While You Were Sleeping [Standalone]

While You Were Sleeping

Fall Out Boy

Pete x Patrick

~Pete makes the cutest stalker~

You didn’t know, did you Patrick? That while you were sleeping, I watched you carefully from your bedroom window.

I watch you every night, whenever possible. I get to see you in your most vulnerable moments, when you’re unguarded and open. I see every expression that you can’t control flitter across your face – anger, happiness, embarrassment, longing. I see you when you smile, when you whine and sadly, when you cry. I want to wipe away those silent tears that slowly slide down your cheeks but I know I can’t. I have to stay away, far away, to be safe.

I know that you dislike me. I know that you hold me in low regard. Before you got to know me, when you wanted to know me, you held me in such a high respect. Then one day, I met you for the first time, standing at your front door. You wore an argyle sweater and the most hideous pair of shorts I had ever seen. You remarked that you expected me to be taller. And so everything went on from there.

I heard your voice for the first time and I fell in love. I knew there had to be something special about you. You had below average looks at the time and your shyness didn’t help you any either. I thought to myself, why would someone like Joe suggest that this guy be in our newly formed band? As soon as I heard you belt out those notes, nailing them perfectly, my knees buckled and I knew that my fingers stuffed up the next few chords of my bass line. Your voice was a Godsend. You were a Godsend. I can clearly remember throwing my bass to the floor and jumping on you, kissing you on the corners of your mouth. I remember your shock, mingled with disgust and slight apprehension. The sound of Joe laughing in the background melted around us as I relished your warm body for a few more moments before you abruptly pushed me away. You were told that this is how I usually am. This is me, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III and that is how I am.

You turn over in your sleep and my heart skips a beat or two. I can see your face being lit up by the faint slivers of moonlight which filter into your room from your window. It streams across your face, highlighting the blond strands of hair which brush your forehead. You’re not wearing a hat, which is the norm for you. I laugh quietly to myself when I see it perched on the bedside table near your head. The alarm clock blinks back at me; red digits glowing. 3:22 on a winter morning. It was the norm for me.

Growing up, I knew I had a problem when I took in about an hour of sleep on average, a week. Insomnia caused it. Nightmares caused insomnia. Yet now that I’m older, there are no more nightmares; only dreams which lull me into a gentle slumber. But even those dreams aren’t enough for me. You don’t seem as real in those dreams. You’re either too forward or too nice. In real life, you’re distant and slightly cold but still shy and sweet simultaneously. Patrick Martin Stump, you are one of a kind.

Now I have insomnia again but there aren’t nightmares. It’s you, Patrick. I worry about you for no reason at all. I worry that if I don’t see you sleeping, I won’t be able to see myself go through the next day. Some people might say I was insane. They’re right. Fucking right. I’m insane about you.

I shift myself into a more comfortable position on your windowsill. The cold bricks are digging onto my back and I keep a firm grip on the window frame to keep myself upheld. My legs are aching from crouching like this so I sit down and lean back, the back of my head touching the cool glass behind me. The stars are beautiful tonight, ‘Trick. The moon is full and smiling down on me, caressing me with her guiding light. The lights of the city are glinting in the far-off distance. I feel a gentle breeze glide across my skin and I attempt to pull my hoodie closer to my body. I shiver slightly and turn around again to see you.

You’re so cute, did you know that Patrick? I take back all those thoughts and words and implications that you weren’t. I’ll eat them and let them rot in my stomach if I have to. You’re beautiful. I let my eyes linger over your pale skin and I can’t help it as they eventually stop at your full, pink lips. My mouth goes dry, yet waters at the same time – waters for you, a taste of you. I hunger for you, Patrick. I want you and you alone to sate that hunger. But you can’t. You won’t.

I watch as you let out a sigh and your body stretches and then curls back up into that ball of adorableness. I feel my heart thud and thump quicker in my chest, wanting to break free and scream to the world how much I love and adore you. Ardently. The thin sheets show your form, slightly chubby yet I don’t give a flying fuck. I stare again. Those sheets are too thin. It’s winter for Christ’s sake, Patrick! My hands itch to open the window and scourge your house for a thicker blanket to cover your body. You’re shivering. I want to warm you up so badly.

