innately wrong with sneaking around someone else's room, but they were indeed panicked and desperate, and perhaps even panicked and desperate enough to justify a lack of moral thinking, and on that reasoning, they found themself moving through the mess towards the chest of drawers and opening it frantically: looking to find something, to find anything.

To find the answers to the rainstorm that seemed to have occurred for Gerard and only Gerard.

But instead, they found the answers to a question they had never even asked.

As what lay before them was the drawer full of pills.

The months' worth of pills that Gerard had not taken: hundreds of pills.

And Kat felt sick like they'd taken them all in, just with their eyes.

-

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