Gerard can feel the hesitation in the air, like the uncertain perfume of a girl who isn't supposed to be wearing any. Yet.

Then Pete leaves the door, feet shuffling towards them. The footsteps slow, then stop. He, Gerard chances a glance back over his shoulder, clearly doesn't know what to do now that he's here.

"Gerard."

Gerard flushes and looks back at the ugly sofa cushions. He wonders what would happen if it was a magic sofa-

No. A cursed sofa, one that would swallow them up whole and he'd wind up in a far away land, pants around his ankles, but at least away from this whole situation.

Patrick laid down at least ten hard smacks and Gerard was wrenched back to the present.

"Ow! God!"

"Patrick." Pete sounded a little troubled.

"It's okay." Patrick rubs at the sting and Gerard almost pushes back into it, except no, bad idea. "It's alright, Pete."