Chapter Text
I was lying in my hotel bed and crying silently.
'I got troubled thoughts...' a voice sang into my ear, being familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Actually it was my voice. It always had sounded terrible to me, but when I listened to a record, it was quite okay I guess.
But it wasn't the voice making me uncomfortable when I listened to this record, it was the circumstances.
My best friend, Pete, had written this song for me...my best friend lying in the room next to me, probably fast asleep. Hardly surprising, it was far past midnight.
My thoughts came back to the album, Folie à Deux, and everything happening behind the scenes back then. We always had to act the band that was still living their dream. When in reality, nothing was like a dream. We kept bugging each other until everything lead to our hiatus. This was already around seven years ago. Eight years ago Pete wrote this song. He wanted me to feel better. He knew about my problems with my self esteem. Eight years later and so much has changed. I became much more confident, that was true. Much more confident with my person and also with my job. Don't get me wrong, I always would have died for music. But back then being famous wasn't easy for me.
I thought about Pete, about how much he would do for me. I would do nearly anything for him, that was clear. But I kept wondering if he felt the same.
I turned my head and looked outside. I had a great view over New York, where we would play a show on Wintour tomorrow. It was completely dark inside and my hotel room was very high, so I could see a part of New York's skyline. I always had liked this city, but Chicago will forever be my favorite.
Suddenly I saw a beam of light from the corner of my eye. I quickly wiped away my tears and then turned my head.
Pete was standing in the door and looked like a five-year-old who wanted to crawl into his parent's bed because he was terrified of monsters under his bed.
"Wait", I said and paused my music. It was already 2am, I saw when I pressed pause.
"Can you switch on the bedside lamp or something? I don't wanna trip over you", Pete said still standing half in my room and half in the hallway.
I sighed mentally. The light coming from outside was already too much for my eyes. Adding up with my poor eyesight I only recognized Pete's outline because I knew him so well. But I never had been selfish, one of the few good sides I had.
"Sure", I said and turned over to switch on the small light.
Pete went over to me and sit down on the opposite edge of the bed. I once again turned around and grabbed my glasses.
"Everything alright?", I asked him because he really looked like a five-year-old now. Sitting there in an old shirt and boxershorts. He kept sleeping in those old shirts for some reason. I would have thrown them away long ago, but somehow he didn't want to spend money on new ones.
"Yeah sure", he mumbled, "I just had no peace of mind." Same goes for me, I thought. I wanted to ask him if the only thing that came to his mind was looking whether I was awake, but there wasn't an atmosphere for joking.
But Pete looked at me in concern.
"What?", I asked confused.
"Did you cry?", he asked but his voice sounded like he was already sure that I did.
"Nah, I just lied in complete darkness for a while", I said knowing that I didn't sound convincing at all.
"Yeah and I am Santa", he said sarcastic, "what's wrong, Patrick?"
He only called me Patrick in public or when something was really important. Otherwise he had a series of nicknames, most of them terrible.
"Nothing, everything fine", I gave it another try. We had talked about my lack of confidence so often, I didn't want to annoy him with this again.
Pete crawled next to me and pulled me into a hug. It felt so good right now. I didn't know why though. Fans keep telling me my hugs are the best but to be honest Pete's are way better. But maybe they're just for me. The warmth of his body made me feel better at once. And also the fact that it was my best friend holding me tight. Whom I could trust, for sure. I broke the hug again.
"Fine", I sighed, "I was listening to Folie, especially What a Catch, and thinking about the old times and how I'm just as fucked up as a few years ago."
"Oh no, Patrick, stop it", Pete said at once and pulled me back into the hug. Then he said more quiet into my ear: "You're perfect just the way you are."
Suddenly I felt an inner tension. He had told me stuff like "Be more confident" or "You should be happy with yourself, you're talented as fuck" or stuff like this but never used such strong words like perfect. I broke the hug again.
"I know...", I said to stop him from saying another thing like this. I didn't believe what I told him though. Then I got up. "I - I'm going to the bathroom", I stuttered, "and we should probably both get a little bit of sleep. We're playing a show tomorrow."
Then I closed the door behind me and looked into the mirror. What has happened? Why was this situation so awkward? Why did I need this hug from Pete so bad?
I rested my arms on the sink. I looked so fucked up, I should definitively try to sleep.
After really going to the toilet I went back to my bed, expecting Pete to lie in his own bed again. Instead he still was sitting on my covers.
"You sure I can leave you alone tonight?", he asked. I shouldn't have told him about my thoughts about self harm a time ago it came to my mind.
"You can", I said but I knew it sounded just as weak as my former words.
"I can't", Pete said and crawled under the blanket smiling slightly.
Thank God it was a twin bed.