Comatose (Peterick)

Three

Don't hate me..

"Babe we're gonna be late!" Pete yelled into the bathroom as his husband was still showering for what felt like an eternity when in reality he has been in their for twenty minutes.

Patrick didn't hear him though; the speaker was blasting music and all he heard was Starman by David Bowie bouncing off the walls as he hummed along. He was used to this scene: they would need to be somewhere but Patrick was the one always making them late.

It wasn't that Patrick procrastinated when it came to having to be on time. He was just lazy. His life motto was "If you want me there that badly, it can wait." It worked most of the time but when it came to big events, like concerts, Pete would be pissed that they missed it just because of the slowness of Patrick.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Patrick yelled back as he lowered his music and wrapped the towel around his waist and started the blow dry his hair. "Pete get me my-"

"Red cardigan, black jeans, and fedora. Got it!" Pete came rushing into the bathroom and placed the three items on the top of the toilet seat and ran back out. "Now let's go lazy ass! This is one thing we can't be late for!"

Patrick just shrugged. After taking a good ten minutes on his hair, he slipped everything on, well attempted to get the jeans on but had some trouble. He carefully placed his fedora upon his head as if it was a crown just for a princess and began to fix his hair again.

He walked out of the bathroom and strolled into the kitchen with no care in the world. Grabbing the stool near the refrigerator, he stood upon it and grabbed his usual breakfast: cereal.

Pete ran around the house searching for Patrick after he realized he wasn't in the bathroom anymore. "Patrick! Come on!" Pete was screaming around the house as Patrick was just sitting at the kitchen table just eating his cereal.

1 new text message from: Ryan Ross

Patrick's phone buzzed as he brought the spoon to his mouth once more.

Ryan: How's Christmas with the hubby?

Patrick laughed silently at his friend. He knew there was a bit of sarcasm in his text knowing that Patrick practically had his dream life: a stable life, husband, and possible kids.

Patrick: Oh just great thanks for asking. How's that boyfriend of yours?

Ryan: Still sleeping, doesn't give a damn about Christmas..just like every other year.

As soon as Patrick was about to respond, Pete came barreling into the kitchen. "You have got to be kidding me Patrick!"

"What?" Patrick questioned as he took another bite of his cereal.

"You're the one who wants to go to your parents house but you're not putting in any effort in getting us there! You're sitting around on your lazy ass while I'm trying to get us out of this house to your parents house!" Pete's breathing picked up as he yelled and ranted.

Patrick sat there, dumbfounded that his husband burst like that. He didn't say anything making the tension in the air thick. Patrick got up and put his bowl in the sink and walking over to the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle that was proscribed to Pete Wentz.

"You forgot these," Patrick muttered as he passed him and pushed them into Pete's chest slightly.

Pete felt a wave of an emotion that he's never felt before wash over himself: guilt. He heard the door shut a couple feet behind him signaling that Patrick had walked out and went to the car.