Peterick/trohley oneshots

We'll protect you

tw: mentions of abuse and injury. Mentions of upset, crying. Mentions of breakups. This is platonic fob, with elements of Pete crushing on Patrick. I haven't uploaded anything on this book in a while, i apologise, my great-grandmother died

He walked through the empty streets of Chicago, watching the houses he passed. They all seemed grey and dull to him. They were as dull as him. His coat was tattered, despite being basically brand new. His hands were cold, shaking a little. His lips were starting to go blue, turning the air he breathed out into a soft smoke. He found joy in that before, but now it didn't matter. Pete was very cold, but he couldn't stop walking. He can't stop. He didn't know just how long he had been walking, but he did know it was at least a day, he was dedicated to his cause. 

He didn't know why he had believed that he had fallen in love with her. He hadn't loved someone in so long, and he decided that he had loved her - he hated himself for not noticing how wrong he actually was. He had forced himself into reciprocating feelings that weren't meant to be reciprocated, and he was the one facing the repercussions, not her. The breakup had been messy, too, and Pete left soon after she threw a hairdryer at him. She always did shit like that, laying her hands on him. He spent years dealing with that, and he finally got the courage to break it off and leave. He was in a hurry when he left, though, so he didn't even grab his phone, or money before he left. 

He blew a gentle breath into his cupped hands, as he tried to warm them. He turned a corner, trying to find a place he can sit, somewhere he can warm up without intruding. He knew his bandmates shared a house nearby, but he didn't want to bother them. He'd feel like a burden, especially since he had put the band on hiatus in the first place. The all too familiar feeling of guilt crept up his spine, like that spider and the waterspout - or was it water pipe?  He could never remember. 

He could remember the late-night hot chocolates with Andy when neither of them could sleep on the bus. He could remember the pranks he and Patrick pulled when the two of them were bored and had nothing else to do before soundcheck. He could remember when Joe would comfort him after an argument with either his girlfriend or with one of the other members of the band. His girlfriend had forced him away from those friends, those constants in his life. Pete sighed, what he would give for just one yesterday. 

He found himself standing outside the coffee store he used to love. He never went anymore, the memories hurt too much. The laughing so hard at one of Patrick's jokes that he spat the coffee out of his nose, or the tears he cried after his first breakup, which Joe and Andy saw him through. He stared at the sign, which shone a soft light onto the street below - onto him. He had a soft stubble, not having had the chance to shave yet, he was vibing with it, though. Maybe he'd keep it. 

Maybe. 

He continued to walk, looking into all of the stores. He probably looked a right state, with the dried blood on the side of his face, from the hairdryer. He envied the people in the stores, laughing with their friends and family. He had lost his.  he had lost everything. 

He eventually came to a full and complete stop, outside a somewhat-large house. The soft porch lights illuminated the little stone pathway, the grey and honestly quite old number read '27'. The house itself was white, with way too many windows. It had beige curtains in a lot of the windows, the bedrooms had Blue, yellow, and green. 3 bedrooms. Pete's heart sank when he realised where he was.

He had brought himself to them. 

He was very tempted to turn around and go back to apologise to his girlfriend as if nothing had happened, but he didn't. He walked forwards, straight up to the door. He thought for a moment, before twisting his hand into a fist, and knocking, in a tune he didn't quite recognise. The door was a nice shade of grey, which matched the aesthetic of the rest of Chicago that night. 

"Pete?" That voice, that was a voice he remembered very well. It was soft and sweet, but also delightfully surprised. Patrick's voice was like ecstasy to Pete, and he never wanted to leave again. "Oh my gosh, you need to come in, I'll get Joe to grab the first aid kit and my heated blanket." 

Before Pete could protest, he was dragged inside. The interior was like a mini forest, with an uncomfortable amount of succulents and plants lining the halls. Patrick was holding both of Pete's hands in his, Pete was absolutely freezing, and soaked through. The man in the fedora rubbed their hands together in an attempt to warm his friend. He was yelling orders out at his bandmates, who rushed around to fulfil them. 

Pete almost moaned when the heated blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. He was sat down on a comfortable polyester sofa, Andy rushing in with the medkit. He could hear the 3 talking to him, but he didn't respond to any of them. Their voices were fading, he couldn't make out what they were saying. His vision was darkening, and soon, he was fast asleep. He hadn't even realised he was as tired as he was.

He could see their faces when he woke - they all looked worried and tired. He was covered in blankets, and he was definitely being held by Andy. Andy gave the best hugs, so, Pete just cuddled into it. He was in no way ready to protest, especially when he had just barged in like this.  He drank some water Joe gave him.

"So, now you're awake, can you tell us what happened?" Patrick's voice was laced with concern. a tinge of guilt rushed over Pete, and he nodded.

As he told the story, he began to realise just how wrong his relationship had been - how onesided, and abusive it had been. He had been so deeply in love with her that he hadn't realised. He didn't know when he began to cry, but he did know when Patrick began to talk again. 

"Its okay, Pete, you're okay. We'll protect you."