Fall Asleep, Phone in Hand / [1 of ?]
Title: Fall Asleep, Phone in Hand / [1 of ?]
Author:
fuzzyxhair
Rating: PG-13 [language]
Pairing: [eventually] Peterick
Summary: No one tries to care anymore.
Disclaimer: Not true, not close. Just a figment of my imagination and nothing more. Plz don't sue.
Author Notes: poo at school. ahh well, last day is next thursday. i know lack of updates suck. sry! <3
Previous: Prologue
Author:
fuzzyxhairRating: PG-13 [language]
Pairing: [eventually] Peterick
Summary: No one tries to care anymore.
Disclaimer: Not true, not close. Just a figment of my imagination and nothing more. Plz don't sue.
Author Notes: poo at school. ahh well, last day is next thursday. i know lack of updates suck. sry! <3
Previous: Prologue
If Pete could conclude one thing about himself, just one, it would be that his body was, continuously, set on self-destruct. But who cares, right? It's just Pete. There's nothing special about him. Nothing anyone doesn't already know, right? Wrong. But, no, he would never tell anyone that. If Pete could conclude one thing about himself that no one knew but him, it would be that he's falling harder and harder every day for his best friend.
---
"Fuck you, Pete. There's nothing here for me. You don't fucking love me!" Ashlee (her) screamed. "Besides... you were just a tool, you fucking lousy piece of shit. Go fuck your best friend, I know that's all you think about." she hissed.
Pete froze. "What the hell are you talking about? Get the fuck out of my house!" Smirking, she mouthed you know what I'm talking about, and left.
---
Now that Pete was alone, Patrick was okay with it. Pete was miserable and sulking as he always is, but, she's not there. As long as she isn't around, everything is good. Well, mostly.
Pete has come to realize that he loves when Patrick sings. He loves the way that his own words, his own crazy poems, are floating out of his best friend's mouth. It's like Heaven. It's like ice cream. Pete loves this. He's not sure if he could stand anyone else. But with Patrick, it's okay. It really is.
---
So later, Patrick is sitting on Pete's couch. Pete is sitting on Pete's couch. They are uncomfortably and awkwardly close to each other, yet neither says a word. They are watching 2 Fast, 2 Furious. It was that or Busty Blondes. Neither of them were in the mood for porn, though. So they settled for Paul Walker. Which was okay, because, come on, he is hot. Really.
It's not until Patrick hears Pete's snoring that he realizes how close Pete really is to Patrick. His whole body is almost completely collapsed over Patrick's, his head inbetween the crook of Patrick's neck, and was that? Was that Pete's hand holding Patrick's? It was.
"Pete... Pete, hey, hey wake up." Patrick shakes Pete slightly, not really wanting to disturb him, but wouldn't Pete be mad? So Pete wakes up, opens his eyes, shuts his eyes, rubs his eyes. Yawn, stretch, yawn.
"N-not now, baby. Sleep.." and he's asleep again, like that. In the blink of an eye, literally. And Patrick thinks he is okay with this. No, Patrick knows he is okay with this. And besides, Pete called him "baby".
"Goodnight, baby" Patrick whispers. And though he can't see it, though it was just a flash, though you couldn't have told unless you were Pete... Pete smiled, and slightly kissed Patrick. Maybe this is what it's supposed to feel like. Maybe they both kind of like it.
---
Pete's been awake for exactly 58 minutes before Patrick starts to stir. It's 11:32 a.m. and Patrick is shaking off his sleep. Somehow, during the night, they managed to get in the position of laying down. Pete on the inside, Patrick (cuddling and holding Pete) on the outside. This feels right, is what they are both thinking. This is right.
"Pete?"
"Patrick?"
"Are we going to get up?" and there's a pause. Pete is thinking, maybe. Maybe he's just falling back asleep. He is really still tired, you know. And, five minutes later:
"..No, baby. Let's stay here." and Patrick likes this answer. He smiles. He kisses Pete's forehead. And there they stay, for at least another hour. Laying, talking, cuddling. Laughing and sneaking each other small kisses on the neck of best friends. And hey, no one is complaining. For all anyone knows, this is what's meant to be.
Finally, it's 1:14 p.m., and Patrick is standing up. He has to pee. He gets the shivers, so used to Pete's body heat next to his stomach. It felt nice. God damn bladder.
"Baby.. where are you going?"
"I have to pee."
"Okay. Me too." and Pete is following Patrick into the bathroom. Patrick pees. It's not really something anyone wants to see, but, hey, it's Patrick. The man who sings his words. The best friend. The crush.
