Troubles

I don't care. Gerard can fall in love with anyone he wants. It's not like I have a say in it or should ever have. It's his life. It's his heart.
So why does mine hurt right now?
I blame it on heartburn. I mean, I do feel kinda nauseous right now. I probably just ate too much candy or meat or drank too much juice.

I turn over onto my side and try not to roll off the air mattress. It's uncomfortable as hell, but it's a bed in a warm house and not a worn, used, smelly mattress in a huge sleeping hall. And Mikey doesn't snore. He smacks his lips a lot, though.

I ate too much.
I'm not jealous of Gerard.
I want to fall in love too, but I'm not jealous.

-----

I open my eyes suddenly. I felt something on my face. It's dark as hell, which means it's still night, but I can easily see a figure right in front of me. Facing me. Staring at me.
I sit up.
The figure doesn't move except for a bit of a sway from side to side.

“Gerard?” I ask. It could be him. It looks like him, and since he lives here, it wouldn't be odd if it was him. But what is he doing in Mikey's room, in the middle of the night, staring at me?

“Yeah,” he whispers quickly. I frown.

“What're you doing?” I ask and sit like him, my legs crossed and my hands in my lap.

“Thinking,” he answers in a slightly louder whisper than before. We shouldn't wake up Mikey. But then again, Mikey is usually a heavy sleeper, so it would take a lot more than a few whispers to wake him up.

“Are you okay?” I ask when Gerard sways a bit from side to side again.

“Yeah,” he whispers happily.
Oh, right. He's in love.
“Drunk,” he suddenly says in a normal tone of voice, and while I don't worry about him waking Mikey up, I worry about him.

“What?”

“Drunk..”

“Why?”
He keeps quiet.
“How? Where did you get alcohol from?” We're 17. He couldn't possibly have bought it himself.

“Just some friends,” he says lazily, obviously not in the mood for talking about it.
I don't know what to say. I kinda want to ask him why he was staring at me, but he's drunk so he probably doesn't even know himself.
“You're pretty when you sleep.”
I smirk and quirk an eyebrow.

“O-kay,” I say slowly, forgetting to whisper. Mikey smacks his lips.

For a long time, which is probably just 30 seconds, we just sit there and stare at each other. I try to smile at him, but he doesn't smile back. At least it doesn't look like it through the dark.
I get up.

“You should get to bed,” I say and walk over to him, grabbing his arm.
“Here, let me help you.” I pull at his arm and he gets up to his feet. Slowly, I help him stumble down the stairs to his own room in the basement and drop him on his bed. I pull off his shoes before I take as much of the duvet as I can and cover him with it.

“Thank you,” he mumbles as I walk out the room.

“You're welcome,” I say over my shoulder, then leave the mumbling brother to go back to the air mattress next to the bed of the brother who smacks his lips.

Ways...