Parallel Play

by OrthopedicShoes

Summary:

One day, out of the blue, you received a call that Fall Out Boy wanted you to be a board operator for their Honda Civic tour. Immediately, you obliged.

Early in the tour, you and Patrick began your routine.

The day it started, you were sitting alone in a dimly lit production office.

Notes:

This is my first fic, so be nice pleaseeee! I'm very excited about this little story. Hopefully, you guys like it. I have no Idea how long it's going to be so far, but we shall see. Also, I apologize if the grammar/spelling isnt 100%. I've been the only person editing thus far. But anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 1: Prologue

Over the years, you'd worked sound for various bands. It was a field you'd gotten into by accident when, in college, your roommate dragged you into the theater program. Really, it was just to make some cash. You were good at what you did, a skilled rigger and talented board operator, but it was by no means your passion. Where your interest really lay was in writing. Whenever you could find a spare moment, you’d duck into back rooms in whatever venue you’d landed that week to frantically type away on your clunky laptop. The time between rigging, sound checks, and actual shows was spent writing, deleting, and rewriting ad nauseam just to get a product out to your “editor” (a buddy from college who owed you a favor).

One day, out of the blue, you received a call that Fall Out Boy wanted you to be a board operator for their Honda Civic tour. Immediately, you obliged.

Early in the tour, you and Patrick began your routine.

The day it started, you were sitting alone in a dimly lit production office.

Chapter 2: We Can Share

Summary:

So it begins!

Two shows into the tour, you're already exhausted. Head in hands, you sit in front of your keyboard. The exhaustion has practically squeezed every ounce of will to write from your body. “Christ. I just need a few more sentences before the mic check,” you mutter under your breath. A faint creak of the door brings you quickly out of your stupor. You turn, startled, to find a bashful-looking Patrick peeking his head through the door. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

“That’s okay.” Starstruck, you smile awkwardly, hoping he didn't hear you talking to yourself. God, if Patrick Stump thought you were a lunatic, you don't know what you'd do with yourself.

“Sorry, I was just, um, looking for somewhere to write.” You two had barely spoken before now. In fact, you're sure this is the first time you've ever been alone with him. Your prior interactions were limited to mic checks, calling down to them through your god mic to check their volume and their amps, but never personally. You never really thought you'd get this close, and this proximity, admittedly, made your stomach flip over and over. You weren't even sure how to refer to him. Mr. Stump seemed too formal, but just Patrick seemed like it lacked respect: he's kind of your boss, after all. You're vaguely aware that the “writing” he mentioned is for an album for Cobra Starship, one of the opener bands touring with you.

“You and me both,” you chuckle, trying to mask the awkwardness and nerves in your voice. You’ve now fully turned in your chair to face him. “It’s practically impossible to find a quiet place ‘round here. We can share the room. I don't mind.”

Truthfully, you do mind a little. Focus was already hard to come by, and having him over your shoulder certainly wasn’t going to help. But it’d be the nice thing to do: to let him stay. Plus, what were you going to do? Kick Fall Out Boy’s lead singer out?

“Are you sure?” He stepped fully into the room, making the guitar in his right hand visible. Well shit. Now it’s decided. No work is getting done today. “I don’t want to bother you. You look pretty focused.”

“No, it’s alright. It won’t bother me.” You force a smile, but you’re sure you inadvertently let some annoyance slip. Still, he gives a soft thank you and a smile before sitting down on the couch next to the door. Without another word, he begins strumming on the guitar and humming softly. You turn back around and stare at the screen once more. His presence is ever apparent, but even still, you manage to strangle out two sentences within a few minutes, with more ease than before.

“So…” His strumming softens, and you look up from your computer. “God, I hate to ask this. I feel like a total jerk. What's… uh, what’s your name again?”

You laugh a little, thrown off by his directness. “I guess we never formally met. I’m Y/N. I work on sound stuff.”

“Oh, I knew I recognized your voice! You're the one who's always talking to us during sound checks.”

“Guilty.” You raise your hands in mock surrender and give him as genuine a smile as you can muster.

“And here I thought you were some godly presence moving with us show to show.” It's a dorky joke, sure, but you can see the earnestness in his eyes, behind the thick frames of his glasses. “It's nice to be able to put a face to the voice.”

He stops for a moment before adding, “I’m Patrick, by the way.”

“So I’ve gathered,” You joke. “It's good to actually meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Once again, he’s strumming his guitar, his eyes pointed back at the strings. You can’t tell if the flush on his face is from being flustered or if it’s an eternal blush that he can never shake. You turn back around and work for a while longer. The words flow shockingly easy, considering the repetitive melody and its maker seated behind you.

That is, until your walkie-talkie sparks to life, startling the both of you. “Y/N to the sound booth. Mic check in 30. Over.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and shoving it into your bag. You can feel Patrick’s eyes on the back of your neck. “Are you coming back after the check?”

“If there's time. I’m not sure how long tonight’s will take. Are you going to?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I can leave you the room, then. I don't mind. I can work in the booth.”

“No. You should come back. So long as my playing doesn’t bother you too much.”

You stand and sling your bag over your shoulder. You can't bring yourself to make eye contact with him, so you fiddle with your walkie on your belt. “Truthfully, I got way more done with you here than I did when I was by myself.”

He smiles. “Good. Then you should come back. Please?”

“Okay. See you later.” You step out of the room without waiting for a response, closing the door behind you.

Chapter 3: You Came Back!

Summary:

You and Patrick get a little chattier.

“Jere, oh my god.” You burst through the sound booth doors to see the Audio Director, Jeremy, lounging with his feet up on the desk, waiting for you. He’s got one tattooed hand laced in his greying hair and the other tapping away on the top of his walkie. “I just met Patrick Stump.”

