The attic demos part two (13 hours 16 minutes )
Title: 13 hours 16 minutes
Author:
alles_luege
Pairing: Patrick/Mikey, Patrick/Pete
Rating: PG
Summary: Patrick doesn’t call, Mikey doesn’t wait, and Pete isn’t distracting Patrick in any way…
Warning(s): Angst
Author’s Notes: Part of a three-part-series. The series title is of course stolen. Also, plays pre fame and screaming fangirls. POV changes between Patrick and Mikey. (Random: So, okay, Andy wasn’t really a part of the band at that time, but they had a drummer called Mike - and this may be the only fic he’ll be ever mentioned in…)
Word Count: 3.295
Beta: tygermine
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real.
II. 13 hours 16 minutes
~1~
Patrick doesn’t call. It’s not that he is waiting for that kid to call, he isn’t. He isn’t one of those people. Who are waiting, glancing at their cell phones, hoping, praying. He hasn’t prayed since he was ten.
He doesn’t wait.
“You’re kinda quiet.” Gerard remarks, he isn’t looking up from his canvas; there is paint splattered all over his clothes. Mikey just rolls his eyes. “For you, I mean.” Gerard adds after a while. The only thing heard is the turning of the pages when Mikey finishes reading one. “Is something wrong?” Gerard finally asks. It doesn’t seem he will let the issue go anytime soon. He lights a cigarette, inhales and turns. Mikey can hear it, he doesn’t look up from the comic he’s reading. “Mikey,” Gerard whines. Just one word. Goddamned!
“What?!” he asks irritated.
“Talk to me.”
“Isn’t it obvious that I don’t want to talk? Doesn’t the silence tell you something?”
“It tells me that you are unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy. I’m thinking. Contemplating.”
“Brooding.”
“It’s a form of thinking.” Mikey answers.
“Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it…” Gerard trails off, playing hurt even though Mikey knows he’s annoyed. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. Not now.
“I just need to sort some things out…” he answers, because he hates it when Gerard is like this - Big Brother mode - and he knows that Gerard is just being caring and shit.
“Okay…what do you think? More red?” Gerard asks. Mikey glances at the painting. The main colour is some kind of deep purple and of course black. He doesn’t even know what it is, some kind of post apocalyptic town maybe or Gerard’s attempt at a visual poem.
“Isn’t it always more red with you?” he answers.
“Maybe…so? More red?”
“More red.” Mikey says with a smile.
He isn’t waiting.
He really isn’t, and he isn’t asking himself what Patrick might possibly be doing right now. Going to school, the same kind of things he did when he was seventeen?
Probably.
Maybe not.
Patrick doesn’t seem like the kind of kid who would get drunk and dance with some dude he met a few minutes ago.
A dude claiming to be the singer of Midtown. Maybe he was…Mikey was too drunk to really be able to tell. And if he was…Mikey just doesn’t think about it.
His cell isn’t silent. Not ever. There are always messages or calls. He doesn’t reply to most of them, he doesn’t pick up most times.
He doesn’t admit he’s waiting.
Because he’s not.
It would be stupid. He isn’t stupid. He sighs, turns to look at the ceiling.
Thirteen hours, sixteen minutes, he thinks playing with his phone. Or just a few seconds. Wanting to push the dial button.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t wait either.
~2~
Patrick doesn’t call.
First, because he thinks it’s too soon, he doesn’t want to seem…eager? Desperate? Something like that. Then there is Pete; always distracting him, when he has, like, three minutes between his family and school and music. He almost loses the note with the number and his mom nearly puts it in with his shirts in the washer. He is able to save it. By that time two weeks are over and he doesn’t think he can call now…because, well, he waited two weeks? How can he explain that? With Pete, his mom, his life? What life? Maybe Mikey hates him by now anyway. Or worse, Mikey’s forgotten all about him. So, the bottom line is: Patrick doesn’t call.
“Do you still speak to the dude from MCR?” Patrick asks one evening. He’s playing with the strings of his guitar, not even sure what he’s playing. He knows his name…he just doesn’t want to seem to remember. Pete arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t look up from his scribbling. He’s working on lyrics, again. It’s like his head is never silent.
“Gerard?” he asks.
“Yeah. Gerard.” Patrick answers, he recognises the song by now. It’s ‘Love will tear us apart’. Hang on. Why the fuck is he playing this?! He sighs, a little frustrated, and puts the guitar aside.
“Are you okay?” Pete wants to know.
“Yeah…” It’s not a lie. Not really. He is okay, he could be better…but, you could always be better, so…it’s not a lie at all.
