"Don't stop, don't stop. Put out the fire on us."
-Hospital Beds by Cold War Kids
☆☆☆
"What's he doing up on the roof, mate?" Roman glances toward where Martin is pointing, utterly amused. He had already noticed the furfag sitting up there, looking at the stars. He didn't really say anything, though. Roman didn't feel like there was anything worth saying about it.
His faggot of a friend was up on the roof, completely drunk, looking at the stars like a sap. That's about it. Nothing more to it.
"I don't know, Martin. He's pretty drunk, and we all know he really likes the stars." They both are laughing now, watching as Pyro traces the constellations with a shaking hand. Shit, he drank way too much.
Of course, they didn't know what was going to happen. Fuck that, it isn't their fault. No blame falls on their shoulders.
I mean, sure. They could have gone up there, got him down. They could've taken the beer out of his hand, then safely tucked him into bed.
But the thing is, they didn't. The two shared a quick laugh, then went back inside.
Not a single worry in their minds, the two go back to joking and cooking dinner.
Two hours later, Martin walks out to call their friend down for dinner.
He walks out to find that Niall Murphy is no longer on the roof.
No, he was out cold on the flowers. He had flattened all of the flowers, but that was the least of their worries.
Because Niall wouldn't wake up.