knock on the door || peterick au

one

sad + bad ||  word count: 793

Pete knew, he just knew. He didn't know how he knew but he just knew. He always thought he would be prepared but he wasn't.

It was a Saturday. Just an ordinary Saturday; he could hear the bustle of people outside. He was usually eager to go and join them and walk around Chicago but today he just didn't have the energy.

He felt it as soon as he woke up. It was like a dark fog had descended on him as he slept. All of the energy had flowed out of him and he could barely bring himself to press snooze on his alarm clock that had been going off for what felt like hours.

He thought maybe he was just feeling ill; maybe it was just a bad reaction to the food he ate the day before. He hoped that was all it was.

Making the first cup of coffee of the day usually brought a smile to his face but today on this ordinary Saturday, the coffee just didn't seem right.

His shower which was usually warm and comforting felt cold and uncomfortable; the water never seemed to be warm enough even when he turned the temperature up to the maximum.

Chicago was warm at that time of year. Everyone else was walking around in shorts and t-shirts but when Pete looked out the window he just felt cold.

He usually saw Miss Nesbitt every Saturday when he went out; they usually smiled at each other. On that Saturday when Pete saw her he couldn't even force out a small smile.

He loved getting mail, it was one of the favourite things. But on that Saturday he never got any mail. He didn't even care though, the feeling had become stronger.

He wanted to get rid of the feeling but he just couldn't shake it. He usually loved walking with people surrounding him; it made him feel alive but on that day it just made him claustrophobic.

Every Saturday without fail he went to the bakery down the street. He liked going there, it reminded Pete of him. He always got his favourite. It made him feel closer to him in a way. But on that ordinary Saturday they had run out, his favourite was all gone.

He just left, I'll just get something else that he likes, it will be fine, he thought but the feeling got stronger.

Every Saturday he also went to the coffee shop just around the corner from the bakery. He always used to go there with him, they both loved it there.

Joe and Andy weren't working on that Saturday which was strange because they always worked the Saturday  morning shift. The feeling got stronger.

Pete started to drink his coffee but it was cold. He just threw it away and left.

A boy was playing his guitar and singing on the street corner. Pete remembered all the times he sang to him; sometimes when he couldn't sleep it was the only thing that would help him fall back asleep. The feeling started to disappear as Pete remembered.

The boy smiled at him and the feeling returned.

He turned around and started to walk back to his apartment.

When he sat down on his couch, his comfy, cosy couch, he didn't want to get up ever again. All the energy had left him again. The remote was only centimetres away but he couldn't move his arm.

When lunchtime rolled around he didn't feel hungry, he didn't even feel like pizza and there was only one thing that he always felt like and that was pizza.

He knew A Nightmare Before Christmas was on but he didn't feel like watching his favourite film. He remembered the first time he watched it; he was engrossed it in all the way through and wouldn't stop saying how awesome it was for the whole evening. The feeling weakened.

Pete looked at the empty space next to him on the couch. The feeling got stronger again.

Pete started to think about him. How he had a cute name, how he was shy which Pete thought made him 10000 times more cuter. How he was always nice to Pete, how he was short which Pete also thought made him look cuter, how he was sassy, how he loved Pete, how he

knock.

He never finished that thought. He never forgot the knock either.

The feeling of dread that he had woke up with had become stronger and stronger.

He didn't want to open the door.

He didn't want to hear what they said to him.

He didn't want it to be true.

He wanted him to come back.

He wanted Patrick to come home.

But he never did.

fin.