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Seattle is sort of a rough place for Patrick, understandably so. Pete’s heard all about his parents and their divorce, how his dad sort of just… left. He packed up his bags one day when Patrick was in third grade and left the state, leaving three kids behind.
Patrick was so young that he didn’t really understand, he had told Pete. He recounted the day his mother took him and his siblings to their favorite restaurant. She bought them all ice cream as she explained that Dad wouldn’t be around as much anymore, but he still loved them dearly. Patrick never believed her. Really, neither does Pete.
They’ve got one show in Seattle, followed by a three hour drive south to Portland. Patrick spent the week before trying to call his dad, leaving message after message about the show. He asked Pete to call the venue and reserve a seat for him, and Pete did, reluctantly. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Patrick that he probably wasn’t going to come.
Patrick checks his phone every ten minutes the day of, his usually soft forehead wrinkled deep between his eyebrows. He taps his fingers on every surface, which would usually make one of them lose their kind, but it was sort of agreed between the three of them to let Patrick stew. There’s nothing anyone could say to calm him, including Pete, though he tried.
Finally, not twenty minutes before go-time, Patrick’s phone rings and his face loosens. Pete’s gut starts to twist instead as Patrick answers the call with an excited, “Dad, hey!”
Patrick’s excitement deflates almost immediately. Pete watches his shoulders fall, his entire demeanor shifting. Bad news, again. Pete wishes he was surprised.
“Oh, uh. Yeah, I get it.” Patrick ducks his head and tugs the bill of his hat down. “Well, I’ll still be here in the morning. Tomorrow, I mean, til noon. Maybe I could meet you for breakfast or something.”
His voice is lighter after whatever the response was, but Patrick still won’t look up. “Okay, yeah, I’ll be there.”
Patrick starts to say bye, but he jumps and looks at his phone. His dad must have hung up. Pete tries not to cringe as rage starts to grow. He’s never met this guy, but if he keeps treating his boyfriend like that, Pete’s gonna take a swing at him.
Pete slides closer to him, putting a seemingly friendly hand on his shoulder. He squeezes and says quietly, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” as Patrick puts his phone away, he wipes his face quickly across his sleeve, “Yeah, it’s fine. He can’t make it tonight but I’m gonna see him in the morning. There’s this, uhm,” he audibly sniffles, but finally looks up, unaware his blue eyes are shining and a little puffy, “this diner we’ve gone to with Megan and Kevin. We’re gonna get breakfast.”
“That’s great, Patrick.” Pete says through his teeth, calmly rubbing his shoulder so he doesn’t accidentally grip him too tight. “I’m sorry he couldn’t come.”
Pete is not sorry. In fact, he would like to keep that man as far away from Patrick as he can, and Patrick himself is the only reason he’s not. It only gets harder and harder to see Patrick so dejected everytime things don’t work out, and then to watch him do it again. It’s a vicious, unfair cycle.
Pete has taken better care of him anyway. What right does this man have to the affection Patrick so desperately wants to give him? He left. He walked away from the sweetest boy Pete has ever met. Patrick deserves so much better than him - and Pete isn’t even going to start with his step father. Fuck that guy too.
“He had plans, it's whatever.” Patrick shrugs, and rubs his eyes one more time. “I’m alright, I promise.”
Pete wants to start screaming from the top of his lungs that it is not fine, but just smiles. “Good. Otherwise I’ll have to throw you in a closet and tickle you until you cry.”
The best part of Pete’s day is saying something and knowing it’s going to make Patrick blush. He can’t believe there was ever a time when he didn’t want to actually date him. How stupid of him, to not do everything in his power from the very beginning to make Patrick his. Having Patrick as his boyfriend has been an absolute delight.
“If you try, I’ll break your nose.” Patrick warns with a grin, his mood turning around. Pete fights every instinct to kiss him until his lips are swollen and puffy. After the show, he promises himself as they take the stage, he’ll kiss Patrick silly after the show.
Patrick’s energy is unmatched tonight. Pete can barely keep his eyes forward while Patrick wiggles his hips behind the guitar. He even plays around with him, smirking from under his hat just for Pete to see. It might be bordering on flirtatious, something that Patrick isn’t terribly good at.
They have a great show, maybe one of the better ones they’ve had in a while. Pete can’t help the little smolder of jealousy knowing why Patrick is on tonight. It’s a damn shame his dad didn’t show up tonight, he would have been proud. Pete certainly is, and he tells Patrick just that when they have a brief moment alone in the green room.