“So? You’ve been talking to him and the rest of the band from up here for a while now.”

“No, no. It gets worse. I mean… not worse… but like…”

“Spit it out, kid.”

“I was sitting in a production office writing, and all of a sudden he busted in the room with his guitar. Well, less ‘busted in’ and more ‘quietly and politely asked if we could share the room’. But the weird thing was, I wrote so much more easily with him there. I thought it was gonna be a problem, y’know, with him being him and all, but it wasn't. He even asked for my name. And he wants me to come back. Patrick Stump wants me to come back.”

You’ve got your fist balled up in your hair, trying to rationalize what happened. Jeremy meets you with nothing but an eyeroll and a chuckle. Being in the industry as long as he has, meeting musicians, and famous ones at that, has lost some of its lustre. However, to you, the young, fresh-eyed Sound Engineer, it's still shining bright and blinding.

“Alright, sit down. We’ve got work to do, miss groupie.”

You surrender and take your seat next to him, finally beginning the necessary speaker calibrations for the sound check.

After a while, the band files in one by one. You flip on your god mic and begin the check.

“Patrick. Mic one. Check?

You're met with a “Check.”

“Pete. Mic two. Check?”

“Check”

You continue through with each member’s mics, all of which are functioning properly.

You move on through the steps, but for the first time, you're filled with a nervousness that you've never felt before while doing this job. You know exactly what you're doing. You could do it in your sleep, for Christ’s sake. But for some reason, you can't shake this fear that you're going to screw something up and embarrass yourself.

The check goes smoothly despite your worrying. A few times, you swear you can see Patrick looking up towards where your booth is, but there’s no way in hell he could see you all the way up there.

“Should I go back?” You ask Jeremy, winding the cord around your god mic.

“Yeah. Why not? I mean fucking a Fall Out Boy would be a pretty sweet story.” He's not even looking at you. Instead, while bestowing this lovely little pearl of wisdom, he’s typing away on his cell, feet, once again, propped up on the control board.

“Fucking him!? I barely said two words to him! You think that's what he wants!? I can't! I couldn't!”

“Relax, kid. I'm just messing with you. Now get out of here.”

“Okay…” You stand, adjusting your t-shirt. It's black just like everything else in your wardrobe. Occupational hazard.

The walk back down to that production room feels much longer this time than it did on the way up. You have the overwhelming feeling that you're waltzing yourself down to your early grave and not a clue in the world as to why. He's just a normal guy after all. A normal guy with thousands of adoring fans, sure, but still semi-normal. You can't even figure out why he's so intimidating. He’s barely taller than you, and frankly, he seems to be just as afraid of you as you are of him.

With that little mental pep talk over with, you reach the door and poke your head inside. Patrick doesn't look up, having not heard the door open. He’s sitting in the exact spot as before, almost like he never moved. This time, rather than humming, he's singing softly. It's a song you don't recognize. Likely something for the Cobra Starship album, but it doesn't sound like their typical pop-y melody. It's melancholic and beautiful. Worried you’ve been watching too long, you speak up, stepping fully into the cramped room. “Hey.”

He looks up past the brim of his crooked hat and smiles. “Y/N! You came back!”

You smile and hum an acknowledgment. There's silence for a moment as you toss your bag on the floor and sit back down in the office chair. “You guys sounded great at the sound check.”

“Thanks. I think the guys and I are feeling pretty good about tonight. It was touch-and-go the first few shows, but hopefully we've got it down now.”

“Glad to hear it. I can't wait to see the show.” He can't be more than 4 feet from where you're perched, facing him, in the office chair. God, what could he want with you? Sex? He seems far too innocent for that. It's hard to picture the man sitting before you doing anything even remotely close to the stuff he sings about. He just looks so sweet, with his flannel’s sleeves rolled up and his eternally cockeyed trucker cap shielding those dorky glasses and big blue eyes.

He leans down and rests his chin on the dip in his guitar’s body. “So, what were you working on earlier? You seemed pretty focused. I hope I didn't distract you too badly.”

“No, you weren't distracting me at all. Honestly, the music helped. It let me let go a little.”

“Good.” His lips curl up, giving way to a lopsided smile.

“I’m working on this story thing. It's just a side project.”

“Really? It looked like you were pouring your very life force into it.”

“Alright, it's a little more than a side project. I'm working on this sci-fi horror novella that I've been dreaming up since college.” You run your hand through your hair. It's not often you talk about your work, but he just seems so interested. You can't help it.

“Shit, that sounds cool. Any chance I’ll be able to read it at some point?”

“I’ll consider it. But not until it's been ravaged with a fine-tooth comb.” That response elicits a soft chuckle from Patrick. “What have you been working on?”

He sits back up and leans against the back of the couch. “I’m writing for Cobra Starship’s next album. It’s great and all. I’m glad to have the opportunity. But I’ve been missing out on everything that the guys have been up to. They've been going out every night while I'm stuck on the bus toiling away.”

“What's one night off, though? They can't be on that tight a deadline, I mean, they're here on tour. I can't imagine recording on the go would be all that practical.”

“Yeah, you're right. I’ll tag along at some point this week.”

“I can't imagine going out after those shows, though. I’m tired enough from them, and all I do is turn you guys up and down. Meanwhile, you're all jumping around and singing for hours. It's a miracle if I make it all the way to my room before I crash.”

“Honestly, it really helps relax. Having a drink with buddies after an intense show is the same as a nap to me. They've got some ulterior motives that kinda kill the vibe, though.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Y’know, they're looking for fans. Girls who like guys in bands.”

“Wow, I didn't know you guys were that kind of crowd,” You tease.

“They never mistreat the girls or anything, it's just clear what their motive is. But believe me, they strike out more than you'd think.”

