Athazagoraphobia

                                    

                                          
  Athazagoraphobia
                          
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the fear of being forgotten or ignored and fear of forgetting.

                          
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The morning light poured through the window of the attic, streaming onto Gerard's sleeping face and illuminating his pale skin with a soft orange glow. His shirtless body contrasted against the ebony sheets, a splash of white against a darker anomaly seeming almost metaphoric. The matching comforter was loosely wrapped around his slim legs which seemed to provide him no warmth as he let out a tiny shiver within the depths of his sleep. Otherwise, he was still. He was peaceful. A small drop of solitude and everything good in the world splayed carefully across a hay-stuffed mattress.  
                          
Frank watched him closely. He hadn't slept. This of course didn't bother him, at this point it was rather normal for Frank to be lacking sleep anyway. His top worry that refrained him from sleep  and triggered his insomnia this time was no other situation than the one Ryan had provided regarding Brendon Urie. Just the idea of Brendon being within proximity of them alone was jarring enough to send Frank's anxiety into overdrive, and the certitude of Gerard and Ryan being so non-chalant about it was only worsening the fear. There was no urgency in the two, no desperation to be on the move any time soon to escape a probable unpleasent fate if Brendon managed to snuff them out. It was driving Frank more insane than he was already feeling.
                          
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, chin the palm of his hand, Frank reached and gave Gerard's face a soft caress gentle enough to leave his slumber undisturbed. Gerard let out a small huff in his sleep his eyes delicately fluttered open to reveal his big brown eyes, only looking at Frank for a second and leaving a soft smile to press his lips. He closed his eyes again and Frank felt his heart swell. What an angel. 
                          
Frank carefully pulled the covers over Gerard's body and slowly climbed off the bed. Frank grabbed a black T-shirt off the floor and pulled it over his body quickly, being trapped by the warmth it provided. He trudged out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him and holding his breath as he rushed down the stairs of the attic. He hadn't heard any movement from Ryan this particular morning, which was quite odd. The attic's floor was thin and the slightest noise traveled through the old birch wood easily. Usually, Ryan was up by now and doing what he loved for the two boys, this consisted of making breakfast and tidying the house for another day of simple chores and half-assed escape planning. Frank found it to be repetitive and unproductive, feeling as though they were a pair of ducks just waiting to be hunted out in the open, accompanied by a barely concerned goose who prioritized cleaning. It felt like an immeasurable time bomb, one that was going to explode sooner than later. 
                          
The chill of the ground floor hit Frank like a wall and he wished he'd slipped on more than just the T-shirt. He knew he would never get used to the cold air of this Living Section, even though his Home Section had been on the cooler side, nothing compared to where he was now. The floorboards were like ice under his feet as he stepped sparingly away from the staircase. The house was dead quiet. The only sound was the trees rustling outside and the slight creeks of the settling wood. 
                          
Despite it being the early morning, the lamps had not been tuned on as per usual on accord of Ryan's awakening. The television had not been turned on, nor had any candles been lit. Frank's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced around the living room. The blinds had not been opened. The sliding glass door that led out to the garden still appeared locked, meaning Ryan hadn't fed the chickens at their scheduled feeding time. Tiny's food bowl that was placed neatly beside the coffee table was empty as well, suggesting she hadn't been fed either. The more Frank looked, the more he noticed things that seemed too out of place. Simple things that Ryan didn't normally let slide; couch cushions hadn't been fixed from the night before, a dirty plate left on a couch-side table, Tiny's chew-toys strewing the rug.