“You sure?”
Patrick can tell that Pete doesn’t believe him. It’s Pete, and for all his own trouble, his own craziness he catches on really quickly when something isn’t right with his friends.
“Yeah…” Patrick answers and that’s just his way of letting Pete know he doesn’t really want to talk about it. Not now anyway or ever…maybe.
“I do.” Pete says after a while, not looking up from his notebook.
“You do what?” Patrick was too deep in his own head to catch on. Pete rolls his eyes, Patrick can’t see it, but he can practically feel the movement as Pete sighs theatrically.
“I still speak with him,” Pete replies.
“Oh…” Patrick doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s a good thing, but…he doesn’t know if he wants to ask about Mikey, to ask for news, for Gerard’s number. Maybe call? He shakes his head to clear it - even if he knows that it doesn’t work, not for him.
“Hmmm…?” Pete says. And that’s a fucking question, Patrick thinks irritated.
“I don’t know, okay?!” Patrick shouts; he’s annoyed.
“No reason to be pissed at me, dude!”
“I told you a few seconds ago, I don’t want to talk about it!” Patrick fires back.
“Obviously!”
“Pete…” Patrick warns. He’s had enough for today.
“You have quite the temper there, Patrick. Cool it!”
“And that is news since when?!”
“I hate you when you get like this” Pete says getting up, shaking his head.
Patrick keeps quiet. He hates himself when he’s like this too. He wants to punch something. Badly.
“Call me when you’re back to normal.” Pete says after a while, just standing there. He opens his mouth to say something else, shakes his head one more time and leaves. Patrick throws a pillow at the door. It’s childish, and it doesn’t make him feel better at all.
He leaves it where it lands.
That night he plays with the small piece of paper again. The numbers are worn out, he can barely read them at all, but he doesn’t need to, because they are burned into his brain. He doesn’t think he could ever forget them.
~3~
Mikey knows Gerard has some contact with Pete, and sometimes he wants to ask about their band and Patrick, but he doesn’t. After all, Patrick didn’t call. And now it’s too late.
Months…four months, and it’s not like Mikey was counting the days, weeks…months. Still waiting, still wanting. Because he wasn’t. He isn’t.
And after six months he really doesn’t care. He doesn’t even think about Patrick anymore. The memory of his warm, soft body next to Mikey’s this one night, all those months ago, fades into nothing. A blur of images, senses. Nothing he can really grasp. Nothing he can hold on to. Like cigarette smoke, whirling out of reach.
“Pete is coming over next weekend,” Gerard says softly. He’s standing in the doorway, slowly exhaling smoke from his lungs.
“Yeah?” Mikey asks, not looking up from the book he’s reading.
“Yeah…their band is playing a show. Wanna go with me?”
“No,” Mikey answers. He really, really doesn’t. Because he cured himself just a few weeks ago. And he’s not risking a relapse into thoughts of Patrick. He’s stronger than that. He hopes. No need to tempt fate.
“You sure?”
“Gerard.” Usually when Mikey whines out his brother’s name, Gerard gets the hint and goes away. But Gerard is on a mission to save lives. And now he wants to save Mikey.
“Mikey, listen…” he begins. Mikey turns his head to look him in the eyes.
“No, you listen. I’m okay… now.” He says. The ‘now’ letting Gerard know that if he pushes the issue, he might not remain okay.
“Okay,” Gerard says, nodding. He drags deeply on his cigarette.
“I will be over at Frank’s this weekend.” Mikey says and turns back to his book.
“Okay.”
He hears Gerard’s naked feet on the cold floor, hesitant.
“I’m okay…I promise.” Mikey says with a small smile. He sees Gerard nod from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t want Gerard close now. He doesn’t want to be hugged, because then he will not be okay. He needs to be somewhere else this weekend, that’s all.
~+~
Patrick is fucking pissed.
Just when he finally stops thinking about Mikey, Pete springs this on him. Fucking Jersey. Thanks for reminding me I’m such a coward, asshole.
“How could you do that?” he demands.
“We’re friends and stayed at their place last time. Besides it’s better than the fucking van!” Pete screams right back a t him.
“I can’t sleep there! Not in that house!”
“You can sleep in the fucking van for all I care!”
Patrick wants to throw things again. Pete brings that out in him. Every fucking time he does something so stupid, Patrick wants just to scream and tear the fucking walls down and hurt something, someone - mostly Pete.
“Did you think of me when you agreed to this?” He wants to know.
“I need to think about all of us! The band! Not just you…fuck! Patrick!” Pete shouts.
Patrick knows he wants to punch something too. He can’t stop himself, he just can’t.
