Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Patrick just wanted it to be over.

It had been weeks since he had managed to get a full night’s sleep and he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a decent meal. The fact that he wasn’t eating was easy to conceal; he just shuffled food around his plate and didn’t fight back whenever Joe stole something. If any of the others did notice, they didn’t say anything. They all knew he had issues with food and his weight. Working off the pounds during the hiatus hadn’t changed that.

The sleeplessness was harder to hide, especially since he was known for staying in bed until well past noon. Luckily for him though the band had been spending far more time on the bus than in hotel rooms during the final leg of the tour. With the limited amount of privacy available everyone did their best to respect the one iron clad rule – a drawn curtain across a bunk meant the occupant wanted to be left alone. So he hadn’t had to lie about the self-recriminating thoughts that left him staring at the ceiling until the wee hours of the morning and he hadn’t had to explain just what was waking him out of a fitful sleep every night, hands clammy and tears streaking his cheeks as either his girlfriend’s shrieked accusations or his mother’s calm, cool voice echoed in his dreams.

Which was a very good thing in Patrick’s mind, especially since the constant lying was also taking its toll. He was tired of faking smiles while saying nothing was wrong and he was just exhausted from their hectic tour schedule. He was tired of saying over and over that he was fine.

He knew he wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine in a long, long time.

Deep down, Patrick knew what he really was: pathetic, impossible, a complete and utter mess. He had been for years and never truly realized it, ever since that fateful day when he had met Pete for the very first time. Until recently, however, he had always managed to keep things under control, burying himself in his music in order to keep the demons at bay. But now, even music had stopped being his comfort, his solace and he was tired of pretending none of it mattered. He was just so tired of everything hurting so much and not knowing how to stop it.

He had been mulling it over for weeks, carefully considering hows and wheres as carefully as he wrote a song. Why he knew. He pushes away thoughts of why the moment they surface, knowing that if he doesn’t, he won’t stop to think things through. He’ll go and do something stupid and with his luck it would all go horribly wrong. So he tries his hardest not to think about why.

Tonight, he decided as he walked back to the bus alone. The others had been waylaid backstage after the show by both reporters and fans; everyone, it seemed, wanted a quote or a picture, something to mark the phenomenal success “Save Rock And Roll” and the tour had turned into. The crowd had tried to smother him as well but he had managed to escape by complaining about his aching head and strained voice. They had let him go, knowing that even after all the years spent in the spotlight he still got uncomfortable around crowds, still found himself tongue-tied during interviews and that all he wanted to do after a show was crawl into the nearest bed, pull all the covers over his head and hide until he felt like coming out again.

His band mates would be gone until probably the wee hours of the morning. That would give him more than enough time to do what he was planning to do.

Beautiful night for it at least, Patrick thought as he walked, looking up at the full moon as it slowly rose over the city’s tall buildings. Warm but not sticky, with a light breeze blowing and after a near perfect show in front of thousands of screaming fans, it had been one of the best nights of the tour. If tonight was to be his last night alive, he was glad he had chosen such a nice one.

Maybe knowing that would make things a little easier for the others later.

They’ll be fine, Patrick told himself as he came up to the bus and dug around in his pocket for his key. Opening the door, he gave the guard standing nearby a little wave before stepping inside. Joe and Andy…they’ll probably be glad they won’t have to put up with my bullshit any longer. And Pete…Pete will be, too. He deserves so much better than me as a band mate, as a friend. They all do. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting against the sudden onrush of tears. This way, they can find another singer without hurting the band. End of the tour, we’re not due in the studio another album anytime soon. There won’t be any baggage to deal with. They won’t have to go through all the trouble of kicking me to the curb. It’ll just all be over. Swiping at his eyes, he pushed his glasses back on his nose and let out a heavy sigh. That was all he wanted at this point – for everything to be over.

Patrick was going to miss them, though. He had been through a lot with them over the years, and while it hadn’t all been moonlight and roses, most of it had been good.

Especially with Pete, Patrick thought as he leaned against the narrow hallway wall, wrapping his arms around himself. If he pressed hard enough, he could still feel the ghost of Pete’s arms around his waist, the press of his nose against the back of his neck while they rocked through “Saturday”. The gesture had come very close to making his voice break, because he had known deep down that he’d be feeling that closeness for the last time.

We’ve been through so much, he thought, remembering long days and even longer nights in the very beginning crammed in the back of their van with the instruments, screaming fights about lyrics and chords, smelly backstage closets doubling as dressing rooms and one generic hotel room after another. And through everything, Pete had been there, coaxing him out of his shyness with goofy faces and one lame joke after another, grinning at him when lyrics and melody came together and made a song they could both be proud of, slinging a casual arm around his shoulders whenever they were close enough to touch…

A lone tear slid down Patrick’s cheek. Out of everyone he cared about, he would miss Pete most of all.

Because he can’t know, Patrick thought as he walked to the back of the bus, taking off his jacket as he did so. He can’t ever know. And with everything going on and how we’re in each other’s pockets all the time, he’d find out eventually. This way…this way he won’t. He remembered the concerned look that had been on Pete’s face not more than an hour ago; the bassist had been wearing that look more and more lately, combining it with a gentle hand on his shoulder and sometimes a worried little frown while asking if he was all right, if there was anything he could do.

How would that look change if Pete knew? If he somehow found out how Patrick really felt about him after all these years?

He’d hate me, Patrick decided as he sagged onto his narrow bunk, letting the tears run unchecked down his pale cheeks. Lying to him for so long…that’s the one thing he can’t stand…someone lying to him. An ache suddenly filled Patrick’s chest; he could just imagine the look on Pete’s face – the anger, the disgust. He’d hate me and tell me to get the fuck away from him and that he never wants to see me or have anything to do with me ever again. Joe and Andy…they’d be the same way. They all would. Just like… He shook his head, cutting off that thought almost immediately. He didn’t want to remember the calm, icy words, the ultimatum that had been given to him on his last visit to the one place he had always considered home. Better to end things now, while his secrets were still his alone and they were all still friends. Joe and Andy…Pete…they’d remember him with kindness then, instead of hating him for what he had become.

Taking off his glasses, Patrick carefully folded them up and put them on top of his pillow. Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a piece of folded up notebook paper and put it next to his glasses. It wasn’t much of a good-bye note, but he had wanted to leave something, even if it didn’t explain why. He just hoped that it would be enough.

Pulling the curtain back across his bunk, Patrick went out to the bus’ tiny kitchen area and took a butcher’s knife out of the drawer. He tilted it back and forth, watching the gleam travel up and down the steel blade. He knew how sharp it was; Andy had been nearly sliced his thumb open while cutting up vegetables the other day. It would be more than sharp enough for what he wanted to do.

Briefly Patrick considered finding something that would mellow him out enough so he wouldn’t feel any pain, but he discarded that idea just as quickly. There wasn’t anything like that on the bus and he didn’t want to go back out and hit up the roadies for anything. Besides, I don’t deserve this to be easy or painless, he thought to himself as he made his way back to the bus’ tiny bathroom. He shook his head; after everything he had put everyone he loved through, he deserved this to be as painful as it possibly could be.

Going into the bathroom, Patrick shut the door behind him and locked it with a soft click. Kneeling down in the shower, Patrick studied his wrists for a long moment, brushing a fingertip over the bluish veins he could see under the pale skin. Do it, he ordered himself. Do it now. Before the guys come back. Before you chicken out and lose what fucking nerve you have. Do it. Swallowing hard, Patrick picked up the knife and laid the edge across his wrist, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments before cutting through his skin with one firm stroke.

He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped him, tears burning his eyes as he grasped the knife with his now bleeding hand. It was harder to do the other wrist; the blood was coming fast and thick, coating his fingers and making his grip slippery. Got to do this. Got to finish this, he thought, blinking furiously to clear his vision as he bit his lip. Can’t leave it half done. Over…want it to be over. Please let it be over…

Finally, he managed to slash the other wrist, letting the knife clatter to the floor as he slumped against the tiled wall. Tears slowly slid down his cheeks as he watched his life bleed out of his wrists. I love you, he thought, Pete’s smiling face coming to mind as he closed his eyes. I love you so much…please…please forgive me.

                                                                        ****

“We can go grab something to eat, sure,” Pete said as he walked out of the arena’s backstage door, Joe and Andy not far behind. “Just let me head back to the bus first. I want to check on Patrick.”

Joe and Andy traded looks. “Dude, your mother hen is showing,” Joe commented as they walked.

Pete gave his band mate a sideways glance, frowning a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been checking on him a lot lately,” Joe explained as they made their way around trailers and equipment trucks. “And he’s not sixteen anymore. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” There was a pause. “Unless you know something we don’t? Is he sick?”

“Not that I know of. As for the rest…I’m concerned, okay?” Pete stopped in his tracks to glare at Joe. “He’s been weird as fuck the past few weeks. Not talking to any of us or coming with us for anything that’s not publicity related, hiding in his bunk whenever we’re on the bus, avoiding us when we’re not and not saying why…” He heaved a sigh. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s tired,” Andy said quietly. “End of the tour…he’s probably running on fumes. We all are.” The drummer cocked an eyebrow. “You know how he gets sometimes.”

Pete ran a hand through his dark hair. “I know, I know. It’s just…this feels different.” At their confused looks, Pete tried to put what he was feeling into words. “Look, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on him lately, and he’s not eating. I’m pretty sure he’s not sleeping, either. And yeah, I know he gets all quiet and curled up into himself sometimes, especially at the end of a long tour, but this? I don’t know…it’s not like how he was before. This feels deeper. And more than just him being tired.” He shrugged, suddenly feeling helpless. “I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.”

They both stared at him. “Fuck, if you’re quoting “Star Wars”…” Andy muttered under his breath as they started walking again. “Come on. We should see if he wants to go with us anyway. If he didn’t eat before the show he’s probably starving by now and I think the only thing left to eat on the bus is an opened bag of stale corn chips.”

“Actually, I finished those before the show,” Joe said as they unlocked the bus and climbed aboard. “Honey! We’re home!” he sing-songed.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Pete pushed past Joe and headed for the back of the bus. “Patrick, you awake?” he called, making enough noise so as not to startle his friend if he really was sleeping. “We’re going to go grab something to eat somewhere. Coming with?”

There was no answer.

Pete was just about to try again when Andy stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Do you smell that?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Pete took a sniff, his nose wrinkling as well. “It smells like…I don’t know what the fuck it smells like.” Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. “Patrick?” Pausing at Patrick’s bunk, he tapped on the wall next to the drawn curtain. “C’mon, man. You can’t still be asleep. Not with all the noise we’re making.” He couldn’t help smiling a little at that, fully expecting Patrick to push the curtain aside and curse at them all for waking him up.

But there was still no answer.

Pulling back the curtain, Pete was surprised to find the bunk empty. “He’s not here.”

“What do you mean he’s not there?” Joe asked, confused.

“I mean he’s not fucking there!” Pete yelled, flailing a hand at the empty bunk. “Look!”

Andy looked in as well, taking in the neatly made up space. “Maybe he’s taking a leak?”

“Without his glasses?” Pete countered, nodding at the black frames sitting on his pillow. “And he would’ve yelled when he heard us call. He always does.”

Meanwhile, Joe had pushed past both of them to knock on the bathroom door. “Patrick? You in there, man?”

No answer.

Sniffing, Joe turned his head to look at his band mates. “Guys? That weird smell? It’s a lot stronger back here.” He wiggled the door latch. “And the door’s locked.”

Just then Pete noticed the folded up piece of paper lying near Patrick’s glasses. Picking it up, he unfolded it, his heart lurching hard in his chest when he read the tear-stained words written on it.

I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.

“PATRICK!” Pete screamed, pushing past Andy and Joe to pound on the bathroom door. “Patrick! Answer me, damn it!” He waited a split second before pulling on the locked door with both hands, his panic rising when it wouldn’t budge. “Fuck! Help me get this fucking thing open!”

It took all three of them to do it, but finally the plywood door splintered and was forced off its track. They wrenched it to one side, revealing Patrick slumped unconscious in a corner of the narrow shower, blood still oozing out of his slit wrists and onto the tiled floor.

Pete immediately knelt in front of him, not even noticing the blood soaking through the knees of his black jeans as he cupped the singer’s face in his hands. “Patrick? Come on, Pattycakes, wake up for me, baby,” he begged, his voice shaking. “Come on…open your eyes for me, baby. Please, Patrick…please…open your eyes and talk to me…”

Grabbing a towel lying on the sink, Andy gave a stunned Joe a hard shove. “Call 911,” he ordered as he ripped the material in half. “And tell security an ambulance is on the way and to keep everyone back.” Nodding, Joe headed back toward the front of the bus, his phone already out and pressed against his ear.

Going in, Andy knelt down next to the two men and quickly wrapped the towel pieces around Patrick’s wrists, putting pressure on them both in an effort to stop the bleeding. “Is he still breathing?” he asked Pete, who was still begging Patrick to wake up. “Pete!” he yelled, raising his voice enough to break through the other man’s panic. “Is Patrick still breathing?”

Pete put a shaking hand on Patrick’s chest, letting out a shuddering sigh when he felt the shallow rise and fall. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s breathing,” he managed to get out, his voice trembling as he stared at Patrick with wide eyes. “He’s cold,” he whispered, one hand still on the singer’s cheek. “He’s never cold.”

“Ambulance is coming. Keep talking to him,” Andy instructed, keeping his grip on Patrick’s wrists as tight as he possibly could. Hang on, Patrick, he prayed, watching the tears run unchecked down Pete’s cheeks as he continued to plead with Patrick to wake up, to hear him, to please be okay. You got to hang on and stay with us.

Andy didn’t want to know what Pete would do if Patrick didn’t.

                                                                        ****

The three men were silent as they followed the ambulance to the hospital, with Pete curled up in the back seat staring off into the distance and Andy trading looks with Joe in the front. Pete hadn’t said a word to anyone once the paramedics had shown up, hadn’t even taken the time to change out of his bloody stage clothes. He had simply handed over the rental’s keys to Andy and crawled into the back, closing himself off from the flashing cameras and curious onlookers.

It wasn’t until the three of them were sitting together in the waiting room after filling out what paperwork they could that Pete finally spoke up. “I should have seen something,” he said, his voice so soft that Andy and Joe had to strain to hear him.

“We all should have,” Andy corrected, shrugging. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I figured Patrick was just being…you know…Patrick.”

“And we haven’t toured together like this in over four years,” Joe added. “Things change.”

“Not this much. Not this badly,” Pete said, staring off into the distance. He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. “He’s got to be okay,” he murmured more to himself more than anyone else. “Please…please be okay.”

Some time later, an older man dressed in rumpled scrubs stepped into the waiting room. “Is someone here for Patrick?”

They all rose to their feet at once. “We are,” Andy said, taking charge. “We’re his friends, his band mates.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “I’m Dr. McCoy,” he finally said. “Family?”

Joe shook his head, his curls flying in all directions. “Not here in LA. Chicago.”

After a moment, Dr. McCoy ran a hand thru his graying hair and nodded. “Follow me, gentlemen. We’ll find somewhere a little quieter so we can talk.” He headed down the hall, with Pete, Andy and Joe following close behind.

They finally stopped at an empty exam room. “First thing, your friend is going to be okay,” Dr. McCoy said immediately. “We gave him some blood and he stabilized almost immediately. The cuts were clean and from what I could see while stitching them up he didn’t do any permanent damage. It was close, though.” He held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger about a half an inch apart. “He missed his veins by about that much and a few major tendons by even less.”

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief. “But he is going to be okay?” Pete asked anyway, the worry obvious on his face. “I mean, he was so cold…”

“Blood loss and shock,” Dr. McCoy explained. “Your friend lost quite a lot of blood in a short amount of time. To be quite frank, he’s very lucky you found him when you did. Another ten, fifteen minutes and we would be having a much different conversation.” He paused for a moment before changing the subject. “As for everything else…you mentioned that he was in a band?” All of them nodded at once. “What does he play?”

“Guitar, mostly,” Andy answered. “And piano. He’s also our lead singer.”

Dr. McCoy nodded in understanding. “With his injuries he won’t be able to play guitar until the stitches come out at the very least,” he warned. “If you’re on tour…”

Joe interrupted. “Tonight was our last night,” he explained. “And we don’t have anything lined up after this for a while.”

“Ah, good. Because your friend is going to need time to recover, and I don’t just mean physically.” He gave the three of them a pointed look. “I hope you understand that?”

They all nodded again but it was Pete who spoke up. “Yeah, doc. We do.” The tone of his voice turned pleading. “Can we see him? Can we sit with him?”

Dr. McCoy nodded again. “He’s being moved to a regular room upstairs in our psych unit now that he’s out of immediate danger. He hasn’t woken up yet, but we expect him to any time. We’re going to keep him with us for a few days just to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else…have him talk to psychologist, put him on a medication schedule, things like that.” He nodded toward the elevator nearby. “But you can go up any time.”

Pete’s eyes closed as he offered up a silent, wordless prayer. “Thanks, doc,” he murmured, barely hearing Dr. McCoy’s retreating footsteps heading down the hall and away from them.

Joe sagged against the wall in relief. “Thank fucking God,” he breathed, raking a hand through his curls.

“Yeah,” Andy said as well. He put a hand on Pete’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go see where they stashed him.”

A quick stop to the nurse’s station gave them the room number they needed. “What I don’t get,” Joe wondered as they stepped into the elevator and he pressed the button for the third floor. “Is why go all ginzu? There were a lot of other easier ways to take yourself out on the bus and Patrick sure as hell knew where all of them were.”

Andy shot Joe a look that clearly told him to shut the fuck up even as he wondered the same thing. They all had a little something tucked in their bags for the nights they were too wired to sleep. Combining any or all of that with what Pete took every day for his bipolar disorder would have made a lethal cocktail.

“Patrick…he wouldn’t take mine,” Pete said from his place in the corner of the elevator. Upon seeing the dubious look on Joe’s face he shook his head. “He wouldn’t. He knows how much I need them.”

“As for the rest…he didn’t know when we’d be back,” Andy said as the elevator stopped and the door opened. “Maybe he didn’t want to get caught looking for them and he thought quick would be better.”

Pete was silent for a long moment as they stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hall. “He could’ve come to any of us,” he muttered finally. “We’ve been through so much together. Patrick could have talked to any one of us and we would’ve listened, tried to help.” He shook his head again, the confusion and worry plain on his face. “Anything. I…we…we would’ve done anything. Whatever he needed. All he had to do was fucking say something.”

“And if we were part of the problem?” Andy said quietly. “I honestly don’t think we are. We’ve all gotten better at saying something when we press each other’s buttons ever since we came back together, but I don’t know what else it could be.”

“He was fine before he went home during the last break a couple weeks ago,” Joe pointed out. “Looking forward to seeing his mom and his girl…he was happy.” Joe turned his head to look at Pete. “Did something happen while he was gone?”

Pete shook his head yet again. “Not as far as I know. When I asked he said everything was fine and left it at that.” There was a pause. “It was pretty clear he didn’t want to talk about it, though, so I just let it go.” He glanced at Andy. “You?”

Andy stayed silent, shaking his head instead. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; while Patrick had mentioned what had happened between him and Elisa, it had been short and to the point – a simple sentence blurted out in response to an off-hand comment he had made over breakfast one morning. But even though Patrick hadn’t specifically asked him not to say anything to the others, Andy didn’t feel comfortable about revealing his friend’s heartbreak in the middle of a hospital hallway.

Especially since it was obvious to Andy that Patrick hadn’t even mentioned it to Pete.