The breeze that caressed me earlier returns, only much stronger. The hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stand on end from the cold blast. A light spray of water sprinkles on my face and I realize that it’s going to rain. And I would care, why? This is just a slight setback from my daily Patrick-watching. Hot weather, cold weather, dry weather, wet weather; I’m here for you Patrick. The sad thing is, you don’t know nor do you care. On hot, summer nights, I’d relinquish my trademark hoodie and sit by your window in a t-shirt and my usual get up. Winter nights are the worst but you look so cute snuggled up. But not tonight. Tonight, you’re cold. Looks like we’ll both be suffering tonight, ‘Trick. Me out here with this storm, you in there, trying to get warm, yet failing.

Did someone forget to turn the heater on for you? I feel anger prick at my insides. How dare they! You’re Patrick. You deserve only the best and more. You are the best. My fingers linger on your window. I note that tonight, there is a gap leaving it unlocked and slightly open. I’m reminded of Peter Pan. I’d be your Peter Pan, if you wanted me to. I’d take you to another world where it’s just you and me, together. The cold air is streaming in. I want to come inside and keep you warm but I know you’d hate me even more. I swallow hard and choke back my temptation as I slide it shut. In two minutes, you’re no longer shivering and you’re toasty warm again.

My fingers are becoming numb with every second that I spend out here in this frigid cold. But I put up with it, Patrick. I want to watch you when you won’t let me. I know that if I let my eyes linger on you for too long while we’re together, you’ll suspect something and think even lower of me. I’m scared that instead of disliking me, you’ll hate me one day. I desperately try to change myself to salvage what was left of the suffering respect between you and I. I’d cast my hands out, stretching my arms to catch those falling shards of like and admiration you once had for me. I lived off your attention. I ate your interest in me and fucking thrived. But my arms were never long enough to catch those falling shards. When those shards managed to get into my hands, they’d cut me and I’d bleed and let go; I’ve lost you so many times. There is so little left.

Sometimes, guilt eats me alive when I actually go to home and sleep, if only for an hour. My body needs it. I assure myself that if I have the energy of one night’s sleep, I’ll be able to watch you for an entire week nonstop. But the guilt is still there. When I don’t get any sleep, I can’t concentrate during the day. Not that it would make any difference, though. When I hear your voice or see your face, I let something slip inside me and I falter somehow, one way or another. I can see your annoyance form as you tell me to get my shit together. Joe and Andy agree that I should get more sleep instead of ‘playing around with the new flavour of the week’. That’s not true, Patrick. There is no girl that’s holding me back. Ashlee? She’s…my girlfriend, yeah. I feel my heart clench in my chest. I had to do something, Patrick. I’m a normal, human guy. I have a drive, I have lust and temptation and a reputation. If there’s ever a time where I want to ruin that reputation, give into temptation and lust and use that drive, it would be with you. But you have a reputation too. You don’t want to tarnish it. You can’t tarnish it. So I’m left here, wallowing as I watch you stay single, yet I can’t do a damn thing about it because it hurts so damn much. I’m practically paralyzed in my heart. Maybe I should get my notebook out here to write more lyrics and jot down ideas.

Did you know that you’re practically my muse for all my songs? That reputation and pride makes me write down ‘she’ instead of ‘he’, ‘girl’ instead of ‘boy’. Sometimes I slip up and you point it out; I hastily correct my ‘mistakes’. Patrick, you’re an inspiration to me. Maybe karma hit me somehow and instead of you admiring me, I now admire you.

You lick your lips in your sleep and your hand moves to your pillow. You scratch your cheek on the way and then smack your lips quietly. My eyes dart to the clock beside your bed. 3:45. I have a few more hours to relish in your ‘presence’ before I have to disappear and pretend that I was never here in the first place. God Patrick! What are you doing to me? It’s destroying me, bit by bit until eventually, there’ll be nothing left of me. Eventually, I’d crack. I know I will. I can feel it and it’s approaching. It’s coming at me with a sharpened axe, glinting in the moonlight and right now I feel like a lamb being dragged into a slaughter house.