He doesn’t have time to kiss Patrick until his knees turn to jelly, but Pete does get to make him blush with a little tongue and a hand on his ass.
Pete barely sleeps that night, staring at the ceiling of his bunk as he imagines how Patrick’s meeting tomorrow will go. He’s not confident in the slightest that Patrick will come back to the bus in a good mood. He offered to go with him, but Patrick insisted he was fine every time Pete brought it up.
It’d been a while since it was just him and his dad, Patrick had explained shyly, curled together on the futon while Andy and Joe slept. Patrick leaned against his side and twirled the string of Pete’s hoodie around his finger and said that this time will be different. Pete is pretty sure he was trying to reassure himself more than anything.
Patrick tracks down a bus schedule and leaves that morning with a big smile but an undeniable nervous air to him. As soon as he’s off the tour bus, Pete starts counting the minutes. He can’t help it, unable to think of anything else. He tries writing, then plays Xbox with Joe for a little while. He even takes a short walk around the empty venue parking lot, but it’s no use. All in all, that kills about 45 minutes.
Back on the bus, Joe asks why he’s freaking out so much. Andy agrees, insisting that, “Patrick’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. Now stop pacing, you’re driving me crazy.”
Pete sits down, but still can’t focus on anything at all, impatiently waiting until he finally hears the door open. He perks up, hoping that he was wrong and they had a great breakfast.
Unfortunately, Pete was right. Patrick stomps onto the bus with a sour look on his face, holding a plastic bag full of styrofoam containers. Their breakfast orders. As if they were going to let Patrick go to a real diner and not bring back food, no matter what happened.
“How’d it go?” Pete asks carefully as Patrick drops the bag on the table.
Silently, with his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched, Patrick pulls a CD out of his hoodie pocket, says, “He didn’t fucking show,” and hurls the jewel case at the wall as hard as he can with a distraught grunt. It shatters, shards of plastic falling to the floor that he walks over to get to their bunks. He slams the door that separates the sleeping area from the lounge.
Joe shakes his head with a sigh and mumbles, “What a dick.”
Andy mutters an agreement, but Pete can’t bring himself to speak yet. If he opens his mouth, he might start screaming. As much as he wants to go find that motherfucker, he’s sure Andy wouldn’t let him commit any major crimes.
Joe helps him clean up the remnants of the CD, scooping up the bits of plastic with a piece of paper to dump into the garbage bag Pete holds out. Pete fights every instinct to go to him, but he knows better than anyone that sometimes, Patrick just needs to sit with it. He understands that better with anyone.
As they clean, Pete picks up the insert of their CD and sees Patrick’s handwriting. In sharpie, it says, Hope you like it! Love patrick. Pete and Joe look up at each other, a mutual feeling of pity between them. He doesn’t throw the insert out, folding it and slipping it into his back pocket.
Ultimately, his anxiety is too much to ignore and Pete waits about ten minutes before following him. He shuts the door behind him and doesn’t turn on the light, leaving the hallway so dim that he trips on Patrick’s shoes. He looks into Patrick’s bunk, but when he’s not there, Pete’s body gets warm with panic. He checks his own bunk, directly above Patrick’s, and finds him there.
Facing the wall, Patrick is curled up into a ball, completely still. Pete could cry right then. Patrick never gets into Pete’s bunk, not for anything. Pete climbs up without a word, closing the curtain before scooting closer to him. Patrick doesn’t move as Pete snakes his arm around his waist and hugs him.
“I waited for a half hour,” Patrick explains quietly, his voice shaking like he was crying, “I called twice and he said he had to go to work and couldn’t come. He’s - he’s a fucking singer too, what work does he have a ten o’clock in the fucking morning?”
Patrick huffs, a trembly sigh that Pete feels in his shoulders, and goes on, “I don’t get it, why - why he won’t just, like, try.”
Pete’s heart is breaking. He hugs tighter and shoves his other arm under Patrick’s neck to pull him flush against him. Patrick grabs onto his forearm and holds it to his chest, making himself smaller. Pete can still get his arms around him, and he hopes that never changes. There should never be a time when he can’t cradle Patrick, no matter how it should happen.
“I don’t know, baby.” Pete kisses his hair, squeezing again. “I’m sorry.”