And he tells Pete everything, Andy thought, suddenly confused. Why didn’t he say something about this?

Andy didn’t get a chance to wonder any further. They came up to a partially opened door at the end of the hall and stopped in front of it. After a long moment, they stepped in, all of them stunned into speechlessness by what they saw.

Patrick was lying pale and motionless in the hospital bed, his bright red hair a shocking contrast to the pillow under his head and the white blankets covering him. Bandages encircled both wrists and even from the doorway they could see the dark circles under his closed eyes.

Joe choked back a sob and turned away. “Fucking hell, Patrick…what did you do?” he blurted out. “Why?”

Blinking back tears, Andy put an arm around Joe’s shoulder even as he wondered the exact same thing. Patrick had always been the shy one, lurking behind the rest of them during interviews and press junkets. In spite of that shyness, however, Patrick was always the first of them to laugh at whatever ridiculous thing any one of them came up with. The fact that Andy couldn’t remember the last time he had heard Patrick laugh at anything shamed him to his very soul.

He looks so small, Pete thought, his heart aching at the sight of his best friend lying there so pale and still, small and helpless and so much younger than he really was. How long had Patrick been in trouble and he hadn’t seen? Hadn’t noticed? How long had he assumed everything was fine when it hadn’t been?

Going over to Patrick’s bedside, Pete leaned over and pressed a kiss along the singer’s hairline. “I’m here, Pattycakes,” he whispered before pulling over a hard plastic chair and sitting down. He took Patrick’s limp hand in his, caressing the fingers with his thumb. “I’m right here.”

Patrick didn’t stir.

Joe and Andy glanced at each other; it looked very much like Pete was settling in for the duration. “Pete, what are you doing?” Andy finally asked.

Pete didn’t turn to look at him; his eyes were fixed on Patrick’s face. “I’m not leaving him,” he finally said.

“Dude, you can’t stay,” Joe countered, his eyes wide. “The hospital…the nurses…this is a psych ward. They won’t let you.”

Pete tightened his grip on Patrick’s hand. “I’m not leaving him.” His voice turned hard. “He’s not waking up all alone in a fucking hospital room.”

Joe and Andy traded another knowing look; both of them were well aware of what a stubborn Pete Wentz was capable of. “Okay…well…if that’s how it’s gonna be, then I’d better hit up the Starbucks down in the lobby for the biggest cup of coffee they have,” Joe finally said. “You’re gonna need it.”

Pete gave Joe a wan smile in return. “Thanks, man.” Nodding, Joe left.

Pulling up another chair, Andy sat down next to Pete and together they watched Patrick’s chest rise and fall. “How long?” Andy finally asked; it was time to get some answers.

“How long what?” Pete asked, feigning confusion.

Andy let out an exasperated sigh; there were times that the man sitting next to him drove him crazier than anyone he knew. This was turning out to be one of them. “Wentz, don’t even try to bullshit me right now,” he warned, waving a hand at the scene in front of him. “You’re holding onto Patrick’s hand like he’s going to give up the ghost if you let him go for even a second. You just kissed his forehead and I’m pretty sure I heard you call him baby back on the bus. So let’s try this again with you being fucking honest for once in your life.” He paused long enough to reign in his temper before asking again. “How long?”

“A while,” Pete said with a heavy sigh. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and finally admitted the truth. “Forever. Since the day we met.”

“Fuck,” Andy muttered, running a hand over his face. A part of him wasn’t surprised; Pete had always been very demonstrative in his affection for Patrick – a hand on his shoulder, curling up next to him on the bus, leaning against him when they played onstage. He hadn’t expected it to go on for so long, though. Or to have gotten so deep feelings-wise. But then Andy remembered that this was Pete and he never did anything halfway. “Does he know?”

“Fuck, no. Are you kidding?” Pete’s voice was soft, bitter. “He wouldn’t…he doesn’t…” His shoulders slumped as he stopped and took a deep breath. “He’s straight. Moved in with Elisa and everything. He’s planning on asking her to marry him soon.” Pete’s heart did a hard flip in his chest as he remembered the look on Patrick’s face when the singer had shown him the ring. He was so happy then, he thought. I’ve never seen him look that happy, not ever.

Andy shook his head. “She left.”

Pete stared at him. “What?”

“She left. Walked out on him when he went home during the last break,” Andy said. He held up his hand to stop the million questions about to pour out of Pete’s mouth. “And no, I don’t know why. The only reason I know at all is because I made a smartass comment over breakfast a couple weeks ago and he told me. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it go.” The drummer paused. “He didn’t tell you.”

Pete shook his head, turning his attention back to Patrick. “No,” he said softly. Is that why you did this? Did she break your heart that badly? For a split second he wished Elisa was in front of him so he could scream at her, tell her that she wasn’t worthy of Patrick’s love and affection. How long have you been planning on doing this? Were you just waiting for the right time? His heart sank even further. Why didn’t you tell me?

Andy’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “You should tell him.”

Pete snorted, immediately shaking his head. “Sure, I should. Tell my best friend – who is not only straight but just tried to kill himself – that I’ve got the hots for him. That’ll go over real well.” He paused. “I’d be the biggest asshole in the world if I did that.”

“You would,” Andy agreed. “If it was just the hots for him.” He gave Pete a long, searching look. “But it’s not. Is it?”

For the first time in his life, Pete couldn’t find his voice. He gave Patrick’s limp hand a squeeze, shaking his head instead. It was a silent admission, but one nevertheless.

“Then you need to tell him,” Andy continued, trying to be the voice of reason and praying he wasn’t fucking things up all at the same time. He put a large hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Patrick…he deserves to know that someone loves him.”

Pete was silent for a long moment. “I hurt him,” he finally said. “Before the hiatus…I hurt him so fucking badly. I was a dick to everybody, but to him most of all.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “And I promised myself that whatever I did, I wasn’t going to hurt him anymore.”

“I don’t think you’re going to. Not with this.” Being in the background most of the time, Andy had noticed a lot of things over the years. Things like Patrick not minding one bit when Pete hung all over him or the way his eyes would follow Pete whenever the bassist wasn’t paying attention. Joe teased them constantly about it, calling them an old married couple whenever they bickered or finished each other’s sentences, but in all honestly Andy didn’t think Joe was that far off. “Just think about it, okay? You’ve both changed since those days, grown up a little.” He offered Pete an encouraging smile. “You’d be good for each other, I think. At the very least he’d keep your ass out of trouble.”

“Not much chance to get into trouble nowadays with how busy we’ve been, but I’ll think about it.” Pete gave the drummer a wan smile. “You’re becoming a yenta like Joe.”

Andy shrugged. “There are worse things I could be,” he said as Joe came in, a very large Starbucks cup in one hand and something green draped over his arm.

“Any change?” he asked as set the coffee cup down on the bedside table near Pete.

Both men shook their heads. “What in the hell is that?” Andy asked, eying Joe’s arm.

Joe held out a pair of green scrub pants. “Snitched them from a laundry cart on the way back up. Thought they’d be a good idea if you’re still planning on staying,” he said, nodding at Pete. “They’re probably huge, but you can’t stay in those.” He waved a hand at Pete’s blood-soaked jeans before tossing them over.

Pete caught them, shooting Joe a grateful look. “Thanks.”

Andy gave his shoulder a push. “Go change,” he ordered, nodding toward the bathroom.

Pete reluctantly let Patrick’s hand go. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “If he wakes up…”

“He probably won’t in the five minutes it’s gonna take you to put those on, but if he does, we’ll yell,” Andy promised. “Now go, before someone recruits you to be an extra in a horror movie.”

Giving Andy the finger, Pete ducked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

The moment the lock clicked, Joe put a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Does he…” he began, not finishing the question.

Andy knew exactly what he was asking, however. “Yeah,” he said, his own voice soft. “And no, Patrick doesn’t know.” He looked up at Joe. “And Pete doesn’t have a clue, either.”

Joe ran a free hand through his curls. “Christ, this is fucked up.”

“Think it passed that a while ago,” Andy corrected as he gazed at Patrick’s too still form. “At least the doc says Patrick is going to be okay. That’s something.”

“Physically.” Joe’s voice was grim. “But what about the rest?”

Andy didn’t get a chance to answer. They heard the faint sound of a toilet flushing and Pete came out, his hair damp and the scrub pants billowing around his legs. “You were right about the size.”

“Dude, I had about ten seconds to grab them. You’re lucky I didn’t get caught by one of the nurses wandering around out there.” Joe made a show of looking Pete up and down. “Although I think we may have found a whole new look for you.”

Pete gave Joe the finger as well. “Whatever. They’re comfortable, I’ll say that much.” He sat back down and took Patrick’s hand again. “Did he…”

“Not a peep. Doc said it might be awhile, remember?” Andy said. “He lost a hell of a lot of blood.”

“Yeah,” Pete murmured. “Thank God we found him in time, though.”

The three men were silent for a moment, all of them trying their hardest not to think about what could have happened. Finally, Andy said, “Joe and I…we’re going back to the bus. Clean things up.” He indicated the folded up jeans in Pete’s lap. “Want us to try and salvage those? We could give them to the wardrobe manager.”

Pete shook his head as he handed them over. “Just trash them. She’d ask questions.” He paused. “This…we should keep this between the four of us. If the press finds out they’ll make Patrick’s life a living hell. That’s the last thing he needs.”

“People saw the ambulance,” Joe reminded him. “They’re gonna ask.”

“Then we tell them something else. A bout of food poisoning. The flu combined with exhaustion.” The look on Pete’s face turned pleading. “Anything but the truth.”

Joe and Andy traded looks before nodding. “Nobody else’s business anyway,” Joe said, his voice firm. “And the catering was pretty questionable.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Andy said, giving Pete’s shoulder a squeeze before getting up. “Call us when he wakes up. And one of us will come by tomorrow to spell you for a while.” At Pete’s mutinous frown Andy rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to do Patrick any good if you’re too exhausted to be coherent.”

After a moment, Pete sighed and nodded. He put his free hand over Andy’s. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll behave.”

Andy backed away enough for Joe to step in and give Pete a one-armed hug. “Just hang in there, okay?” he said, drawing away enough to look at Pete. “The doc said he was going to be okay. Try to remember that.”

“I will. And I’ll try,” Pete promised, forcing a smile. “See you in the morning.”

The moment Joe and Andy left, Pete turned his entire attention back to the man lying so still in front of him. “It’s just me and you now, Trick. You can open your eyes now.” No response. “Please, Patrick…please open your eyes for me.”

Still nothing. Patrick didn’t even stir.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Pete picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. It was going to be a long night.

                                                                        ****

Pete was drifting in and out of an uneasy doze when he heard a soft, sick little moan. He straightened, squeezing the hand still in his keeping. “Patrick? Come on, man…wake up for me.” A grin crossed Pete’s face when Patrick’s eyes flickered open half-way. “There you are.”

“Pete?” Patrick licked his dry lips, trying to banish the terrible taste in his mouth. His head ached in time with the dull throbbing in both of his arms, causing his stomach to flip around so hard that he knew he’d be sick if he tried to move. His fingers tightened around Pete’s, clinging to him like a lifeline as fear rose up in his throat to choke him. “What…where…”

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re in the hospital,” Pete said, trying to make his voice as low and as soothing as possible. “You’re gonna be fine. Just try and relax.”

Patrick stared at Pete, trying to comprehend exactly what the bassist was saying to him. He looked down at the bandages covering his wrists and a sob escaped him as memory came flooding back in a sudden, painful rush. I’m still here, he thought as tears welled up in his eyes. Why am I still here? What did I do wrong?

“Patrick?” Pete leaned closer, his concern turning to alarm when he saw the tears. “Are you in pain? Want me to get the nurse?” He started to get up.

“No,” Patrick managed to get out, stopping Pete in his tracks. “You said…hospital?”

“Yeah.” Pete leaned in a little closer. “We came back to the bus…wanted to make sure you were okay…and we found you in the bathroom.” Pete let out a shaky little sigh as he squeezed Patrick’s clinging fingers. “Thank God we found you in time.”

Patrick closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep the sobs that were choking him from escaping. Out of all the people who could be at his bedside looking so worried about him and going so far as holding his hand for God sakes…why did it have to be Pete?

He knew why. Pete did love him in his own unique way. They had been through far too much for them not to care about each other. Just…not like I care about him, Patrick couldn’t help thinking, wishing with all his heart that he could just curl up and disappear. Not like I love him.

“Patrick?” The worry was obvious in Pete’s voice as he racked his brain for something comforting to say. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Patrick managed to get out, choking on the words. Not good enough. Not ever good enough for you. You shouldn’t have even tried to save me. “You should’ve let me die,” he finally whispered, letting the tears he had been holding back fall. “Not worth it…not worth saving. You should have just let me die.”

“Don’t say that,” Pete said, shaking his head in denial. “Don’t. You don’t mean it.”

“Mean every word,” Patrick countered, his voice shaking. “Every word. You shouldn’t have bothered to try.” He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, telling him that she couldn’t accept who he was, couldn’t accept him. Elisa’s voice came next, screaming “It’s always been Pete! He’s always been first!” before slamming the door behind her. And now this – the hurt, betrayed tone in Pete’s voice. He was hurting the one person he loved more than anything with what he was saying and while it was the last thing he wanted to do, it was the only thing he could. To save his best friend the heartache he was sure of, he had to push him away.

He continued on. “Better off. You’d all be better off if I was gone.” Patrick tugged his hand out of Pete’s, shivering as he immediately felt the loss. “Pathetic mess…not worth it.” He turned his head away.

“You’re not. Don’t ever say that about yourself,” Pete denied as he reached for Patrick’s hand again. “And we sure as hell wouldn’t be better off. You’re the heart of the band. You keep us going, keep us honest. Don’t you know that? I…we…we need you. All of us.” Me most of all, he thought, catching the words just in time. He continued on, his voice catching in his throat as he said, “Patrick, please. Please look at me. You have to believe me.”

Patrick shook his head, too exhausted from both the pain in his wrists and in his heart. “Just go,” he whispered. “Please, Pete…go.”

“No.” Pete shook his head as well, his mouth set in a thin, stubborn line. “I’m not leaving you. Not when you’re like this.”

“Don’t…I don’t want you here,” Patrick got out, even though every part of him was screaming that the words were a lie. He buried his face in the thin hospital pillow. “Go away.”

Silence, followed by a heavy, shuddering sigh. Even without looking, Patrick knew what the expression would be on Pete’s face – anger, frustration and bewilderment all mixed into one. He kept his eyes shut and his face turned away, knowing that if he moved he’d end up flinging himself into Pete’s arms and never letting go. I can’t, he thought. I just can’t. He deserves so much better than me. Just go. Please…please go. The words kept echoing in his head as he laid there, keeping him stiff and still as he waited for the bassist to make the next move.

Fingertips brushed against his, making Patrick curl even further away. “Okay,” Pete said, his voice softer and sadder than Patrick had ever heard it before. “Okay, Patrick…I’ll go if you really want me to. Just…hear me out first?” Taking the singer’s silence for consent, Pete continued. “I don’t know why you’re hurting so bad, and I wish…I just wish I could fix it somehow and make you smile again, but me being here is only making things worse. So I’ll just go.” Another touch, this time on the bit of Patrick’s shoulder exposed by the hospital gown. “Just…there are a lot of people who love you, who would miss you more than anything if you weren’t here.” One final touch, this one the lightest of brushes through his hair. “Try to remember that if you can. If it helps.” The touch vanished and Patrick listened as Pete’s soft footsteps retreated from the bed and the hospital room door closed with a soft thud.

Come back, Patrick thought, wanting to scream it at the top of his lungs. Don’t leave me! I love you! He wanted to scramble out of bed, grab Pete’s hand and never let go. He wanted to sob himself to sleep with his face buried in Pete’s broad shoulder, with strong arms holding him up, holding him close. But most of all he wanted to hear his best friend’s voice drowning out the harsher ones echoing in his head with whispers of it’s okay, I’ve got you, I love you and I won’t let go.

Instead, Patrick curled up under the blanket covering him and cried as silently as he could until he drifted off to sleep.

                                                                        ****

Pete managed to catch a passing cab the moment he stepped out of the hospital’s lobby. After telling the driver to take him back to the arena, he curled up in the backseat and stared out the window, biting his lip in an effort to keep his rampaging emotions under control. Every thought in his head centered on the man he had left behind – memories tinged red with blood and every question starting with why.

He wants to die. That one thought kept coming back, echoing in his head over and over again. Each time it did his panic, his overwhelming fear of losing Patrick crept up just a little bit more. Fuck…he actually said he wanted to die. Patrick…sweetheart…what in the hell happened to you? It was more than his break-up with Elisa; Pete knew that deep down. He knew deep in his heart that something – or more like a combination of somethings – had driven Patrick to the point he was at now. He just didn’t have any idea what something, because Patrick hadn’t told him.

Not about any of it, Pete kept thinking. Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me? You’ve always told me everything before. Pete had thought they were back to being the friends they had been after being apart for so long. It had certainly felt that way during the earlier legs of the tour.

Almost perfect, Pete remembered. The only thing that would have made things even better was the one thing that Pete couldn’t let himself want.

Because he can’t know. He can’t ever know, Pete thought as he closed his eyes. He’s my best friend…practically my brother…and I know he loves me. But not like I love him. Not like I’ve always loved him.  He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes stinging with tears. So much…I love you so much. Andy’s right. You deserve to know and God knows I wish I had the courage to tell you. Would you want to stay if you knew?

Pete wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

After the taxi dropped him off at the arena’s security gate, Pete slowly made his way back to the bus on foot. His mind kept going back to the anguished look on Patrick’s face, the tears roughing up that beautiful voice and the harsh, self-hating words that had gone with it. What had happened to make Patrick hate himself so much? And what could he do to fix it?

I love you so much. Loved you for years. Ever since the day we met and you opened your mouth to sing. Finally arriving at the bus, Pete sank down onto the pavement, curling his arms around his drawn up knees as he leaned back against one of the bus’ huge front tires. You have to stay. Please, Patrick…I’ll do anything. I love you too much to let you go. Burying his face in his drawn up knees, Pete closed his eyes and let all his thoughts about Patrick combine into a single, desperate prayer.

Please…please stay.

                                                                        ****

“Pete! What the fuck, man! Wake the hell up!”

Someone yelling directly into his ear and shaking his shoulder jolted Pete out of an uneasy doze. Blinking furiously, he looked up to see Joe standing over him, his hair going every which way and dressed in bright orange pajama pants, a battered Green Day t-shirt and fluffy green socks. “Hey,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey yourself. And it’s about fucking time. I’ve been yelling at you for at least five minutes.” Joe frowned down at the bassist. “You’re lucky no one smacked you upside the head with the bus door, man.” Pushing his curls out of his eyes, Joe knelt down in front of Pete. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be at the hospital with Patrick.”

Memory came back to Pete in a flooding rush – Patrick so pale and still against the hospital’s blankets, the singer finally coming to in the early morning hours, the harsh, self-hating words that had come out of him, Patrick closing his eyes and turning his face away…

Letting out a shaky sigh, Pete buried his face back in his drawn up knees. “I upset him,” he said, his voice muffled. “He told me to leave. “Go away”, he said.”

Joe stared at him. “Stay put,” he ordered as he stood up. “I’m getting Andy and coffee. This way you only gotta tell it once.” He climbed back onto the bus, yelling for the drummer as he went.

Several minutes later, a nudge on his shoulder caused Pete to lift his head up enough to see the steaming cup of coffee two inches from his nose. Grabbing it, he took a long sip and almost burned his tongue in the process. “Thanks,” he said, giving Andy a grateful smile.

