I yawned, still tired from yesterday's party. I pulled my laptop into my lap as I scrolled through all the pictures Vale had posted on our personal Facebooks where only family and friends could see them, not the public.
She had to have taken over a hundred pictures, and I sighed, deciding not to look through all of them right now.
It was too tiring.
I switched over to Twitter, seeing I had thousands of new tweets and retweets, and I frowned, checking why.
Vale had posted the picture of the entire group of us, showing everyone who had been at the party, and what a huge crew it looked like huddled around our small couch, and I grimaced as I realized how large I looked.
I glanced at some of the fans tweets, seeing them gushing about the crowd and the party, about how pretty I looked (which was probably just delusion considering I took up most of the couch and my hair needed touchups so bad I was about to start coloring it in with a sharpie), how happy we all looked, how big I was getting (well I was seven months), and how much everyone missed our music and wanted new shit.
Well, if I wasn't confined to a apartment for another two months, I probably would be recording some new stuff.
"Andy," I burst, suddenly realizing what month it was.
He looked over from the kitchen, holding a spatula and looking startled. "What?"
"Do you know what month it is?" I gasped.
"Uh," he thougth a second, "November?"
I felt my shoulders slump slightly. "Do you not remember?"
"Remember what?"
Ugh.
I scowled at him, and he looked contrite, though he didn't know what for.
"We started dating in November!"
"Oh." He blinked. "I thought it was December?"
"No!" It wasn't, was It?
Now I wasn't sure.
I frowned. "I don’t know now. Regardless, we've been together a year now."
"And you've been pregnant for most of it," he chuckled, making me roll my eyes as he returned to whatever it was he'd been doing.
Why did we even have a spatula?
For some reason we had thousands of oven mitts, it seemed like, and we never used the oven.
We barely cooked, for that matter.
I returned to twitter, bristling as I saw the second photo.
"ANDY!"
He jumped, the spatula clattering to the floor this time. "What? What?"
"DId you see what Vale posted?" I hissed, jerking my computer around where he could see.
He sighed, leaving the kitchen and trotting over where he could see; he was almost as blind as I was.
He literally blushed.
"Oh." Was all he said."Oh?" I hissed, frowning down at the screen. "I look like I'm going to pop!"
"Well, you kind of are," he said lightly, ruffling my hair. "You're about there."
"Don't make this funny!" I batted at his warm hands, mine freezing as always, and turned the computer back around.
I gazed at the picture, unsure when she'd even taken it.
It was of me and Andy, and I head my head in his lap, my eyes closed where I'd started to doze, and he had his head leaning back against the couch, looking equally as tired. His hand rested on my shoulder, and his other was rubbing his face.
When had she taken this?
I scrolled to what she'd said, calling us the most exhausted, cutest soon-to-be parents in the world!
We did look tired, but probably because neither of us had gotten any sleep the night before, not with me moving around so much; I doubted he could sleep through my constant shifting.
I just couldn’t get comfortable, and I had to pee constantly.
I sighed, seeing that was the picture that had gotten thousands of retweets from our fans, people talking about it, constantly. I looked at a few of them, and somehow I ended off on a radio show that had been recorded a few months ago back when we'd first announced my pregnancy, and I plugged my headphones in to listen to it.
"… Biersack always gets the goods before they hit the market," one of the hosts, Phil I think, was saying. "He did the same with Simms."
"Yeah, but he went hardcore with Kabinov," Derek, the other host, chuckled. "I mean, he plucks her off the market right before she blows up the music scene, marking his territory, and doesn't let her off his leash for any other guys to have a chance! Who does that?"
"He did that with Simms, too," Phil laughed. "Can't hold it against him for wanting to get the best of the goods, eh? Though it seems to me he has a thing for blondes!"
"Can't blame him, but did all of you listeners hear the news?"
"What news would that be, Derek?"
"Oh, you know, just that Kabinov is pregnant!"
"What?" Phil fake-gasped, trying for surprised. "no way!"
"Yep, Biersack knocked her up. I guess he liked her enough to want to keep her around for eighteen years! Let's just hope it's actually his!" He laughed, and I wrinkled my nose.
These guys were such assholes.
It wasn't like that.
And it was most definitely his!
"Well, he probably just fucked up, if you think about it. No one plans to have kids like that with someone they barely know. They've only been together, what, seven months? I doubt they even know each others middle name."
Wrong, assholes, I do know his middle name.
Though I don't think he did know mine.
"I know! He probably couldn't pronounce her middle name, I can't even pronounce her first! It's a good thing she goes by Leah."
My name wasn't THAT hard to pronounce.
Lee-lie-la.
How fucking hard was that?
"Well, he's stuck with her now, so he's gonna have to figure it out," Phil giggled. "I mean, I wouldn't want to piss her off with a brother like hers! Have you seen that stout motherfucker? He's in the marines, I think, and she has like three or four more of them, probably just as big! I imagine her old boyfriends were terrified!"
Eh, not so much.
"Well, she WAS a military brat, I'm not surprised, Phil. Her own father was Russian born as well, and you know all those communists are big motherfuckers."
I didn't want to listen to this anymore.
I quickly exited out of their webpage, and closed the lid of my laptop. I tugged my headphones out, glancing into the kitchen.
"What are you doing in there, anyway?" I sighed, seeing Andy still standing in the vicinity of the stove.
I hoped he'd gotten a different spatula or at least washed that one off where he'd dropped it in the floor that was rarely swept.
"Making pancakes. You want some?"
"God yes!"
Pancakes sounded amazing!
I loved pancakes!
I waited a few minutes, and then Andy trotted over to me, handing me a plate, the wonderful pancakes drenched in syrup and butter just how I liked them, at least now anyway.
I started to chuckle, remembering the first night we'd spent together, the words I'd whispered to him in French because I'd panicked.
God, I was such an idiot.
I started to grin.
"What is It?" Andy asked, blinking at me.
"Do you remember our first night together?" I asked.
"A little," we had both been so wasted, "why?"
"Well," I shuffled slightly, "do you remember when I was speaking to you in French?"
Andy grinned slightly. "Yeah, I remember that. Instead of yelling at me in Russian, you should just French talk me some more." He gave me his seductive face. "It works out so much better."
"You say that now, but you have no idea what I said to you that night," I giggled, finding it funnier and funnier.
"Oh really? What did you say?"
I blushed slightly, honestly deciding suddenly that I didn’t want to tell him, I felt so foolish.
"Well, I sort of panicked, and I didn't know what to say," I mumbled, looking down at my plate. "So I told you that I liked pancakes and waffles."
"Wha --- did you really?" He blinked at me, his lips twisting.
"Yes."
He laughed. "It sounded so hot, though!"
"I'm glad you thought so, I was so embarrassed."
He grinned, and leaned forward to kiss me, tasting of syrup. "It all worked out well in the end, didn't it?"
"I guess so," I smiled, the radio hosts words running through my mind.
Well, he did show a lot of interest in me right before our music had boomed, but that was only because we'd been opening for him at his concerts...
They're just stupid, I told myself, looking down at my pancakes.
I didn't want any of my memories spoiled because of what some jackasses were saying to get more listeners for their show.

Notes