“I think it's ‘cause I look like my mom.” Pete lifts his head when Patrick speaks and wonders who had the nerve to say something like that to him. There’s no way he came up with that on his own. Patrick nestles back into his chest and shoves his ankles between Pete’s calves. “I don’t know what else I could have done.”
“What?” Pete tries to sit up a little, but Patrick keeps his arm trapped. He keeps his eyes on the wall in front of him.
“Like, I must’ve - I don’t know, pissed him off or did something wrong. I’m not saying its my fault he left in the first place, but there’s gotta be a reason he just... keeps doing this.”
Patrick’s voice cracks at the end, followed by another breath that sounds more like a sob. Pete pulls his arm from Patrick’s death grip to sit up and lean over him. He reaches to hold his face, to make Patrick lift his head and look at him, but Patrick just grabs his arm instead.
“Hey, you cut that out,” Pete says with as much confidence as he can, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a fucking thing. C’mon, look at me,” Patrick does, showing Pete the tears decorating his blue eyes, “You’re so sweet, Patrick, you don’t deserve this. The only person who did anything wrong is him for doing this shit. And you know what? Its his fucking loss.”
Patrick gives him a questioning look in lieu of an answer. Pete gently uncurls him with a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back so Patrick is looking up at him now.
“He’s the one missing out here. You’re, like, the best person I know, Trick, and he doesn’t know how awesome you are. If he wants to keep fucking up like this and hurting you, he doesn’t get to know. And what else, he’s probably jealous as hell too.”
He still doesn’t say anything, just stares as Pete goes on, “He’s jealous because you’ve toured around the world and he’s still booking open mic nights.”
Patrick blinks and finally answers, deadpan, “We played Toronto. That’s not exactly Tokyo.”
“Okay, but at least we’re not playing weddings.” Patrick smirks a little, and Pete shakes his shoulder around. “But we’re gonna go to Tokyo. We’re gonna go to Antarctica and Brazil and play to billions of people and its gonna be incredible ‘cause you’re incredible. I promise, this is all his fucking problem.”
Pete pulls the CD insert from his back pocket and Patrick immediately cringes when he sees it, bringing his arm up to cover his face.
“This is exactly what I mean.” Pete lets him fold his arms over his face, even though he knows that just means he’s crying again. “This is the kind of stuff that -”
The words suddenly get stuck in Pete’s throat. Its not like he hasn’t said stuff like this before, but something is making him get choked up. Maybe its because Patrick is crying that he wants to, too. Either way, he swallows down the lump and stays strong.
“This is what makes me love you so much,” that earns Pete a short, very quiet chuckle from under Patrick’s arms, “This is so cute and I wanna wave it in his face and tell him what a fucking dumbass he is. He could’ve had a signed copy of Fall Out Boy’s first platinum record.
Patrick’s shoulders shake with another soft laugh, and he mumbles, “Shut up.”
“I’m serious.” Pete smacks the booklet against his arm. “I’m sorry that he didn’t show up but I feel way more sorry for him, ‘cause he doesn’t know how bad he’s fucking up right now.”
Silently, Patrick flattens out on the mattress, folding his hands across his chest. He stares for a moment, just thinking to himself, but his body stays tense. Pete’s heart drops when his chin quivers and far tears start to roll down his temple, finally overflowing.
“Whatever.” Patrick struggles to keep his face hard as he reaches for Pete and grabs him by his tee shirt. “I don’t fucking care anymore, I don’t need him.”
Pete doesn’t believe that for a second. The bunk creaks under them when Patrick suddenly shoves him down onto his back. With his hands firm on Pete’s chest, Patrick climbs on top of him. Just before scooping down to kiss him, Patrick says, “I have you - you’re a better daddy anyway.”
At the end of the day, Pete is only human. His cock swells in his tight jeans against Patrick’s thigh. Patrick doesn’t call him that outside of very specific circumstances. Usually, he’s closer to trashed than not and a little silly. His deep rooted and often buried love for the nickname is obvious to Pete, even if it’s not to Patrick. He blushes every time it comes up, whenever Pete teases him.
This, however, is going to his head. Patrick’s lips move to his neck, leaving kisses on his skin as he shimmies down Pete’s body. Pete knocks his hat off to push his fingers through his hair and watches in awe Patrick quickly undo his belt.