“No problem.” Dressed only in a pair of gym shorts, Andy sat down on the bus steps while Joe knelt back down in front of Pete. “What happened? And use words of one syllable. It’s still early.”

“Patrick…he wants to die,” Pete said, choking on the words. At Andy’s and Joe’s wide-eyed looks, Pete nodded and went on. “He said it himself. He said we should’ve just let him die.”

Joe closed his eyes. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

“Pete…he probably didn’t mean it,” Andy said, trying to keep his own voice calm.

“It sure as hell sounded like he did. The things he was saying…that he was worthless and how we’d all be better off.” The tears were back, spilling down Pete’s stubbled cheeks. “He hates himself and he wouldn’t tell me why. Kept saying he what a mess he was. And when I told him no, when I tried to tell him he wasn’t, he told me to go and leave him alone.” Swiping at his cheeks with his free hand, he turned pleading eyes to Joe. “How do you stop someone when he wants to die?”

Joe bit his lip, looking all too close to tears himself. “I don’t know,” he confessed, looking up at Andy.

Andy shook his head. “I don’t, either,” he said, his own voice soft. He put a hand on Pete’s trembling shoulder. “Pete…he was in the hospital just waking up after everything and he was probably in a lot of pain. He lashed out at the first person he saw and that was you.”

Hugging his coffee cup close to his chest, Pete took a deep breath and thought about that for a moment. “So maybe it was the pain and him hurting talking?”

“Maybe.” There was a pause. “One thing I do know is you gotta pull it together. He leans on you more than us.”

Joe put a hand on Pete’s other shoulder. “He’s right,” he agreed almost immediately. “Patrick…he’s gonna need you in one piece.”

Pete straightened, taking another deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “You’re right,” he muttered before taking a long sip of coffee, swallowing down his hysteria at the same time. He remembered the countless times Patrick had been there for him – the long, sleepless nights huddled together in the back of the van when Fall Out Boy was just starting out, the times Patrick had literally forced him to eat something or shower or even try to sleep, talking or singing to him until he was hoarse, holding him close when the last thing he wanted to be was alone.

He needs you, Pete thought, taking another deep breath for good measure. For once in his life, Patrick needs you to be the strong one. You say you love him so much? Then prove it, you fucker. He opened his eyes, calm settling over him. Be there for him. Be his friend.

He looked up at Andy and Joe. “I’m okay,” he said, making his voice as firm as he could and mostly succeeding. “Really. I’m okay.” And Patrick’s going to be, too, he thought to himself, resolute. I’m gonna make damn sure of that.

Joe and Andy traded looks. “Okay,” Andy said before finishing his coffee in one long gulp. “Joe and I are gonna go to the hospital later and drop off some clothes since the ER people cut his to ribbons. Are you coming with or staying here or what?”

“Staying.” At Joe’s confused look, Pete explained. “Seeing me…it might upset him again.” He ran a hand over his face, grimacing when he felt stubble. “And if I’m gonna be any good to him, I need a shower and some sleep. And my meds.”

“That has got to be the most sensible thing you’ve said in weeks,” Andy said as he got to his feet. Joe got up as well, holding out his hand. Pete grabbed it, letting the guitarist pull him to his feet. “Throw in you actually eating something in there and we’ll have to start searching the bus for pod people.”

“Which I’d be okay with,” Pete said as he climbed onto the bus, Joe and Andy not far behind. He sagged onto the couch in the lounge, suddenly exhausted. “Except I’m pretty sure there’s still no food on board.”

Joe suddenly looked down at his coffee cup before draining it. “I think we just finished off the coffee, too.”

They all stared at each other. “Nearest decent hotel with showers and room service, here we come,” Andy announced as he headed toward his bunk in the back of the bus. “Just as soon as we all get dressed in something okay enough to be seen in public in and we find the driver.”

                                                                        ****

Pete stayed away from the hospital and Patrick for the rest of the day, alternating between a restless doze in a too large, too empty hotel room and checking his phone for any news. His worry only continued to grow as the silence became longer and more oppressive. Had something gone wrong?

He was in the middle of texting Joe for the third time since he and Andy had left for the hospital when he got a ping in response. On our way back, the text said. Didn’t see him but nurse said Trick OK.

“What do you mean you didn’t see him?” Pete asked the minute they both walked in, practically vibrating with worry.

“Right before we got there one of the aides took him upstairs to see one of their shrinks,” Andy said as he settled in the nearest chair and kicked off his shoes. “Apparently it’s mandatory. If he wants to be released, he has to talk to somebody.”

Pete ran a hand through his dark hair, disheveling it even more. “Yeah, I remember. I had to do something like that after…after.” He sagged back onto the bed. “But the nurse said he was okay?”

Joe pulled up a chair as well. “She changed the bandages. Everything’s healing as well as can be expected and there’s no sign of infection, like the doc said.” He pushed his curls out of his eyes. “And he did eat something.”

“We’re guessing not a lot,” Andy added. “She had a big frown on her face when she mentioned it.” He paused. “Took whatever pills they gave him, too.”

“Yeah. They’ll put him on something – anti-anxiety or anti-depressant,” Pete said as he moved up on the bed enough to lean against the headboard. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “He’s gonna hate the talking part. Especially to a stranger.”

“Knowing him, he’ll feed whoever he gets enough bullshit to keep them off his case and keep his mouth shut about anything personal,” Joe said with a knowing little smile. “The nurse said he was barely saying anything. Enough to be polite and that’s it.”

“That sounds like our Pattycakes,” Pete said with a tired little smile. “He can be a stubborn little bitch when he wants to be.”

Andy’s eyebrows went up. “Gee, I wonder where he learned that from,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. His lips quirked upward in a smile of his own when Pete flipped him off in response.

“Did anyone say anything about when they’re gonna cut him loose?” Pete asked next, dreading the answer. Granted, no one could force Patrick to stay if he really didn’t want to – he could always sign himself out AMA – but there were all sorts of things that could still go wrong. Not to mention dozens of insidious little ways anyone could say “Do this. You won’t get better unless you do” and Patrick would buy into it because he didn’t know.

Pete knew. He knew all too well.

It took Pete a moment to remember that Patrick was a grown man and not the shy, scared and insecure sixteen year old he once was. He didn’t need protecting anymore. Except he does, he thought, wanting more than anything to wrap his arms around the singer and not let go. When it comes to this, he does.

Meanwhile, Joe was shaking his head. “The nurse didn’t know. She said it depended on a bunch of things like how he was responding to therapy and drug interaction and being a danger to himself and others.” The look on the guitarist’s face was equal parts frustration and disgust. “Which sounds like a load of bullshit to me. It’s Patrick, for fuck’s sake. He’s not going to go mental on us.”

He already has, Pete couldn’t help thinking, barely hearing Andy trying to placate Joe from across the room. He pushed away the uncharitable thought almost immediately. Patrick was sick, not crazy. He’ll get better. We’ll all help him, he thought as he wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes. He has to get better. He has to. He has to be okay.

“Pete?” The concerned tone in Andy’s voice broke through the bassist’s thoughts. “You okay over there?”

Pete forced himself to nod. “Yeah. Fine.”

Andy didn’t look convinced. “Should I ask how much sleep you’ve gotten?”

“Probably not,” Pete confessed before changing the subject. “Nobody’s recognized him, have they?”

“Pretty sure no one has. And no one said anything to us, so I think he’s safe on that front.” The drummer let out a sigh of relief. “Which has got to be the only good thing about this whole fucking mess.” Picking up his shoes, Andy stood up. “Left his phone with his clothes and a note saying to let us know when he’s being released, call if he wants some company, that kind of thing.”

“Which he won’t,” Joe added.

“No, he probably won’t,” Andy agreed, shaking his head. He gave Pete a look. “You look like you don’t want any company, either.”

Shrugging, Pete offered his band mate an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Joe said as he got up as well, going over to give Pete a hard hug. “Get some sleep. You look like a zombie.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

“Wasn’t expecting any, man,” Joe said with a knowing little smile right before he and Andy wished him good-night and left.

The moment the door closed, Pete leaned his head back against the headboard and let out a heavy sigh as he closed his eyes. He was bone tired, but he was so worried about Patrick that he knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

You could text him, he thought to himself. Ask if he’s okay. He’ll answer if it’s me. And you can see if he wants you to call his mom. Pete had found comfort in going home and being babied by his own mother after his suicide attempt years ago. Maybe Patrick needed some of the same.

Pulling out his phone, Pete began to text. Hey Trick. How are U? Wanna talk?

It beeped back a moment later. OK There was a pause. Not now.

Can’t blame him for that, Pete mused as he pushed away the brief pang of hurt. He’s being poked at every ten minutes. Of course he wants to be left alone for now. And “not now” wasn’t “never”. Patrick would open up to him eventually. He always did.

I’ll leave U B 4 now, he texted back. Need anything? Want me 2 call yr mom?

Patrick’s answer was immediate. NO!!! DO NOT CALL MOM!!!

Pete’s eyes widened. What the hell? ??? he typed, wanting to be sure. Where had that come from?

DO NOT CALL HER! came back a moment later, followed by a pause. Then Patrick sent, Please??? Promise u won’t.

Promise Pete texted back immediately, even though common sense was telling him not to. Do what he wants, Pete told himself. He’s been through enough for now. He doesn’t need to worry about that on top of everything. Briefly he thought about asking why, but just as quickly he pushed the idea aside. Patrick was in no condition to answer questions.

And there was probably a very simple explanation to it. He doesn’t want to worry her, Pete guessed. She’d want to fly out and with whatever happened with Elisa, the tour and now this? She wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace.

TY came next.

4 what? Pete texted back.

4 promising. 4 not asking why. was the reply. Will explain but not now. There was another pause. Gonna try 2 sleep. U try 2.

Pete couldn’t help smiling at that. He knows me too damn well, he thought as he texted back. I will. Promise. After a moment, he also sent ILU and held his breath.

He let it out a moment later when his phone pinged. ILU2

Sighing, Pete dropped his phone onto the bedside table and went back to staring at the ceiling. A hundred and one questions were going through his head like lighting during a storm, but the one he kept going back to over and over again was why.

Joe was right. He was okay before the break. Happy, even. Tired…we all were fucking tired…but he was happy. He shook his head, coming back to the idea that it had to be more than just the break-up with Elisa affecting his friend. But what? And why had they broken up in the first place? And why hadn’t Patrick told him?

Don’t push, Pete told himself firmly. No matter how much you care about him, don’t you fucking dare push. He’ll talk when he’s ready. He let out another heavy sigh and rubbed his tired eyes, wishing with all his heart that Patrick was lying next to him just so he could wrap his arms around the singer and not let go.

Tomorrow, Pete promised himself, taking one last look at Patrick’s final text before reaching over to click off his phone. Tomorrow I’ll go to the hospital with the guys and I’ll give him the longest, hardest hug I can manage. “I love you,” he whispered as he flicked off the light and curled up on the bed, still fully dressed and with his arms wrapped around one of his pillows.

That night, Pete dreamed of red hair and hazel eyes only partially hidden by black rimmed glasses. He dreamed of rare, bright smiles and infectious giggles and a voice that came straight from the angels. He dreamed of a friendship he couldn’t live without and a love he ached for with all his heart.

That night, Pete dreamed about Patrick and he managed to sleep until the rising sun’s glare woke him the next morning.

                                                                        ****

Patrick put his phone on the bedside table, staring at it for a long moment before wrapping the thin hospital blanket tighter around himself. Tomorrow, he told himself hopefully, clinging to that one word like a lifeline. I hope Pete comes tomorrow. “I love you,” he breathed, holding onto those three words as he closed his eyes.

That night, Patrick dreamed of dark hair and equally dark eyes that shined brighter than any stage lighting. He dreamed of manic grins and strong, tattooed arms and pulsing chords coming from a bass guitar. He dreamed of a friendship he clung to with both hands and a love he knew he could never have no matter how much he wished for it.

That night, Patrick dreamed of Pete and he didn’t wake up until a nurse came in to take his blood pressure just as the sun was coming up.

                                                                        ****

The next morning during breakfast, Pete’s, Joe’s and Andy’s phones all went off at once with the same message. Being released, Patrick texted. Come get me?

Pete was all for leaving right then and there. It took both Joe and Andy to talk some sense into him, reminding Pete about LA morning traffic, the fact that Patrick probably had to deal with doctors and paperwork before they let him go and they all had to finish their coffee at the very least if they wanted to function.

“And no fucking way you’re driving,” Joe announced, grabbing the keys of the rental before Pete could get at them. “You’ll go ninety miles an hour over a concrete barrier and with our luck we’ll end up in the hospital right next to Patrick.”

Pete didn’t bother arguing. Instead, he stole the other half of Joe’s English muffin in retaliation before texting Patrick. Hang in there, Lunchbox, he sent, using the nickname no one else was allowed to even think about. We’re on our way.

Luckily, traffic was light for once and they made it to the hospital in record time. “Go on up and get him,” Andy said, practically pushing Pete out of the car. “Joe and I will wait here. Less of a chance of overwhelming him.” Grinning his thanks, Pete practically ran for the parking garage’s elevator.

Minutes later, he was heading down the hall to Patrick’s room, his mind going a mile a minute. He’s going to be tired, he reminded himself. They never let you sleep more than ten minutes at a time when you’re stuck in a hospital. So he’s probably exhausted. And irritable. And they’ve probably got him drugged to the eyeballs, so don’t you fucking dare take anything he says personal. He passed the nurse’s station, pausing for a moment to offer up a silent, heartfelt prayer. Please be okay. Anything you need…all you have to do is say and I’ll do it willingly. Just please be okay. Taking a deep breath, Pete walked the last few feet to Patrick’s room and tapped on the doorframe.

Patrick looked up, managing a wan smile as he finished pulling on his shoes. “Hey.”

“Hey, Lunchbox.” He’s so pale, Pete marveled, trying not to look horrified at his friend’s colorless skin or the dark circles under his dull hazel eyes. How did I not notice how sick he was? How sad he looked? Glancing at the white bandages encircling Patrick’s wrists, he quickly looked away. He didn’t want to remember how still Patrick had been, how cold he had felt.

He forced himself to smile back instead. “How are you feeling?”

Patrick shrugged, wrinkling his nose as he stood up. “Out of it. Like my brain’s lost in a fog.” He shook his head. “I think it’s because of what they’re giving me for meds. I don’t like it.”

That’s not good, Pete thought as he came closer, his concern growing when he saw Patrick’s hands trembling. “Sit back down. You look like you’re about to fall over.” He gently pushed Patrick down onto the bed before sitting next to him. “What did they give you? Do you remember?”

Patrick screwed his eyes shut, fighting both the sudden wave of dizziness sweeping over him and the overwhelming desire to bury his face in Pete’s collarbone. “I don’t…no. There were three, I think. Something for the pain, an anti-depressant and one for anxiety. A little white pill, a bigger greenish one and a blue one.” Opening his eyes, he looked at Pete. “What you take…do they make you feel like this all the time?”

“It sounds like I’m on different stuff, babe,” Pete answered, immediately biting his tongue when the endearment slipped out. Luckily for him, though, Patrick seemed too out of it to notice; that was the last conversation he wanted to have right now. “Sounds like pretty strong stuff, though. I haven’t been on anything that strong in a while.”

“I remember,” Patrick’s voice turned quiet. “You were taking…what was it…Ativan? When you…when…” Patrick swallowed hard and didn’t finish.

“Yeah.” What fucker would give him something that strong? he thought before stomping down hard on his anger. “Whatever they’re giving you, you’re probably gonna have to come off it eventually. Stuff that strong will fuck you up if you take it for too long. For now, though? The doctors are probably just worried about you staying calm.”

Patrick stared at the bandages around his wrists, barely hearing Pete’s words. Worthless. Useless, he couldn’t help thinking. I can’t even do something as simple as kill myself right. Of course Pete wouldn’t want a fuck up like me. “I guess everyone wants to make sure I’m too doped up to rip out the stitches.”

Pete stared at him, his heart leaping into his throat. He wouldn’t, would he? He’s not really serious about doing that. Is he? He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, feeling a sudden overwhelming need to touch. “Patrick…”

Lifting his head up, Patrick was surprised by the look he caught in Pete’s dark eyes. He’s afraid? For me? But he can’t be. It took a moment for him to see the truth. No…I’ve seen him afraid. This isn’t it. Pete actually looked terrified.

Slowly, Patrick reached up and put his hand over Pete’s, wanting to banish that look off of his friend’s face as fast as he possibly could. “I won’t,” he said. “I’ll promise if you want. I won’t.”

Pete shook his head, the terrified look slowly changing back into a soft smile. “I don’t need a promise, Trick. I believe you.”

Patrick blinked. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I always do.” Pete offered what he hoped was a stronger, more reassuring smile before he squeezed his friend’s fingers and let go.

Not knowing what to say to that, Patrick let it go. “So how bad is it?” he asked instead, even though he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Pete looked confused. “How bad is what?”

Patrick waved a hand toward the window. “The press. The paparazzi,” he clarified. “Are we going to have to run the gauntlet? Or are we sneaking out the back?” A part of him really hoped that they were doing the latter; he was in no condition to deal with screamed questions and flashbulbs going off in his face.

“We’re going out the back, through the garage. That’s where Joe and Andy are waiting with the car,” Pete said to Patrick’s relief. “But even if we weren’t, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s clear.”

Patrick blinked. “What?”

“It’s clear,” Pete repeated a he rubbed Patrick’s shoulder. “No press. No paps. No cameras. It’s safe.”

It was a miracle. It had to be, because Patrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “How in the…what did you do?” he finally managed to ask. “I mean…you called an ambulance the other night, right?” At Pete’s nod, he continued. “And everybody…security, road techs, fans, everybody else we deal with…they all saw?” Another nod. “So they…everybody knows?”

Knowing exactly what Patrick was trying so hard to say, Pete took his hand and twined their fingers together. “Everybody saw the ambulance take you out,” he explained, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I mean, between the bout of flu you picked up from God knows where and how exhausted you’ve been from the tour, it’s kind of a miracle you made it back to the bus before you passed out cold in the bathroom.” He paused to run a thumb over Patrick’s knuckles. “And okay, maybe we panicked a little with the ambulance, but you didn’t even tell anyone you were sick. If you had, we would’ve made sure you were okay before you headed back to the bus or sent someone out for cold medicine or something.”

Patrick couldn’t help it; he stared at Pete with wide eyes, not believing what he was hearing. “You…you told everyone…you said…”

“Yeah,” Pete said, not letting him finish. “That’s the story we gave everyone who asked – a bout of the flu combined with exhaustion. Although Joe? He’s been throwing in food poisoning as well to anyone who’ll listen. I don’t think he was all that happy with the spread catering put out.” Pete let go of Patrick’s hand long enough to brush a finger against the bandages. “The only people who know about this are the four of us.”

They lied for me, Patrick suddenly realized, tears stinging his eyes. He had never felt so pathetically grateful in his entire life. They all lied for me. “The press…they’ll find out.” He knew what they were like, how relentless they were when they got a whiff of a juicy story. He had seen it firsthand with how they treated Pete. “They always do.”

“They won’t find out from us,” Pete promised, his voice firm. “And if they somehow find out some other way, we’ll do whatever it takes to shut them down. What you’re going through right now, it’s nobody’s business unless you want it to be. And the absolute last thing you need is the press on your ass making your life a living hell when you’re trying to get better.” A rueful little smile crossed the bassist’s face. “Trust me, Pattycakes. I know.”