“Yeah? What about you?”

Now that flusters him. His pale face flushes a red like you've never seen. “I mean… That's never really why I’m there.”

“How come?” Where this sudden bout of confidence comes from, you have no idea, but might as well roll with it. It’s better than the senseless fear.

“I guess I’m just not a fan of hookups. What's the point of being so intimate with someone you don’t know intimately?”

You chew on your lip, surprised by the honesty of his answer. “I get that. I never really thought of it that way, but that makes total sense.” He was right. Thinking back, you can't remember a time that you’ve had a hook up that was better than sex you’ve had with partners. The trust and familiarity were what made it so sexy.

He nods, clearly not sure where to go from here. The desire to go hang out with his friends has clearly drained from him. Out of guilt and an attempt to save the conversation, you chime back up, “Regardless, it’d still be fun to grab a drink. You should join them tonight.”

“I dunno. I just don’t want to be left behind.” He won't look you right in the eye. “It’s always good for a while, and then they find some girls and I’m left to my own devices.”

You just nod, unsure of what to say. You feel awful having upset him like this, but you've got no clue how to fix it. There's silence for a few moments until all of a sudden, he pipes back up again. “This is going to sound crazy, and you can say no if you don't want to, but would you want to come out with me and the guys tonight? I know we just met today, but you seem really cool, and I'd like to have you there. But only if you want to be.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’d love to!” The words come out of your mouth before you can even think them over. On one hand, you want him to have a good time, and it would be sick to get to hang out with the band, but on the other, you're worried about embarrassing yourself in front of all of them and are certain that you'll be exhausted. But if they can do it, so can you. So it's decided; Tonight you'll be drinking with the band.

Notes:

I hope y'all are enjoying the fic so far! Let me know if there's anything I could change or work on. Feedback is very welcome!

Chapter 4: A Night on the Town

Summary:

You head out for a night on the town with the boys!

That night’s show went off without a hitch. You felt yourself buzzing the whole night with nervousness. For the first time all day, it was entwined with excitement.

Earlier, when you’d gotten back up to the booth for pre-show checks, you regaled Jeremy with the events of the prior hours, sparking a debate on Patrick's intentions. It hadn't taken as much as you had thought, but you already felt like you could trust him. It didn’t feel like it was all a ploy or part of some grand scheme to get you undressed. Jeremy disagreed. Always the optimist, he was sure that all he was after was another notch in his bedpost.

The plan was that you would meet them outside their tour bus at midnight.

After the show wrapped at around 10:30, you headed back to your bus to get ready. The sound crew bus is parked three spaces away from the band’s. You're the first one to arrive back, having finished up your post-show duties as quickly as you could manage.

You hop in the shower almost immediately, finally able to strip yourself of the sweat and stress of the evening. The warm water wakes you up a fair bit, but even still, you pound a Redbull while you’re getting ready.

Unfortunately, your privacy is short-lived. The sound crew slowly starts filing into the bus, lounging on couches and hogging the bathroom. To do your hair and makeup and successfully change into your selected outfit without flashing anyone, you crawl into your bunk and close the curtain. The space is cramped, and you can barely sit up, but somehow you manage to straighten your hair and apply your eyeliner using your laptop’s camera as a mirror. You struggle into your dark jeans and black graphic tank top, trying not to give yourself a black eye in the process.

On your way out, you steal a glance at yourself in the reflection of the bus windows. You pull down the bottom of your tank top, but it rides right back up when you bend down to slip on your boots. Frustrated, you tuck the front of the top behind the buckle of your belt, knowing full well that that won't last the walk over to Patrick’s.

You take one final breath before stepping out into the parking lot. The cool summer breeze rolls across your shoulders, and you consider turning back for a coat. Worried that you’ll be late, you decide not to.

The anticipation has built to a full-blown cyclone in your chest. You’ve done your best to muscle it down all night, but now that the time has come to meet the band, you're nearly shaking. Even still, the excitement pushes you forward. Never could you have imagined that you would end up here.

Standing on the flimsy bus stairs, you gently rap on the door. You hear some faint chatter and loud music on the other side of it before it swings open, revealing a disheveled-looking Patrick. He smiles, “Hi! Come in.”

“Hey.” You step past him and into their bus. It’s the same model as the one you’re staying in, but significantly messier. Andy is facing away from you on the couch, but you can see him typing away on his cell. In the back room, you can see a half-naked Pete pulling a shirt over his head. The shower is barely audible under the music, but you presume that's where Joe is. “Sorry. Am I too early?”

“No, don't worry. We're just kind of slow. They're in no hurry. Sorry to keep you waiting like this.” He has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue hoodie. He’s changed clothes since the show and has likely showered. You’re standing close enough that you can faintly smell his shampoo. It's musky and soft like cotton. “Hey, Andy. This is Y/N.”

Andy turns and smiles. “Hey there.”

You give him a polite smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. You’re the sound chick, right? Patrick told us all about you.”

Patrick blushes and beckons you to follow him to the other couch, where you both sit. You nod at Andy. “Mm hm. I’m the one who’s always talking to you guys from up in the booth.”

“Oh, sweet!” He gives Patrick a knowing look and turns his attention back down to his phone.

“Pete. C’ere!” Pete emerges from the back moments after being summoned. “Pete, Y/N. Y/N, Pete.”

Pete eyes you up and down, almost as though he's memorizing your every detail. “How's it going?”

“Can’t complain,” you reply. “Tonight's show was awesome, by the way.” You shift in your seat, running your hand through your hair and crossing your knees.

“Thanks. I think it felt pretty good.” Pete sits next to Andy. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Joe, hurry up!”