“See how far you come without a singer!” He instantly wishes to take back his words, but it’s too late. The words lie heavy between them.
“Fuck you!” Pete says, dangerously low and Patrick wants him to throw a punch. Wants Pete to physically give him a reason to beat himself up using Pete’s arms. Maybe a concussion will help stop the swirling vortex in his head. The circle of Mikey- Pete- Pete- Mikey- Mikey- Pete that makes him insane.
~4~
And still.
Even if he isn’t there, he can’t not think about Patrick. It feels like being beyond salvation.
Fuck Pete! He thinks. Fuck Gerard too for that matter, because what the fuck is wrong with his brother? Can’t he just say no? Of course not. ‘Gerard saves lives.’ And if he can save Pete, he’ll fucking try.
And okay, Jersey isn’t the safest place on earth…kids sleeping in a van are easy targets. He doesn’t want to read about them in the newspaper, making front-page because some psycho had fun slicing them into little peaces to make Stroganoff.
And that thought right there is a major clue that he spends way too much time with Gerard.
“You aren’t going to see Pete’s band?” Frank asks. He’s putting on a black shirt Mikey is pretty sure is his. He would be pissed, because Frank didn’t even ask, but he stays at Frank’s to avoid Patrick…so, who is he to talk?
“No, did Gerard ask you to persuade me?”
“Would he do that to you?!” Frank grins.
Mikey glares at Frank.
“So, you’re really not going?” Frank seems to be pushing this a little too much in Mikey’s opinion.
“No, I’m staying here and…I don’t know…I’ll watch some movies and…”
“Hide.”
“Pretty much.” He says. Why is it that Gerard has the need to discuss stuff like that with Frank?
“It’s your life.” Frank shrugs and wanders of into the small kitchen.
Yeah, he thinks, this is apparently my life. It’s his life, sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it.
~+~
Patrick sulks.
He knows sulking is childish and stupid, but he just can’t help it.
So, he sulks in the back of the van. He couldn’t go through with his threat after all. They are getting somewhere now and he couldn’t do this to Pete. He couldn’t do this to Joe, who believed in him in the first place, or to Mike. He couldn’t do this to himself. That’s the most important part. Self destruction was Pete’s forte, not Patrick’s.
So he finds himself in the back of the van, ignoring Pete and Mike discussing the shows and acting like a petulant child. Because he’s still mad. And as if Pete would act his twenty-something age, then maybe Patrick might act his! Patrick isn’t sure he will live to see the day Pete acts his age. He snorts at the thought and Mike looks at him, Joe just smiles, he isn’t concerned, but well, Joe seldom is. Pete doesn’t pay attention to him at all. Yep, this road trip will be awesome!
~+~
He could go, he reasons. His band will be there, well Gerard’s band.
Gerard would be there.
And of course Patrick, but he can ignore Patrick.
He’s acting like a teenager and he isn’t one, he thinks. He’s nearly twenty for God sake!
He pulls the pillow from his face - he wasn’t hiding behind it or something -, sighs and looks up at the ceiling. Frank should do something about the yellow stain there. It looks creepy…alive somehow. He knows Frank isn’t concerned about something like that, the only thing Frank is concerned about are spiders. He could call Gerard to pick him up. He totally could. He sighs again.
~+~
Pete is still not talking to him when they set up their stuff. Fine, Patrick thinks. Fine. Whatever. He doesn’t need Pete to help him along, he doesn’t need Pete to help him with the stage fright. In fact, he doesn’t need Pete at all.
Oh! Who the hell is he kidding?!
But he will not let Pete win. Not this time. He should have asked for God’s sake.
He knew.
He knew. And he just went and did what he thought was best. Fuck him, Patrick thinks. Fuck him.
He sits in a corner, his headphones on, trying to warm up his voice. He can do that alone.
He sighs frustrated. He looks up as someone taps his shoulder.
“It will be okay, you know? He isn’t the only one on stage,” Joe says and Patrick smiles.
“Thanks,” Patrick answers.
“No problem, man, really…” Joe says and puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Patrick?”
“Yeah?”
“He means well, he just didn’t think.” Fuck Joe too, Patrick thinks for a moment, but that isn’t fair.
“I know. But he could’ve asked!”
“I will next time!” Pete shouts from where he’s tuning his bass. The anger in his voice makes Patrick shiver.
“No, you will not!” And he doesn’t want to start an argument right now, but if Pete doesn’t shut up about this then he will and everything will end in disaster.
“Patrick!” Pete warns.
