The Cool Side of the Pillow.
Title: The Cool Side of the Pillow
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Word-count: 1420
Summary: Melting in the humidity, Pete goes hunting for a more comfortable sleeping situation.
Author's Notes: Written for the patrickxpeter Platonic Sleeping Challenge in July 2006.
The problem with summer isn't the sun, or the blistering afternoons. It's not the lack of available shade in the city, or the number of calories in the most delicious flavours of ice cream. The problem lies in the sleepless nights and the way you can spend a whole night lying on top of your sheets and blankets, melting. You flip your pillow over and over, silently begging for a cool side that doesn't seem to exist. You watch the clock and feel like you're going out of your mind.
These are the nights that drive Pete mad. True, he would rather be too warm than too cold, which partially explained why even on the hottest of days, jumping around on stage, he was rarely seen not wearing one of his many (some would say hideous) Clan hoodies. But tonight's swelter was a different story. He ached for coolness, any brief respite from the never-ending airless death.
This is when Pete remembered that Patrick's fancy new high-rise apartment downtown was fully air-conditioned.
He stared over at the glowing green digits of his clock radio, and his childhood attic bedroom felt more cluttered than ever before. He felt so at home in his parents' house, but it was on restless nights like this that got him feeling a bit claustrophobic, and a lot overheated.
Squirming around once more, searching in vain for comfort, Pete gave up. Rising slowly, blearily from the sizzling hot coals that once resembled a mattress, he haphazardly found clothes to dress himself in. This was not a fashion show, this was serious business. He needed out, he needed to reach the oasis in this desert. Walking with utmost stealth down the stairs and past the dogs, he made it unnoticed out the front door. Locking the door behind him, Pete smiled despite his exhaustion and discomfort. 'No more sneaking out the basement window,' he thought with some level of achievement. At his advanced age, Pete took a lot of shit from both friends and strangers for still living at home when they were on break in Chicago. Besides, he was the only man in the band still to do so. He always had to be different.
These thoughts of Patrick's new grown-up apartment redoubled his dwindling energy, and Pete started his car as quietly as he could manage. He may not have to sneak out of his own house anymore, but there was no sense in waking the whole family, if they were even sleeping, and alerting them to his frantic attempt to escape the muggy heat. He cringed when the engine turned over; it might be insanely humid, but it was still a relatively calm night for his peacefully sleeping (jerks!) neighbourhood.
Pete drove into the city to Patrick's place with almost no thought process. Even though they hadn't spent much time at this new apartment, as it was officially Trick's sanctuary, and he was way too anal about keeping it clean, Pete knew the way in his sleep. Oh, sleep. How nice it will be. The cool fan in the old car was just enough to keep him going.
Nineteen miles and twenty-seven minutes later, he parallel-parked across from his final destination and crossed the quiet side street, pulling out his cell phone. He keyed in Patrick's number and waited for an answer. Pete knew that had he called from home, Patrick would probably have hung up immediately-- but from where he stood, with his free hand poised over the door buzzer, Patrick could never turn him away, sent him back to the suburbs and that melty, firey doom. A few rings later, a groggy voice picked up.
"Pete? Whattimeisit?"
"It's late, buddy. I'm sorry." Pete leaned against the glass security door, praying that his face didn't sweat off into a puddle in the next couple of minutes. He hated calling people so late at night. Part of him always suspected that it made them anxious, that they would see his name on the caller ID and immediately think the worst. He never wanted to worry anyone, especially Patrick.
"Wh-- what is it? What's going on?" Patrick was rising into consciousness, his words came clearer.
"It's too hot," Pete sighed. "I can't sleep."
"What do you want me to do about that, asshole? I don't control the weather." Terms of endearment. Pete smiled.
"Yeah, but you do have air conditioning." It was true. He really did. Patrick was safely snuggled down under blankets, frigid air blasting into the room, unintentionally mocking everyone who had to do without.
A yawn. "It's mine. Youcan'thaveit." Patrick's words were starting to slur together again, a sure sign that he was about to fall back into a comfortable slumber.
"Patriiicckk," Pete whined, unable to control himself any longer. "That's so unfaaair!" His exhaustion was beginning to turn him into a belligerent kindergartener, but when he got no response from the other end of the line, Pete tried a new tack. Begging. "Please, please share. Pretty please. With cookies and ponies and really rare vinyl records on top?"
A sleepy, far-away "How?" was all he received in reply.
Pete pushed the little button next to 'Stump, P.' on the tenants list. "Let me IN."
Through the phone came a startled noise as Patrick was jolted awake at the sound of the loud buzzer. Peter could practically hear all of the murderous thoughts going through Patrick's mind. "Fuck off!" Patrick was a little snippy when roused at ungodly hours. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
The line disconnected. A faint click, and then the security door was open. Pete sluggishly made his way across the lobby to the elevator. Already, the cool interior of the building began to revive his spirits. He stepped out of the elevator and saw Patrick leaning against his doorjamb in his faded housecoat, waiting, and possibly snoozing. Pete put an arm around his best friend's shoulders, squeezing them gratefully.