And then there are his hands, Pete's, on Patrick's. Then lips. It's an explosion, a crash. A shock. Patrick is standing there, confused, but this feels so good. So right. And then he's kissing back, roaming Pete's body, and holding on to his hips. He's pressed up against the wall, and they're colliding. They're becoming one. This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.
But now there are no lips, no hands. They are still so dangerously close but, no, besides both of their wishes, they are not touching each other. They are not ripping each other's clothes off, they are not on their way to the bedroom. Instead, Pete leaves the bathroom, calling:
"Cereal or french toast?"
"...Cereal"
And that's it.
---
"Fuck you, Pete. There's nothing here for me. You don't fucking love me!" Ashlee (her) screamed. "Besides... you were just a tool, you fucking lousy piece of shit. Go fuck your best friend, I know that's all you think about." she hissed.
Pete froze. "What the hell are you talking about? Get the fuck out of my house!" Smirking, she mouthed you know what I'm talking about, and left.
---
Now that Pete was alone, Patrick was okay with it. Pete was miserable and sulking as he always is, but, she's not there. As long as she isn't around, everything is good. Well, mostly.
Pete has come to realize that he loves when Patrick sings. He loves the way that his own words, his own crazy poems, are floating out of his best friend's mouth. It's like Heaven. It's like ice cream. Pete loves this. He's not sure if he could stand anyone else. But with Patrick, it's okay. It really is.
---
So later, Patrick is sitting on Pete's couch. Pete is sitting on Pete's couch. They are uncomfortably and awkwardly close to each other, yet neither says a word. They are watching 2 Fast, 2 Furious. It was that or Busty Blondes. Neither of them were in the mood for porn, though. So they settled for Paul Walker. Which was okay, because, come on, he is hot. Really.
It's not until Patrick hears Pete's snoring that he realizes how close Pete really is to Patrick. His whole body is almost completely collapsed over Patrick's, his head inbetween the crook of Patrick's neck, and was that? Was that Pete's hand holding Patrick's? It was.
"Pete... Pete, hey, hey wake up." Patrick shakes Pete slightly, not really wanting to disturb him, but wouldn't Pete be mad? So Pete wakes up, opens his eyes, shuts his eyes, rubs his eyes. Yawn, stretch, yawn.
"N-not now, baby. Sleep.." and he's asleep again, like that. In the blink of an eye, literally. And Patrick thinks he is okay with this. No, Patrick knows he is okay with this. And besides, Pete called him "baby".
"Goodnight, baby" Patrick whispers. And though he can't see it, though it was just a flash, though you couldn't have told unless you were Pete... Pete smiled, and slightly kissed Patrick. Maybe this is what it's supposed to feel like. Maybe they both kind of like it.
---
Pete's been awake for exactly 58 minutes before Patrick starts to stir. It's 11:32 a.m. and Patrick is shaking off his sleep. Somehow, during the night, they managed to get in the position of laying down. Pete on the inside, Patrick (cuddling and holding Pete) on the outside. This feels right, is what they are both thinking. This is right.
"Pete?"
"Patrick?"
"Are we going to get up?" and there's a pause. Pete is thinking, maybe. Maybe he's just falling back asleep. He is really still tired, you know. And, five minutes later:
"..No, baby. Let's stay here." and Patrick likes this answer. He smiles. He kisses Pete's forehead. And there they stay, for at least another hour. Laying, talking, cuddling. Laughing and sneaking each other small kisses on the neck of best friends. And hey, no one is complaining. For all anyone knows, this is what's meant to be.
Finally, it's 1:14 p.m., and Patrick is standing up. He has to pee. He gets the shivers, so used to Pete's body heat next to his stomach. It felt nice. God damn bladder.
"Baby.. where are you going?"
"I have to pee."
"Okay. Me too." and Pete is following Patrick into the bathroom. Patrick pees. It's not really something anyone wants to see, but, hey, it's Patrick. The man who sings his words. The best friend. The crush.
And then there are his hands, Pete's, on Patrick's. Then lips. It's an explosion, a crash. A shock. Patrick is standing there, confused, but this feels so good. So right. And then he's kissing back, roaming Pete's body, and holding on to his hips. He's pressed up against the wall, and they're colliding. They're becoming one. This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.
But now there are no lips, no hands. They are still so dangerously close but, no, besides both of their wishes, they are not touching each other. They are not ripping each other's clothes off, they are not on their way to the bedroom. Instead, Pete leaves the bathroom, calling:
"Cereal or french toast?"
"...Cereal"
And that's it.