Brendon P.O.V.
Patrick was finally getting better.
I mean, physically. He doesn't throw up anymore and his color has come back. He doesn't have to wear a bandage anymore (his arm was a bit discolored but it wasn't too bad). The doctors say he can go home soon.
But mentally, that was another story.
He hardly talks. He constantly writing. I don't think I've seen him without a notebook this past week.
I don't think he sleeps much either. His eyes are rimmed by dark purple rings and I hear him mumbling to himself a lot.
He's not okay.
It was the day before he was supposed to be discharged. I was alone with him in the room and he was furiously writing in his notebook. He stopped for a minute and chewed on the end of his pencil.
"Hey, Bren," he mumbled.
I looked up. "Yeah, Trick. You okay?" I asked.
"Not really but... I wrote these lyrics and music for them but they don't feel Fall Out Boy, if that makes any sense. You wanna take a look at them for Panic! ?" he said.
This was the most he had talked since Elisa left. "Sure, man. Let me see," I said, reaching my hand out.
He ripped a page out of his notebook and handed it to me. I looked at his messy script and it read:
If crazy=genius, you can set yourself on fire,
But you're never gonna burn, burn, burn.
Well I'm a fucking arsonist
I'm a rocket scientist
"Wow, Patrick. These are great!" I told him.
He smiled and said, "Thanks, Bren. You wanna write the rest of the song? I think I have another part for it."
He flipped to another page in his notebook and read:
"She said, "Darlin', you know
How the wine plays tricks on my tongue
But you don't seem to change
When you stuff all of your feelings with drugs"
Other boys you may have dated
Serrated your heart with a slice
But the cut of your love never hurts
Baby, it's a sweet butter knife."
"What do you think?" he questioned.
I was blown away. This is going to be a great song. "Wow, that's so great! How about for the first verse 'she dances on a tightrope of weird'?"
He eyes lit up. "Oh!" he exclaimed before scribbling in his notebook again.
He turned it towards me. The words read:
"She said "at night
In my dreams
You dance on a tightrope
Of weird"'
"Shit, 'Trick. Amazing."
An hour later, we had a pretty awesome song. We wrote the lyrics together and Patrick wrote most of the music.
"I need to hear how this sounds. You want to sing it for me?" I offered.
He froze up. "N-no, Brendon. My voice isn't what it used to be. It was never good to begin with, and now the fire-"
"Patrick," I said calmly. "One, you have the best singing voice I ever heard. You've got range like no motherfucker knows,"
He chuckled at the old reference.
,"And two, you probably still have an amazing voice. Have you tried singing since the fire?"
He shook his head.
"Well then, I guess we'll have to give it a shot. Come on, man. For me?" I gave him pleading eyed and he sighed.
"Okay, but please be honest. I want you to to tell me if my voice is bad," he said reluctantly.
He cleared his throat and warmed up a bit. Then he sang.
"You can set yourself on fire,
You can set yourself on fire.."
He sang the entire song. And I'll be honest...
His voice was still amazing.
He hit the high and low notes just like he did before. His voiced lilted when it needed to. He was still the best voice I've ever heard sing.
"Patrick, your voice is still amazing," I said.
He looked at me, a little out of breath. He still had his voice, but he couldn't hold notes for as long.
"Really?" he asked, seemingly surprised.
I nodded. "Yeah, man. You're still the best. You had nothing to worry about."
He smiled. It was the first genuine smile I've seen from him since Elisa left. He looked truly happy. I'm glad making music helped him.
He got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I was going to go get him some food, but when I opened the door, I saw Pete, Andy, and Joe with their mouths wide open.
"Oh my god," Andy said.
"What?" I asked, letting them into the room.
"His voice," Joe said.
"It's still awesome. Bren, how did you get him to sing?" Pete asked.
I grinned and sat down. "He showed me some lyrics he wrote. He said he thought I could use them for a Panic! song. They were great lyrics, as usual. We wrote a song together and I convinced him to sing it."
Just then, Patrick stepped out of the bathroom. He looked down and mumbled, "You guys heard?"
Pete put his arm around Patrick and said ,"Dude, you sound fucking great! And that song was so dope!"
Patrick looked relieved and sheepishly smiled. He walked back to his bed and sat on the edge. "Listen guys, I uhh..." he started.
"What is it, man?" Andy said, sitting next to him.
Patrick scratched the back of his neck. "I want to play shows again, I really do. But maybe not, like, right away. Do you think we could take a little break from touring? Not for a long time... Just maybe another month or two. I promise I'll get back up there soon, but I just need some time..." he trailed off.
Andy put his arm around Patrick as Pete said, "Yeah, of course, 'Trick. However long you need."
"Are you sure? I mean we don't have to, the fans are more important-"
Joe cut him off. "Patrick, you saved our fucking lives. You deserve a little break. Your health comes first."
"Okay, thanks guys. I really appreciate it," Patrick said. "I'm tired now, I'm going to sleep now. You can go home, if you want."
I frowned. "Patrick, you haven't eaten a lot today. You should eat some dinner before you go to sleep."
"Not hungry..." he mumbled, then curled up underneath the sheets and fell asleep.
*
hello, loves. if you're interested in poetry, i have a poem up on my page. it's called "you and i" (based off pvris obviously). it's a peterick thing and it's short and sweet. i hope you like it.
ily <3
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