Patrick shuffled away toward his bedroom, yawning, eyes half closed. "There's the couch..." he started, but Pete was already close at his heels. The low-blowing fans in the living room were inadequate; Patrick had a monopoly on the good air in his room, and they'd shared enough beds over the years on tour that Pete had no qualms about stripping down to his boxer-briefs and slipping in beside his gracious host.
Pete sighed happily. "Patrick, you really know how to live. This beats that smelly old tour bus, for sure." The air was like stepping into a walk-in freezer after standing over a hot fast-food grill, but a thousand times more refreshing. A cold mountain spring and a cherry slushie and a face full of snow-ball all at once, all over his body. Pete was asleep in seconds, Patrick was already long gone.
But as common as hot, unbearable nights are, so are their mornings after, when the night of relaxing, wintry freshness catches up to you. When Patrick awoke to a sudden frosty start later that morning, he found his late-night visitor curled deep under blankets (all of them), cuddling happily into Patrick's warm middle. He stirred a little as Patrick tried to peel away a corner of the duvet for himself, unsuccessfully.
"Mmmsplkh," Pete mumbled into Trick's old t-shirt, tugging the blankets up over his ears. "You're so waaaaarm."
Patrick was quite comfortable, aside from the chill factor, and had no intentions of breaking away from the boy hugging his sides so tightly. "I thought you came over to escape the heat, or did I dream that?"
"It's too cold, now. You're warm." Pete was barely conscious now, and his words came out slowly. He stuck with stating what he felt was obvious, clinging to sleep.
"Even with all those blankets, you're still cold?"
Oh, damn. Pete realized he'd become a blanket hog, but only nuzzled his nose into Patrick's ribs as response, then let his death-grip on the blankets loosen so that they could both be fully covered again. It was too early to be awake yet, the sun was barely lighting the room.
"Should I turn the air off? It's just as muggy out there as it was last night, I bet."
"Nnnoooooo. You're sooo warm." Pete had finally found the perfect temperature, the perfect conditions, and the perfect place to sleep. "Please don't get up."
Patrick hardly needed convincing, as he'd always happily be the solution to Pete's problems, however small. Besides, if he got up now, he'd just have to make the poor guy breakfast. "Trust me, Pete. I'm not going anywhere."
###
See original comments here.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Word-count: 1420
Summary: Melting in the humidity, Pete goes hunting for a more comfortable sleeping situation.
Author's Notes: Written for the patrickxpeter Platonic Sleeping Challenge in July 2006.
The problem with summer isn't the sun, or the blistering afternoons. It's not the lack of available shade in the city, or the number of calories in the most delicious flavours of ice cream. The problem lies in the sleepless nights and the way you can spend a whole night lying on top of your sheets and blankets, melting. You flip your pillow over and over, silently begging for a cool side that doesn't seem to exist. You watch the clock and feel like you're going out of your mind.
These are the nights that drive Pete mad. True, he would rather be too warm than too cold, which partially explained why even on the hottest of days, jumping around on stage, he was rarely seen not wearing one of his many (some would say hideous) Clan hoodies. But tonight's swelter was a different story. He ached for coolness, any brief respite from the never-ending airless death.
This is when Pete remembered that Patrick's fancy new high-rise apartment downtown was fully air-conditioned.
He stared over at the glowing green digits of his clock radio, and his childhood attic bedroom felt more cluttered than ever before. He felt so at home in his parents' house, but it was on restless nights like this that got him feeling a bit claustrophobic, and a lot overheated.
Squirming around once more, searching in vain for comfort, Pete gave up. Rising slowly, blearily from the sizzling hot coals that once resembled a mattress, he haphazardly found clothes to dress himself in. This was not a fashion show, this was serious business. He needed out, he needed to reach the oasis in this desert. Walking with utmost stealth down the stairs and past the dogs, he made it unnoticed out the front door. Locking the door behind him, Pete smiled despite his exhaustion and discomfort. 'No more sneaking out the basement window,' he thought with some level of achievement. At his advanced age, Pete took a lot of shit from both friends and strangers for still living at home when they were on break in Chicago. Besides, he was the only man in the band still to do so. He always had to be different.
These thoughts of Patrick's new grown-up apartment redoubled his dwindling energy, and Pete started his car as quietly as he could manage. He may not have to sneak out of his own house anymore, but there was no sense in waking the whole family, if they were even sleeping, and alerting them to his frantic attempt to escape the muggy heat. He cringed when the engine turned over; it might be insanely humid, but it was still a relatively calm night for his peacefully sleeping (jerks!) neighbourhood.