Patrick’s eyes dart anxiously between you and the men on the opposite couch. You smile at him, hoping it’ll make him stop, but he doesn't. All your efforts do is hold his gaze a second longer before they flit back to Pete and Andy.

Just then, as if on cue, Joe walks into the common area, toweling off his wet hair. He heads towards the door and prods, “Damn, what took you ladies so long. Let's get out of here.”

The five of you pile into a taxi, headed for a dive bar that the driver recommends. Andy sits in the front seat, leaving the rest of you to squeeze into the back. You wind up on the far right side of the cab, half sitting on Patrick’s lap. On the ride, you're introduced to Joe, and the guys all chat amongst themselves, but Patrick is quiet. One of his hands is resting gingerly on your knee, and the other is folded awkwardly to his side to avoid touching you too much. The feeling of his hand there erupts into this tingly feeling in your leg, unlike anything you've felt before. You appreciate the concern, but in these tight quarters, you wouldn't be upset if he needed to let his arm down. You wouldn’t mind him touching you at all. Your tank top has ridden up in the back again, and you can feel the soft warmth of the worn t-shirt covering his belly, on your back. The ride isn’t long, but sitting the way you are, on Patrick’s right thigh with the back of your head pushed up against the ceiling of the car, it feels like an eternity.

Finally, you arrive at the bar. Andy has to open the door because neither you nor Patrick can seem to get it open from how you’re configured.

“Sorry, guys. If I’d have known it was going to be this much of a pain in the ass to get here, I would’ve spared you the misfortune of sharing the cab.”

Joe elbows you and says, “Nah, we don't mind. Anything to get our Patty out of that damn bus.”

“Oh, c’mon, Joe. Don’t call me that. That’s-” Patrick’s whiny protests are drowned out by the sounds of the bar as the five of you enter. The place is even more of a dive than you had expected. Most of its patrons are bordering on senile, and the walls are decked out with sports paraphernalia. It’s almost certain that you are the youngest people in the bar.

An old-school jukebox sits in the corner with plenty of room to dance in front of it, but none of the bar goers look all that keen on dancing. You make your way up to the bar and order a double vodka soda. The bartender puts up a fight before eventually deciding that your ID is real. They hand you the drink and you nurse it, leaning against the bar. Joe is a couple of seats down from you, having the same heated debate with the bartender as you did. Andy and Pete are bickering over the shitty selection of music on the jukebox. Patrick is nowhere to be found.

Unsure of what else to do, you pull out your phone and start playing some stupid snake game. Admittedly, you hadn't expected the night to go this way. The so-called ‘Party Animals’ accompanying you aren't rambunctious or reckless. They're actually pretty normal.

After a few minutes alone on your barstool, you hear a voice behind you. “Whatcha drinking?”

You turn to see Patrick sliding awkwardly into the seat next to you. “A vodka soda,” you chuckle. “Nothing for you yet?”

“I’m working on it.” The bartender walks over, and Patrick orders a beer. “See,” he holds up the bottle.

“Oh, I believe you.” You take a sip of your drink. “Where’ve you been?”

“All your life? Or just now?”

You give him an incredulous look. “Just now.”

“Oh.. Uh- I was just stretching my legs after the cab ride.” His confidence softens, and patches of rosy pink bloom over his cheeks. This has to be the thousandth time you've watched his pale face turn deeper shades of red in the past 24 hours.

“Ahh, I see. Sorry again for that seating arrangement. I guess we didn't really think all of that through.” You pick up your drink, the small amount of ice and liquid remaining clinking on the sides of the glass.

“It’s okay, I wasn't bothered. I just uh- like, was that okay? Did I make you uncomfortable or anything?”

You shake your head, smiling, and tease, “You were the perfect gentleman. Hopefully you aren't too sore or anything.”

“I’m alright, don't you worry. I’m more concerned for your neck.”

“Eh, it's been through worse. Plus, that wasn’t all that different from my normal horrific posture.” Both of you chuckle. You polish off your drink, and before you can even swallow, the bartender brings you another. The alcohol's effects are already getting to you. You feel looser and a little gigglier, but you haven't crossed the threshold into drunkenness quite yet.

A few drinks later, though, you are absolutely feeling it. Within the hour or so that has elapsed, some young locals figured out that FOB was in town. The quiet calm of the bar was quickly disrupted by loud music and drunk YAs. Some time in that hour, you and Patrick had sat down with the guys, chatting and passing around stories, but one by one they peeled away, leaving you and Patrick alone again.

“I get what you were talking about earlier with them wandering. Man, I thought we were safe.” Your words are slurred a little, but you hope you still get your point across well enough.

“Eh, I knew it'd happen one way or another. You just can't leave, okay? Cause, like… you're pretty cool and that'd be really sad.” You can hear how blasted he is through his voice alone. That, paired with the fact that his hat has fallen so low that he can barely see.

“Yeah? Y’know, you aren't too bad yourself.” You flick the underside of the brim of his cap so that it falls backwards off his head. He groans and giggles. You giggle right back at him. He swipes the hat off the floor and puts it on backwards.

“Ooh, this is quite the look on you. Hold on, lemme get Vogue on the phone.” You pull out your cell and pretend like you're calling someone. He scrunches up his nose. You take the opportunity to snap a photo, granting you another groan.

“That better not end up on LiveJournal.”

“Whatda ya take me for?”

He falls forward onto your shoulder and mutters, “I dunno.”

A few hours and many drunk conversations later, you and Patrick are among the last people left in the bar. The rest of the band is gone now, Joe having decided to call it a night, and Pete and Andy having found suitors for the evening. Patrick pays your tab, and the two of you laugh your way out to a cab.

Even though you're the only two in the back seat, you sit nearly as close as you did on the way there, leaning on each other's shoulders, taking turns dozing off.

