iPhone Insomnia
Author: Comotosejournal
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: G
Warning: the lullaby is totally pete's. not mine.
summary: Patrick's got a real life case of Folie A Deux
It was the witching hour of his insomnia. Later then last calls at the grimy bar down the block, past the acceptable time for updating his web page, and far, far gone from the time of fast fingered dialing of phone calls to far away friends. The lights in the city were still shining bright, of course, but the lights inside Patrick's one room apartment were dark. He was laying, spread eagle, across his un-made bed, sheets tangled below him and comforter kicked to the floor. He was hot, sticky, and the overhead ceiling fan that was furiously spinning above his head wasn't making more than a dent in the oppressive July humidity that filled the room, squeezing out any breath of fresh air Patrick might have sucked in.
He pushed away some strands of hair that were matted down with sweat on his forehead and felt blindly on the bed beside him for his iPhone. There was a heart-racing split second of uncertainty when his groping fingers found nothing but white cotton sheets beneath them. But then there it was, just a few inches to the left. His fingers clutched at the cool , slick surface. The first cool thing Patrick had felt all night, he pressed it to his cheeks, trying to cool down.
Patrick was ashamed to admit it, but he had a more then casual relationship with his iPhone. It started out innocently enough, being berated by the other guys to step into the 21st century. Patrick had begrudgingly held on to his first cell phone for years past it's shelf life, not minding it's clunky nature, or it's extra large buttons. It did the job, he would often shrug, and shove it deep into his jacket pocket. But then Pete had surprised him with a shiny new toy a whole WEEK before it hit the market.
"Patrick, " he said with a goofy grin on his face, arms outstretched, "meet your new boyfriend.". Patrick had smirked at the boyfriend jab, knowing Pete was just trying to get under his skin, and glanced at the thing in Pete's palm.
"But...where are the buttons?" He muttered, grabbing it and examining it from every angle.
Smoothing a finger over the sleek surface now, Patrick laughed at the memory. Now he felt like his iPhone was a seamless part of him. Like a third arm, or a lung. He needed it's reassuring presence in his pocket whenever he was out. He needed to see it's glowing screen from the bedside table at night. And on some nights, he needed to feel it clutched in his fist as he fell asleep. A modern day teddy bear for Patrick. It made him feel connected. A part of something. Maybe he'd never admit it to himself consciously, but deep down Patrick knew his affection for his cell phone was connected more to the man who gave it to him then to the object itself.
Glancing down at the screen, Patrick frowned. No new text messages. No dancing envelopes appeared on his screen, heralding the arrival of a tiny gift of text. He sighed, knowing it was late, and really, who was up right now anyway. Even as he thought this rhetorical question, he knew he was fooling himself.
Pete.
Pete's awake. Glancing at the time, 3:27, Patrick knew Pete was probably laying in his own bed in his much nicer apartment three streets over, scribbling away in some notebook, or maybe just staring up at the ceiling and letting the thoughts roll around in his mind, much like Patrick was doing himself.
Everyone always talked about Pete's wretched insomnia, but no one ever asked Patrick about his nocturnal habits. Ever since he'd gotten close to Pete, Patrick's body had started unconsciously mimicking his best friend's sleep patterns. He mentioned this to Pete once, off-handed, and the older man's eyes went wide.
"Patrick you just gave me the greatest idea for the name of our next album..." Pete had whipped out his side kick and began googling like his fingers had never known such fury.
Patrick sighed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his corduroy jacket. This wasn't exactly the reaction he was going for.
Pete looked up from his wide world of research, fingers paused over the tiny black keys waiting anxiously below them. He caught Patrick's eyes and frowned.
"Trick. What do you do to get to sleep?"
Patrick shrugged and looked down at his purple pumas. "I don't."
"Text me." Pete took a step closer, as if to emphasize the point. "When you can't sleep, when you're staring at the white ceiling of your bedroom, wondering when your mind will ever shut down long enough for you slip into slumber, text me."
Patrick idly wondered if Pete had ever used the phrase "slip into slumber" in every day conversation before, but he didn't argue. He smiled and nodded firmly enough to convince Pete he would indeed do just that.
And yet Patrick couldn't bring himself to do it every night. Oh, occasionally he would think of something half-witted to remark on, or some last minute detail about the album to discuss. But some nights, especially the really bad nights, when Patrick felt like the city would swallow him up whole, and he'd never escape from the drowning feeling clawing at his chest--he couldn't do it.
On these nights, he'd just lay there, eyes roaming across his walls, fingers feeling the surface of his phone beneath him, waiting for the awful feeling to pass, or maybe just waiting to give up and fall in and....
and then he'd get a text from Pete.
Pete: Trick I know you're sitting there waiting to text me.
Patrick would blush, grateful for the dark in his bedroom and the blocks of distance between them.
And his fingers would scramble for purchase on the slippery surface of his phone, tapping out a response until he was laughing, safe from another night's terror.
And Patrick hated to admit it, but he'd come to rely on those late night text message conversations. They'd become his sleeping pills. His warm milk, fresh sheets, and footie pajamas. He'd roll on his stomach and lean against the cool side of his pillow, letting himself relax as he waited for the subtle vibrations of his phone to signal the arrival of the next dose of his own brand of medicine.
Patrick never said a word about how much Pete's being there made a difference to him. He kept that little secret between him and his iPhone.
But tonight Patrick was waiting. He hadn't heard anything from Pete in a couple nights, and he felt both exhausted and abandoned. Ridiculous, he knew. Finally, with 4 am running at him head on, Patrick swallowed hard and gave in.
Patrick: pete, you awake?
He waited, holding his breath, fingers tapping nervously against the hard shell of his phone. An instant later, which felt like approximately three hundred years of solitude for Patrick, he got a reply.
Pete: always.
Patrick: oh. hi.
Pete: what took you so long, man? I haven’t gotten any sleep in three nights.
Patrick’s heart fluttered and sucked in a breath. Pete was making it sound like he had been waiting for him, as though he needed these late night fingertip dances to wear him out too
Pete read his mind, as usual, anticipating Patrick’s thoughts as well as his own.
Pete: i need this too, you know.
Patrick smiled a slow smile, flipping on to his side and scooting beneath his crumpled bed sheet.
Patrick: so what’s it gonna be tonight pete?
He waited, heart pounding slightly in anticipation. Pete always came up with new ways to get them both to fall asleep each night.
Pete: we’re gonna try something new tonight. I wrote you a lullaby.
Patrick sighed and nuzzled into his down pillow, getting comfortable.
Okay :-], he texted by, closing his eyes to wait.
Pete: Honey is for bees silly bear
Besides, there’s jelly beans everywhere
It’s not what it seems in the land of dreams
Don’t worry your head just go to sleep
Patrick let the words wash over him, his breath evening out and deepening as he felt cool breezes of calm wash over him. He never understood why Pete’s words were such a drug to him. But with dawn quickly approaching, this was no time to question their power. Opening the last text message, Patrick’s half-open eyes read on.
Pete: Doesn’t matter how you feel
Life is just a Ferris wheel
It’s always up and down, don’t make a sound
When you wake up, the world will come around
It’s just sweet weather and peacock feathers
In the morning it’ll all be better
Don’t worry your head just go to sleep.
Eyes falling shut, Patrick let his worried head go blissfully blank. The magic of late night texting had worked again. Patrick was fast asleep, his fingers clutched tight around his iPhone.
So quick was his descent into slumber, he missed the last message from his minstrel of the ages.
Pete: hope you liked it ‘trick. Love you.