Dead End Love - Chapter One
Title: Dead End Love - Chapter One
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: Whatever cursing is...
Disclaimer: screw the disclaimer we know what I'd say.
Summary: The hardest part is trying to conquer the inner demons. (Post!Logos.)
Notes:
Since it's obvious that everyone wanted Post!Logos. You got it! It's
gonna be more serious than what you were used to for Logos Naki World
for a little while. But I hope you all enjoy it. Comment/review and
just sit back and read! Oh and this takes place at least a two weeks after Post!Logos and the hospital.
He sleeps soundly most of the time. Or at least, he sleeps better now
that he’s out of the hospital. He told me he couldn’t wait to get the
fuck out of there. I can imagine how stiff the beds are. He’s the type
who sleeps on his side, not on his back – if he has to lie down to
sleep. Otherwise he rather enjoys sleeping sitting up or in a very
steep angle. It’s cute, really - cute for a guy at least.
He also sleeps in one position. He doesn’t move in his sleep, at least
not until he wakes up. Joe always thought it was weird. Andy was amazed
that Patrick could do that. Everyone else… well we all moved too much…
me especially. I could fall asleep on my back and I could wake up face
down and facing the wrong end of the bed. Well okay, the few times I
sleep. I don’t sleep much more than I did before that whole thing
happened. I guess not much really changed me. Either that or I just
figured with my personality I deserved the pain. Who knows. I’m so
complicated I can’t even figure me out.
I figured since I’m not much more neurotic than I was before the whole
thing, I really had gotten over it for the most part. I was just
waiting for some things to go back to normal or at least, what felt
normal to us. Our manager didn’t like it much - The time off we needed
for things to slowly screw themselves back to normal. Without Patrick
to sing, we couldn’t perform anyway. It’s different if one of the three
of us are sick we can borrow another band’s whatever. But there is just
no substitute for Patrick. It’s him or nothing.
It’s a great feeling in the pit of your stomach when fans don’t care
what happens to us as long as we do our thing. And believe me, fans are
already screaming about the cancellations and how we’re sellouts and
they’re pissed off about it all. I’m sorry there has to be
cancellations. But it’s not like we can perform without Patrick right
now. (I certainly can’t.) We’re all taking it hard and trying to put
things past us so we can get back on the road. But it’s not easy. And
it won’t happen with a wave of a wand. It’s gonna take time.
I need to get my head out of the clouds and ground back to reality. I know it’s too quiet in here.
I stared at my computer. Reading what I had just written again for
perhaps the sixth time. I wouldn’t post this, I don’t know if I’d even
save this in Word. It’s just what has been clunking around in my head
the last couple of days. I’ll probably delete it in the morning then
kick myself later because it would have made a great song even if I
still thought my lyrics sucked.
It was also times late at night like this, I was half-glad I couldn’t
sleep. For one, I could do more writing with whatever came to mind. And
two, if Patrick needed me I’d be able to hear him. And when I say
‘needed me’ I mean as a comfort zone. Since he’s been back, he’s had
nothing but nightmares of what happened. I was his embodiment of
comfort. Everyone’s brain functions differently against stress and pain
I guess.
The bed squeaking wasn’t really loud, not as loud as it could be if I…
Um not going to think about that right now. But I guess I have acute
senses when it comes to Patrick. I’d quickly gotten used to the sound
when his bed made noise. It meant he was having a nightmare. Like I
said, he never moves once he’s asleep. Nightmares seemed to change
tactics on his sleeping habits for now.
I didn’t mind so much. I guess I just wanted an excuse to be close to
him and to be able to touch him without it looking like I’m trying to
take advantage of him. I’m sure it’s probably inappropriate in the eyes
of everyone else that I am a little too…eager to comfort him. But I
guess either they’ve figured it out or I’m way too obvious in that
department.
The more the bed creaked, the worse the nightmare’s dive took. I always
waited twenty minutes before going to comfort him during a nightmare.
It was usually when the nightmares hit the worst part. I’ve never asked
him when he woke up what he was really dreaming about. I just assumed
it was over what happened that morning. I’m sure Andy would probably
agree. As a friend, I know better when he doesn’t want to talk about
it. I’d have to change my prying tactics on that if I wanted to find
out. But right now, he needed space and comfort without questions. I
respected that.
