It was important for him to not sit where it was comfortable.
If it became so comfortable that he couldn't feel any sensation, he'd probably die of loneliness.
It was just for fun.
They were just singing and dancing since it was his birthday. All they did was run around in the kitchen and living room whilst caroling and hollering, killing time while the fragrant apple pie baked in the oven.
It was just for fun.
Peter didn't know that Daddy had fragile bones from a certain stair-incident that happened months ago. Why and how in the world was he supposed to know that? Worst of all was that people thought Peter had been by his side every second, and because of that they kept asking him what Arthur's last words were. Usually, when these questions came Peter would keep quiet to make it look like he was grieving so much that he couldn't speak. However, the truth was that he didn't know either. That day, in a blur of panic, he had sprinted to the Bonnefoy house just in time to not see it happen.
"Come on, Peter. You know what he said, don't you?"
"I know you're sad, Peter, but I have just as much of a right to know what he said as you do!"
"Did he say anything?"
That's what Peter wanted to know! He should have listened. He should have just stayed there and known that there was nothing that could save him. He shouldn't have let Daddy die alone.
The stupid doctors from Hartlepool had said that when he fell, an already broken bone in his ribs had flat out punctured his lung, resulting in a lung collapse. Stupid, stupid lungs. Peter detested lungs. What the heck were people supposed to do with lungs if they couldn't handle a fall? What was the point of ribs if they could damage the lungs? What was the point?
A slight drizzle tousled his hair. Peter had never hurt so much in his chest before, so he hugged his backpack.