The Problem with Patrick || Fall Out Boy

the alcohol never lies, never lies

Even after taking Patrick to his favourite burger place and shouting him lunch, Pete knew that he wasn't doing too well with the news. He had put on a smile and a happy disposition to try and fool the others, and although Andy and Joe had taken it as truth, Pete had seen straight through it. And so after dropping Andy and Joe home from lunch, he followed Patrick's car back to his apartment to chat.

Patrick's apartment wasn't exactly five-star luxury, but he didn't seem to mind all that much. An apartment in the lower part of town can always look nice with the right interior, but Patrick's basement-level, one-bedroom joint was always a little bit sad-looking at the best of times.

When Pete walked in and found Patrick on the ground in front of the TV with his hand wrapped around a half-empty bottle of heavy liquor, the place looked sadder than ever. Patrick didn't even notice him walk in, he was just blankly staring at the episode of House Hunters that was playing on the TV.

"House hunters?" Pete asked with a slight chuckle, trying to make light of the situation. He walked over and gently pulled the bottle away from his friend and sat down beside him. "Which one do you think they're gonna buy?"

Patrick mumbled a response, glancing back up at the screen. He hadn't been paying heavy attention, but House Hunters isn't exactly heavy viewing. "The seaside one is the best one for them, it's got enough bedroommmmms..."

Pete glanced back down at the bottle and winced when he saw how much was missing, especially considering he'd bought this bottle for Patrick as a late Christmas present a few days ago. He wasn't sure how much his friend had consumed tonight, but he did know that Patrick never got this drunk by himself, and this was a situation he'd never really been in before.

"Hey, 'Trick, after this episode, do you wanna go grab a bag of some clothes for me?" Pete asked during a commercial break. "You can come back and stay at my house."

Patrick, in his highly intoxicated state, just blinked a couple of times and turned his attention back to the TV. Pete sighed and got up from the couch, headed to Patrick's bedroom and sorted through a couple of drawers until he had a set of clothes for the next day, and a spare pair just in case.

Pete turned back around and went to go and return to his friend, but paused. Sure, he knew Patrick was going through a bit of a rough time right now but was this really what he was up to when band practice was over? Bottles upon bottles of liquor sat on his nightstand, the blankets mostly either thrown messily on the floor or in a heap on the bed. The curtains had been torn - Pete wasn't exactly sure how that happened – and there were empty plates and cups littering the entire floor.

It just made him sad. How had he not noticed this? Andy, Joe and himself were over here constantly, well, not as constantly as the other places, but considering that this room was always tucked away and had the door always closed, it was easy to miss.

He was about to start picking some of the older-looking ones up to take to the kitchen to wash, when he heard a loud thud from the lounge room, and quickly sprinted back. Patrick had doubled over, and thrown up on the carpet.

Pete ran in to help, and gently lifted his friend back onto the sofa, before running to the kitchen to grab some cleaning supplies. While Patrick laid on the sofa and groaned in pain, Pete cleaned the floors and washed the dishes and put all the bottles in a trash bag to be taken out. When he was finally done, he sat down beside his friend and breathed out a long sigh. "You're not doing too well, are you, Patrick?"

Patrick groaned again, clutching his stomach, obviously not paying attention. Pete took his hat off, grabbed the bundle of clothes he'd thrown together, and pulled Patrick to his feet, before leading him out to the car. The drive home was mostly silent, with Patrick just staring at his lap and Pete just focusing on the road.

The Wentz house was a stark difference to Patrick's little basement. It was a double story, detached house with a large backyard and a garage. Only Pete lived there, but he took pride in it, despite the fact that the rent took most of his income. After parking the car and grabbing his stuff, he put an arm around Patrick and led him inside. For some reason, he just led him to his own bed, rather than the spare he kept prepared for emergencies.

Patrick, at this point, was hardly standing up straight and fell straight over onto the mattress. Pete pulled his shoes off and gently pulled the blanket up over him before Patrick just started crying. It was probably the alcohol, but Pete's heart just sank and he sat down on the floor beside the bed so they were at eye level.

"I'm sorry Patrick, we didn't want to hurt you, you know we'd never want to hurt you." Pete sighed, gently brushing the hair out of his friend's eyes. "We were just kinda hoping it'll get better on its own, but..." he trailed off thinking about what he'd seen back at Patrick's place. "I think you might need a little bit of help."

"I-I'm just a b-bad singer!" Patrick cried, pulling the blanket over his head in a child-like manner.

"You're the best fucking singer in the world, Patrick. We love you as our singer." Pete told him gently. "We need you, and we just wanna help you, alright?"

Patrick returned to his crying. Pete went and grabbed him a glass of water from the kitchen and brought it back to the nightstand, assuming he'd need it when he woke up. He gently tucked Patrick in for a second time, and went to leave, but was stopped.

"D-Don't g-go, Pete."

He turned back around slowly and looked down at his friend. "Everything alright?"

Patrick patted the bed beside him. "P-Please..."

Pete kicked his own shoes off and laid down on the bed, and Patrick shuffled right over and rested his head on Pete's shoulder. Pete didn't even have time to react before his friend was snoring softly.

He just gently put his arm around him and tried to drift off as well.