That's the last thing you remember before waking up to find yourself in the back bedroom of FOB’s tour bus.

Notes:

Hey all! I hope you're enjoying! Please comment and let me know your thoughts!!!

Chapter 5: About Last Night...

Summary:

Panic ensues when you wake up and Patrick is nowhere to be found.

Notes:

Sorry for the short chapter! Hopefully, this is enough for now :)

You sit bolt upright in the large bed, your head aching from the sudden movement. Patrick’s writing and recording equipment is scattered across the room. You look beside you to see your pants and bra on the floor, though, thank god, the rest of your clothes are still on. Panicked, you re-dress as quickly as you can and step through the bunks, past Andy’s soft snoring, and out into the common area.

“Morning, sunshine,” Pete goads from where he sits on the couch. Joe is seated sideways next to him, absolutely engrossed in something on his Game Boy. He gives you a little wave without looking up from his game.

“G’morning. Uh.. where's Patrick?” Your eyes dart around the small space, as if that will make him materialize out of thin air.

“He left a little while ago to grab coffee and breakfast before we get on the road,” Pete explains, holding up a post-it note with Patrick’s writing scrawled over it.

“Fuck.” You toss yourself down on the couch opposite Pete and Joe and cradle your pounding head in your hands.

“You feeling alright?”

“Just a little hungover. You guys didn’t happen to be here last night when we got back, did you?”

“No, I got back after you guys.”

“I was out cold when y’all came in,” Joe finally chimes in, gaze still fixed on the small device.

“Great.” You groan into your hands. “Did either of you see where he slept last night?”

“Nope. He was out of here before we woke up.”

You stretch out on the couch and cover your face. “Perfect. On a hopefully brighter note, how were your nights?”

“It was pretty sweet,” Pete says, grinning. “I met this girl, I think her name was Stephanie or something. She was something, man. She took me back to her place, and we had a few drinks and hung out.”

“Mhmm. Hung out.” Joe finally puts down the device to punctuate ‘hung out’ with some very emphatic air quotes. “Mine was pretty chill. I just got kinda tired, so I headed back.”

You nod. “Sweet.”

“You guys definitely didn't fuck, if that's what you're worried about,” Pete says, messing with the strings on his hoodie. “Or at least, you probably didn't. Patrick isn't really into that.”

“What, Sex?” For some reason, this revelation upsets you a bit. You hadn't really thought about it before this moment, but for a split second, his idea in your mind bends into something more than a friend.

“No, I'm pretty sure he's into sex, just not drunken sex. Or with people he doesn't really know. Doesn’t mean it hasn't happened before, though.”

“Thank you, Pete. Very comforting,” You reply, sarcastically.

Andy emerges from the bunks, shirtless and yawning.

“Yo, Andy. Did they fuck last night?” Pete points in your direction.

“Who's they?”

“Patrick and Y/N.”

“How should I know? I wasn't here when they got back.” He rubs his eyes, finally starting to wake up, and looks over at you. “Oh shit, you're still here?”

“Yup.” You sit up so that he can sit down next to you.

“So you two fucked?” Andy is clearly still drunk from the night before. The haze in his eyes gives it away. That and the dumbass question that just fell out of his mouth.

“Maybe.” You massage your temples and fall towards your knees.

“I come bearing donuts!” The door swings open, revealing Patrick, two boxes of donuts, and five coffees, precariously balanced, on top.

“Fuck yeah! Finally.” Pete stands and helps Patrick carry in the coffee.

The guys all stand up, taking their respective rations and thanking Patrick through bites of donut and sips of coffee. You stay where you are on the couch. “Heyy,” You sing-song awkwardly at him.

“How’d you sleep?” He sits down beside you, handing you a piping hot coffee.

“Good, I think… You?” The guys have all turned to watch the conversation that is about to unfold.

“Not too bad.”

“Good.” You take a breath. “Soo…”

“So?” He looks at you, concerned. “What's up?”

“Can we take this into the back room?”

“Smooth, Y/N,” Pete chimes in, from over at the counter.

Patrick flips him off, and you both move to the back bedroom. The door shuts on this awkward electric slider thing, so you have to stand there waiting for it to shut all the way before you sit on the edge of the bed and finally ask the question that's been killing you all morning. “Did we have sex last night?”

Patrick laughs. “Not to my knowledge.”

“What's that supposed to mean?!” You look at him with fear in your eyes. It's not exactly a fear of being so intimate with him. Instead, it’s the fear that you could have missed it.

“It means no. I slept in my bunk.” You sigh a long breath of relief. There's a momentary pause. Patrick looks down at his feet and mumbles, “Would it really have been so awful if we had?”

His sweet face is rendered invisible by the brim of his cap. “No, god, that's not what I meant… I-” He looks up at you, and you can see the sadness in his soft blue eyes. “If it did… hypothetically… I’d want to be there while it was happening, y’know? I just… I got kinda worried cause I woke up missing half my clothes… and I don't remember much of anything from after the cab ride… and you're just so... I mean,… you're so… I would be…”

“So… you're not disgusted by that thought?” His eyes pierce through you.

“No, of course not.” Before you can get out the last syllable, Patrick pulls you towards him and kisses you. It's chaste and sweet, but you can feel his want creeping through. Even still, he pulls away before things escalate any further. All you can do is sit there and stare at him with this stupid grin on your face. In that moment, it clicks. All you want is him.

Notes:

I just wanted to note that I know Andy is straight edge. I just kinda decided to omit that from this. Hope that's okay! Let me know what you guys think of this chapter!!

Chapter 6: On the Road

Summary:

Patrick asks you to stay with them for the ride.

“Sorry,” He stammers out. “Shit. I shouldn't have done that… I’m sorry.”