You do, don’t you? Patrick couldn’t help thinking as he remembered another hospital room and situations reversed. A lone tear slid down his cheek and he quickly swiped it away. Don’t start. Don’t you fucking dare, he berated himself. He knew that if he started to cry now, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He’s quiet. Too quiet, Pete thought, his concern growing. That’s not good. An ache suddenly filled his chest when he saw Patrick put a hand over his eyes. Oh, God…Patrick…sweetheart… “You okay?” he asked, leaning against the singer’s shoulder. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around Patrick, but he didn’t want to scare him and he certainly didn’t want to make him feel any worse than he already did. Let me help, he begged silently. Whatever you need. Just let me do something. Please, Patrick…please…

Patrick shook his head and closed his eyes again, not wanting to see the disgust, the pity on Pete’s face. Pathetic, he berated himself as the overwhelming need to be held and told that everything was going to be okay came back. It was taking every ounce of willpower he had not to throw himself into Pete’s arms. Because he wouldn’t like that. He’d never want that, not from such a fucking mess like me…

Do something, you ass, the little voice inside Pete’s head yelled. He needs you, and you’re sitting there like an idiot. Remember how you were after you tried? What made you feel better? Slowly putting his arms around Patrick’s shoulder, Pete gave him a little tug closer. “C’mere.”

Patrick didn’t have the strength to resist any longer. Letting Pete pull him close, he buried his face in the singer’s shoulder. A minute later and he was sobbing, his heart breaking all over again as his fingers dug into the sleeves of Pete’s leather jacket, trying desperately to hang on.

Wrapping his arms around Patrick as tightly as he could, Pete laid his cheek against the singer’s red hair as he began to rock him back and forth. “Shh, Patrick. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered into his ear, a lump forming in his throat when instead of calming down Patrick just cried harder. “I won’t let you go, I promise. I won’t let go.”

Don’t let go, was all Patrick could think, losing himself in the slow back and forth motion, the smell of Pete’s cologne and the soft, husky voice whispering comfort in his ear. Need you so much…don’t ever let me go.

Finally, the sobs were replaced by ragged breathing and sniffles being muffled by the fabric of Pete’s shirt. Glancing down, Pete gently nudged Patrick’s forehead with his nose. “Back with me?”

“Yeah.” Patrick drew away enough to swipe at his eyes, mortified beyond belief and thoroughly ashamed of himself. “Sorry,” he muttered, keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

He felt rather than saw Pete shake his head. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he said, his voice quiet as he slid his hand up and down Patrick’s back, rubbing away some of the lingering tension. “Everybody has a breaking point. I think you just ran head first into yours.” There was a pause. “I want to help. What can I do?”

Patrick shut his eyes against another flood of tears. “I don’t know,” he murmured as he sank further into Pete’s embrace. “I’m just…I’m so tired.” It came out as a whimper, but Patrick was too upset, too exhausted to care.

Pete’s hand slid upward to card through his hair. “You are, aren’t you? I’d be surprised if you got more than fifteen minutes worth of uninterrupted sleep last night.” Poor, sweet baby, Pete couldn’t help thinking, blinking furiously to keep his own tears at bay.

Making a decision, Pete drew away enough to cup Patrick’s now flushed face in his hands. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he began, meeting Patrick’s eyes with his own. “Joe and Andy are waiting downstairs with the car. We’ll go back to the hotel, you can grab a shower because you stink like a hospital.” That comment got Pete a wan smile in return, which the bassist counted as a victory. “We’ll call for room service because hospital food always sucks and then maybe grab a nap? I know I didn’t sleep all that well last night, either.” He paused, a hopeful look on his face. “How does that sound?”

Patrick nodded, reaching up to swipe at his eyes again. “Good,” he murmured before taking a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm down. “Really good, actually.”

Pete couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped him as he wrapped his arms back around Patrick. Please don’t let me screw this up, he prayed. He needs me so much right now. Don’t let me fuck everything up by saying or doing the wrong fucking thing like I usually do. “It’s going to be okay,” Pete said out loud as he went back to rubbing Patrick’s back. “I swear to you, everything’s going to be okay.”

Patrick looked up. “How?”

Pete was so surprised by the question that all he could do was stare, at a loss for words. “Fuck if I know,” he finally said. Reaching out, he brushed a lock of hair out of Patrick’s red-rimmed eyes. “But we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

Patrick managed a smile even as his heart cracked just a little bit more. He doesn’t mean it like you want him to, he berated himself harshly. He means it like it’s always been. Accept it and be grateful, asshole. “Okay.”

The smile Pete gave him warmed his heart and broke it at the same time. “Okay, then. Need anything before we bounce?”

Taking that as his cue to let Pete go, Patrick slowly pulled away, nodding. “The nurse left right before you did and gave me all that.” He waved a hand at the stack of papers and the small white bag on the nightstand. “She went over everything, but I’m still not sure I got it all. I’ll have to read over everything again when the fog clears.” He shivered; without Pete’s arms around him, he was suddenly achingly cold. He just hoped that Pete wouldn’t notice.

Pete did. “Are you cold? Joe and Andy…they didn’t think to bring a jacket for you, did they?” He eyed the black t-shirt Patrick had on before stripping off his leather jacket and holding it out. “Here. Put this on.”

Slipping it on, Patrick immediately smiled. Not only were the sleeves long enough to cover the bandages, but it was still warm from Pete’s body heat. Almost as good as him hugging me, he thought, losing himself in the feeling for just a moment. “Thanks.”

Pete couldn’t help smiling as well. “Any time.” That’s better, he thought as normal coloring came back to Patrick’s cheeks. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie. Just one thing missing. “And you probably need these.” He pressed the black-rimmed glasses into Patrick’s hand.

Letting out a happy little sigh, Patrick immediately put them on. “Thanks. I was starting to go cross-eyed,” he said as he blinked, the blurry edges of everything immediately clearing.

Pete grinned. “There’s my Pattycakes.” He slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, making sure to grab the paperwork and the bag before gently steering him toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Not yours, Patrick thought as he walked with Pete, trying to keep his sudden change of mood from showing on his face. Never yours. Not really. But this is enough. He leaned into Pete, moving just a little bit closer as he tried not to wish for more. It’ll have to be.

                                                                        ****

After two rib-creaking hugs from Andy and Joe, Patrick slid into the backseat of the waiting car for the drive back to the hotel, Pete not far behind. They were barely out of the hospital’s parking garage when Pete felt a weight land on his shoulder, followed by a soft snore. He looked over and smiled; Patrick was sound asleep.

The poor baby. Not surprised one damn bit, he thought as he carefully shifted enough for Patrick’s head to settle on his chest. He slid an arm around the singer’s shoulders, holding him steady as the car swayed. It’s gonna be okay, he thought as he ran a hand through Patrick’s bright hair. I swear to you, whatever it takes…I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.

Joe looked over his shoulder, his eyes going wide as he took in the scene from the back seat. “Dude, he’s out?” he asked, keeping his voice as low as possible. When Pete nodded, Joe let out a soft whistle. “Damn, that was quick.”

Andy snorted. “Have you ever gotten a decent night’s sleep in a hospital ever?” he asked as he turned onto the highway. “If they’re not poking at you or asking you the same five questions over and over again, they’re taking your blood pressure at four in the morning. I’m surprised he made it to the car.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed as he gave Patrick another, more closer look. “He looks like hell,” he muttered. “And he’s lost more weight. I could feel it when I hugged him.”

“You know, he can probably fucking hear you in his sleep,” Pete growled as he curled protectively around Patrick. He looked down at the sleeping singer, marveling again at how young and vulnerable he looked. “He’ll be okay. He just needs some sleep and something decent to eat and someone to look after him for a while.”

“And you’re volunteering,” Joe said, both of his eyebrows going up. When Pete didn’t answer Joe’s lips quirked upward in a smile. “Mother hen, dude.”

Pete glared at his band mate. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously, man. It’s cute. Bordering on fucking adorable.”

“Joe…” Andy warned as he went around a station wagon; the last thing they needed in rush hour traffic was a display of Pete’s temper.

Pete, however, surprised them both. “I’m not leaving him,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Say whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care. But I’m not leaving him to deal with this all by himself.” He tightened his hold on Patrick’s shoulder, trying not to remember him lying limp and still in the shower or the stickiness of his friend’s blood on his hands. He never wanted to see or feel either ever again.

He closed his eyes, banishing the unwanted images with a shake of his head. “I’m not leaving him, Joe,” he said a third time, putting everything he had into his words. “He never left me. Not when I really needed him.”

In the front seat, Joe and Andy traded knowing looks. “So did they put him on stuff?” Andy asked, changing the subject as he took the exit that would lead them to their hotel.

“Yeah. Painkillers, anti-anxiety, anti-depressant.” Pete’s voice was somber. “He was pretty doped up when I got there. And he’s gonna be shaky until he gets used to them.”

“But they’ll help, right?” Joe asked, the worry plain on his face. “I mean, he won’t…you know…” He swallowed hard and didn’t finish.

“He won’t,” Pete said, looking up. “He promised me. And he hasn’t broken a promise to me yet.”

Joe let out a huge sigh of relief as he sagged against the backrest. “Thank God.”

Pete was just about to agree with him when Andy spoke up. “Uh oh.”

The bassist frowned. “What?”

“Press.”

Craning his neck to see, Pete caught a glimpse of TV cameras and news vans. “Fuck,” he muttered. “They weren’t here when we left.”

“They’re not here for us, I don’t think,” Joe said as he pulled out his phone and checked. “Stones are playing seven sold-out shows starting tonight. And this is the closest hotel to the arena. They must be staying here, too.”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Pete muttered again. “There’s no way in hell Patrick’s gonna be able to run the gauntlet.”

“And I wouldn’t ask him to even if he could,” Andy said as he turned toward the parking garage at the back of the hotel. “We’ll go in this way instead.”

Pete sighed with relief as Andy entered and began making his way up the ramp. “Thanks, man.” There was a pause. “Sorry for taking your head off.”

Andy shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry for. You’re worried about Patrick. I think that grants you a little leeway with everything.”

Once they got to their floor, Andy pulled into the spot closest to the door and shut off the car. He turned around to look at Pete and Patrick. “I can probably carry him,” he offered, nodding at the still sleeping singer.

Pete shook his head, knowing how mortified Patrick would be if he woke up and Andy was carrying him princess-style. “No. I’ll wake him.” He turned his attention to the man in his arms. “Patrick? C’mon Pattycakes…time to wake up.” No response. Pete gently shook his shoulder next. “Patrick.”

Patrick jolted awake with a start, his fingers digging into the arm around his waist. “Pete?” His voice was thin and high; he sounded terrified.

“It’s okay,” Pete quickly reassured him. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He gave Patrick’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’re at the hotel.”

“Oh.” Patrick ducked his head, going under his glasses to rub his aching eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need for sorry,” Pete murmured, his heart going out to him. “Come on. Let’s go in so you can lie back down.”

Together the four men went into the hotel and headed down the hall. “Joe and I are across the hall from you two,” Andy said, more for Patrick’s benefit than Pete’s. “Yell if you need anything, okay?”

“It’s going to be room service and bed, I think,” Pete said as he looked at the pair ahead of him. Joe had an arm around Patrick to keep him from stumbling and the redhead was clutching at his friend’s shirt in an effort to stay upright. “He’s wiped out and I’m not much better.” He offered the drummer a wan smile. “But thanks. If we decide to venture forth, I’ll let you know.”

“Even if it’s just to migrate over,” Andy said as they walked. “You feel like company, knock.”

Meanwhile, Joe and Patrick had stopped in front of the doors to their rooms when Joe suddenly swept his band mate into a hard hug. “Glad you’re still with us,” he whispered into Patrick’s ear.

Patrick’s eyes prickled with tears as he returned the hug with everything he had. He couldn’t say a word; all he could do was cling, taking comfort in his friend’s embrace.

 The moment Joe let him go, Andy did the same. “Get some rest,” he said softly.

Patrick let out a weak chuckle. “I don’t think Pete is going to let me do anything else.”

“Then let him take care of you,” Andy whispered. “He loves you.”

Patrick screwed his eyes shut as he buried his face in the drummer’s massive chest. “I know he does.” Not like I do. Never like I do. He couldn’t ever like I do. “I will,” he murmured instead. “I promise. I will.” Reluctantly letting go, he followed Pete into the hotel room and let the door shut behind him.

“Bought your bag and your laptop from the bus,” Pete said, indicating the bed by the windows with a nod.

“Thanks,” Patrick said as he sank onto the bed. He always remembers, he thought, his heart aching. Patrick liked having a window open whenever they stayed in a hotel, saying it helped his voice after hours in closed in buses and airplanes. It was a fact Pete hadn’t forgotten once, not in all the years they had known each other.

He looks so tired, Pete thought as he watched Patrick kick off his sneakers. He forced himself to look away; staring would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer just yet. “So…room service?” he asked instead, hovering by the phone.

Taking off his glasses, Patrick rubbed his eyes. “Honestly? I’m not really hungry,” he said as he put them on the bedside table.

Pete immediately shook his head. “Patrick, you have to eat.” His tone was serious. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to, but the stuff you’re on? You’ll be sick if you don’t.”

Patrick grimaced as his stomach suddenly flipped. That explains how I’ve been feeling all morning, he mused, wrapping an arm around himself. “Pancakes?” He was pretty sure he could stomach pancakes.

Pete nodded, grinning. “Pancakes it is. By the time you’re done in there,” He waved a hand toward the bathroom. “they should be up.” He reached for the phone as Patrick unzipped his suitcase.

And stopped to stare at his bandaged wrists.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked, stopping as well.

Patrick looked up. “I don’t think I’m supposed to get them wet right away,” he said, holding up his wrists. “The nurse said something about it while she was going over the discharge paperwork with me.” He let his hands fall limply into his lap, suddenly at a loss. Between two days in the hospital and jumping around onstage for over two hours before that, Patrick was feeling particularly grubby; he had been looking forward to a shower.

“Fuck,” Pete muttered, his brow furrowing as he tried to think of a solution. After a moment, he remembered the maid’s cart at the other end of the hall. “Be right back.” Before Patrick could ask any questions, he left the room.

The maid was nowhere to be seen, so Pete grabbed two trash bags from her pile, tucking a twenty in amongst her cleaning bottles as an exchange. Going back to their room, he held them out to Patrick with a triumphant grin. “Give me a sec and I’ll fix you right up,” he said as he put them down long enough to start digging through his own bag.

All Patrick could do was stare at him. “What in the world are you looking for?” he asked, wondering if he should offer to help.

Pete wasn’t listening. “Damn it, I could’ve sworn I had…here it is!” He pulled out a very squashed half-used roll of duct tape.

The look on Patrick’s face turned confused. “Duct tape? Why are you carrying around duct tape? And what are you planning on using it for?”

Picking up the trash bags, Pete sat down next to Patrick on the bed. “Ever have a broken leg as a kid?”

“Arm, actually. But I still don’t…oh.” He watched as Pete carefully wrapped first one wrist and then the other in the clear trash bags, taping them on securely with the duct tape. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Finishing up, Pete tossed the roll back onto his suitcase and surveyed his handiwork. “That should keep things dry enough.” He looked up, a proud grin crossing his face. “Duct tape and trash bags…a punk’s best friends.”

The look on Patrick’s face softened as he grasped Pete’s hands. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Love me…please love me, he wanted to say, his heart aching. What came out was, “No. You are.”

Pete’s grin softened as well, turning into a real smile. He squeezed Patrick’s fingers, thinking over and over, Love you…I love you so much. I wish I could tell you how much I want forever with you. You deserve to know. “So are you,” he said instead, his voice quiet. Reluctantly, Pete let go, gently pushing at Patrick’s shoulder. “Now, go on. Shower. You reek.”

Picking up his shower things and a clean set of clothes, Patrick gave Pete one last smile before going into the bathroom. All Pete could do was watch him go, his hands still tingling from the other man’s touch.

                                                                        ****

Patrick bounded up the stairs leading to his condo, a wide grin on his face as he pulled his keys out of his left jacket pocket. He patted his right pocket, making sure for the thousandth time that the ring box was safe and secure. I can’t wait to see her face when I ask her, he thought as he unlocked the door. Maybe I won’t wait for dinner. Maybe I’ll ask her right after she gets home? What was she doing today anyway? He couldn’t remember off the top of his head and he hadn’t called her before flying home, wanting it to be a surprise.

He was still considering both options when he walked in and saw two suitcases sitting by the sofa with Elisa’s jacket draped over them both. What the ever loving fucking hell? “Elisa?” he called, heading for the bedroom.

He found his girlfriend calmly pulling clothes off of hangers and stuffing them into an overnight bag. A quick glance around the room told him even more – empty drawers, perfume bottles and jewelry box missing from the top of the dresser and the table on her side of the bed cleared of her usual debris. He stared at her, at a loss. “Elisa? What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving.”

The look on Patrick’s face changed from confused to stunned as he felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his knees. “What? Why?”

She looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You know damn well why,” she snarled. “How long have you been fucking him?”

Patrick’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Excuse me?”

“Pete.” She spit out the bassist’s name. “How long? A month? A year? The entire time we’ve been together? Or has it been even longer?”

“I’m not fucking Pete!” Patrick exclaimed, a horrified look replacing the stunned one as he felt his heart clench.

Elisa folded her arms across her chest. “So he fucks you, then? Honestly, that’s pretty much how I thought things went.”

“We’re not sleeping together!”

“Of course you’re not, because according to you, he doesn’t sleep.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which of course you know about in great detail.”

“Of course I know! We ride on the same tour bus!” Patrick yelled. “He wakes me up in the middle of the night telling me he can’t sleep only about every other day!” Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. “Elisa…sweetheart…I don’t know who in the hell told you I was, but I am not having sex with Pete.”

“No one told me anything. I just know. And maybe you’re not doing anything about it now…which I highly doubt…but you want to, don’t you? You want to, you bastard.” A lone tear slid down her cheek. “I’ve heard you, Patrick. You say his fucking name in your sleep.”

“He’s my best friend,” Patrick said, a numb feeling creeping over him. “We’ve known each other for over thirteen years, for God sakes. We’ve been through everything.” He paused, trying to think of something, anything that would make her see reason. “I was best man at his wedding!”

“And look how well that turned out! She left him inside of three years and I damn well can guess why!” Elisa shot back. “You don’t see how he looks at you when you’re not looking, how he touches you all the time and hangs all over you on stage. He’s just biding his time.” Stuffing the last of her clothes into the bag, she zipped it shut with a hard jerk. “He’s just waiting for me to be out of the picture and for you to finally realize things. And you want it. Deep down, you want it, too.” She paused, glaring at him in spite of the tears streaking her cheeks. “You always put him first. Before your family. Before even me.”

“That’s not true…”

“It is true!” Elisa shrieked. “It’s always been true since the day I met you! It’s all about Pete! He’s always been first for you and everybody knows it! Admit it!” She didn’t wait for him to reply; she slung her bag over her shoulder instead. “Well, I’m not going to play second best to Pete fucking Wentz. Not anymore.”

The lump that was the ring box in his pocket was almost as heavy as the lump in his throat as Patrick followed his girlfriend out of the bedroom. “Elisa…sweetheart…I love you,” he finally said, willing to do anything, say anything if it got her to stay. “Please stop. Just stop and stay so we can talk about this?”

“There’s nothing more to talk about.” Picking up her purse, she slung it over her shoulder as well. “And maybe you do love me. But you love Pete more.” Opening the front door, she picked up both suitcases and set them outside on the landing before turning to give Patrick one last look. “I know who you gave your heart to, Patrick. And it sure as hell wasn’t me.” With that, she stormed out of the condo, slamming the door behind her.