I padded from my room to his, leaving my door open. Panic! At the Disco
was just a whisper in my room by the time I got to his doorway. His
room was colder than mine because the windows were always open. I
shivered slightly because I was just in my boxers and from time to time
I forget how cold it is until it’s too late. From the doorway I watched
him. He tossed and turned, the sheets wrapped and twisted between and
around his legs, sometimes bunched up at the end of the bed or even on
the floor. I imagine it plays like a normal movie, but you can’t seem
to change the channel or press stop.
The first time freaked me out because I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t
know what to say. Finally I found the combination of words and motion.
I quietly sucked in a breath when I heard him whimper. When they get
really bad, he whimpers. And after that it’s like clockwork. I shuffle
over to the bed quietly and I sit on the bed. The motion of me moving
into a better position and moving him closer to me. He thrashes
violently and I wrap my arms around him, holding his wrists and scoot
behind him. He bucks and I try like hell to keep him still. It’s not
until I tell him Wentz is here and the thrashing slowly stops. I have
to say that and it feels so damn awkward. There’s no Penda. There’s no
Peter. There’s nothing but him and Wentz.
Wentz.
He called me that now when he murmurs in his sleep. I kinda don’t blame
him. The psycho who started this mess had the same damn first name as
me. Maybe in his mind it was the only way to separate us till he could
realize Peter Harper was gone and I was still here.
The whimpers continued until I talk again. There’s nothing to be said
really. I just talk about everything and nothing, assuring him it’s
just the two of us in between. My voice was just a comfort, my body was
his pillow. But I’m just one giant comfort to him at night. Like the
night light when kids are afraid of the dark.
Sometimes, I ended up staying in his room all night because it’s just
that bad and I fall asleep sitting like that with the worst neck pains
I ever get. Or because he’s clinging to me with his arms wrapped around
my waist. I can’t bear to pull him away. It’s nice, but not the nice
way I wish it could be. The comfort he has isn’t the same as the one I
wish I had.
And no, I don’t mean by the pressure of him against little Pete even
though everything with my salad seems to be doused in lemonade as of
late. Eventually it’ll get better and pressure won’t be an issue. I’ve
had to wear a cup since the hospital and despite how uncomfortable it
is, I’m a little glad.
And it’s odd - the feel of his bare skin against mine. The sweat that
mingles between us until dawn, no matter how warm or cold we feel. It’s
just savored, because I know when we wake up in the morning we don’t
say anything. We don’t freak out about the other holding him. It’s like
a silent understanding between friends, but at the same time a comfort
between strangers.
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: Whatever cursing is...
Disclaimer: screw the disclaimer we know what I'd say.
Summary: The hardest part is trying to conquer the inner demons. (Post!Logos.)
Notes:
Since it's obvious that everyone wanted Post!Logos. You got it! It's
gonna be more serious than what you were used to for Logos Naki World
for a little while. But I hope you all enjoy it. Comment/review and
just sit back and read! Oh and this takes place at least a two weeks after Post!Logos and the hospital.
He sleeps soundly most of the time. Or at least, he sleeps better now
that he’s out of the hospital. He told me he couldn’t wait to get the
fuck out of there. I can imagine how stiff the beds are. He’s the type
who sleeps on his side, not on his back – if he has to lie down to
sleep. Otherwise he rather enjoys sleeping sitting up or in a very
steep angle. It’s cute, really - cute for a guy at least.
He also sleeps in one position. He doesn’t move in his sleep, at least
not until he wakes up. Joe always thought it was weird. Andy was amazed
that Patrick could do that. Everyone else… well we all moved too much…
me especially. I could fall asleep on my back and I could wake up face
down and facing the wrong end of the bed. Well okay, the few times I
sleep. I don’t sleep much more than I did before that whole thing
happened. I guess not much really changed me. Either that or I just
figured with my personality I deserved the pain. Who knows. I’m so
complicated I can’t even figure me out.
I figured since I’m not much more neurotic than I was before the whole
thing, I really had gotten over it for the most part. I was just
waiting for some things to go back to normal or at least, what felt
normal to us. Our manager didn’t like it much - The time off we needed
for things to slowly screw themselves back to normal. Without Patrick
to sing, we couldn’t perform anyway. It’s different if one of the three
of us are sick we can borrow another band’s whatever. But there is just
no substitute for Patrick. It’s him or nothing.
It’s a great feeling in the pit of your stomach when fans don’t care
what happens to us as long as we do our thing. And believe me, fans are
already screaming about the cancellations and how we’re sellouts and
they’re pissed off about it all. I’m sorry there has to be
cancellations. But it’s not like we can perform without Patrick right
now. (I certainly can’t.) We’re all taking it hard and trying to put
things past us so we can get back on the road. But it’s not easy. And
it won’t happen with a wave of a wand. It’s gonna take time.