Without another word, you stand and press your face into his. He lets out a small moan upon contact, making you grin against his mouth. This time, the kiss is far less reserved. His hands find your hips, and yours find the back of his blond-ish hair. After you've gone long enough to leave your mouths pink and raw, you break apart. “Fuck,” he breathes.

You just nod, smiling and smoothing down the hair on the back of his head. “I’m sorry for how I came off. That's not what I meant, y’know? I was just so drunk last night, and that's not how I would have wanted things to happen. And when I woke up half naked… it was a little jarring.”

“Oh, about that. It was you who stripped down. You were muttering something about how you'd be a heathen if you slept in jeans and a bra. I tried to stop you, but you were insistent. I promise I didn’t pull anything or see anything, really. As soon as I was sure you were okay, I went and slept in my bunk. It sobered me up quite a bit, though; I was worried about you.” You can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

“Thank you… For taking care of me.”

“Yeah, of course.” He gives you a soft, crooked smile. “Now, let's go eat before we have to hit the road.”

The two of you exit back out into the kitchen/living room. The guys seem to have already forgotten that you were back there. They're back to lounging on the couches, still snacking away on donuts. Pete looks up at you. “Aw man, if they didn't fuck last night, they definitely just did.”

“And once again, you’re incorrect.” Patrick combats as you swipe your coffee off the table next to the couch. It's still decently hot.

Patrick wacks him on the back of the head on his way over to the remaining donuts. Pete doubles over and groans.

“I’m not convinced.” Andy pipes up, sunglasses already on.

“What's it to you if we did?” Patrick is visibly annoyed, but he hides it behind the giant powdered pastry in his hand.

“Just curious,” He smirks.

“I should get going. Thank you guys for the great night, and thank you, Patrick, for… everything.” You stand up and begin to straighten yourself out.

“Whoa whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” Patrick scrunches up his nose, pushing his glasses up.

“I have to get back to my bus. We leave in like an hour.”

“Why don't you stay with us?”

“Thank you, but I’ve got work to do.”

“You can do it here. I have to catch up on the writing I missed last night anyway. I won't bug you too much.” He gives you these big, sad puppy dog eyes that you just can't bring yourself to say no to.

“Alright,” You throw up your hands in surrender, laughing. “Y’all don’t mind?”

They each convey their indifference in some way. You nod and let them know you’ll be back in 20. You head out into the late morning’s air and toward your bus. You can't seem, no matter how many times you run it through your head, to make the events of this morning feel real. You can't help but think you knocked yourself out rigging for last night's show, and this is all your weird coma dream. But if it is a dream, you certainly don't want to wake up.

Stepping into the bus, you're met with a, “Where the fuck have you been?!” Jeremy looks pissed. “I've been calling you all morning! We need to leave in 45 minutes! Christ, kid, I thought you were dead in a fucking ditch somewhere.”

“Sorry… My phone died a while ago. I’m fine, though I promise.” You pull yourself into the bus and start collecting your things. “I’m driving to the next show with the band, so no need to worry. That's where I’ll be.”

“Jesus,” He rubs his eyes and sighs. “Whatever. Have fun. Don't get knocked up or anything.”

“Don’t you worry, Pops, I won't.” You pack up some clothes and your laptop into a tote bag and head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. You wipe the old makeup from around your eyes and reapply some new mascara. The new outfit you select is a simple graphic t-shirt and some slightly baggier jeans, which you hope will be comfortable for the ride. On your way out, you shout over your shoulder, “Oh, and Jere, don't have an aneurysm while I'm gone!”

You shut the door and walk the 30 or so paces back to Patrick’s bus. Inside, the guys are all getting ready for the drive. Joe is already back behind the wheel, trying to adjust the seat into a comfortable position.

“Y/N! Back here!” You follow Patrick’s voice to the back bedroom.

You toss your bag on the floor and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Long time no see.”

“Mhm. Too long.” Patrick is standing in the corner, trying to get the blend on his bass right. He puts it down and sits next to you.

“So…” You tap your fingers on your knees.

“So…” He mirrors.

You sit for a moment just staring at each other, each waiting for the other to say something. Eventually, Patrick is the one to break the tension. He leans in and kisses you, pushing his hat off his head. Your tongues lace together, creating a hot, wet sound that you pray no one else can hear. He pulls you onto his knee, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your chests together.

One thing leads to another, and you wind up on top of him. His fingers curl around your waist and tangle in your messy hair. It's all a blur of tongues and teeth, and it feels like pure bliss.

That is, until the sound of the electric slider door fills the room. “Shit-” You pull apart, a trail of saliva briefly connecting your red mouths. Sitting up and pulling out your laptop, you try and make yourself look as busy as possible. He stands, grabbing his hat from off the ground and pulling it on as quickly as he can manage. Unfortunately, you weren't anywhere near quick enough. Pete’s view of the scene was secured while you were still entangled. No faking productivity is going to change that image now.

“I fucking knew it, dude!” He laughs. All you can do is stare at him, flushed red.

“I don't know what you're talking about, man… She was just… uh- looking for something.” Patrick stutters, half joking, half just trying to cover his ass.

“Yeah, bro! Your fucking tonsils!”

“Jokes on you. I don’t have any!”

“Oh, shut up! I caught you two red fucking handed. Might have to leave the door open to make sure you don't make like goddamn rabbits back here.” Pete can't seem to wipe the shit eating grin off his face.

Unable to form words, you sit and watch as they bicker, in full awe that this is what your life has become.

“Jesus, Pete.” Patrick sits down with his bass, picking away at it and effectively de-escalating the conversation.

“Fine… fine… No tour babies, though. Understood?” He points a mocking finger at each of you and gives you a pseudo-serious ‘don't even think about it’ look.

