Take Me To A Place Called Home: Part 3
Title: Take Me To A Place Called Home
Pairing: Peter/Pat (FOB)
Chapter Rating: PG-15 for now
Warnings: Language
Summary: Patrick’s having these often thoughts of his life meaning nothing but entertainment for other people.
Disclaimer:I don’t own FOB or anything having to do with them (other than a couple tee-shirts and a track jacket…)
Previous Chapter:Can be found in theunderdogunit LJ
DedicationsTo the reviewers, and to my beta who helped me fix up this part ^^ Thanks xim_shakinx
Notes:Thanks for the reviews guys! So here you are, P. 3!
Take Me To A Place Called Home
Part 3
Patrick's POV
I opened my eyes slowly. I saw nothing, nothing but black. That was until I turned over; the window allowed me some light from neighboring buildings. I saw Pete’s sweet face, sleeping soundly on the pillow next to me. I watched him for a mere second, my fingertips traced down from his temple to his chin. Such exotic features he had.
I moved away from him slowly, to the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him, or the other two while I was at it. It didn't take much to wake Peter up, and that worried me, I needed some alone time.
I was wide-awake at the moment. It's quite an odd feeling. Waking from a sound slumber to a state of being totally awake and aware.
I slid from the bed, onto the floor on my knees. I glanced at the clock after fiddling with my glasses. 3:21 am. I stood carefully and moved cautiously around to the other side of the bed where my shoes slumbered. I shoved my foot into one. Damn wrong foot. I shuffled them until I had crammed the right foot into the right shoe.
I started to feel my way through yet another unfamiliar hotel room, trying to get to the door. I hit a wall on the way there, but nothing I couldn't pass by, my hand finally extending and smacking the hook like door knob.
I turned it with ease, opening it a crack and being blinded by the lights in the hall. I opened it enough for me to squeeze out, looking down either end of the hallway. It hit me then.
"Shit."
I spun around and put my hand on the closing door. I luckily caught it before it had clicked, locking me entirely from the innards. I reached around to the inside of the door, feeling around for the deadbolt. My fingers grazed it. I felt back to it and turned it, causing a loud 'clunk'. It allowed me to close the door, yet made a tiny crack which allowed me to be able to push it open.
I started to wander to one end of the long hallway. I was lucky to be on the top floor, made it easier to get to the roof. Yeah, the roof. It was where I liked to think, about music, about writing, about Peter. About stuff in general.
Evidently I had chosen the correct way to wander, for it was quite easy to find the bright blue door with the sign that said 'Do Not Enter Roof Area'. That's what they all say. I took hold of the knob and turned it, pushing the door open and stepping up to the short staircase that lead to yet another door. For doors that wanted not to be opened, they sure teased people by not being locked.
I opened the door that led to the roof, being greeted by fresh morning air. It was still very dark, a few tall lights loomed over me, moths mindlessly knocking themselves against the shine.
I carried myself to the edge of the building. I hadn't realized how many floors it actually had. The cars below looked only about the size of my foot. I had wondered many times, atop many roofs, why exactly do people end their lives by jumping? What exactly goes through one's head while he or she is falling? What would go through mine? Probably how much I love Pete and how much I regret letting myself fall in the first place.
I frowned a bit, not really sure why, it seemed habit the past few days. I took a careful seat on the concrete, letting my legs dangle over the side. I shifted slightly, it was cool on my semi-bare thighs and barely clothed butt.
This would be quite an easy place for a suicidal to end their life. Nothing stopping them at all. Just them and the pavement below. If they fell fast enough, they'd be able to die on impact. If that didn't work, being run over by a speeding car would.
I sighed, looking up at the starless black sky. What was it like to be a bird? I'd wondered since I was small, no one would ever know. They were just lucky, little creatures.