Pete drove into the city to Patrick's place with almost no thought process. Even though they hadn't spent much time at this new apartment, as it was officially Trick's sanctuary, and he was way too anal about keeping it clean, Pete knew the way in his sleep. Oh, sleep. How nice it will be. The cool fan in the old car was just enough to keep him going.
Nineteen miles and twenty-seven minutes later, he parallel-parked across from his final destination and crossed the quiet side street, pulling out his cell phone. He keyed in Patrick's number and waited for an answer. Pete knew that had he called from home, Patrick would probably have hung up immediately-- but from where he stood, with his free hand poised over the door buzzer, Patrick could never turn him away, sent him back to the suburbs and that melty, firey doom. A few rings later, a groggy voice picked up.
"Pete? Whattimeisit?"
"It's late, buddy. I'm sorry." Pete leaned against the glass security door, praying that his face didn't sweat off into a puddle in the next couple of minutes. He hated calling people so late at night. Part of him always suspected that it made them anxious, that they would see his name on the caller ID and immediately think the worst. He never wanted to worry anyone, especially Patrick.
"Wh-- what is it? What's going on?" Patrick was rising into consciousness, his words came clearer.
"It's too hot," Pete sighed. "I can't sleep."
"What do you want me to do about that, asshole? I don't control the weather." Terms of endearment. Pete smiled.
"Yeah, but you do have air conditioning." It was true. He really did. Patrick was safely snuggled down under blankets, frigid air blasting into the room, unintentionally mocking everyone who had to do without.
A yawn. "It's mine. Youcan'thaveit." Patrick's words were starting to slur together again, a sure sign that he was about to fall back into a comfortable slumber.
"Patriiicckk," Pete whined, unable to control himself any longer. "That's so unfaaair!" His exhaustion was beginning to turn him into a belligerent kindergartener, but when he got no response from the other end of the line, Pete tried a new tack. Begging. "Please, please share. Pretty please. With cookies and ponies and really rare vinyl records on top?"
A sleepy, far-away "How?" was all he received in reply.
Pete pushed the little button next to 'Stump, P.' on the tenants list. "Let me IN."
Through the phone came a startled noise as Patrick was jolted awake at the sound of the loud buzzer. Peter could practically hear all of the murderous thoughts going through Patrick's mind. "Fuck off!" Patrick was a little snippy when roused at ungodly hours. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
The line disconnected. A faint click, and then the security door was open. Pete sluggishly made his way across the lobby to the elevator. Already, the cool interior of the building began to revive his spirits. He stepped out of the elevator and saw Patrick leaning against his doorjamb in his faded housecoat, waiting, and possibly snoozing. Pete put an arm around his best friend's shoulders, squeezing them gratefully.
Patrick shuffled away toward his bedroom, yawning, eyes half closed. "There's the couch..." he started, but Pete was already close at his heels. The low-blowing fans in the living room were inadequate; Patrick had a monopoly on the good air in his room, and they'd shared enough beds over the years on tour that Pete had no qualms about stripping down to his boxer-briefs and slipping in beside his gracious host.
Pete sighed happily. "Patrick, you really know how to live. This beats that smelly old tour bus, for sure." The air was like stepping into a walk-in freezer after standing over a hot fast-food grill, but a thousand times more refreshing. A cold mountain spring and a cherry slushie and a face full of snow-ball all at once, all over his body. Pete was asleep in seconds, Patrick was already long gone.
But as common as hot, unbearable nights are, so are their mornings after, when the night of relaxing, wintry freshness catches up to you. When Patrick awoke to a sudden frosty start later that morning, he found his late-night visitor curled deep under blankets (all of them), cuddling happily into Patrick's warm middle. He stirred a little as Patrick tried to peel away a corner of the duvet for himself, unsuccessfully.
"Mmmsplkh," Pete mumbled into Trick's old t-shirt, tugging the blankets up over his ears. "You're so waaaaarm."
Patrick was quite comfortable, aside from the chill factor, and had no intentions of breaking away from the boy hugging his sides so tightly. "I thought you came over to escape the heat, or did I dream that?"
"It's too cold, now. You're warm." Pete was barely conscious now, and his words came out slowly. He stuck with stating what he felt was obvious, clinging to sleep.
"Even with all those blankets, you're still cold?"
Oh, damn. Pete realized he'd become a blanket hog, but only nuzzled his nose into Patrick's ribs as response, then let his death-grip on the blankets loosen so that they could both be fully covered again. It was too early to be awake yet, the sun was barely lighting the room.
"Should I turn the air off? It's just as muggy out there as it was last night, I bet."
"Nnnoooooo. You're sooo warm." Pete had finally found the perfect temperature, the perfect conditions, and the perfect place to sleep. "Please don't get up."
Patrick hardly needed convincing, as he'd always happily be the solution to Pete's problems, however small. Besides, if he got up now, he'd just have to make the poor guy breakfast. "Trust me, Pete. I'm not going anywhere."
###
See original comments here.