Peterick OneShots

It Only Gets Better When It Hurts

Slight angst, but mostly fluffy peterick :)

For: @/chubbypatrick (on tumblr)

Send me an ask (or comment)  if you want and i'll do submissions? :)

TW: depression, insomnia, alcohol/drugs mention(barely there but to be safe)

((this is angsty 2005 Pete Wentz cause mood :/ ))

Normally Patrick was a heavy sleeper. It would take forever to get him out of his bunk in the morning; he was always the last one to rehearsal, always the last off the bus, always the one that went to bed earlier than everyone else. What could he say, he was a lazy guy and the bunks were kinda comfy.

But that was normally. Tonight, Patrick was just barely dozing, sitting up in his bunk to try to keep himself somewhat alert.

Pete was doing bad again. Everyone noticed that it was going to be an off week; he was a little too reckless, a little too drunk every day, always took a little more of his meds than he was supposed to. They were all worried, of course, but the only one that really seemed to be able to help was Patrick.

His efforts were justified when, at 3:28 in the morning, Patrick heard shuffling from Pete's bunk. Patrick's eyes opened wider, sitting up in his bunk. There was more shuffling, and the faint sound of Pete scribbling away at his notebook. Patrick listened for a moment, concern slowly fading as it seemed all Pete was going to do tonight was write.

Suddenly, however, there was a sigh, and the sound of Pete throwing his notebook across his bunk. Patrick heard his faint shuddering breaths, a sure sign that Pete was nearing a panic attack, and he pulled back his curtain immediately. In one fluid motion the singer rolled out of his bunk and stood, chewing his lip.

Patrick carefully pulled back the curtain to Pete's bunk, knowing that Pete knew he was up. The bassist was sitting up in his bunk, still fully clothed, with his knees pulled up and his face hidden in his arms. Patrick felt his heart twist in his chest, and he carefully placed his hand on Pete's shoulder.

"Hey," he called out softly, rubbing circles in Pete's shoulder. The bassist said nothing, and Patrick continued. "Scoot over? You need to breath, Pete."

He shivered, but complied, scooting closer to the wall so that Patrick could crawl in beside him. Patrick wound his arms around Pete's shoulders, pulling him closer. Pete went willingly, hiding his face in Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick heard him sniffle before chuckling, and Pete pulled away. There was a tiny hint of a smile on his lips. "Your hair smells like strawberries, Pattycakes. You run out of shampoo again?"

Patrick shrugged but smiled," Joe has the best shampoo and you know it. Besides, desperate times call for desperate measures." Pete nodded, leaning back.

His head lightly thumped against the wall of his bunk, and he let out a long sigh through his nose. "Thank you," he whispered finally, not opening his eyes. Patrick shook his head.

"Shut up Wentz. I've already told you, I'm always here if you need me man." Pete nodded, smiling sheepishly.

Patrick patted his knee, moving to go back to his bunk, but Pete grabbed his arm, turning him back.

"Will you please stay?" he asked, brown eyes wide and scared in the dark. He looked like he hasn't slept in a few days, and Patrick could almost see the words in his head, screaming hurtful things at the man.

The singer nodded, moving around so that he was laying under the blankets while Pete tugged off his jeans and shirt. Patrick rolled his eyes; Pete just couldn't sleep with a shirt, could he? Not that Patrick minded much but.. it was still somewhat distracting.

As soon as they were both settled, Patrick on his back and Pete curled on his side, Pete scooted closer. He wrapped his arms around Patrick's middle, head on his shoulder, his warm breath tickling Patrick's skin. The singer sighed, wrapping an arm around his friend, his fingers lightly carding through his black hair.

They lay there for a few moments, listening to each other's breathing, until Pete nuzzled his face further into Patrick's neck, the singer's hair partially covering his face.

"Will you sing?" he breathed finally, breath hot against Patrick's ear. He repressed a shiver and nodded, singing whatever words came to mind, which in this case was a slow Guns N Roses song that he knew Pete liked.

The bassist hummed appreciatively, slow smile spreading across his face. He moved so that his hand was on Patrick's chest, lightly tugging at the faded blue t-shirt. Patrick swallowed hard, trying not to notice as he whisper-sung the lyrics, turning his head to sing them right into Pete's ear. Eventually, Patrick felt the bassist relax, breathing eventually evening out, tension leaving his shoulders.

When he was sure Pete was asleep, Patrick relaxed, ghosting his fingers over Pete's back. With a sigh he pressed a kiss to the bassists hair, closing his eyes.