living's just a waste of death

faded stars/i'm so dizzy, my head is spinning

gold star for anyone who can catch all the references and correct all my grammar mistakes.

"what're they having a party for, anyways?" mikey asked. he was sat on gerard's bed, playing video games on the nintendo. and gerard was sat at his desk, drawing something he would show mikey later. "just a party, but it's probably the last one i'll be able to go to." gerard spun his pencil around and erased the small mistake he made,

"i thought it could double as a going away party for ray and i, a chance to have fun before i leave and become all adult-y and shit." he said, without turning his attention away from his drawing, and mikey tried not to think of him leaving- because gerard always talked about college like it meant he was going to die. even if it was like five months away.

"so, you're gonna make me go?" mikey questioned even though he already knew the answer. gerard didn't say anything in reply. he just smiled up at mikey who did the same- a sort of silent agreement.

he didn't want to, but he knew if he didn't go then gerard would get too drunk and wouldn't be able to drive home- and that had happened enough times that mikey knew just to go instead of whining. and if ray and frankie would be there then it probably wouldn't be all that bad.

and if it did turn out to be that bad then he could hide in the bathroom for three hours- no big deal. really. he did it all the time. but gerard had said it would be a good opportunity for mikey to "branch out"- like a fucking tree or something. but talking to people wore him out. and he knew he wouldn't actually enjoy the party at pete wentz's house and not be completely miserable. even though, mikey tended to be miserable no matter where he was.

and as shitty as they were, pete like, thrived at house parties. but the ones that were at his own house were never planned. and he kinda hated them. a sea of reckless teenagers- drunk reckless teenagers and so many breakable things in his house. he was always worried that something valuable of his mom's would end up broken. and if not, someone would try put beer into his puppy's water bowl. but he couldn't ever back out of parties at his house- especially not this time. he himself  invited guests this time and there was no turning back from that.

parties at the pete's house only happened because one of two reasons- one: because pete's mom always worked weekends at a job that was hours away, so she'd leave on friday morning and come home on monday. and pete always got anxious in an empty house. so he'd ask his friends over. only, his "friends" thought it was okay to bring their friends. and their friend's friends.

and two: because gabe pressured him into it. that was it. that's literally all. gabe was persuasive when he wanted to be. especially when he was passing out flyers with pete's address in bold letters or texts that read 'prty @ wentz's friday nite'- all without permission. really. gabe would call him a buzzkill whenever he tried to object. and pete was a lot of things, but buzzkill was not one of them. plus, he hated letting all those people down.

it crossed his mind more then once that maybe gabe was a shitty friend. but he was also hella awesome. so pete let him get away with it.

regardless, pete was dancing around in the middle of his living room, over the multi-thousand dollar carpet from italy or some shit, trying to have fun. trying to be anything but a buzzkill. in spite of how fucking annoyed he was with the fact that he would have to clean up this mess in the morning. spilt beer and puke and pizza crumbs- disgusting. he definitely wasn't looking forward to that.