Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

80. Morning Commute

Based on a snippet from an interview Pete did a while ago about recording MANIA. He said that a memory that stuck out to him was picking Patrick up and driving him to the studio, which feels mundane but I think it's also kind of sweet. MANIA era, obviously.

Pete pulls into a parking spot close to the side entrance of the hotel. He digs his phone out of his pocket and texts Patrick to tell him he's here, then takes a sip of his iced coffee. In the cup holder next to it is Patrick's tea; both fresh from the nearest Starbucks. Pete was running a little late, so he hadn't had the time to cue up his own music, but he plugs in his phone and pulls up the playlist he made for mornings just like these— it's full of songs he knows Patrick loves. If he's lucky, Patrick will sing along; his voice is always lower in the morning, slightly more gravelly, and Pete loves it.

The passenger side door opens, and Patrick slides into the seat, dropping his backpack in the floor. "It's too early for this." He buckles himself in and picks up his tea.

Pete smiles at how predictable Patrick can be. "It's not that early," he says automatically. "It's ten in the morning."

"I'd still rather be in my pajamas," Patrick grumbles. His eyes are still sleepy.

"You could've stayed with me. We wouldn't have to get up so early to beat the traffic."

Patrick takes a sip of his tea and puts it back in the cup holder. "I didn't want to intrude." He shrugs. He perks up again and says, "Oh, I love this song," and Pete smiles to himself.

They end up hitting traffic anyway, and while Patrick huffs and complains about missing studio time, Pete only pretends to be upset. After all, why wouldn't he want a little extra quality time with Patrick?

Patrick doesn't sing very much, but he does rant and rave passionately about everything that pops into his head, and that's just as pleasant to listen to. Pete talks too, of course— passionate ranting is one of his specialties— but the conversational divide is fifty-fifty. Patrick's eyes get brighter and more alert as he talks, and his hand gestures get more and more animated. And since they're in traffic, Pete doesn't have to worry too much about keeping his eyes on the road, so he can watch Patrick as much as he wants.

Pete's sure he has a soft smile on his face the whole time. He can't help it; he adores Patrick too much.

A part of him wants to say so. The words are right on the tip of his tongue. And Patrick looks so pretty, soft and angelic in the morning light. He wants to take one of Patrick's hands and rest their intertwined hands on the center console.

He doesn't, though. He doesn't want to interrupt the flow of their conversation.

Eventually, they make it out of traffic. The rest of the drive goes quickly after that, much to Pete's disappointment. Their talking winds down naturally, and the next thing Pete knows, he's parking in front of the studio entrance.

Patrick shoulders his backpack and opens his door, stepping out onto the pavement. Pete gets out of the car and grabs his own backpack from the backseat. "Ready?" he asks.

Patrick nods. "Oh, and thanks again for driving me."

Pete smiles. "Anytime, Tricky."