                                                                        ****

The sound of the slamming door from his dream jolted Patrick out of sleep, tearing a whimper out of his throat as he sat up in bed. She was right. God help me, but she was right about Pete. It was always about him. How could I let things go so far? How could I have done that to her?

“Patrick?” The singer looked up to see Pete hovering nearby, the concern plain on his face. “You okay over there?”

Forcing himself to nod, Patrick ran his hand over his face, annoyed at the escaping tears. Why was he still crying over every little thing? “Yeah…sorry,” he muttered, ducking his head. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Pete shook his head. “You didn’t. I was writing.” He waved a hand at the opened notebook on his bed before sitting down on Patrick’s. “Nightmare?”

Patrick immediately curled up, burying his face in his drawn up knees. “Yeah…kinda,” he murmured. Granted, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either.

Moving closer, Pete put his hand on Patrick’s back and began to rub. “I used to get them on the time. Especially before I got my meds switched around. Some of them…they can really fuck with your head.” He paused. “Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

Patrick shook his head, his face still hidden. The last thing he wanted Pete to know about was what he was trying so hard to hide. God help me, I’m pathetic, he couldn’t help thinking, praying with everything he had that Pete wouldn’t ask any more questions.

Luckily for him, Pete didn’t. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “If you do, I’m here. Okay?” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “You slept pretty much all day. Are you hungry? I can call down again.”

Finally lifting his head up, Patrick shook his head. “No, I’m still tired.” That wasn’t a lie; he was still exhausted, even after sleeping for so long. “I’m going to try and get some more sleep.” He paused. “You don’t have to stay and babysit if you don’t want. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Pete answered, frowning a little. “And it’s not babysitting.” He tapped his temple with his finger. “Too much going on up here. If I don’t get it out I’ll be driving everyone crazy and this is the first stretch of quiet we’ve had in days for me to actually do that.” He smiled. “Keeping you company is a bonus.”

Patrick wrinkled his nose. “I would’ve called it drawing the short straw,” he said as he started to lie back down.

Before he could, however, Pete grabbed his arm right above the bandage. “Don’t,” he said, his frown deepening. “Don’t put yourself down like that. I don’t like it.” He paused. “And before you say it doesn’t matter, it matters to me.”

Glancing down at the hand on his arm, Patrick looked up and met Pete’s dark eyes with his own. He cares, he realized, swallowing hard. I know he does. I just wish… He ruthlessly pushed that thought aside before putting his hand over Pete’s. “Okay,” he said softly, forcing a smile. “I’ll try. You know how I get.”

“I do know. That’s why I’m reminding you.” Pete was still smiling as he curled his fingers around Patrick’s, squeezing them briefly before letting go. “Try to sleep if you can, Lunchbox. Okay? I’ll be here to keep the demons away.”

God, I wish you could, Patrick thought as he lay back down, tears once again pricking at his eyes. More than anything, he wanted to lay his head on Pete’s chest and listen to his heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. He’d be safe from his dreams in Pete’s strong arms. He was sure of it.

The room was quiet enough so he could hear Pete’s pen scratching against paper as he wrote. The bassist was humming something under his breath as he scribbled, low enough so Patrick had to strain to hear. When he finally figured out what it was, the tears came back and he had to put his hand over his mouth in order to stifle the sob that escaped.

It would be that one, he thought as he buried himself back under the covers, his heart aching as the familiar melody washed over him. Closing his eyes, Patrick let Pete’s humming of “What A Catch, Donnie” lull him to sleep.

                                                                                                             *****

“Here. Let me help you with those,” Pete said as he watched Patrick tear at the bandages the next morning.

“I can manage,” Patrick bit out as he pulled at the medical tape holding them on.

Frowning, Pete was about to start arguing with him when his cellphone rang. “Hold that thought,” he said as he pulled it out of his pocket and clicked it on without seeing who it was. “Yeah.”

“How’s our boy doing?”

Andy. “He’s okay,” Pete said, lowering his voice as he moved to the other side of the room. “Ate something. Slept pretty much the rest of yesterday and all of last night. Only woke up from a nightmare once.” He let out a sigh. “Which is a blessing considering what those fuckers put him on.”

“Has he said anything?”

Pete shook his head even though Andy couldn’t see. “Not yet. And I’m not pushing.” He glanced over at Patrick, who had one wrist unwrapped and was working on the other. “He’ll talk when he’s ready to.”

“Which could be tomorrow or the twelfth of never,” Andy commented with a sigh of his own. “Has he said anything about wanting to go home?”

“Not a word.” Pete lowered his voice even more. “And when I asked him if he wanted me to call his mom he said no.”

“Really?” Andy sounded surprised. “Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah. Fuck if I know what’s going on.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I’ll talk to him. See what he says.”

“Joe and I are flying back to Chicago tonight,” Andy said. “Knock on our door when you two have gotten yourselves together and we’ll go grab something to eat before we go.”

“Will do.” Pete said before hanging up and slipping it back in his pocket.

“Guys checking up on me?” Patrick asked, not looking up.

“Andy. Joe was probably lurking around back there somewhere listening in.” He sat down next to Patrick on the bed. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Fine.”

You don’t sound fine, Pete couldn’t help thinking as he watched Patrick strip off the remaining tape and gauze. The clipped words, the edge in his voice, the scowl on his face – all clear signs of Patrick’s temper being up. You’re the furthest thing from fine I’ve ever seen.

Taking a chance, he picked up the antibiotic cream. “Here. Let me fix you up.”

“I can manage,” Patrick growled through gritted teeth. “I’m not fucking helpless. And I’m not a child who needs to be coddled and checked up on.”

Pete took a deep breath. Do not take it personally, he told himself. He’s lashing out because he’s in pain and you’re the only one he can lash out at. “Do you know how close we came to losing you?” he finally asked, keeping his voice as even as possible. “The emergency room doc said that if you had cut just a little bit deeper or if we had been ten minutes later in finding you, you wouldn’t be here right now. So forgive us if we’re getting a little obsessive about making sure you’re still with us.” He paused. “The three of us…we’re your friends. We’re gonna worry about you whether you like it or not.”

Patrick’s hands fell into his lap and to Pete’s horror his eyes filled with tears. “Sorry…I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t be taking everything out on you.”

“I know why you are,” Pete said, his voice softening. He put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and began to rub. “Everything’s off kilter and you’re trying to get control back. I know that.” He moved a little closer, pressing himself against Patrick. He rested his cheek against his friend’s bright hair. “I want to help. We all do.”

Patrick let out a shaky little sigh and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s just…my wrists are throbbing. And my head aches.”

And you’ve never dealt well with pain, Pete thought, remembering migraines, sprained ankles and bloody fingers from too much guitar playing. Resisting the urge to kiss Patrick’s forehead, Pete slowly drew away. “The hospital gave you something for the pain, right?”

Patrick nodded. “Pills are in the bathroom.” He started to get up.

Pete gently pushed him back down. “I’ll get them. You stay put.” Patting his shoulder, Pete headed for the bathroom.

He came out minutes later with a frown on his face. “This is pretty strong stuff,” he said, rattling the pill bottle. “And it’s another one of those you shouldn’t take on an empty stomach.” He paused. “I’ve got Tylenol in my bag. Want to try that first and see how you feel after you eat?”

Patrick managed a weary nod. “Yeah. Especially if it’s that strong. I’m out of it as it is.”

Pete nodded in agreement. “Let me get you some water.” He went back into the bathroom, coming out moments later to hand the singer two little white pills.

Patrick dutifully swallowed them down before taking the glass from Pete. “Thanks.” He drank half of it before putting it on the nightstand. Then, hesitating a little, he gestured to his stitched up wrists. “Can you help me with these?”

A soft smile suddenly appeared on Pete’s face. “Sure.” Sitting down next to him, he suddenly wiggled his fingers in front of the singer’s nose. “See? Washed my hands and everything.”

Patrick couldn’t help giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Anything to get a smile back on your face, Pattycakes,” Pete answered with a grin as he took the bag of medical supplies out of Patrick’s lap and began looking through it. “Looks like they gave you everything you need for now. How long did they say the stitches have to stay in?”

“About a week, I think.” He winced as Pete took his hands and pulled them closer, his wrists facing up. “Pretty gruesome, huh?”

Pete shook his head. “They actually don’t look that bad,” he said as he looked them over. “Remind me of my girl Sally.” He turned his arm enough so Patrick could see Jack and Sally smiling on his arm. “Let me get something to clean the guck off.” He disappeared back into the bathroom.

Coming out with a wet washcloth and several towels, Pete sat back down on the bed and laid one over his lap. “Here. Come a little closer,” he instructed. When Patrick did, Pete took one wrist and began to gently dab at it with the washcloth. “Tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

“I will.” He watched as Pete carefully washed the stitches. “So what else did Andy and Joe say after checking up on me?”

“They want us to knock on their door once we’re decent enough for civilized company,” Pete said as he worked. “They’re flying back to Chicago this afternoon.” He paused, looking up. “Wanted to know if you were coming with.”

Patrick immediately froze. “No,” he finally said, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “No.”

What the hell? Pete thought, stopping. He could feel Patrick’s hands trembling in his, how sweaty they had become almost immediately. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Patrick averted his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” Pete gently grasped Patrick’s fingers, stilling them. “Your hands are shaking, your face is as white as this towel and you’re acting like going home is the worst thing that could ever happen to you.” His voice softened. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” Patrick murmured even as he cringed inwardly at the lie. Not this. You can’t ever know this, he thought as he stared at their joined hands. You’d hate me if you knew it all. But he also knew that Pete wouldn’t leave it alone until he was told something. Some of the truth, then, Patrick decided. Maybe if he knows some of it, he won’t ask about the rest. It was all he could hope for.

“I don’t really have a home to go back to,” Patrick finally said, looking up. At the confused look on Patrick’s face, he explained further. “Elisa left.”

To his surprise, Pete nodded. “Andy told me,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry.”

Ducking his head back down, Patrick shook his head. “No need for you to be,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter.”

Pete let go of his hand long enough to cup his cheek and lift his head up enough so their eyes could meet. “Of course it matters. And I’m sorry you’re hurting so much from it.” Letting go, Pete picked up the antibiotic ointment and began smearing it over Patrick’s stitches. “You were going to propose, weren’t you? I remember you talking about it. You even showed me the ring you found for her.”

Patrick nodded as he watched. “Had it in my pocket when I walked into the condo and saw her packing her things. We ended up having a screaming fight instead.” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “Turns out she had been planning it for a while. I was just too blind to see.”

Wiping his hands off with some tissues, Pete picked up some gauze pads and laid them over Patrick’s stitches. “Did she say why?”

“Wasn’t home enough.” At Pete’s incredulous look, Patrick explained. “I met her during the hiatus, remember? While I was doing “Soul Punk”. I was touring and doing shows, but not like we had just finished with the band.” The singer shrugged and averted his eyes. “She just…she got tired of being left alone.”

He’s lying, Pete suddenly realized as he picked up the roll of bandaging and began to carefully wrap it around Patrick’s wrist. Why is he lying to me? Out loud, he said, “She didn’t realize what band you were with when you got together, did she?”

“Of course she did. I guess…I don’t know…maybe she thought we’d never get back together.” Patrick’s voice was soft and sad. “We really didn’t have a chance to hash everything out, you know?”

Finishing one wrist, Pete started on the other. “And you haven’t talked to her since?” When Patrick shook his head, he snorted. “Because she’s not taking your calls or you haven’t tried?”

“I haven’t tried.” There was a pause. “She made how she felt plain enough. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s when I’m not wanted.”

 I want you, Pete almost blurted out. I’ve always wanted you. How could she just throw you away? He bit his tongue just in time, concentrating on making the bandaging secure but not too tight as he wished he could do something, anything that would make Patrick’s all too obvious pain go away.

“So the condo?” he asked instead.

“Is being sold,” Patrick answered, his voice turning dull and lifeless. “I signed off on it, told my lawyer to tell her she could have it if she wanted it. She didn’t.” He shook his head, closing his eyes against the sudden onrush of tears. “And I…I can’t live there anymore. Not after this.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Pete agreed. “I did the same thing after Ashlee left. My old place…it was just way too big of a house for just me and Hemmy.” Finishing up, he secured the gauze bandaging with medical tape and reluctantly let Patrick’s hand go. “There. How do they feel? Too tight?”

Patrick studied them for a long moment. “No. They feel good, actually. They’re not throbbing anymore.” Looking up, he managed a smile. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Bundling up what was left of the medical supplies, Pete put them back in the bag. “I am sorry, Trick. I know you cared about her.”

Patrick let out a heavy sigh. “Not enough, apparently.” Taking off his glasses, he swiped at his eyes. “Could we talk about something else, please?”

“Sure,” Pete readily agreed, hearing how shaky Patrick’s voice was. Don’t ask, he told himself firmly. Don’t ask why he’s lying. Don’t demand the truth. He’ll tell you when he’s damn good and ready and right now he’s not. He couldn’t help but wonder if Patrick ever would be.

Pete pushed that thought aside as quickly as it had shown up. “So what are you going to do?” he asked instead. “Go home and stay with your mom for while?”

Patrick immediately shook his head. “No.” His voice was firm, final. “She’s got enough to worry about. She doesn’t need me around on top of everything else.” He paused. “I’ll figure out something.”

You shouldn’t be alone, Pete couldn’t help thinking as he continued to gaze at his best friend. Not after everything you’ve been through. The last thing you should be is left alone. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a while?” he blurted out a moment later.

Patrick’s head jerked up, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Come stay with me,” Pete repeated. “Granted, the house I bought is a little smaller than my previous monstrosity was, but there’s still plenty of room for you to camp out for as long as you need to get your feet back under you again.”

God, what are you doing? Do you even know what you’re doing to me, offering like that? Patrick thought, a lump forming in his throat. Pete was just being generous, like he always was. He was just offering because of their long friendship. It didn’t mean any more than that. It couldn’t. “Pete…that’s awfully generous of you…but I said before that I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“How about a friend?” Pete asked softly. Reaching out, he put a hand on Patrick’s knee. “Look, Trick…I just…I don’t think you should be left alone right now after everything, that’s all. I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you weren’t.” He paused. “And you’re gonna need help until your wrists heal. Why not stay with someone who’s willing?” Pete suddenly smiled. “And I know Hemmy would love to see his Uncle Patrick. He misses you playing fetch with him.”

Patrick couldn’t help smiling at that. “I kinda miss that, too,” he said quietly. “He’s a good dog.” There was a long pause. “I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You know how much I hate being by myself. We can even start working on new songs if you want to. The label is going to be on our collective asses for a new album as soon as they think they can get away with it. You know that as well as I do.” A hopeful look appeared on Pete’s face. “Come on, Pattycakes. Put me out of my misery here and say yes.” Please say yes, Pete thought. Please let me take care of you, let me cherish you…please, Patrick…let me love you. Please.

You shouldn’t, Patrick’s inner voice told him. You’d be nothing but a burden to him and the longer you’re around him the more of a chance he’ll have of finding out. He looked at the hand on his knee. Say no. Say you’ll be fine and you don’t need him. Just tell him no.

Patrick looked up, meeting Pete’s dark eyes with his own. “Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re sure you’re willing to put up with me.”

The biggest grin that Patrick had ever seen spread across Pete’s face right before the bassist pulled him into a hard hug. “More than willing. And it’s not putting up with you. It’s never that with you.” He drew away enough to look at Patrick. “Okay?”

Patrick forced himself to smile and nod even as his heart sank. “Okay.”

                                                                        ****

After saying good-bye to Andy and Joe at the airport – which included more hugs and instructions to call them if anything happened – the two men collected their things from the bus and climbed into Pete’s car for the drive to his house outside of LA. Patrick fell asleep almost immediately, his head sagging against the back of the seat as he softly snored. Whenever it was safe for him to do so, Pete snuck looks at the singer, a warm feeling growing in his chest as he watched Patrick’s chest rise and fall. So beautiful, he thought, reaching out to brush a lock of hair out of his closed eyes. Patrick…sweetheart…God, I just hope I’m doing the right thing.

Finally turning into his driveway, Pete pulled up to his front door and turned off the engine, giving Patrick a long look before gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, Pattycakes,” he said softly. “We’re here.”

Blinking, Patrick smothered a yawn with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he murmured, pushing his glasses up enough to rub at his eyes.

“No reason to be. I know how tired you are,” Pete said quietly, letting himself put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze before letting go. “Come on in. Let me give you the twenty-five cent tour.”

Patrick smiled. “It used to be fifty cents,” he said as he got out of the car. He reached into the back seat for his duffel.

Pete managed to grab it before Patrick did. “Nope. I’ve got this. And I’ll come back out for the rest.” Getting his own, he slung it over his other shoulder and grinned. “Come on.” He headed up the walkway. “And it’s smaller, so I charge less.”

“This is nice,” Patrick commented as he looked around. “Not as pretentious as that MTV Cribs monstrosity you had.”

“God, wasn’t that a mess and a half? I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought the thing,” Pete said as he unlocked the door and stepped in, Patrick close behind. “The only good thing about it was it sold in about a minute when I put it on the market after Ashlee left.” Dropping his keys on a nearby table, he ushered Patrick in. “This is at least it’s a little more practical for me and Hemmy. You know?”

Patrick was about to agree with him when he heard nails scrabbling on tile. “Incoming.”

Grinning, Pete dropped both bags and went to his knees just as Hemmingway came barreling down the hall and jumped into Pete’s outstretched arms, barking furiously. The bassist laughed as the bulldog enthusiastically licked his face. “I missed you, too, Hemmy. Have you been a good boy? No surprises in my shoes like the last time?”

Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “I’m guessing the surprise wasn’t a bone.”

Pete wrinkled his nose. “Definitely wasn’t. Had to toss the shoes and the socks I was wearing at the time.” He continued to pet the wriggling dog. “Look who I brought home to play with you, Hemmy! It’s your Uncle Patrick!” Hemmingway barked again in response.

Grinning, Patrick knelt down next to Pete and was thoroughly licked as well. “Hey, boy,” he said, laughing as his glasses were knocked askew. “I missed you, too. Yes, I did.” He scratched the bulldog’s ears, grinning as Hemmingway sagged against his leg, tongue sticking out as he panted happily. “You’re such a good dog.”

Pete watched, grinning as well. “That’s a good thing to hear,” he said as he continued to pet his dog.

A confused look appeared on Patrick’s face. “What is?”

“You laughing,” Pete clarified. There was a pause. “You haven’t in a while.”

Patrick ducked his head, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” he murmured, running his hands over the dog’s short white fur.

I’ll change that, Pete thought, determination rushing through him as he watched Patrick continue to pet his dog. I promise you, sweetheart…whatever it takes. I’ll get you to smile for real again.

Getting to his feet, Pete picked up both duffel bags. “Come on. I’ll show you around.” Giving the dog a final pat, Patrick got up as well to follow Pete.

His eyes went wide when they passed rooms filled with still packed boxes. “How long ago did you buy the house?” he asked as they headed up the stairs, Hemmingway following them both.

“Moved in three days before we went out on tour,” Pete said as they walked. “Barely had time to unpack my guitars. Every break we had I came home and tackled a little more, but it was never enough time.” He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “There is a guest room done. I made sure of that. Along with the music room, the living room, the kitchen, the media room and about half the library.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re going to ask me to unpack boxes as payment for letting me stay a while?” Patrick commented as he followed Pete up the stairs.