“Pete…” Patrick shoots back. His voice is his weapon, he isn’t entirely sure how to use it correctly yet, but he has a vague idea.
“Fine! Whatever!” Pete says and just leaves.
“I think you just won…” Joe says, a bit awed at the whole thing.
“Yeah…I think, I did.” Patrick can’t quite believe it either.
~+~
He should have known. He just can’t stay away. But he can make himself invisible to Patrick.
Patrick for his part looks a bit uneasy, terrified even. He supposes that he looks faintly the same before Gerard does whatever he thinks he needs to do to make Mikey more comfortable on stage…or more uncomfortable. Really.
Seems Pete does the same thing for Patrick. But Patrick isn’t squirming, he seems to lean in. Maybe, Mikey thinks, maybe that is the reason he didn’t call. Because relationships change. And he will not think about this anymore.
~+~
And it’s so easy to forgive Pete, to fall back into their routine on stage, to fall back into Pete’s body. The reassurance, the heat, the high of the moment. Too easy. And Patrick knows that it’s as much for Pete as it is for Patrick. Because Pete needs someone to hold on to, to be there for him, to make his words make sense. To make his world make sense.
~+~
He still isn’t sure if he should go home with Gerard.
“You could talk with him…” Gerard says, exhaling a plume of smoke. Mikey wonders if his lungs are black already.
“I could, I don’t want to…” He is a sixteen year old girl. Gerard smiles.
“Are you coming home with me?”
“You realise how this sounds, don’t you?!” Mikey asks. Gerard grins. Of course he does.
“So, are you?”
“Yeah…” he says, because honestly, he will get no sleep at Frank’s place for sure.
~5~
And it’s awkward. He knew it would be. At least it’s for Patrick. Mikey doesn’t seem concerned at all. He’s sprawled on the couch, smoking cigarettes and being silent, but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable.
It’s just me, Patrick thinks, and is immediately annoyed with himself. Why is he so concerned with other people’s feelings? Seems no one gives a shit how he feels. And he knows that isn’t fair and that it isn’t true.
~+~
He’s just sitting by himself. But he listens, and he observes, and he knows that Patrick isn’t comfortable at all. It hardly seems fair. It’s not like they were dating, together or something. They had just one day, a bit of shared body heat, a morning where Patrick blushed. Mikey knows. Patrick obviously thinks he didn’t notice, but he did. Because he notices things. That’s how he is.
Patrick just drinks water and he keeps to himself, while Pete’s arm rests on his shoulder. Reassuring maybe, maybe possessive. Mikey can’t tell, not yet. Maybe it’s a combination of both, because Pete sure as hell picked up on the tension in Patrick’s body.
~+~
Pete’s fingers run slow circles on his shoulder, Patrick relaxes a bit, but the tension doesn’t leave his body completely. It’s partly because Pete is like this with him. It seems like they’re more than they really are. But when Patrick’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what they are exactly. He supposes Pete doesn’t either.
He doesn’t sleep in Mikey’s room that night; he sleeps on the couch with Pete, who is a warm presence, curled around Patrick’s body. His personal heat blanket. Invading Patrick’s space.
~+~
When Patrick wakes up, he can smell coffee. The Way brothers will always be associated with coffee for him now.
Mikey is the only one he finds in the kitchen though. He is indecisive for a moment, but really, he needs to get a grip on himself.
“Morning,” he says and walks over to pour some coffee for himself.
“Morning.”
“Where’s everybody?” Patrick asks as he sits down.
“Buying something sweet for Pete…cigarettes for Frank, because Gerard doesn’t share,” says Mikey shrugging.
“Oh…” What else is there to say?
“So, you and Pete?” Mikey asks suddenly. Patrick chokes on his coffee.
“No,” he manages after a while.
“So, why didn’t you call then?” Mikey sounds curious. Patrick can’t figure out what he is thinking.
“I…” he begins and hasn’t a good answer. “I just didn’t, I don’t know.”
Mikey nods as if he understands. Maybe he does. Patrick doesn’t know. Patrick doesn’t know the first thing about Mikey. He just doesn’t know and with Pete…with Pete, there is something. He can’t explain it, he doesn’t write, he isn’t that big with words. After all Pete never seems satisfied with his lyrics. He knows that they aren’t good.
“It’s Pete.” Mikey says. He sounds sure. Of what, Patrick doesn’t know. But it’s true, somehow. It’s Pete. Pete who distracted him, Pete who invades his space, Pete who uses him as a voice.
“Maybe,” Patrick admits. “But that doesn’t mean that there can’t be anyone else.”
“Maybe,” Mikey says.
~end~
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