#bbroflovski

“Heh, sorry Ky. You know we don’t have a landline. Think my phone must have died.”

His phone, and not him, crushed by a collapsed telephone pole. He’d thought he’d gotten a lucky break when that swerving car narrowly missed him, but no. Like some cruel Rube Goldberg machine it had merely been the secondary to his primary cause of demise. Of course Kyle didn’t remember.

Scott just climbs into Kyles room waits for him to wake up to blurt out.

Pete openly glowered at the redhead, which in and of itself was rather extraordinary. Usually it was difficult to derive any kind of emotion from the goth, particularly something as volatile as anger. However, the cutting look was dulled by the sniffle which followed, coupled with reddened cheeks and brown eyes glistening with moisture. His chapped lips wobbled and he huffed sharply from his nose, turning away.

“Of course people would be here. It’s a fucking graveyard. Just because some people like to forget those who have passed on, that doesn’t mean we all do.” Even if the graveyard was almost always deserted, in Pete’s experience. It was part of the reason it was one of his preferred places to hang out.

The other was, rather obvious, seeing as he shared the same last name as the person on this gravestone. Ugh. Of course someone would have to catch him when he was crying of all things. Usually he could just sit and let his mind wander without issue, but occasionally the memories became too much. He pressed down harder on the weathered stone with his hand before biting at his lip, jerking the limb away. “Just... just leave. Unless you had someone to visit to, go the fuck away.”