“Yessir,” Patrick salutes.

“Oh, and we're getting on the road in a few. That's what I came to tell you.” Pete turns and walks away.

“Y’know, he's the second person that's told me that today,” you tell Patrick.

“What? That we’re leaving soon?”

“No. To avoid procreation. Must be an omen or something.”

“God, I hope not. Who was the other person?”

“The audio director.”

“Weird.” You nod in agreement. The last thing you need is a child, let alone one with a rockstar that you met for the first time yesterday.

The bus creaks to life and slowly, Joe pulls it out of the parking space, beginning the long journey to the next venue. You take this as a sign to actually get to work. Setting yourself up comfortably against some pillows at the head of the bed, you begin typing on your Word doc once more. Patrick sets himself up in a chair facing the bed, his bass cradled in his lap and his notebook in close reach.

His soft humming centers you, allowing you to work far more diligently than you had on any other day of the tour thus far. Hours pass in comfortable silence. It feels like you've been doing this your whole life, as if you were meant to sit here together and work in hush. In the past, sitting quietly with others has only ever brought you discomfort. Your immense need to know what they're thinking, or how you can break the awkwardness, eats you alive. But here, it's like you're on the exact same wavelength. Like no one else could ever understand the soul bond between you. But then again, it could all be the remains of last night’s buzz. Who knows?

Notes:

I hope this chapter was to your liking :) Let me know what you think! I really value all of your feedback and interaction! Thank you guys!

Chapter 7: Nap Time

Summary:

Patrick is exhausted from all the work on the Cobra Starship album.

Notes:

I'm sorry this chapter is so short! I've been trying to write as much as I can, but I'm moving back into Uni this week, so I've been super busy. I can't promise that I'll be able to update as much as I have been, but I'll do my best! Enjoy!!

You're a couple of hundred words down when Patrick walks over to you, bass in one hand, guitar in the other. “Can I bother you for a second?”

“Yeah, what's up?” You shut your laptop and set it down beside you. Patrick climbs onto the bed next to you.

“Do you play guitar at all?”

“A little.” The truth is, you took lessons as a kid, but having not picked one up in nearly a decade, you were sure it was less than a little.

“Okay, good. Then this should be easy.” Gently, he rests the guitar in your lap. “I want to see how the guitar and bass parts layer, but I don't feel like getting out all the recording equipment right now. It's really simple, I promise.”

“Okay.” You follow his lead, watching his fingers show you what chords to strum and when. He guides you on where to place your hands, and truly, it's one of the most intimate experiences of your life. He’s so solely focused, so passionate, and being laced between him and his guitar is connecting you to him in a way you've never felt connected to anyone before.

Slowly, you begin to pick up the rhythm, the chords flowing easier the more he coaches you. He was right, the song is simple, but it still feels great to be able to play it for him.

Eventually, he pulls back, allowing you to play entirely on your own. Once he's sure you have the hang of it, he begins playing with you, testing out the bass part. Even through your imperfect playing, it's clear that the parts braid together perfectly.

Once he's satisfied with the bass part, he stops and smiles at you. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll let you get back to work.” With that, he pecks you on the side of the head and takes the guitar back. The act is so effortless and domestic that it makes you blush. He doesn't move back to the seat in the corner, though. Instead, he stays next to you, still messing with the bass part. You pull your computer back onto your lap and resume typing.

You get yourself deep into the groove, but suddenly, after god knows how long, you feel Patrick's head fall onto your shoulder and hear a soft snore escape his mouth. His hat is in his lap, resting atop his bass, and his hands are resting at his sides. You chuckle to yourself at just how sweet he looks while he's asleep. You can't help but wonder if you're the reason he’s so tired; If worrying about you kept him up last night.

He yawns, snaking his arms around your waist. “Smooth,” you whisper, laughing a little. Your new configuration has made it significantly more difficult to type, so you decide to surrender to him. From where you're sitting, you think that you can reach the remote for the tiny TV, mounted over Patrick’s chair. Doing your best not to disturb him, you barely manage to grab the remote, pulling it towards you with the tips of your fingers. You flip through the channels and land on some old black and white sci-fi flick.

You watch the movie for a while, but the hangover seems to catch up with you fast. Before long, resting your eyes for a minute turns into a full-on nap, cozied up next to Patrick’s soft form.

_________________________

 

“Patrick! Patty!” You're awoken by the sound of Joe shouting through the door. Still out like a light, Patrick doesn't budge.

“Yeah? What's up?” You shout back through the door, voice raspy from the sleep.

The door starts to slide open, and a bemused-looking Joe is on the other side. “We've been calling for you for-fucking-ever. Lunch.” He points a thumb to his left, indicating that you've arrived at a restaurant.

“How do you propose we wake my little parasite?” You point at Patrick. Joe’s annoyance immediately fades. He waltzes into the room and, without an ounce of hesitation, begins horror-movie-shrieking directly into Parick’s ear. Patrick flinches awake, instinctively curling closer to you.

“Christ, Joe!” he whines.

“Up, up. It's lunch time, sleeping beauty.” You crawl out from his iron grip and pull him off the bed with you. Joe is long gone by now, presumably to meet the guys inside. Patrick protests, but you manage to get him up and walking. Sure, he's practically hanging off of you, but walking nonetheless. “You're awfully grabby when you're sleepy.”

“I was having a really good dream.” He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses the side of your neck.

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“I'll tell you later,” he whispers into your neck.

“Alright, well, until then, let's go eat.”

Notes:

I hope you liked this chapter! Again, I'm sorry it's so short. Let me know how you liked it!! <3

Chapter 8: The Diner

Summary:

You and the boys stop for lunch.

