Chapter Text
As soon as Pete hit high-school he started to write everything onto his skin. Every Little thought he had printed on his skin in black scribbled ink. In return he got rough childish drawings of someone at least five years younger than him. It always managed to calm him. Something about knowing someone who would love him was out there brought him solace. In Pete’s eyes that person could do no wrong, would never let him down. It was never anything other than innocent. They were just two people who bonded with each other over the hard point in life. No details about themselves were shared. Pete knew nothing about his mate other than an estimated age and an unbreakable connection. As they aged together his mate would ask him homework questions. Or they'd talk about drama in school. By the end of the day their arms would be littered with shity handwriting in two different colours. Their right arms would be a lot messier due to both working around Pete's tattoos and the two being right handed. (When someone got tattoos the other would see them to start and as they fade into their skin it would disappear from the other person.)
It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts so when his mate stopped responding he was okay with it. He let it happen without nagging that person to much. Yes he'd update them on his life but it was all okay to him. He knew he'd meet that person someday. He knew it would all end up okay, Even if now was a little sour due to his own bipolar problems. He got absorbed in his new world of fame and his new best friend, Patrick and let the notion of love set it self aside of his future. He could wait. They were two people traveling on to different lines with the same destination.
Though as he grew into his fame he started to feel lonely, the fame had gotten to him and he has started to realise how badly he missed his soulmate. At this moment, Pete was having a rather hysteric episode, scratching black ink into his arms, watching as his tears fell around him. He had written “Where are you? I need you, Please.”
A few minutes go by, and he mockingly stared at his skin, hating whoever sat on the other end of his fate. Whoever they were, they had abandoned him years ago. Before he had become he attained celebrity status had beco, me a celebrity, with his four best friends.
He was in the bathroom, in some party in tears on the floor. He knew he shouldn't have left Chicago. But, according to the bands manager, accepting invitations was “only polite.”
The next memory he had was a familiar figure helping him off the floor, calming him down. He took him into the car, put Pete in their lap, and helped him to relax. Patrick was his saving grace, the one person who he could count on. When everything around him was unstable all he could rely on was Patrick, especially during these little moments.
“They left me. The one person who was born to love me can’t stand me. What is wrong with me,” Pete whispered, letting himself lean on Patrick.
Patrick just shushed him and held him closer. Pete knew he was a melodramatic, he knew this was unfair to Patrick. How was he supposed to fix this? This was a Pete problem, not a Patrick problem. How could someone just abandon another like this? Could they have died? He didn’t know anymore.
҉╠₪ ₪╣҉
Patrick soon got Pete lulled to sleep. The singer got into the driver seat, to the hotel, and got Pete on a bed inside. He took his own jacket, fetching a warm cloth from the restroom. With a sense of grace, the man cleaned his friend’s face, moving to Pete’s arms to clean the pen ink and watched as ink faded from his own.
Patrick had known he was the others soulmate for years, since they met. Warm basements, loss of jackets, lead to a bit of a reveal like that. But Patrick made sure that Pete never saw his arms, for reasons Pete would never truly know. Blowing them off as insecurities would do, though.
Patrick just didn’t want his friend knowing. Patrick was straight. Yes, he loved Pete, but he didn’t want that sort of life for himself. He wanted to be with some chick, and have some form of normalcy to a life that had nothing in that area. As a kid, he always imagined the individual he was comforting was a pretty, teenage girl, going through momentary distress. As he met Pete, he found himself questioning why this person, of all people, was his fate. He was well...a guy, first of all. Secondly, this poor emo boy was an absolute mess. Pete seemed to be...attached to him, reliant. Patrick didn’t want his life to be that of servitude.So, his resolve? Keep it from him. Pete didn’t need to know, hundreds of people already lived without knowing who they were destined for.
Patrick snapped himself out of his head. He pulled the blankets up to Pete and tucked him in, before returning to his own room. He fell to his bed, and reflected on what he was doing to his best friend for the upteenth time. He saw the effects of this crude torture every day. Everytime Pete had another panic attack, he would see it on his arm. The aftermath would be displayed on Pete - Mood, his disposition. How could he fix this, anyways?
“Oh yeah, I’ve been lying to you for five years. I’m your actual soulmate.”
Yeah, no, he couldn’t do that. He was in between a rock and a hard place.