I didn't look forward to the coming dawn, it meant just another day of forced smiles and facing the fact that my life had become nothing to me anymore. The only thing that kept the part of my brain from ending it was Peter. Peter and a few smaller things, like the millions of people that thrived on Fall Out Boy. Peter was my everything though, and I had to stay strong for him, I couldn't possibly let myself fall so far from him that our grip would diminish. That would be the death of me right there.
I took in a slow breath, holding it as I swayed my legs back and forth, watching the busy Boston streets below. My mind couldn't help but wander to Peter. How could it not though, he meant more to me than music, my family and anything else anyone would hold dear.
He was worried about me. I knew it by the endless ‘what’s the matters’ and
the worried glances he gave me when he noticed my spaced out and unhappy expressions. He claimed that I wasn't acting my usual happy self. But to be blatantly honest, I couldn't recall the days that I was that smiling guy.
That's a lie.
The day I first met Peter.
The day Fall Out Boy was signed and went on tour.
The days back home.
Home. That was where I wanted to be most right now. Back in the white house my parents owned, with the large garden in front and pool area in back. My heaven on Earth. My get away from reality, my little sanctuary. It all was topped off with the sweetness of Peter at my side.
I smiled broadly, imagining this behind closed eyelids. Smelling the garden and the chlorine, and of course Peter's distinct smell of clothes worn more than once and a small hint of Axe.
You've probably already figured that he's basically all my mind revolves around. Almost as if he was the center of the universe and I was one of his planets. He was the center of my universe, always had been. I couldn't look at anything or think of anything without relating it somehow to him, like home for example. He was home when I was away from it.
Such a homesick dork I had become. Such destructive thoughts came from it too. But I had to hold on. Had to hold on for the fans, for my family and friends... and of course for Peter.
Hang in there, Patrick. Time will play out and soon favor you. I could only hope.
***Raaar!! Marvel at the shortness!
Lol, sorry but I've definitely decided to make the chapters short and sweet,
right to the point and direct ^^ So there you have it, yet another Patrick
POV (of course my messed up and pretty much depressed Patrick... Sorry 'bout
that -cough-) So do comment for meee!***
Pairing: Peter/Pat (FOB)
Chapter Rating: PG-15 for now
Warnings: Language
Summary: Patrick’s having these often thoughts of his life meaning nothing but entertainment for other people.
Disclaimer:I don’t own FOB or anything having to do with them (other than a couple tee-shirts and a track jacket…)
Previous Chapter:Can be found in theunderdogunit LJ
DedicationsTo the reviewers, and to my beta who helped me fix up this part ^^ Thanks xim_shakinx
Notes:Thanks for the reviews guys! So here you are, P. 3!
Take Me To A Place Called Home
Part 3
I opened my eyes slowly. I saw nothing, nothing but black. That was until I turned over; the window allowed me some light from neighboring buildings. I saw Pete’s sweet face, sleeping soundly on the pillow next to me. I watched him for a mere second, my fingertips traced down from his temple to his chin. Such exotic features he had.
I moved away from him slowly, to the edge of the bed, careful not to wake him, or the other two while I was at it. It didn't take much to wake Peter up, and that worried me, I needed some alone time.
I was wide-awake at the moment. It's quite an odd feeling. Waking from a sound slumber to a state of being totally awake and aware.
I slid from the bed, onto the floor on my knees. I glanced at the clock after fiddling with my glasses. 3:21 am. I stood carefully and moved cautiously around to the other side of the bed where my shoes slumbered. I shoved my foot into one. Damn wrong foot. I shuffled them until I had crammed the right foot into the right shoe.
I started to feel my way through yet another unfamiliar hotel room, trying to get to the door. I hit a wall on the way there, but nothing I couldn't pass by, my hand finally extending and smacking the hook like door knob.
I turned it with ease, opening it a crack and being blinded by the lights in the hall. I opened it enough for me to squeeze out, looking down either end of the hallway. It hit me then.
"Shit."