“Only if you want to,” Pete immediately said. “And only when you’re all better.” He eyed the laptop bag over Patrick’s shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be straining anything, remember?”

“I’m not. It’s slung over my shoulder,” Patrick returned. “And it’s only my laptop. I’m fine.”

Pete let out a sigh. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Still worry, you know?”

“I know. But you don’t need to right now. I’m fine.” Patrick suddenly stifled a yawn. “Tired but fine.”

“Let’s get you settled then. Here.” Pausing in front of a closed door, Pete opened it and waved Patrick inside. “Hope it’s okay.”

Patrick took one look and immediately relaxed. Warm colors, plain but sturdy furniture, a solid wall of windows – it was comfortable in a way that Pete’s old house had never been. “It’s nice.” Dropping his laptop bag onto the bed, he immediately went to the window, his eyes widening as he looked outside. “Beautiful.”

You are, Pete thought, biting his tongue just in time. With the bright sun coming in through the window, Patrick’s hair was the color of a newly minted copper penny, leaving Pete to wonder if it was as soft as it looked. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from touching. “Isn’t it? The view was what sold me on the house.”

“I can see why.” Patrick let out a contented little sigh. “It feels like you’re far away from everything.”

“And I’m still twenty minutes away from the city with pizza delivery and everything,” Pete said, stepping away enough to open the door in the corner. “You’ve got your own bathroom and I’m right across the hall if you need anything. Oh, and close your door at night if you don’t want Hemmy crawling into bed with you.”

Patrick smiled. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said as he sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes. “God knows I’ve gotten used to you joining me over the years. At least with Hemmy I wouldn’t have to worry about him stealing all the blankets.”

“He snores worse than I do,” Pete pointed out, grinning as he leaned down enough to give the bulldog a pat. “You relax. I’ll go down and get your suitcase and your guitar.” He started to turn away.

“Pete?”

Pete paused at the door. “Yeah?”

The exhaustion was plain on Patrick’s face, but his smile didn’t waver. “Thank you.”

The bassist’s grin turned into a softer smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The sight of that sweet smile caused Patrick’s heart to ache. “So am I,” he forced himself to say, trying not to think about how all this could still go very, very wrong.

The moment Pete disappeared, Patrick laid down on the bed, curling up so his back was to the door. Don’t think about it, he told himself as he closed his eyes. Don’t think about how nice it’s been or how his hand felt touching your shoulder or how much you want him to kiss you. Don’t think about any of it. He’s being a friend. That’s all he is and that’s all he can be. Taking off his glasses, he curled himself around a pillow and closed his eyes. Don’t hope for anything more. You’re lucky to have what he’s giving you after everything you’ve put him through. A tear slid unchecked down his cheek, followed by another.  Still…God, I wish….

When Pete looked in several minutes later, Patrick was asleep. Setting his suitcase and guitar case next to his duffel, he moved Patrick’s laptop bag from the bed to the dresser. Long day and it’s barely noon, he mused, glancing at his watch. And with everything he’s been through the past few days…let him sleep. Going back over to the dresser, Pete carefully opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a spare blanket. He’ll need this later. He always gets cold when he sleeps.

Spreading it over Patrick’s sleeping frame, Pete smiled when the redhead immediately pulled it tightly around him. His smile disappeared, however, when he saw Patrick’s wet cheeks. He’s been crying? I was only gone a few minutes. He reached out, about to put a hand on his shoulder when he stopped. No…let him sleep. He needs that more than anything and it just might be the stress of everything making him upset. He’ll be okay once he rests.

Pete smiled fondly as Hemmingway jumped onto the bed and laid down behind Patrick’s drawn up knees. “Gonna keep Patrick company for a while?” he asked softly, petting the bulldog when he responded with panting and wagging his tail. “Good boy.” Giving the singer one last long look, Pete left the room, closing the door half-way behind him.

                                                                        *****

The days passed as both men reacquainted themselves to living out of dresser drawers instead of suitcases. And with each day that went by, Pete’s worry for Patrick grew.

Still not really eating, Pete thought as he watched his friend listlessly poke at what was on his plate. He hasn’t been that skinny since his “Soul Punk” days. And he’s quiet. He’s never been so quiet, not in all the time I’ve known him. “If you don’t like it I can make something else,” Pete said, even though Patrick had never refused his cooking before. “Or we can order in. I know the Chinese place you like runs specials on Thursdays.”

Looking up, Patrick forced a smile as he stood up. “I’m fine. Just not really hungry.” Going over to the sink, he scraped the remains of dinner down the garbage disposal before rinsing his plate clean.

I’m really beginning to hate the words “I’m fine”, Pete thought to himself, scowling. Especially since I know they’re not fucking true. “You hardly ate anything today,” he commented as he did the same, placing the clean plate in the dish drainer. “Or yesterday. You can’t not be hungry.”

The smile disappeared as Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “Can’t I? I should know how I feel a little better than you would.” He stalked out of the kitchen.

And now he’s trying to pick a fight, Pete thought as he watched his friend sag onto the couch. Do I let him or do I leave him alone? He grimaced; he didn’t like either choice. Arguing with Patrick reminded him too much of the days before the band went on hiatus when they had fought constantly over just about everything. It had gotten so bad that they had almost come to blows once or twice; the only thing that had saved the pair of them from hitting each other had been walking away.

And yet he didn’t want to just leave Patrick alone, either. Especially since he was in such obvious pain. Because if I do, it’s only going to get worse, Pete thought. He’ll withdraw into himself more and more until he gets as bad as he was on tour. And if he gets that bad…he might not come out of it this time. He swallowed hard at the fear choking him. I can’t let that happen. Not if I can stop it. And maybe if I get him yelling, he’ll tell me what’s wrong.

Sighing, he washed his hands and dried them off on a dishtowel. Fight it is, then. Squaring his shoulders, he went out into the living room.

Patrick was curled up on the sofa, staring blankly out the window at Hemmingway, who was rolling around in the grass right next to the patio. “I think his balls are in the bucket right next to the door,” he said as he sat down next to him. “He’d probably like it if you went out and threw him a couple.”

Patrick didn’t move. “Maybe later.”

Pete let out an exasperated little sigh. “Okay, Pattycakes, we’re done with this shit.” His voice was firm. “Are you going to talk to me and tell me what’s wrong? Or am I going to have to fit another emergency room visit with you into my schedule sometime soon?”

Patrick glared at him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he answered, the tone of his voice hinting at his growing temper. “I told you. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Pete corrected harshly. He began ticking points off on his fingers. “You’re barely eating. You either sleep or stare out the window all day. The farthest you’ve gone outside the house is in the backyard to play with Hemmy. You haven’t called anyone since you’ve been here and I know for a fact that you haven’t opened your laptop, because your bag is still in the same place I put it a fucking week ago.” Reaching out, he put a hand on Patrick’s knee. “It’s just…I’ve never seen you this low. Not even before…before.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s scaring the fuck out of me.”

Patrick flushed and turned away, curling up into an even tighter ball on the couch as he moved his leg out from under Pete’s hand. Don’t touch me. Don’t be so worried about me. Don’t do anything that would make me love you more than I already do, he thought, the words repeating over and over in his head. “There’s no reason for you to be,” he finally said, keeping his eyes on Hemmy digging a hole in the grass outside and specifically away from Pete. Believe me. Just believe me when I say I’m fine and leave it alone, he prayed, hoping that this would be one of the times Pete would know somehow what he was thinking before he even thought it. Please please please…please just leave it alone.

Pete didn’t. “Isn’t there?” he said instead. Putting his hand on Patrick’s arm, he pulled up the sleeve of his long sleeved t-shirt enough so that the bandage around his wrist was visible. “Those bandages are telling me something different.”

Jerking his arm away, Patrick pushed his sleeve back down. “Saving that one up just to throw it in my face?”

“Jesus fuck, Patrick…of course not!” Pete ran a hand through his hair, his frustration quickly rising with his temper. If he wasn’t careful, he’d say something he didn’t mean all too quickly. And that would really drive him away, he thought, forcing himself to concentrate on what he was saying and not blurt out the first thing that popped into his head.

Finally, he said, “You’re my best friend. I’m worried about you, for fuck’s sake.” He put his hand back on Patrick’s arm. “Look, I know what Elisa did tore you up. I know that, how that feels. I practically turned into a zombie when Ash walked out. And you were in love with her, were gonna marry her. I get that.” He swallowed hard. “But you know what else I get? That you’re not telling me everything.”

Patrick forced himself to keep his rapidly growing panic from showing on his face. “What else is there to tell?” he managed to get out, his voice shaking just a little. He prayed desperately that Pete wouldn’t notice. “We had a fight and she left. End of story.”

“I don’t think so,” Pete insisted stubbornly. “There’s something else. Something you think is so terrible that it would change things between us if I knew. Am I right?” Taking Patrick’s silence for agreement, Pete continued on. “It wouldn’t. I’m telling you right now that it wouldn’t. Nothing could.” Pete moved just a little closer, his own hand sliding down Patrick’s arm until their fingers brushed together. “I love you, Trick. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

Patrick closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. This would. I know this would. God…please…I wish you meant it the way I want you to and not the way I know you do. He moved his hand away from Pete’s again; his friend’s innocent touches were becoming an all too real reminder of what he knew he could never have.

Of course, Pete noticed that as well. “Patrick? You keep moving away whenever I touch you.” A hurt note crept into his voice. “Is it me, then? Did I…did I do something?”

Cursing at himself under his breath, Patrick immediately shook his head. “It’s not you,” he said, making his voice as firm as he could. Pete’s self-esteem issues rivaled his own on a good day; on bad ones, they were worse than Patrick’s had ever been and had drove the bassist to hurt himself more than once. “I swear to you, Pete. You didn’t do anything.” Except be you and I can’t blame you for that, he thought. Not when that was why I fell in love with you.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Pete asked, his voice soft. “Why won’t you talk to me? We tell each other everything. Fuck, Patrick…you know shit about me that I hope to God my family never finds out.” There was another pause. “Whatever it is, I swear by everything holy that you can tell me. I want to help.” Pete reached out again, his hand hovering. “Please…please let me help you.”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Patrick forced himself to get up and move away from Pete, shaking his head the entire time. “No,” he said, choking on the word as he moved closer to the window, his arms wrapped around himself. “No. You can’t…you wouldn’t want to help with this.”

“How do you know?” Pete asked as he got up as well. “I can fucking well try if it’s for you.” An awful thought suddenly wormed its way into Pete’s head. “Are you sick? Is that it?”

Patrick turned just enough to look at him, suddenly very confused. “What?”

“Are you sick?” Pete repeated, his dark eyes wide with concern. “Did your doctor tell you something awful when you went home the last time?”

The faintest ghost of a smile appeared on Patrick’s face. Trust Pete to take that idea into his head so fast and for that to be the worst thing he could think of. “I’m not sick,” he said softly. At least, not in the way you’re thinking, he thought, his disgust rising in his throat. He forced himself to swallow it down. “I swear. I didn’t even see my doctor last time I went to Chicago. And even if I had and he had found something serious, I would tell you.”

Pete couldn’t help the sigh of pure relief that escaped him. “Okay, so you’re not sick.” Moving in front of him, Pete put a hand on the singer’s shoulder, his frown deepening when he felt Patrick’s collarbone. Too thin…way too thin, he couldn’t help thinking. He’s never been this thin, not in all the time I’ve known him. “But you’re gonna be if you keep this not eating shit up. You know that, right?”

Patrick immediately became defensive again. “I eat,” he muttered.

“Not that I’ve seen in the past week,” Pete countered. “Or the past couple months. Not since you came back from that last break.” A murderous look suddenly appeared on Pete’s face. “What did that fucking bitch say to you?”

Shaking his head, Patrick moved away from Pete’s hand. Any more touching, and he’d end up throwing himself into Pete’s arms and not letting go. And I can’t. I can’t. He’s not mine. Not in that way. He can’t ever be mine that way. “Nothing. She didn’t say anything.”

“You’re lying again. You don’t look at me when you’re lie, did you know that? That’s how I can always tell.” Pete moved in front of him, stopping Patrick in his tracks. “Whatever she told you, whatever names she called you – they’re all fucking lies.” Reaching out, he tilted Patrick’s face around until their eyes met. “She didn’t deserve you.”

Feeling his heart clench, Patrick forced himself to look away. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured. “You don’t. I hurt her.”

Pete shook his head even more emphatically. “Now I know that’s a crock. You couldn’t. I know you couldn’t.” There was a pause. “You’ve got a good heart, Patrick. You always have.” God, please believe me. Believe me and not whatever she told you. Please…Patrick…sweetheart…you have to believe me.

Patrick bit his lip, stifling the sob that threatened to come out. God help me, he still thinks that way about me, he thought. Would you still think that way if you knew? He wrapped his arms around himself, knowing the answer.

Dark eyes wide, Pete immediately put an arm around Patrick’s shoulder and steered him back over to the couch. “Sit. Before you fall into something.” He pushed Patrick down before sitting back down next to him. He took one look at Patrick’s too pale, too thin face and immediately pulled him into his arms. “It’s all right,” he murmured, smoothing the singer’s disheveled red hair back into place. “Shh, now. It’s gonna be okay.” Patrick was still hugging himself, his face pressed awkwardly against Pete’s neck thanks to his glasses and shaking so hard that Pete was afraid he’d fall apart right then and there. Anxiety attack, the bassist belatedly realized, remembering his own spectacular ones over the years. It was obvious that whatever he was taking wasn’t working considering how violently he was trembling and the sobbing catches of breath that escaped him from time to time. A bad reaction maybe? He’s been on the stuff for about a week now, though…wouldn’t we have seen something by now? Unless whatever else he’s on hides things. Tightening his hold on the man in his arms, Pete kept mumbling words of comfort, doing anything he could to try and calm Patrick down.

Finally, the shuddering stopped and Patrick’s breathing evened out, becoming quiet. “Back with me?” Pete asked softly, his hands rubbing circles into Patrick’s shoulder blades.

“Yeah. Think so,” Patrick murmured, sniffling. “Sorry. I just…I don’t know what happened.”

“Anxiety attack,” Pete explained as he continued to rub. “I used to get some pretty spectacular ones before I got my meds under control.” Pete brushed a kiss against Patrick’s hairline. “And nothing to be sorry for, either.”

Patrick froze the moment he felt Pete’s lips against his temple, his breath catching in his throat. No, he thought, his panic returning as that one word echoed in his head. No no no no don’t…please… “Please don’t,” he managed to get out as he rose from the couch and headed back toward the window, getting as far away from Pete as he possibly could. “Just…don’t. You don’t have to.” He turned away, hiding the tears that had suddenly sprung into his eyes. “I’m fine. You don’t…I mean…I’m fine.”

It was those two little words that did it, the blatant lie said yet again when Patrick so clearly wasn’t set off Pete’s temper like nothing ever had. “You’re not fine!” he yelled, standing up as well. Stalking over to Patrick, he took the other man’s shoulders and shook him hard. “This is not fucking fine! Stop lying to me, damn it!”

Patrick knocked Pete’s hands away, his own temper up. “What the fuck do you want to hear?” he yelled back, glaring at the other man and wishing right then that he was anywhere else than where he was.

“The truth,” Pete bit out, matching Patrick’s glare with one of his own. “That’s what I want. The fucking truth for once, because you’ve been lying to me ever since you first woke up that night in the hospital!” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down a little. “Patrick…for God sakes, whatever it is…it can’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“Can’t it?” Patrick countered, a hysterical little giggle escaping him. He shook his head, the tears he had been fighting for so long finally escaping. “It can. It’s even worse. You don’t want to know how worse…”

“Yes, I do,” Pete said, coming to stand in front of the singer again. “I want to know. I want you to tell me every little bit of it, because God knows I want to help but I can’t if I don’t know what the fuck is going on!”

Patrick kept shaking his head in denial. “No…you don’t want to know this. You can’t…you wouldn’t…”

“What I want is for you to talk to me!”

“No, you don’t!” Patrick yelled back, suddenly too exhausted and too heartsick to watch what he was saying. “You don’t want that! You don’t want…” He clamped his mouth shut on the last word, but it’s already too late. By the look of stunned shock on Pete’s face, he knew he had said too much.

Patrick turned away, mentally berating himself for his slip of the tongue and not wanting to see the disgust, the hurt, the revulsion that he knew would be on Pete’s face. Stupid. How could he be so stupid, letting Pete talk him into coming here in the first place? To be around his best friend all the time and not expect his secret to come out eventually? How could he be such an idiot?

Any minute now. He’ll start yelling again, calling me sick and twisted, telling me he doesn’t think of me like that, that he never did and then he’ll toss me out on my ass. Or he’ll be kind. It’ll be kindness and pity and how sorry he is but he doesn’t want me like that and it would be better for both of us if I just left. Patrick closed his eyes, steeling himself against the harsh words that he knew were about to come. Any minute now.

But the minutes passed and Pete didn’t say a word.

When the silence continued, Patrick turned to face him, momentarily stunned by the shocked look still on Pete’s face. “Say something,” he said, unable to take the silence any longer.

Shock turned to confusion. “Like what?”

“Anything!” Suddenly exhausted, Patrick sagged into a nearby chair, cupping his aching head in his hands. “Scream at me. Tell me I’m a fucking idiot for feeling like this. Anything. Just…just say something and get it over with.”

Pete stared at him, the meaning of what Patrick was saying sinking in. He thinks I’m going to kick him out on his ass, he realized. But why? Why would he think that? Doesn’t he know? Christ knows I’ve told him enough times in enough ways over the years. How could he ever think that I don’t love him…want him…after everything? “How do you know?” he finally asked out loud.

Patrick lifted his head up and Pete’s heart twisted hard in his chest when he saw fresh tears streaking his cheeks. “What?”

“How do you know what I want?” Pete asked again as he moved to stand in front of Patrick’s chair. “Did you ask me?” Without waiting for an answer, Pete knelt down in front of him and carefully put his hands over Patrick’s. Taking a deep breath, he threw caution to the winds and let the secret he had been keeping for so long come out. “Maybe…maybe I’ve wanted something like this for a long time.”

To Pete’s surprise, Patrick shook his head and tried to pull his hands away. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded, a sob catching in his throat. “Please, Pete…please don’t fuck with me like this.”

“I’m not,” Pete denied immediately. “I swear to God I’m not.” He tightened his hold on Patrick’s fingers. “I thought you knew.” At Patrick’s blank stare, Pete went on. “I love you. I always have.”

Sniffling, Patrick slid a hand under his glasses to swipe at his eyes. “I know you do,” he said, his voice sounding small and sad. “You tell me all the time.” He sighed. “You tell everyone all the time.”

Pete frowned, about to ask what the problem was when he suddenly realized. “No, not like that,” he said, giving Patrick’s fingers a squeeze for emphasis. “Not how I always say it.” Leaning up, he cupped Patrick’s cheek with one hand, angling the singer’s head up enough for their eyes to meet. “I mean I love you.” With that, he drew Patrick into a kiss.

It wasn’t perfect; their noses bumped together and Pete could feel the Patrick’s glasses pressing hard against his cheek. In spite of that he found himself sinking into the kiss, losing himself in the feel of soft lips pressed against his, his heart pounding hard in his chest as he reached up. He wanted so badly to pull Patrick deeper into the kiss, into his arms, into his heart…

Suddenly he was shoved away so hard that he ended up flat on his back on the floor with Patrick standing over him. “I don’t want your fucking pity,” he spat out, angrier than Pete had ever seen him before.

