Peterick OneShots

Midnight Whisperings

This is based off a conversation i had while talking to Anne and figured why not write it?

Fluffy fetus Peterick (this is trash but thanks)

TW: light angst and fluff, warnings for depression/suicide mentions

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The van wasn't exactly the biggest place to sleep. Usually they rotated who drove and who slept. Tonight, it was Joe in the passenger, Andy driving, and Pete and Patrick in the back.

Drives after shows were always the quietest. They were exhausted and gross and just wanted to get to the next stop and a shower. It was a rule not to wake anyone up unless necessary. Which is why when someone softly prodded his shoulder Patrick shot up, confused and nearly headbutting the person leaning beside him.

"Sorry!" Pete whispered loudly, crouching beside him. Patrick glared at him.

"Why'd you wake me up?"

Pete looked down at his hands, suddenly very quiet and not like himself. "Can't sleep Tricky.. Nightmares.. It's been bad for days." Patrick nodded in understanding. Pete had explained to him before about the nightmares and the insomnia, but this was his first time ever coming to him about it.

"How can I help," Patrick asked, scooting into a more comfortable position. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he looked over at Pete. The bassist looked confused and shocked but happy.

"Can I just.. Can I just sleep with you? I know you don't like me being all clingy but.." Patrick rolled his eyes and unzipped his sleeping back, allowing Pete to curl up close to him. Patrick carefully zipped it back up, ignoring how their knees and chests were touching, and instead focused on how insanely warm Pete was. The man was a fucking space heater.

He hummed appreciatively, wrapping an arm around Patrick's middle as he tucked his head under Patrick's chin. The singer shifted uncomfortably before slowly relaxing, tentatively wrapping his arms around Pete and resting his cheek against Pete's hair.

They lay there like that for a few moments, Patrick almost drifting back to sleep, before Pete shifted again. Patrick sighed and looked down at him, carefully brushing the hair out of his face. Pete stared up at Patrick sheepishly, dark circles under his eyes.

"You need to try to sleep Pete," Patrick whispered, is voice soft, like he would use when speaking to a child. Pete pouted, looking down again.

"I can't.. I.. Can you sing to me?"

Patrick stared at him for a moment, taken aback, before nodding. He allowed Pete to get comfortable before he started singing softly, crooning right into the bassist's ear. Pete hummed appreciatively and melted into Patrick's side, his breath slowly becoming steady and hot on Patrick's skin.

Once he was sure Pete was out Patrick relaxed. His fingers lightly trailed up and down Pete's back, careful not to disturb him, continuing to hum quietly into his ear. After a few moments Patrick felt himself begin to doze off, and he lightly kissed Pete's grossly messy hair before closing his eyes.

When Patrick woke up the next day, he was alone in his sleeping bag. It still smelled like Pete; his hair and musk and something vaguely fruity. Patrick burrowed into the scent, into the warmth, before finally giving in and getting up. Pete was sitting in the middle seat, directly in front of him. Patrick could faintly hear the music from his earbuds. After he stretched Patrick leaned forward, poking the bassist in the neck. Pete turned and took out his earbuds, looking at Patrick in confusion.

The singer smiled sheepishly, leaning forward to put his chin on the seat. "Did you get any sleep?" he asked quietly, studying Pete's face. The lines and bags seemed to have cleared up a little, but there was still something off.. His lips were pulled down more, there was a little crease in his brow, and the faint purplish circles hadn't left their spot under his eyes. Patrick reached out tentatively, touching the side of Pete's face with his fingertips before smoothing down his hair.