But I Love You, 'Trick.
Title: But I Love You, 'Trick.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Warnings: Mild swearing, break up.
Words: 589
Disclaimer: Nope. Back button, if you know either one of these two.
Summary: The picture of him, smiling and wrapped around Pete, on the bedside table did nothing but make his eyes sting just a bit more than they already did.
Patrick stuffed another hoodie deep into the filling suitcase, returned to the closet to drag out more of his things, and glanced again at the clock. Damn plane. He kicked the foot of his bed as he walked over to the suitcase on top of it again. Swearing under his breath, Patrick shoved the pair of jeans he was holding into the bag with more force than necessary. The picture of him, smiling and wrapped around Pete, on the bedside table did nothing but make his eyes sting just a bit more than they already did. He wiped at his eyes quickly and sniffed, trying to hold it together, to not cry anymore. I’m going to be an adult about this, he thought to himself. It’s just another break up. Patrick rammed the last of his clothes into the bag, zipped it shut, and swung it off the bed.
Picking up the backpack on the floor full of CDs and assorted recording equipment, he looked back at the picture on the table, and thought one last time of the happiness he and his best friend used to share.
“I give up, Pete. I can’t let you hurt me anymore,” Patrick whispered. He dragged his bags out of the house and into the car. Wiping at his eyes most of the way there, he almost missed the airport. Security was a blur of people in uniforms, metal beeping things, lines of people who didn’t know his name. For that he was thankful. He couldn’t imagine the horror of breaking down in front of a fan, recognizing who he is. Surely some of Perez’s stalkerazzis would at some point get a shot of Patrick tearing up, but at least it would be impersonal, just being on a mediawhoring website, instead of from a camera phone, direct from someone who cares enough about him to take the picture not because it’s their job, but because they worry.
Stepping onto the first class section of the plane, he sat down numbly into his seat, trying so, so hard to keep from yelling at those damn stewardesses pointing to the sides of the plane or picking up his mug of coffee and throwing it. The last thing he needed was a scene. Finally, the rumble of the plane down the runway assured Patrick that he was out of LA, for good. No more lightscameraaction or bottomsup scene queens or glittery gowns draped across shiny black mannequins in store windows. No more black-out drapes to keep out the paparazzi’s flashes during some of his and Pete’s most publicized fights or staring at the Hollywood hills, wishing they were gone. No more Pete. A knot twisted in Patrick’s stomach, forcing him to lock his eyes on the approaching clouds. He waved away the stewardess several times before he decided to pull out his phone and click new message. He rocked his fingers across the sticking keys of the phone, letting T9word mess with half the words he tried to write, only to go back and delete them all and restart. Finally, he smiled at his phone, bittersweet. Rid of the relationship. Send … Sending… … Sent!
A half hour later, Patrick’s phone vibrated in his lap and the screen lit up with 5 little words. But I luv you trick. Patrick didn’t see it. He was asleep, and dreaming about the life he’ll have without the camera flashes, without the magazines with his face on it, without Pete. His mouth was twisted into a content smile.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Warnings: Mild swearing, break up.
Words: 589
Disclaimer: Nope. Back button, if you know either one of these two.
Summary: The picture of him, smiling and wrapped around Pete, on the bedside table did nothing but make his eyes sting just a bit more than they already did.
Patrick stuffed another hoodie deep into the filling suitcase, returned to the closet to drag out more of his things, and glanced again at the clock. Damn plane. He kicked the foot of his bed as he walked over to the suitcase on top of it again. Swearing under his breath, Patrick shoved the pair of jeans he was holding into the bag with more force than necessary. The picture of him, smiling and wrapped around Pete, on the bedside table did nothing but make his eyes sting just a bit more than they already did. He wiped at his eyes quickly and sniffed, trying to hold it together, to not cry anymore. I’m going to be an adult about this, he thought to himself. It’s just another break up. Patrick rammed the last of his clothes into the bag, zipped it shut, and swung it off the bed.
Picking up the backpack on the floor full of CDs and assorted recording equipment, he looked back at the picture on the table, and thought one last time of the happiness he and his best friend used to share.
“I give up, Pete. I can’t let you hurt me anymore,” Patrick whispered. He dragged his bags out of the house and into the car. Wiping at his eyes most of the way there, he almost missed the airport. Security was a blur of people in uniforms, metal beeping things, lines of people who didn’t know his name. For that he was thankful. He couldn’t imagine the horror of breaking down in front of a fan, recognizing who he is. Surely some of Perez’s stalkerazzis would at some point get a shot of Patrick tearing up, but at least it would be impersonal, just being on a mediawhoring website, instead of from a camera phone, direct from someone who cares enough about him to take the picture not because it’s their job, but because they worry.
Stepping onto the first class section of the plane, he sat down numbly into his seat, trying so, so hard to keep from yelling at those damn stewardesses pointing to the sides of the plane or picking up his mug of coffee and throwing it. The last thing he needed was a scene. Finally, the rumble of the plane down the runway assured Patrick that he was out of LA, for good. No more lightscameraaction or bottomsup scene queens or glittery gowns draped across shiny black mannequins in store windows. No more black-out drapes to keep out the paparazzi’s flashes during some of his and Pete’s most publicized fights or staring at the Hollywood hills, wishing they were gone. No more Pete. A knot twisted in Patrick’s stomach, forcing him to lock his eyes on the approaching clouds. He waved away the stewardess several times before he decided to pull out his phone and click new message. He rocked his fingers across the sticking keys of the phone, letting T9word mess with half the words he tried to write, only to go back and delete them all and restart. Finally, he smiled at his phone, bittersweet. Rid of the relationship. Send … Sending… … Sent!
A half hour later, Patrick’s phone vibrated in his lap and the screen lit up with 5 little words. But I luv you trick. Patrick didn’t see it. He was asleep, and dreaming about the life he’ll have without the camera flashes, without the magazines with his face on it, without Pete. His mouth was twisted into a content smile.