“It’s not fucking pity!” Pete yelled back as he scrambled to his feet. “You know God damn well it’s not. I’ve been in love with you for fucking years.”

Patrick stared at him, eyes wide. “You…what?” He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Pete repeated, his own eyes going wide. “Why no? Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because…because you’re…you’re you,” Patrick stammered. “What about Jeanae? And Ashlee? For fucks sake, I was best man at your wedding!”

Pete grimaced. “And that turned out really well,” he returned. “Why do you think she left? Not only was I fucked up seventeen different ways, she knew how I felt about you, how deep it went.” He paused, swallowing hard. “She tried, but finally she couldn’t deal with it any longer. So she left.”

Like Elisa, Patrick thought, his heart skipping a beat. Just like Elisa. Oh, God… “You didn’t tell me,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because ten minutes after we met up again you mentioned Elisa,” Pete said, slowly coming closer. “And you looked so happy, so in love…I knew you’d never look at me like that. Not after everything I did.” Pete wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly looking lost. “Out of everyone, I hurt you the longest and the worst.”

“We hurt each other,” Patrick said softly. “We both needed the time away. We would’ve strangled each other if we hadn’t.” He closed his eyes. “I missed you, though. I missed you so much. Every day.”

“I missed you, too. More than anything,” Pete confessed. “And when I finally got you back, I didn’t want to do anything that would fuck things up.” There was a pause. “Mentioning to you how I felt would’ve.”

Patrick opened his eyes, seeing the honest, naked longing on the other man’s face. “God, Pete…all this time…I thought you were just playing up to the fans,” he said. “I didn’t think…you were always doing something crazy…screwing around…”

“Sometimes it was,” Pete admitted softly. “But most of the time it wasn’t. And I swear to God I’m not screwing around now.” He moved even closer, stopping directly in front of the redhead. “Patrick…please…tell me what you want?”

Patrick continued to stare at Pete, who was now standing in front of him almost nose to nose. “What I want?” he repeated, not sure he could believe what he was hearing.

Pete nodded. “You know what I want, how I feel,” he said softly. Reaching out, he brushed a finger along Patrick’s cheek, his heart lifting a little when the singer leaned into the touch. “But if you don’t…if you don’t want this, if you don’t want me…I’ll stop.” He continued on, every word he said like a knife to his heart. “I’ll stop the best way I can and we’ll just be like we’ve always been – band mates and writing partners and best friends and that’s it. I’ll never mention anything else ever again.” Pete paused, letting his hand fall as he waited for Patrick to make the next move. “Just look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, don’t want this.”

Patrick was silent for a long moment, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I can’t,” he finally breathed, his voice shaking. “I can’t. I don’t want to. I love you. Pete…please…” He didn’t get to finish; Pete’s lips crashed against his as the bassist pushed him against the wall and kissed the breath out of him. Wrapping his arms around Pete’s neck, Patrick returned the kiss with everything he had.

Perfect. So perfect, Pete thought over and over as he lightly traced over Patrick’s bottom lip with his tongue, delighting in the gasp that escaped the singer as he deepened the kiss. He tightened his arms around Patrick’s shaking frame, holding him steady as he slid a hand up the singer’s back. I’ve got you, baby…never letting you go…not ever. Love you…love you so much…

Patrick’s own hands dug into Pete’s shoulder blades, pulling his body even closer. A muffled groan escaped him when he felt the bassist’s erection rub against his. Don’t let go, he thought, relishing the feel of those hands sliding up his back. So good…love you so much…just don’t let me go.

Pete began trailing kisses along Patrick’s neck and up toward his ear. “Patrick? Let me take you upstairs?” he asked as he nuzzled Patrick’s hair, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Want to love on you, baby. Let me? Please?”

Shivering, Patrick nodded, gasping when he felt Pete’s tongue delicately trace along his earlobe. “Upstairs,” he managed to get out, pulling away enough to slowly begin making his way toward the stairs. “And a bed. Our first time together is not going to be sprawled out on the living room floor.”

“How about our second time?” Pete teased in between kisses. “Or our third? Or maybe our forty-seventh?” Taking Patrick’s hand, he gently tugged him back into his arms. “I’m just saying I’ve got a pretty sweet fireplace in the living room with a nice fluffy rug in front of it and everything. I’d love to spread you out in front of it one day.”

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red. “One day,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss. “Not now.”

“Well of course not now,” Pete agreed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s something I have to plan out. And I’ll be honest with you, Pattycakes, I’m not capable of planning anything beyond getting you up those stairs right now.”

“One foot in front of the other,” Patrick said with a smile as they headed up. “And try not to trip.”

Once they were in Pete’s bedroom and the door was safely closed behind them, Patrick pulled the bassist back into his arms, about to start kissing him again when Pete stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. There’s something I need to do first.” Grinning, he reached up and slowly slid Patrick’s glasses off his nose. “There. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Patrick couldn’t help giggling. “You’re ridiculous,” he said as he took them from Pete and put them on the nightstand.

“So I guess it’s a good thing you like ridiculous, huh?” Pete asked as he drew Patrick back into his arms.

Patrick smiled as he wrapped his own arms around Pete’s waist. “I love ridiculous,” he said softly before being drawn into another kiss.

They sat down on the edge of the bed, trading kisses back and forth as their hands wandered. Patrick tugged on the hem of Pete’s t-shirt before sliding a hand under it. “Can you…would you…” he asked.

“Definitely,” Pete said, smiling as he let go of Patrick long enough to take off his t-shirt and toss it to the floor. Sliding his hands down Patrick’s arms, he moved to the front of his shirt, fingering the hem. “Your turn?”

To Pete’s surprise, Patrick put his hands over his, panic flashing in his eyes. “No…don’t,” He stammered, ducking his head. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Pete murmured as he brushed a kiss against Patrick’s temple. “It’s okay. You want to stop?” When Patrick shook his head Pete gave him another kiss. “Then tell me what’s wrong?”

Patrick was silent for a long moment before his head fell onto Pete’s bare shoulder and a heavy sigh escaped him. “It’s just…I mean…I’m not like you.”

“And thank fuck for that,” Pete said, grinning as he squeezed his shoulder with his free hand. “Trust me, babe, the absolute last thing this world needs is another me.”

A wan smile crossed Patrick’s face even as he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Pete’s grin changed to a tender smile. “I know what you meant,” he said softly. Angling Patrick’s chin up, Pete gave him another lingering kiss. “And I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red again. “Are you sure you don’t need to borrow my glasses?” he asked, half joking.

Pete shook his head, giving the singer another kiss for emphasis. “My eyesight is perfect and so are you.” At the dubious look on Patrick’s face, Pete continued. “Patrick…baby…you’re beautiful. I always thought you were.” He began brushing kisses along his cheek and down his neck, nuzzling his ear for emphasis. “Let me show you?”

Shivering, Patrick finally nodded and let his hand fall away from Pete’s. Pete slowly slid the shirt upward and over his head, finally tossing it over his shoulder to land somewhere near his. “God, look at you,” he breathed, his voice full of wonder as he slowly slid his hands up Patrick’s bare arms. “You’re so….” He didn’t finish, giving Patrick yet another lingering kiss instead.

Without breaking the kiss, they laid down on the bed facing each other. “It’s okay,” Pete murmured in between kisses as Patrick’s hands hovered over his chest. “You can touch wherever you want. You can’t do anything wrong.” He sighed as Patrick’s fingertips began tracing the necklace of thorns tattoo. “That’s it, sweetheart. God, I love your hands.”

“This is okay?” Patrick found himself asking, his fingertips tingling as he traced the dark lines decorating Pete’s skin. “You’re sure?”

“Definitely better than okay,” Pete corrected, stealing another kiss. Hearing the note of doubt in Patrick’s voice however, brought up questions. “Haven’t you ever…you know…with another guy?”

Patrick shook his head, focusing on the tattoo he was caressing. “Never wanted to before you,” he confessed, looking up. He reached up to brush his fingers over Pete’s cheek, blushing when Pete turned his head enough to kiss his fingertips. “Have you…” He stopped, biting his lips shut as he mentally kicked himself. Stupid. Of course he has, you idiot. You’ve seen him. Memories flooded through his mind – memories from their van days of pretty, skinny Goth girls and fey boys wearing too much eyeliner clamoring for Pete’s attention. Memories of Pete disappearing right after a show and not showing up again until noon the next day with bite marks on his neck and a grin on his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t…it’s none of my business,” he apologized.

To his surprise, Pete shook his head. “No, it’s okay. You can ask me anything. And you should know.” He paused, considering his words carefully. “One steady boyfriend in high school for a little over a year and a half. We broke up after graduation.” At Patrick’s puzzled frown he explained. “He was accepted to Berkley and I was staying in Chicago. Both of us decided that a long distance relationship wasn’t going to work in the long run, so we parted friends. He’s still out there last I heard…married his college roommate and everything.” He paused. “In college I was dating both, but nothing really serious. Between school and music, I didn’t have a lot of time for anything else. And when we started touring with the band, I didn’t have time for even that. It was a lot of one night stands with quickie hand jobs or blow jobs.” He paused. “And you know the rest.”

Patrick nodded, remembering Jeanae and Ashlee and Mikey among others. “There hasn’t been…I mean…I haven’t…” His cheeks turned bright red and he couldn’t finish.

“I know,” Pete said softly, brushing a finger along Patrick’s cheek. “Just…you should know…whatever I did? I always played safe.” The tone of his voice was serious. “And I promise you, I’m clean. I get tested every six months no matter what. Although lately with the tour and all, it’s just been me and my right hand.” He wiggled his fingers in front of Patrick’s nose for emphasis.

Patrick couldn’t help smiling at that. “Me, too. And honestly? Not much of that.”

“Enough,” Pete said, suddenly grinning. “My bunk was under yours on the bus, remember? I used to hear you.”

Patrick buried his face in Pete’s shoulder. “No, you didn’t,” he denied. “I was quiet. Or I tried to be.”

“You weren’t quiet enough. Trust me on that one,” Pete teased. “I loved listening to you and it was pure torture at the same time. All I wanted to do was crawl into your bunk and help you out.”

A mental image of Pete climbing into the bus’ bunk and wrapping a hand around his cock sprang to mind and Patrick was suddenly achingly hard. “Oh, God,” he muttered, his cheeks burning. “A part of me is surprised you never did, to be honest.”

“Wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed and I didn’t want to just barge in and put my hands on your dick without talking to you first.” Pete nuzzled Patrick’s bright hair. “It used to drive me crazy, though. You let out this shaky little breath right before you come. It undid me every fucking time.” He kissed the singer’s cheek. “I can’t wait to bring it out of you.”

“God, I want you to,” Patrick found himself confessing. “I’d think about you whenever I did it. Dream about what you’d do to me, what you’d let me do to you.”

Pete let out a needy little moan and put a hand on his own crotch, adjusting himself in his tight pants. “Fuck,” he muttered before nipping at Patrick’s earlobe, drawing a gasp out of the other man in response. “Anything. You know that right? I’d let you do anything pretty much.”

“I would, too. Anything you wanted, ” Patrick answered. There was a pause. “I trust you.”

Cupping Patrick’s face in his hands, Pete drew him into another kiss. “God, you are fucking amazing,” he murmured. “I love you so much.” He began scattering kisses along Patrick’s cheeks, over his chin, on the tip of his nose. “Tell me…I want this right for you. Tell me how.”

“Idiot,” Patrick pronounced in between kisses. “It already is, just like this.” He tightened his hold on Pete, fingers digging into the tattoos on his arms. “Just…just don’t let go.”

“Never,” Pete promised. “I’ve got you now. You just hang on and I’ll take care of everything.” He suddenly paused. “You okay with that?”

Patrick frowned a little, suddenly confused. “With what? You doing things? I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Not just that. With all of it.” Seeing the look on Patrick’s face, he continued. “You know. Been there, done that, souvenir t-shirt is in the laundry.”

A fond smile appeared on Patrick’s face. “Honestly? I’m kinda glad one of us knows what he’s doing.”

Concern turned to surprise. “I wouldn’t go that far.” They both started laughing.

When the laughter finally died down, Pete brushed his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “We’ll go slow, okay? As slow as you want. And if I do something you don’t like or you want to stop for any reason, say so and I will. Okay?”

Patrick nodded, mirroring Pete’s gesture with his own. “You, too.”

Pete nodded. “Babe, there’s a pretty good chance you couldn’t do anything I wouldn’t like, but okay.”

Patrick suddenly looked doubtful. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, remember?” he said, his voice soft. “And this…it should be right for you, too.”

“Like you said, it already is.” Pete punctuated his words with another kiss. “Just having you here…holding you like this, being able to kiss you…it’s more than I ever hoped for. More than I ever dreamed of.” His voice softened. “I never thought I’d get a chance to love you like this.”

“Neither did I.” Patrick’s voice was soft as well. “I thought…I honestly thought you’d hate me if you ever found out.” He suddenly buried his face in Pete’s shoulder. “Couldn’t stand it if you hated me again after everything.”

“I wouldn’t. And I never did. Not really,” Pete whispered, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek on Patrick’s red hair. They had never really talked about this; the burnout, the rage on both sides, the drama between the two of them that had brought on the hiatus in the first place. “Everything was so fucked up back then. Between “Folie” and the constant touring, my marriage and your break-up with Anna. Not to mention my unmedicated, fucked up head.” He paused for a long moment before sighing. “But I never hated you. Love you too much to hate you.”

Reaching out, Patrick found one of Pete’s hands and twined their fingers together. “I love you, too.”

They held each other like that for several long moments until they both realized that they were not only lying in each other’s arms half naked, but they were both still fairly aroused. “So…enough emotional shit for the time being?” Patrick asked as he drew away enough to look at Pete, smiling a little. “Weren’t you going to show me a good time?”

“Was planning to,” Pete said with a smile of his own. “If you still want? I can just hold you.”

Patrick shook his head. “Want more than that.” He pressed himself against Pete and both men gasped as their still clothed erections rubbed together. “And so do you. I can feel.”

“God, more than anything.” Tightening his hold on Patrick, Pete gently pushed until the singer was flat on his back. “Okay like this?”

“Yes.” Patrick sighed as Pete began trailing kisses down his neck and along his collarbone. “Oh…yes…Pete…”

“Just relax,” Pete murmured in between kisses. “Always wanted to do this…kiss you all over…show you how fucking perfect you are…”

Patrick flushed. “Not,” he gasped as Pete moved down his chest, moaning as the other man left kisses, licks and little nipping bites in his wake. “Not perfect by a long shot.”

“I think you are.” Pete’s hands paused at the waistband of Patrick’s jeans. “Can I take these off you?”

Patrick put a hand over Pete’s. “Only if yours go, too,” he said. “I’m not going to be the only one naked here.” His other hand began fumbling for Pete’s zipper. “And I want to see you.”

Squeezing his fingers, Pete drew away long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes. “You’ve seen me naked,” he teased as he lay back down.

Patrick shook his head, his eyes drifting down to Pete’s erection. “Not like this.” For emphasis, he pulled the bassist into yet another kiss.

Undoing Patrick’s jeans, Pete slowly pushed them off of his hips and down his legs, leaning down enough to brush a kiss right above the singer’s belly button. “So beautiful,” he breathed, running a finger over Patrick’s trapped erection, grinning when he gasped and it strained the fabric of his underwear even further. “These, too?” He waited for Patrick’s jerky nod before pulling them off with one smooth yank. “God, look at you,” he breathed, his hand hovering at the edge of Patrick’s copper colored curls.

Patrick let out a self-conscious little chuckle in response. “Rather look at you.” He began pulling at the sheet trapped under him, wanting to cover up the flaws he knew were there.

Pete gently took his hands and moved them away, being careful of the bandages still encircling the singer’s wrists. “Hey, none of that. I want to see you, too.”

“Nothing…nothing good to see,” Patrick closed his eyes; he could just imagine the disgust on Pete’s face when the bassist actually got a good look at him. “Gained some of the weight back…stretch marks…too pale…”

“Hey.” Feeling a kiss on his nose, Patrick opened his eyes to see Pete frowning down at him. “Don’t talk like that, okay?” Pete softened the rebuke with another kiss. “You’re beautiful to me. I know you don’t think you are, but I do.” Their eyes met. “Can I go back to showing you?”

Patrick nodded. “Anything, remember?”

“Just making sure.” Pete went back to kissing Patrick’s chest, drawing little whimpering sounds out of him when he licked the singer’s nipples erect. “Like that?”

“God, yes,” Patrick breathed, one hand digging into the sheets while the other tangled in Pete’s hair. He moved it away almost immediately when he realized what he was doing. “Sorry.”

“Shh.” Taking his hand, Pete kissed his fingertips before putting it back on his head. “It’s okay. You can pull. I kinda like it.” He slid his hands lower, finally resting them on Patrick’s hips. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Still okay.” A shudder ran through Patrick when he finally realized just where Pete was going and what he was probably going to do when he got there. “Pete…you don’t…if you don’t want…I mean…you don’t have to,” he stammered, looking down.

Pete looked up and grinned. “I know I don’t. I want to.” With that, he slowly slid his mouth over the head of Patrick’s cock.

Throwing his head back against the pillows, Patrick let out a low, throaty groan as he was surrounded by wet, velvet heat. “God, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he gasped, lifting his head up enough to watch as Pete slowly swallowed him down. “God…Oh, God…that’s good. So good.” A cry escaped his as Pete’s tongue caressed the tip, licking away the fluid leaking out. “Fuck…Pete, please…God…please…”

That’s it, baby, Pete thought as he sucked, Patrick’s moans and sighs fueling his own arousal. He slid his mouth back down, letting Patrick’s cock nudge the back of his throat before backing off. That’s it. I’ve got you. Let it go for me. He let out a muffled moan of his own as the singer’s fingers tightened in his hair. Little more, baby. Let me taste you.

He felt a sharp tug on his hair a moment later. “Pete…I’m gonna…” Patrick warned, his voice shaking. “I can’t…”

Don’t, Pete thought, glancing up at Patrick’s flushed face. Don’t hold it back. Give me everything. He sucked harder, putting everything he had into drawing out Patrick’s orgasm. I want it all.

He was rewarded a moment later when Patrick let out a keening little wail and came down his throat. Moaning as well, Pete held his hips still and drank him down, reveling in the salty sweet taste. Mine, he thought, joy bubbling in his heart like fine champagne. After all this time and all we’ve been through, finally all mine.

When Patrick was finally still, Pete slid his mouth off of his cock and gave the head a kiss before sliding up to take the singer back into his arms. “I got you, baby,” he murmured as Patrick buried his face in Pete’s shoulder. “You okay? Pattycakes?”

After a moment, Patrick nodded and swiped at his eyes. “Yeah.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah. It’s just…” He didn’t finish.

Pete understood. “Been a while?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, but not just how you mean.” Patrick looked up. “Elisa…she never liked doing that.” He paused, his eyes wide. “I still can’t believe you did it.”

Pushing away his anger at Elisa through sheer force of will, Pete rested his cheek against Patrick’s red hair. “Always wanted to,” he confessed softly. “Dreamed of it. Wondered how you would feel, how you would taste.” He looked down at Patrick, grinning. “You’re delicious.”

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, smiling as well as he drew away enough to look up. “And that was wonderful. Thank you.” He glanced down at Pete’s erection, which was pressed against his thigh. “You didn’t?”

Pete shook his head. “I didn’t,” he said, brushing a kiss along Patrick’s cheek. “That was for you.”

Patrick considered that for a moment. “Then…can I do something for you?” He looked down again. “I don’t know if I can give as good as I got, but I can try.”