“ You take care of me,” Patrick goes on, staring down at what he’s doing, “ You’re the one who wants me, you say so all the time,” Pete lifts his hips when Patrick yanks them down, “ You love me.”
“I do,” Pete gasps as Patrick wraps a hand around his cock and positions himself between his legs, “I love you so much, I’ll always take care of you. You’re right, you don’t need him. I’ll,” Pete chokes on his words as the wet heat of Patrick’s mouth lowers over his tip, “I’ll be your dad, fuck that guy.”
Patrick hums around his length, taking him deeper. This is usually when Pete would stop him, exhibiting an unbelievable amount of self control and warn him not to go crazy. Blowjobs on tour are a delicacy, a rare treat, for the sake of Patrick’s voice, but Pete doesn’t stop him. He mumbles a gentle, “Be careful,” to which Patrick nods in acknowledgment.
Pete knows that he’s upset, that he’s had an incredibly upsetting morning and that it’ll stick with Patrick for a couple of days. He shouldn’t lay here while Patrick swallows around his cock with a determined look on his face. He keeps glancing up at Pete, blue eyes big and watery, like he’s checking to see what he’s doing. It takes a moment, but Pete figures out what he wants, what he needs.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Pete breathes, trying to keep his voice down and reminding himself that they are not alone in the bus, but that’s made harder when Patrick moans, “I’m so lucky to have such a sweet boy like you all to myself, making me so proud.”
Pete feels something wet on his pelvis, and it takes a moment for him to realize Patrick is crying again. He should be upset that Patrick can’t seem to get himself together, but Pete just can’t help it. Tears drip off of Patrick’s sweet round cheeks as his head bobs his head up and down, completely undeterred. He keeps Pete’s cock in his mouth, his tongue pressed against the underside like a slide. He always drools so much, adding to the salty tears and leaking precum.
“S-so fucking cute,” Pete stammers as he gently strokes his hair, “So pretty with daddy’s cock down your throat like that. You know how much daddy loves you, my special boy.”
Patrick moans again, a little louder than he should, and Pete shushes him. The sound makes him jump, but doesn’t let it throw him off. If anything, he starts moving faster, shifting on his knees to lean right above him and put his hands in the bed. Pete can barely keep his eyes in focus, struggling to keep talking like Patrick wants.
“You’re gonna make daddy come in your mouth, baby. Is that what you want?” Patrick nods around him with a quiet whine. Pete carefully grips his thin hair, saying with a strained laugh, “Of course you do, you want to swallow daddy’s cum like a good boy. Make sure you don’t miss any, I know how much you love it.”
In his life, Pete’s received plenty of blowjobs, but no one makes him come like Patrick does. He’s got pipes of gold but a mouth from the heavens, getting Pete off with ease. If Pete didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Patrick had been doing this for years before they met. The fact that Pete’s dick is the first - and so far only - that’s ever been in his throat will always make him crazy.
Patrick does just what he’s told and swallows. Pete keeps showering him with quiet, breathless praise until he finally lifts off his cock. His lips are red and shiny from spit and cum. They match the puffiness under his eyes. He's as gorgeous as ever as he crawls up the thin mattress to lay beside Pete again.
As Pete fusses with pulling his pants up and putting his dick away, Patrick nuzzles against his shoulder quietly. Pete doesn’t feel the hard on he was expecting against his thigh and tries not to cringe. Patrick isn’t even hard. He mumbles something into his sleeve, but Pete has to ask him what he said.
“I said,” Patrick lifts his head, putting his chin on Pete’s arm, “I love you, Panda.”
Panda. If Pete didn’t just come barely two minutes ago, something hot would be stirring in his gut. He stretches his arm out around Patrick’s shoulders, hugging him tight to his chest, and says, “I love you too, baby. I love you so much and I promise that the next time someone makes you cry that isn’t me, because I’m giving you some sweet, sweet lovin’-“
Patrick snorts at that, so Pete squeezes harder and goes on, “The next person who makes you cry like that, I’ll kill them.”
After a quiet moment, Patrick cranes his neck to look up at him and asks, “You promise?”
“I promise.”
Patrick hesitates again. “Even my dad?”
Pete leans forward to kiss his forehead and answers, “Especially your dad. I told you, I’m your dad now.”
A smile finally reappears on Patrick’s puffy lips that he kisses against Pete’s, then mumbles, “Thanks… dad.”