Sometimes I get frustrated. You sleep at random intervals. One time, you didn’t sleep at all and I was resigned to go home. It was for college, tests and assignments to do. You looked so horrible and tattered the next day. I wanted to clean you up, help you out. You wouldn’t let me, though. You kinda have your pride. It may not be boastful or obvious, but it’s there, entwined with your dignity which you hold so high.

Someone ask me why the hell I’m doing this. I get to watch you sleeping, I’ll say. But even then, I still won’t be able to answer. Why would I want to watch someone sleeping? Isn’t that creepy and kinda against the law? I’m five years older than you, Patrick. I’m sure you’re just slightly freaked out whenever I seem to come onto you.

It’s my obsession. My addiction. You’re my addiction, Patrick.

At times, you scare me when I’m on watch. Sometimes you wake up and I’d have to jump down from your window. I hate seeing you frightened or scared. When you have nightmares, I berate myself for not being able to comfort you. But if I did come inside and try, you’d die of a heart attack. Or better for you, you’d beat me within an inch of my life before seeing who I really was and then hate me forever. That would be bad. Extremely bad, for me, that is. I’m pretty sure that you caught me, one time. You didn’t exactly see me, but you caught a glimpse of my silhouette and got scared. The next day, you were highly strung and edgy. I touch you on the shoulder and you scream – that kind of edgy. When I asked you what was wrong, I was surprised to know that you’d actually share with me for once. You told me that some creep was at your window the night before. I feel my heart thud then dissolve and die in my chest. But then you smile and say that it was kinda cute that someone was watching you that night. My heart soars. No normal person would say that. Patrick Martin Stump, you definitely are one of a kind! There must be a different heaven for people like you.

Tonight, something exciting happens. You sneeze and then next second, your thumb is in your mouth. My jaw drops and I fumble with my phone, panicking. What if I don’t capture this remarkable moment in history? I nearly drop it when I manage to get it out and when the camera is ready, I go wild. You’re beautiful, Patrick. You’re beautiful and I’m not scared to say that I love you. That I’m IN love with you. I tuck my phone away and smile to myself. Tonight was successful. The quilt is now tangled around your feet and I catch a glimpse of milky skin on your arms. My stomach grows warm and I feel my lust for you building in the pits of my stomach and coursing through my nerves, especially into my groin. Patrick, what the hell are you doing to me and my body? I feel the longing to cuddle you, embrace you. You’d be the perfect teddy bear. Maybe I should market Patrick plushy dolls for all the teenies out there. They’d go crazy. Crazy for you, just like I am.

I wanna fall asleep in your arms and wake up in your arms. I want you to fall asleep in my arms and wake up in my arms. Every night and every morning for the rest of our lives. But Patrick, we can’t. You don’t want it. And I’m pretty sure that you’re straight. Even if you were gay, you wouldn’t want it. Not with me anyway. Never with Pete Wentz.

I feel laughter bubbling in my throat, ready to leak out. I, Pete Wentz, make nightly escapades to the house of Patrick Stump to see him sleep. I love every second of it. Every moment, every movement. I want to be a part of your world, Patrick, but the window is almost like a sign that I’m barricaded from your personal life, that I shouldn’t be there. Like I don’t belong there.

You shiver slightly and your thumb drops away from your mouth. I sigh as the moment is lost and I feel the annoyance return. Why are you still cold, Patrick? Maybe I should break in through another window in your house or something and then turn on the heating. Maybe I could sneak into your room. Can I lay in your bed all day? I think of my lyrics. I’ll be your best kept secret. No one will find out. And your biggest mistake. Because I know you’d regret it. But I don’t care. Let them know, that is, if you would be with me in the first place. My heart clenches in my chest again and I can feel my eyes start to water.