Pete shook his head, putting a hand over Patrick’s. “Maybe another time? I know you’d be fantastic with that mouth of yours, but I’m a little too close.” He brushed his lips against Patrick’s in a light, teasing kiss. “Something like that, especially if you’re doing it? It deserves to be savored.” He suddenly chuckled, nuzzling Patrick’s ear. “You’re cute when your ears get all red.”

“Still being ridiculous,” Patrick huffed, his hand wandering down Pete’s stomach. He traced the bat heart tattoo with his fingertips. “If you don’t want that right now, then tell me what you do want?”

Pete sighed, arching into the touch. “Just…your hands,” he finally said. “Use your hands. Jerk me off.”

Moving closer, Patrick wrapped a hand around Pete’s cock and began to pump. “Like this?”

Pete let out a low moan as his eyes fluttered shut. “That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. God, I love your hands.” He stole another kiss. “Can’t wait to feel those hands other places.”

“Yours, too. All over.” Patrick gave him another lingering kiss. “Tell me what you’d do. What you want me to do.”

“Fuck, now you want story time?” Pete tried to gather his rapidly scattering thoughts. “Okay…um…definitely go down on you again. Maybe get things a little messy with some whipped cream and chocolate sauce.” He groaned. “How…how does that sound so far?”

“Good. Except for the chocolate part,” Patrick said, teasing him with another kiss.

“Oh…right. I forgot you’re not a big chocolate fan. Honey, then. Make you taste even sweeter.” Pete’s breath quickened as he went on. “I’d let you fuck me. Would you do that?”

Patrick’s eyes went wide and his own cock twitched. “You’d let me?” he repeated. “You want that?”

“From you? Definitely.” A moment later, Pete gasped and buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder, coming all over the singer’s milking fingers. “God…sweetheart…”

“Yeah,” Patrick murmured, nuzzling a kiss along Pete’s jawline. “Definitely.”

They held each other for a long moment before Pete drew away long enough to take Patrick’s hand in his and lick his come slick fingers clean. “Jesus, Pete,” Patrick muttered as he watched, his cock twitching again. “You keep doing that…”

“And you’ll be ready to go again?” Pete asked, chuckling. “That’s the general idea.”

Patrick rested his head on Pete’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can manage,” he replied softly. “The spirit is more than willing…”

“I know the rest.” Pete’s voice softened. “And I’m tired, too.” Reaching down, he pulled the comforter over them both before wrapping his arms around Patrick. “Okay?”

“Better than okay,” Patrick murmured as he did the same. “Just warning you, though…I might wake up and start flailing around like an octopus.”

Pete began sliding his hand up and down Patrick’s bare back. “Still having bad dreams?”

Wincing, Patrick nodded. “Yeah.”

Pete kissed his forehead, tightening his hold. “I’ll keep them away,” he promised softly. “Get some rest, baby.”

Patrick closed his eyes, the gentle back and forth of Pete’s hand lulling his even further. “Love you,” he slurred before dropping off, the last thing he heard being Pete’s voice telling him the same.

                                                                        ****

The next morning, Patrick awoke to a warm body pressed up against his back and someone softly snoring in his ear. Pete, he remembered, suddenly smiling. He was in Pete’s arms, in Pete’s bed and he had never felt safer or more cherished.

He loves me, he thought, still a little stunned by it all. He’s loved me for years and I never knew. He was as afraid to tell me as I was. That was a little hard to believe with how well they knew each other; Patrick had a difficult time imagining Pete afraid of anything.

Briefly he debated kissing him awake, but Patrick abandoned that idea just as quickly. He still doesn’t sleep as much as he should. Let him be. He brushed a light kiss along Pete’s stubbled cheek. Plenty of time to play later.

Carefully sliding out of bed, Patrick picked up his scattered clothes and headed for the guest room. Shower, clean clothes, then go down and make coffee, he mused as he dumped his clothes on the neatly made bed. Glancing at his wrists, he began unwinding the bandages. And the stitches need to come out today, I think. The doctor said a week. I’ll ask Pete if he can take me to a clinic downtown or something. With that in mind, he headed into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, he was heading downstairs dressed in black jeans and his favorite blue shirt, rolling up the sleeves as he went. Hemmingway came running out of the kitchen to meet him at the bottom. “Hungry, Hemmy?” he asked as he leaned down to give the dog a pat. “Come on. I’ll feed you.”

After turning on the coffee maker, Patrick poured kibble into Hemmingway’s bowl. “Good dog,” he murmured, giving the bulldog another pat as he began to eat. Reaching up, he pulled two mugs out of the overhead cabinet, waiting for the pot to beep.

He had just poured out two mugs and put the pot back on its burner when a pair of arms slowly slid around his waist. “Thank God you made coffee,” Pete murmured as he pressed himself against Patrick’s back.

Patrick smiled as he put a hand over Pete’s. “Did I wake you? I was trying not to,” he said as he picked up a mug.

Pete shook his head as he took it out of Patrick’s hand and swallowed half of the contents in one gulp. “Rolled over and you weren’t there. Almost landed on my ass.” A lazy little smile suddenly crossed his face as he gazed at Patrick. “Hey you.”

Patrick’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Pete’s soft, husky voice. “Hey you,” he murmured as he let himself be pulled into a kiss.

When the kiss finally ended Patrick’s cheeks were pink and Pete had a delighted smile on his face. “Beautiful baby,” he said softly as he nuzzled the redhead’s ear, chuckling when Patrick’s cheeks grew even redder. “And you smell good, too.”

“Shower,” Patrick said as he finally took a sip of his own coffee.

Pete suddenly pouted. “I missed you naked and covered in soap?” he complained. “You definitely should’ve woken me up for that. I could’ve helped you wash all the places you can’t reach.”

“Which isn’t that much. And you wouldn’t have stopped there and you know it,” Patrick retorted with a smile. He squeezed Pete’s fingers in apology. “Another time?”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Pattycakes,” Pete promised as he finished his coffee. Putting the cup down, he gave Patrick another lingering kiss. “Mmm…I could kiss you all day.”

Patrick sighed. “I like the sound of that.”

Reaching around, Pete took Patrick’s cup out of his hands and put it on the counter. “So do I,” he whispered into Patrick’s ear. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Reluctantly, Patrick gave him another kiss and drew away. “Can’t,” he said, shaking his head. At Pete’s puzzled frown, the singer tapped at his bandaged wrist. “It’s been a week. I should get these out.”

Pete stared at the bandages for a long moment. “Oh.” He visibly shook himself, his hair going in all directions. “Yeah…okay. We should do that.” He gave Patrick a smacking kiss on the cheek before pulling away fully. “Is there more coffee?”

“Yeah.” Patrick refilled the bassist’s mug and handed it over, smiling when Pete downed that cup as well. “You’re cute all mussed up and half asleep,” he commented.

“And you’re cute all the time,” Pete said with a smile of his own. He sat down at the kitchen table. “So…doctor. You have a doctor here in LA?”

Patrick shook his head as he sat down next to him. “I was figuring maybe a clinic downtown?”

Frowning, Pete immediately shook his head. “Babe, you’ll be down there all day,” he said. “And the longer you’re down there, the more of a chance you have of getting recognized.” He brushed a finger over Patrick’s bandaged wrists. “And we’ve been pretty good about keeping this out of the press so far. Do you want to take the chance of this getting out now?”

Patrick immediately shook his head. “No. I didn’t think of that,” he admitted softly as he glanced down at his wrists. Idiot, he berated himself. Everyone’s done so much to protect you because you were so stupid. Use your head for once.

“Hey.” Pete’s soft voice caused him to look up. “None of that. Okay?”

Patrick feigned confusion. “None of what?”

Reaching over, Pete brushed a finger along Patrick’s cheek. “Beating yourself up,” he answered, the look on his face serious. “Putting yourself down. I don’t like it, remember?” There was a pause. “You’re not an idiot or stupid or any of the other names you’ve been calling yourself lately.” At the skeptical look on Patrick’s face, Pete continued, his voice soft. “Was I when I tried?”

“Of course not,” Patrick said immediately. “You were sick.”

“And so are you.” Pete grasped the singer’s fingers. “This…it fucks with your head, sweetheart. You’ve seen it.”

Patrick sighed. “Yeah.” He remembered how bad Pete had been when he had been self-medicating, how wildly his moods had swung back and forth. “You’re a lot better, you know.”

Pete wrinkled his nose. “Took me fucking long enough,” he said with a wry smile. “You will be, too. Once the meds start to kick in and everything. And I’ll help.” He caressed Patrick’s fingers with his thumb. “Whatever you need, baby.”

Patrick just sat there across from him, watching Pete’s thumb going over his fingers. “You shouldn’t worry so much,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

Pete suddenly frowned. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Not yet. But you will be. I’ll make sure of that.” He paused. “And I like worrying about you. You should have someone worrying about you all the time.”

Patrick’s cheeks turned bright red. “Better things for you to do,” he muttered, his voice so soft that Pete almost missed it.

He didn’t, though. “Only if by things you mean stuff like kissing you senseless,” he said, pulling the singer closer. “Because I can do that all fucking day.” For emphasis he brushed his lips against Patrick’s.

Sighing, Patrick moved even closer, letting Pete deepen the kiss. He dug his fingers into Pete’s T-shirt as their tongues tangled together, tasting coffee and something that was uniquely Pete. Love you, he thought, the words echoing in his head over and over again. Love you so much…Pete…

When Pete finally drew away, Patrick had a dazed expression on his face. “Much better look for you,” he said, patting Patrick’s cheek as he grinned. “I’ll have to do that all the time.”

Patrick blinked. “I’m okay with it if you are,” he finally said.

“Don’t say things like that unless you want me to drag you back upstairs,” Pete warned, the tone of his voice indicating that he was only half-joking.

Patrick considered that for a moment. “Maybe later?”

“Definitely later,” Pete promised, squeezing Patrick’s fingers before letting go. “So…doctor,” he said, getting back to the subject at hand. “Since you don’t have one here, want me to try calling mine? See if he has a cancellation or something?”

A relieved look crossed the redhead’s face. “Would you?”

“Absolutely,” he said, getting up to go to the cordless sitting on the counter nearby. He quickly punched in the number and put the receiver to his ear. “Hi, Allison, It’s Pete Wentz. How’re you doing today?” There was a pause. “Good, I’m glad. Listen…does Dr. James have any openings today?” Another pause. “No, it’s not for me. It’s for a friend. He needs stitches taken out.” He paused again to listen before looking up at Patrick. “11:30?” he asked. When Patrick nodded, he turned his attention back to the phone. “Yeah, 11:30 is fine. We can make it.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall to be sure; it was barely nine. “Tell him to bring his insurance card and ID,” he said and Patrick nodded again. “Okay, Allison. We’ll see you then. Thanks.” He hung up, smiling over at Patrick. “Okay, babe?”

A grateful look appeared on Patrick’s face. “Thank you,” he said softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Pete replied stubbornly. “I want to help. I need to be able to help you in whatever way I can. I’ll go crazy if I don’t.” Going back to stand behind Patrick’s chair, he leaned in and wrapped himself around the singer, pressing a kiss near his ear. “Please, sweetheart…please let me help you however I can.”

Closing his eyes, Patrick put his hands over Pete’s. “You’ve done so much already,” he protested. “You shouldn’t…”

“I shouldn’t what? Want to help the man I love get better?” Pete asked quietly. “I love you. And I hate seeing you like this.” He brushed a kiss along Patrick’s cheek. “You should always have a smile on your face.”

Patrick leaned into the touch. “It’s just…you have your own shit to deal with,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t have to deal with mine, too.” Closing his eyes, he let out a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here ruining things for you.”

That does it, Pete thought, his temper flaring to life. He was nipping this in the bud right the hell now. “You’re not ruining anything. Stop talking like that.” Sitting back down in front of Patrick, he gave the other man a tap on the nose. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me.”

Patrick did and Pete was stunned when he saw the bleak, hopeless expression looking back at him. He’s afraid still, he realized. Even after everything I said last night, he’s still afraid I’ll push him away. A determined look appeared on Pete’s face. No more. He shouldn’t look like that anymore.

Reaching out, he took Patrick’s hands in his again. “Okay, now I want you to listen to me for a bit, because I’m only going to say this once.” He waited until Patrick nodded before continuing. “You can stay here for as long as you need to.”

Patrick stared. “What?” he finally asked, his voice soft and small and sounding so sad that Pete felt his heart break. “But…”

“No buts,” Pete interrupted with a shake of his head. “I don’t care whether it’s for a day, a week, a month or a year. You can stay for as long as it takes for you to get your head back on straight and your feet back under you again.” He squeezed Patrick’s trembling fingers. “I mean…you’re better, Pattycakes, but with everything going on still in your head, I still don’t think you should be left alone.”

Patrick shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears. “No…Pete…I can’t,” he murmured, a lone tear sliding down his cheek. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking.” Gently Pete reached out to brush the tear away. “I’m basically telling you how it’s gonna be.” He paused, the look on his face pleading. “Please, baby. Please let me help you. I…I don’t…” He took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

Patrick was silent for a long moment before managing a wan, watery smile. “You always were a bossy bitch.”

Pete managed one as well. “You know it.”

Patrick clutched at Pete’s fingers. “You have to tell me if I’m getting on your nerves or pissing you off or anything,” he said. “We have to talk to each other. The hiatus…a lot of that was because we didn’t.” He paused. “I don’t want that happening again.”

“It won’t,” Pete said, quickly reassuring him. “It couldn’t. Things are so much better between us now. And we have this.” Bringing Patrick’s hands to his lips, he brushed a kiss across his fingers. “That won’t happen again. Not ever. Not as long as I have breath in my body.” He brushed the lightest of kisses against Patrick’s lips next. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Patrick breathed, resting his head on Pete’s t-shirted shoulder. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means.”

Pete buried a kiss in Patrick’s hair. “I think I’ve got an idea,” he murmured. “Whatever you need. I don’t care what it is. I want you to tell me. I don’t care if it’s a shoulder to cry on, a kick in the ass, me on my knees blowing you…”

That drew a spurt of laughter out of Patrick. “The last one? Not just now,” he said, smiling as he drew away. “Maybe later when you drag me back upstairs. Okay?”

“Definitely okay,” Pete said before he stole yet another kiss. “Want more coffee?”

Patrick glanced over at the cup still sitting on the counter. “Is there any left?”

“I’ll make more. And we should probably figure out breakfast before we leave.” Getting up, Pete went to the coffee pot. He eyed Patrick. “You should definitely eat something.”

Patrick was about to protest when he caught the look Pete was giving him and gave up. “Okay, I’ll eat something,” he said. “You should, too. You’re as bad as I am sometimes.”

“I haven’t lost another twenty pounds in the last couple weeks.” Measuring coffee into the filter, he switched it on. “Was there anything else you needed to do today?”

Patrick watched as Pete took both coffee mugs and rinsed them out. “If I’m staying in LA for a while I should look for a therapist.” There was a pause. “I really don’t want to, but I know I should to talk to someone about all this.”

A sympathetic look crossed Pete’s face. “Didn’t the hospital make you talk to someone before they released you?”

Patrick wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but I didn’t like him. He was creepy.”

That got Pete’s attention. “Creepy how? He didn’t try anything, did he?”

Patrick immediately shook his head. “Not that kind of creepy,” he quickly said in an attempt to reassure Pete. “It was…I think he kind of knew who I was but not exactly? He kept asking me about my friends and what parties I went to and what I was taking and how I should be honest with him if I wanted to get better.” He wrinkled his nose and continued. “I think he was trolling for stories to sell to the tabs.”

“Probably.” Pete was scowling. “Asshole.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t too happy when I wouldn’t tell him anything.” Patrick leaned back in his chair. “The only thing he did say that made any sense was that I should talk to someone, even if it’s just to keep track on how I’m doing on the medication.”

Pouring out two cups of coffee, Pete handed him one and sat back down. “Want to try mine?” he asked. “She’s good. Doesn’t put up with any bullshit.”

Patrick’s eyes went wide. “You see a therapist?” Pete nodded as he took a sip. “Since when?”

“Since right around the time Ashlee left,” he said. “I was pretty fucked up before then, but her leaving kinda pushed me off into the deep end.”

Patrick couldn’t help it. He stared at the bassist, stunned. “You never said anything,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “Why?”

Pete shrugged. “Never really came up. And it’s not something you just come out and announce out of the blue, you know?” There was a pause. “It’s not that I was hiding it or anything.”

“I know.” Patrick took a sip of his own coffee. “Was she the one who finally straightened out your meds?”

Pete nodded. “Yeah. And she keeps an eye on everything still to make sure it all keeps working and keeps me even.” He paused. “She talks, but she listens, too. And what she says makes you think, you know?” He smiled. “She’s really helped.”

Patrick nodded. “I can tell.” He smiled as well. “I’m glad she did. Before the break you were…” He stopped, trying to find words that wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t sting.

“A walking hot mess two seconds away from self-destructing?” Pete offered, still smiling. “It’s okay, babe. It’s the truth. At least, it was back then.”

“How often do you go see her?” Patrick asked as he took another sip of his coffee. He couldn’t help but be curious; it was side of his friend that he had never known about before.

“Once a week now. When I started, it was every Monday, Wednesday and Friday,” Pete said. “Now it’s just Fridays.”

Patrick frowned a little, thinking back. “But you didn’t this past Friday.”

“Phone session. She does them when we’re out on tour, too.” He paused. “Do you want me to call her? See if she has an opening for today?”

There was a long moment of silence. “I think…would you?” Patrick’s voice was soft. “Not that I wouldn’t talk to you…”

“But there are things that you’d tell her that you won’t tell me in a million years. Especially if they’re about me,” Pete finished as he got up again to go to the phone. “I know that. It’s the same for me.” He paused. “Doesn’t change how I feel about you. How much I trust you.”

Smiling, Patrick nodded. “I know that, too.” They shared a long look before Pete flashed a smile of his own and began to dial.

“Hey, Lindsey. It’s Pete Wentz. How are you?” He listened for a moment before grinning. “Great! I’m glad everything worked out for you with everything. Listen…does Dr. Anne have any openings for today?” There was a pause. “No, it’s not for me. It’s for a friend. Yeah, I can wait while you check.” He put his hand over the receiver. “She’s checking.”

Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “Never would’ve guessed.”

Pete stuck out his tongue at him, about to retort when he heard a voice on the other end. “Yeah, I’m still here. What have you got?” He listened for a moment. “Two?” He looked at Patrick, who nodded. “Two is fine. I’ll make sure he brings what he needs.” One more pause. “Thanks, Linds. See you then.” He hung up. “Okay?”

Patrick nodded. “Fine.” He paused. “So the regular doctor at 11:30 and the therapist at 2?”

Pete nodded as he sat back down again. “I figure we could do lunch somewhere downtown in between? They’re not far from each other and it’ll be easier than coming all the way back here.”

“That’s fine.” Patrick took another sip of his coffee. “And the rest? What I need to bring with me?”

“ID, insurance card, money for the copay, list of medications. The usual.” Pete drained his cup. He caught the worried look on Patrick’s face and leaned over to give him a gentle kiss. “It’s gonna be all right, sweetheart. Okay?”

Getting up, Patrick stepped into his arms, a warm feeling growing in his chest thanks to the endearment. “Okay.” He rested his head on Pete’s shoulder. “I hope so.”

“It will. Just you wait and see.” Pete buried a kiss in Patrick’s red hair as he tightened his arms around him. “I love you, you know.”

Patrick closed his eyes, relaxing in the embrace. “I know,” he murmured. “I love you, too.”

                                                                        *****