Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

84. Half-Way Across the World

Sorry this is late. There will be a part two to this one! Mild angst. Hiatus era.

Patrick is two whiskeys in when he finally breaks down and calls Pete. It's midnight in London, which means it's the middle of the day in Chicago, maybe mid-morning in Los Angeles. He doesn't know where Pete is right now, and he would feel guilty about that, but only Patrick's mom knows that he left the country, so he can't bring himself to care.

The phone rings twice.

"Patrick?" His voice is so warm on the other end of the line, even with the confused tone, and Patrick closes his eyes and pictures Pete's face.

"Hey, Pete." He grips the phone tighter. "You'll never guess where I am," he sings.

A moment of silence. "Chicago?"

Patrick giggles. "Good guess, but no."

"L.A.?"

Patrick shakes his head. "London." He opens his eyes, looking out. "I'm on a balcony in this hotel on the Thames, and it's so pretty." A soft breeze blows, kissing Patrick's cheeks. I wish you were here, he thinks.

"London? What are you doing in London? I thought your tour was already over."

Were Patrick sober, he would've realized that this meant Pete was following his tour, and that he cared more than Patrick thought. He's not sober, however, so it doesn't cross his mind.

"Fuck, Pete." He sighs. "I just had to get away. I felt so boxed-in."

"Boxed-in?"

"Everyone was watching me so closely, criticizing everything I did..." Patrick trails off. "Is this how you felt?" Patrick asks quietly.

Pete's silent for a moment. "Patrick, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Pete," Patrick says, just on the edge of too sharp. He takes a deep breath. "The air here is so clean and cool, and the lights are so pretty."

"Have you talked to your mom recently?" Pete asks. He knows how close Patrick is to his mom, how much he confides in her even now— if he's not confiding in Pete, he's confiding in his mom.

"Yeah." Two weeks ago on the phone, and that text message telling her he was going away for a while. He doesn't feel guilty about ignoring her, not while he's drunk.

"I miss you," Pete says suddenly. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately, wondering how you've been doing."

Patrick looks up at the sky and watches a plane pass over head. "I miss you too, Pete." He takes a sip of his whisky and closes his eyes again. "I'm so tired. I want to sleep."

"So go to sleep. I'll be here tomorrow, you can call me at lunch time." Pete's tone is so, so gentle, and everything Patrick didn't know he needed.

Another breeze hits him, and this time, he shivers. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," Patrick says. He realizes how quiet it is around him, and he doesn't want to hang up. "Good night, Pete."

"Good night, Patrick."

Patrick hangs up and shivers again. He goes back into his hotel room and closes the balcony door, setting his glass down on the desk. The bed looks soft and inviting, but it's so big, and as much as he wanted some space from everything, he wishes he weren't alone. He wishes Pete were here.

He strips down to his boxers and climbs in bed.