This is pathetic. A new low for me. Crying. I don’t blubber, I don’t sob. But I do cry. I’m a guy, yeah, but I’m human. I’m a human guy and I cry for nearly everything. But this is the first time I’ve ever cried while watching you. I could feel the pressure and the weight of the situation on me, crushing me. I’ll never be able to be with you. It’s like everything is against me and I’m the only one who can see a fit somewhere in this majestic puzzle that’s so wonderful yet so horrible at the same time. We complement and contradict but in the end we complete and we ARE complete. If you would let me…

I kinda feel like your guardian angel, only, I’m not such an angel in the end. I wanna be your angel, your love, your one and only. It almost makes me sick, the sappy love. But it’s true, as corny as it may sound. As I feel the rain battering me, rattling against your window as it pelts the glass, I fail to hear the sounds of you stirring. As I turn my head away for a moment to glare at the sky for making me seem so depressing, I fail to realize that you’re right behind me. And then it’s a sudden moment in time when I hear the sound of the window lock click and the glass behind me disappears. I lose balance and, from my shock, I fall with a loud thud, out onto your bedroom floor. You’re glaring down at me, hands akimbo on your hips. You look groggy which makes everything so much more funnier. But I’m not laughing. I’ve been caught.

“Pete? What the fuck are you doing?” you hiss to me, shutting the window above me without sparing it a glance. For once, your attention is focused on me. I’m the centre of your attention. Your negative attention. I know your expressions, Patrick. There’s a happy face, a sad face, a remorseful face, an angry face and I can list just about every expression there is out there from blank to pensive. Yet the expression on your face is one that I don’t see very often. Disappointment.

I expect disgust. I expect sadness. I expect anger. I expect betrayal.

Yet disappointment strikes me this time as you sigh deeply and move away, move back to the folds of your bed. As you slip into the warm folds of your bed, I sit there on the floor, watching you, unmoving. And suddenly, there’s a pillow in my face and I’m knocked back with such force.

“Aren’t you cold, idiot?”

Yes. But I don’t open my mouth. I can see a faint smile crossing your lips. You think this is a joke. You think that I’m just being ‘Pete Wentz’. No Patrick. I’m being Pete Wentz but with added maturity, kinda like those soups where you just add one egg. But I digress.

“Are you gonna sleep?”

Maybe. I wonder vaguely if you’ll let me sleep on your floor tonight. Even a room in your house, or your living room couch would be fine for me. But your mom might see me there and freak out, so better off without that. I don’t think your mom likes me very much; I see where you get your dislike of me, with her constantly poisoning you whenever you’re at home. But she tolerates me, which is good enough for me.

“Are you ignoring me?”

No. No I’m not. I’m just too…too stunned at the moment to think of something to say or do. I can’t even feel. All I can hear is the sound of my heart’s constant drumming in my chest and it’s echoing in my ears. My body is shaking with fright and instability crawls into my system. This is probably the part when I’ve dropped all those shards of trust, respect and admiration. They’ve cut me too deep this time and everything is just lying broken at my feet. And then hope arrives.

“Are you coming to bed, fucker? Or am I gonna drag you in here with me?” you say with a curl of your lip. My heart jolts to my throat and I let out a strangled cry as I jump up and lunge myself onto your bed, onto you and into your chest. I wanna be a man for you, Patrick. But I can’t. I’m a wuss sometimes. You sit there in silence, listening to my quiet sobbing and I feel a warm hand gently rubbing my back, twisting and rolling through the locks of hair at the nape of my neck. Your hand is resting on my hip this time and you finally say something.

“You watch me every night.” And my heart stops beating. You know. You fucking know and you treat me like you do! I wanna punch you for once, Patrick. But I don’t. I feel a gentle warmth on my cheek and I realized that you just kissed me. On the cheek, but it’s still a kiss. “Thank you.”

Only you would thank someone for stalking them, Patrick. You definitely are special. One-of-a-kind, limited edition, Patrick Martin Stump. I gotta have you before someone else takes you. I mentally roll my eyes but then I kick off my shoes and entangle my jean clad legs with your bare ones and we dissolve.

I don’t care what the future is or what tomorrow brings. Tonight is the best night of my entire life and maybe someday, there’ll be something better. But for now, it’s enough for me.

I loved you while you were sleeping, Patrick.

But Patrick, it’s while you’re sleeping in my arms when I find myself again.

The End