I need to get my head out of the clouds and ground back to reality. I know it’s too quiet in here.
I stared at my computer. Reading what I had just written again for
perhaps the sixth time. I wouldn’t post this, I don’t know if I’d even
save this in Word. It’s just what has been clunking around in my head
the last couple of days. I’ll probably delete it in the morning then
kick myself later because it would have made a great song even if I
still thought my lyrics sucked.
It was also times late at night like this, I was half-glad I couldn’t
sleep. For one, I could do more writing with whatever came to mind. And
two, if Patrick needed me I’d be able to hear him. And when I say
‘needed me’ I mean as a comfort zone. Since he’s been back, he’s had
nothing but nightmares of what happened. I was his embodiment of
comfort. Everyone’s brain functions differently against stress and pain
I guess.
The bed squeaking wasn’t really loud, not as loud as it could be if I…
Um not going to think about that right now. But I guess I have acute
senses when it comes to Patrick. I’d quickly gotten used to the sound
when his bed made noise. It meant he was having a nightmare. Like I
said, he never moves once he’s asleep. Nightmares seemed to change
tactics on his sleeping habits for now.
I didn’t mind so much. I guess I just wanted an excuse to be close to
him and to be able to touch him without it looking like I’m trying to
take advantage of him. I’m sure it’s probably inappropriate in the eyes
of everyone else that I am a little too…eager to comfort him. But I
guess either they’ve figured it out or I’m way too obvious in that
department.
The more the bed creaked, the worse the nightmare’s dive took. I always
waited twenty minutes before going to comfort him during a nightmare.
It was usually when the nightmares hit the worst part. I’ve never asked
him when he woke up what he was really dreaming about. I just assumed
it was over what happened that morning. I’m sure Andy would probably
agree. As a friend, I know better when he doesn’t want to talk about
it. I’d have to change my prying tactics on that if I wanted to find
out. But right now, he needed space and comfort without questions. I
respected that.
I padded from my room to his, leaving my door open. Panic! At the Disco
was just a whisper in my room by the time I got to his doorway. His
room was colder than mine because the windows were always open. I
shivered slightly because I was just in my boxers and from time to time
I forget how cold it is until it’s too late. From the doorway I watched
him. He tossed and turned, the sheets wrapped and twisted between and
around his legs, sometimes bunched up at the end of the bed or even on
the floor. I imagine it plays like a normal movie, but you can’t seem
to change the channel or press stop.
The first time freaked me out because I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t
know what to say. Finally I found the combination of words and motion.
I quietly sucked in a breath when I heard him whimper. When they get
really bad, he whimpers. And after that it’s like clockwork. I shuffle
over to the bed quietly and I sit on the bed. The motion of me moving
into a better position and moving him closer to me. He thrashes
violently and I wrap my arms around him, holding his wrists and scoot
behind him. He bucks and I try like hell to keep him still. It’s not
until I tell him Wentz is here and the thrashing slowly stops. I have
to say that and it feels so damn awkward. There’s no Penda. There’s no
Peter. There’s nothing but him and Wentz.
Wentz.
He called me that now when he murmurs in his sleep. I kinda don’t blame
him. The psycho who started this mess had the same damn first name as
me. Maybe in his mind it was the only way to separate us till he could
realize Peter Harper was gone and I was still here.
The whimpers continued until I talk again. There’s nothing to be said
really. I just talk about everything and nothing, assuring him it’s
just the two of us in between. My voice was just a comfort, my body was
his pillow. But I’m just one giant comfort to him at night. Like the
night light when kids are afraid of the dark.
Sometimes, I ended up staying in his room all night because it’s just
that bad and I fall asleep sitting like that with the worst neck pains
I ever get. Or because he’s clinging to me with his arms wrapped around
my waist. I can’t bear to pull him away. It’s nice, but not the nice
way I wish it could be. The comfort he has isn’t the same as the one I
wish I had.
And no, I don’t mean by the pressure of him against little Pete even
though everything with my salad seems to be doused in lemonade as of
late. Eventually it’ll get better and pressure won’t be an issue. I’ve
had to wear a cup since the hospital and despite how uncomfortable it
is, I’m a little glad.
And it’s odd - the feel of his bare skin against mine. The sweat that
mingles between us until dawn, no matter how warm or cold we feel. It’s
just savored, because I know when we wake up in the morning we don’t
say anything. We don’t freak out about the other holding him. It’s like
a silent understanding between friends, but at the same time a comfort
between strangers.