Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

41. Winner's Circle

Last week when the boys didn't win I was having some Feelings, even though I didn't mind that Panic! won, so have a little angst. I know they weren't in attendance but we're going to pretend they were. :)

"And the winner is...Panic! at the Disco!"

Pete heard Patrick huff beside him, and when he turned Patrick was making his way down the aisle of seats. He turned to his other side to Andy and leaned over to talk in his ear. "Should I go after him?"

Andy shrugged, still clapping. "Give him a head start."

Pete waited for another five minutes before telling Andy and Joe he'd catch up with him later. He stood and made his way down the row of seats, much to the annoyance of the people sitting there. (Side note: Cardi B has the art of the death glare mastered.)

The first thing he did when he stepped outside was take a deep breath of the cool nighttime air.

The second thing he did was look up where the nearest Subway is.

It was only a block away, and Pete decided it was worth it to just walk. Patrick wasn't going anywhere.

To be honest, he didn't understand why Patrick was so upset. They'd been doing this for years. They love their band, and other people love their band, and they've changed lives, and that's all that matters, right?

He peered in through the window of the Subway, spotting Patrick's back instantly. He went inside, smiled at the employee behind the counter, and stopped beside Patrick, who was staring straight through array of sandwiches toppings. Pete put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"So, are you going to buy something?" the person behind the counter asked gently. Patrick glanced up, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah," Pete interjected. He felt Patrick's shoulders loosen under his hand. "This is for to-go, please," he went on, ordering what he knew was Patrick's favorite sandwich.

"Thanks," Patrick mumbled when the worker stepped away to make their food.

"Don't mention it. You and I," he continued before Patrick could zone out again, "are going back to the hotel, and we're going to eat, and we're going to talk."

Patrick frowned, silent.

When they got back to their room, Patrick sat on his bed facing the wall. Pete sighed, but didn't question him. He handed him his sandwich and tore into his own, sitting so his shoulder was brushing against Patrick's back. He finished his food as quickly as he could and tossed his trash into the can. Then, he turned to face Patrick's back.

Pete stared at him for a minute before scooting closer, stretching out a leg on each side of him and hugging him from behind. He laid his head against Patrick's and waited.

"Can I get up and throw my trash away?" Patrick asked numbly.

Without a word, Pete took the balled up wrapper from him and threw it into the trash can.

"You're doing me a lot of favors tonight, aren't you," Patrick commented. Pete could hear the edge in his voice.

"You're upset," he pointed out.

"And?"

"It's just that..." Pete trailed off and gathered his thoughts. "I don't get it. We don't need any crazy awards to know we're doing something great, do we?"

"God, now I feel shallow."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Pete said calmly.

Patrick was still in his arms. "It just feels like a slap in the face," he said quietly.

Pete wanted to prod, but knew it was better to wait for him to continue. Patrick's hand came to rest over one of his own, and he didn't hesitate to tangle their fingers together.

"We've been nominated for shit how many times? And almost every time we're beat by someone more popular, more 'rock,' or who gets more radio play than us. Don't get me wrong-I'm happy for Brendon, I really am, and I would've been happy for Josh and Tyler if they'd won, too, but we have been doing this forever, and every time we loose I can't help but wonder if I'm. Not good enough."

Pete didn't miss how Patrick said "I" and not "we."

"We've been nominated for a Grammy twice, and we've lost both times. What does that say about us?"

Pete cut him off. "Nothing. It says the judges ears are broken because they can't appreciate your perfect voice."

Patrick scoffed.

"We've changed lives, Trick," he began softly. "Every time we sell out a stadium and that sea of kids is singing our lyrics back to us, that's proof of it. They're the only ones we have to worry about, because without them we wouldn't even get nominated."

Patrick was silent. Pete couldn't tell if he'd said the right thing or not.

Pete went to pull away and get ready for bed, assuming Patrick just wanted to sleep it off, but the grip on his hand tightened. "Stay?" Patrick asked softly.

"Of course," Pete replied. "Want to lay down?" Patrick nodded.

They toed off their shoes and laid their jackets on the other bed. Pete pulled back the soft covers of Patrick's bed and laid down, motioning for Patrick to lay down with him. He did, and they resumed their previous position.

"I don't think any less of you when we don't win an award," Pete confessed into the nape of Patrick's neck. "And I promise Andy and Joe don't either."

"Thank you," Patrick said.

"Love you," Pete said simply.

"Love you too," Patrick whispered, squeezing Pete's hand.

Pete knew he was going to be okay.