insomniacs: a tale of starry skies and lullabies
insomniacs: a tale of starry skies and lullabies
183 words // rated g
(really super short) patrick stump/pete wentz gen. in which patrick sings pete to sleep. enjoy.
(i posted this in
we_are_cities a couple of weeks ago and completely forgot to post it here hahahah.)
9:37 PM
"What's that you're humming?" Pete asked, half-awake for the first time in months. "Oh, nothing," Patrick sighed. Rested his head on Pete's shoulder. Sighed again.
"Sing it for me?"
Patrick couldn't help but oblige. He cleared his throat. Breathed.
Then, suddenly: notes, melodies, everything at once and all coming out of the same mouth, Pete marveled. He breathed in the sickly sweet smell of late-night summer breeze, the palm trees and oleander bushes seemingly oozing with essence of California; the candled, air-conditioned backwards-draft coming from inside the house (which was just a mere four point five feet away, yet the two of them could not be bothered to go inside, as usual); and the harmonies buzzing around the backyard like fireflies. That was when he fell asleep.
Patrick didn't notice until after he finished the song, tried to calculate how far it was from their wicker chair to the white french doors, and started humming the bridge to a new song. He had paused, waiting for Pete to mumble "What's that you're humming?", raspy voice thick in the hot summer air. But all he heard were crickets.
183 words // rated g
(really super short) patrick stump/pete wentz gen. in which patrick sings pete to sleep. enjoy.
(i posted this in
we_are_cities a couple of weeks ago and completely forgot to post it here hahahah.)9:37 PM
"What's that you're humming?" Pete asked, half-awake for the first time in months. "Oh, nothing," Patrick sighed. Rested his head on Pete's shoulder. Sighed again.
"Sing it for me?"
Patrick couldn't help but oblige. He cleared his throat. Breathed.
Then, suddenly: notes, melodies, everything at once and all coming out of the same mouth, Pete marveled. He breathed in the sickly sweet smell of late-night summer breeze, the palm trees and oleander bushes seemingly oozing with essence of California; the candled, air-conditioned backwards-draft coming from inside the house (which was just a mere four point five feet away, yet the two of them could not be bothered to go inside, as usual); and the harmonies buzzing around the backyard like fireflies. That was when he fell asleep.
Patrick didn't notice until after he finished the song, tried to calculate how far it was from their wicker chair to the white french doors, and started humming the bridge to a new song. He had paused, waiting for Pete to mumble "What's that you're humming?", raspy voice thick in the hot summer air. But all he heard were crickets.