I spun around and put my hand on the closing door. I luckily caught it before it had clicked, locking me entirely from the innards. I reached around to the inside of the door, feeling around for the deadbolt. My fingers grazed it. I felt back to it and turned it, causing a loud 'clunk'. It allowed me to close the door, yet made a tiny crack which allowed me to be able to push it open.
I started to wander to one end of the long hallway. I was lucky to be on the top floor, made it easier to get to the roof. Yeah, the roof. It was where I liked to think, about music, about writing, about Peter. About stuff in general.
Evidently I had chosen the correct way to wander, for it was quite easy to find the bright blue door with the sign that said 'Do Not Enter Roof Area'. That's what they all say. I took hold of the knob and turned it, pushing the door open and stepping up to the short staircase that lead to yet another door. For doors that wanted not to be opened, they sure teased people by not being locked.
I opened the door that led to the roof, being greeted by fresh morning air. It was still very dark, a few tall lights loomed over me, moths mindlessly knocking themselves against the shine.
I carried myself to the edge of the building. I hadn't realized how many floors it actually had. The cars below looked only about the size of my foot. I had wondered many times, atop many roofs, why exactly do people end their lives by jumping? What exactly goes through one's head while he or she is falling? What would go through mine? Probably how much I love Pete and how much I regret letting myself fall in the first place.
I frowned a bit, not really sure why, it seemed habit the past few days. I took a careful seat on the concrete, letting my legs dangle over the side. I shifted slightly, it was cool on my semi-bare thighs and barely clothed butt.
This would be quite an easy place for a suicidal to end their life. Nothing stopping them at all. Just them and the pavement below. If they fell fast enough, they'd be able to die on impact. If that didn't work, being run over by a speeding car would.
I sighed, looking up at the starless black sky. What was it like to be a bird? I'd wondered since I was small, no one would ever know. They were just lucky, little creatures.
I didn't look forward to the coming dawn, it meant just another day of forced smiles and facing the fact that my life had become nothing to me anymore. The only thing that kept the part of my brain from ending it was Peter. Peter and a few smaller things, like the millions of people that thrived on Fall Out Boy. Peter was my everything though, and I had to stay strong for him, I couldn't possibly let myself fall so far from him that our grip would diminish. That would be the death of me right there.
I took in a slow breath, holding it as I swayed my legs back and forth, watching the busy Boston streets below. My mind couldn't help but wander to Peter. How could it not though, he meant more to me than music, my family and anything else anyone would hold dear.
He was worried about me. I knew it by the endless ‘what’s the matters’ and
the worried glances he gave me when he noticed my spaced out and unhappy expressions. He claimed that I wasn't acting my usual happy self. But to be blatantly honest, I couldn't recall the days that I was that smiling guy.
That's a lie.
The day I first met Peter.
The day Fall Out Boy was signed and went on tour.
The days back home.
Home. That was where I wanted to be most right now. Back in the white house my parents owned, with the large garden in front and pool area in back. My heaven on Earth. My get away from reality, my little sanctuary. It all was topped off with the sweetness of Peter at my side.
I smiled broadly, imagining this behind closed eyelids. Smelling the garden and the chlorine, and of course Peter's distinct smell of clothes worn more than once and a small hint of Axe.
You've probably already figured that he's basically all my mind revolves around. Almost as if he was the center of the universe and I was one of his planets. He was the center of my universe, always had been. I couldn't look at anything or think of anything without relating it somehow to him, like home for example. He was home when I was away from it.
Such a homesick dork I had become. Such destructive thoughts came from it too. But I had to hold on. Had to hold on for the fans, for my family and friends... and of course for Peter.
Hang in there, Patrick. Time will play out and soon favor you. I could only hope.
Lol, sorry but I've definitely decided to make the chapters short and sweet,
right to the point and direct ^^ So there you have it, yet another Patrick
POV (of course my messed up and pretty much depressed Patrick... Sorry 'bout
that -cough-) So do comment for meee!***