Notes:

Heyy! I'm so sorry this chapter took me so long! I moved back to Uni this week and everything has been so crazy that I've barely had any time to write. The chapter updates are probably going to be more sporadic in the future, but I will keep updating, I promise! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

The diner the boys selected is shockingly barren for it being so close to lunchtime. There are a few regulars scattered along the bar and a road-tripping family in a booth, but aside from that, it's a wasteland. The waitress is decked out in the full traditional, pastel-colored diner regalia. She looks positively miserable behind the bar, but when you all step inside, she brightens immediately. “Hey there, folks! Can I get you a table?” There's a gentle twang to her voice.

“Yeah, that'd be great,” Pete beams at her, his slight swagger as apparent as ever. She leads you to a booth and waits patiently for you each to slide in before placing the menus on the table and introducing herself as Mary Beth. She makes her way back behind the counter.

“God, I'm ravenous.” Joe’s face is buried in his menu like a character in a cartoon. “Thanks for making us wait, Patty.” He punctuates his sarcastic jab with a kick to Patrick’s leg under the table.
“C’mon, man, I slept like shit last night.” He groans and lets his head fall to the table.

“Hmm… I wonder why…” Pete jabs.

You roll your eyes and chuckle at Pete. “Leave the poor man alone. He's sleepy,” You tease, elbowing Patrick lightly. With that, he rises, setting his attention on the menu.

Mary Beth returns to take drink orders and swiftly fulfils them, finally quelling Joe’s insatiable hunger, at least somewhat, with a chocolate milkshake. The food follows quickly behind; the diner's emptiness is certainly a contributing factor. The boys don't say much when the food first arrives, all consumed with consuming their meals. It doesn't seem like they keep any food on the tour bus.

The thing that finally puts an end to the uncomfortably loud chewing is Mary Beth’s drawl. “I'm sorry to bother you, but are y’all… Fall Out Boy?”

Pete’s ever-present smirk grows once again. “In the flesh.”

“Man! I don't believe it! Oh Gosh! Will you all sign this?” She holds out her receipt book and a pen to Andy, who is sitting closest to her (aside from you, whom she has yet to acknowledge).

The boys each take their turns scribbling their names on the book. Patrick is the last to write his, so when he finishes, he reaches over you to hand it back to her. The unremarkable action is made far more remarkable, though, when he lets his hand fall to rest on your inner thigh. He squeezes it lightly as a silent apology for your having to be present for this.

“This is like the coolest thing that's ever happened to me! I can't believe you guys are here!” The guys begin to tune her out, used to the droving girls gushing all over them. You do as well until you hear, “Oh, Patrick, I always thought you were such a cutie! That one music video… Oh, I don't remember the one… The one with the nerd outfit. You were so chubby and cute.”

The odd, slightly condescending tone in her voice peeves you, and you can feel Patrick growing uncomfortable next to you. He does his best to smile and thank her without provoking more.

“Yknow,” she leans in, over you and closer to Patrick’s ear. “I get off in an hour if you want to stick around…”

His hand squeezes your thigh as he responds through gritted teeth and an awkward smile, “I’m flattered… really. But, uh, we have to be on the road. Thanks though… for the offer.” Mary Beth’s smile disappears for the first time in the hour or so you've been sitting in the diner. She turns on her heel and sulks back behind the bar.

“Thank god she didn't do that before,” Joe grins. “Would’ve sucked if she hawked a loogie in our milkshakes. “
“Maybe she still did,” Andy replies.

“Can we go?” Patrick still looks tense, his hand wrapped around your thigh. His fingers are stronger than you'd imagined, but he’s doing his best to be gentle and not hurt you. You certainly don't mind being his stress ball, though it's not exactly the scenario you'd pictured.

The five of you file out, having left a wad of cash on the table. The tip was still sizeable, despite Mary Beth’s little barbed compliments.

“Are you alright?” You whisper to Patrick once you're sure the guys can't hear you anymore. His hand is still on you, though now instead of grasping your leg, it's rested firmly in the small of your back.

He nods. You look at him for a moment and then at the bus. The guys have already filed on and are waiting for you.

“What is it, Patrick?” You move to face him, but the similarity in your heights doesn't let you see his eyes past the brim of his hat. Once again, he doesn't speak; this time, he pulls you into a hug.

“It's nothing,” he whispers. ”… I just… nothing”

You rub his back gently, not wanting to push him to say anything he doesn't want to. “Okay… Let's get going.”

You kiss his shoulder softly before pulling away and leading him to the bus. He beelines for the back room, past the guys who are getting ready to head out. You're not sure if you should follow him or not. He seemed to like having something to hold, but you don't want to crowd him.

You decide to give him a few minutes to himself before you go check on him. You make yourself comfortable on the couch opposite Pete, who is messing with his MP3 player’s headphones.

“Do you think he's alright?” You ask Pete softly, worried that the cardboard-like walls will carry your question straight to Patrick.

Pete nods, “He’s kinda touchy about his weight. He’ll be alright, he just needs a minute.”

“Okay.” You cozy yourself into the corner, knees folded up to your chest. You ache for Patrick. Truly, in all the time you'd seen him on TV and in magazines, you hadn't thought anything of his weight. All you ever noticed was his sweet face and how much fun it looked like he was having. He just didn't seem like he would care about something as surface-level as that, especially given how talented he is. But what do you know? You've only known the man for a day or two. And who are you to comfort him? Just some random girl he met in a production office. Maybe it’s best to give him some space.

Notes:

Also, I just wanted to ask: Do y'all think it's weird to have random named characters written into fics like this? I have two in here, and idk if that's something that bothers y'all. Let me know and let me know what you think of the chapter!!!

Chapter 9: Are You Alright?

Summary:

You and Patrick have a serious talk.

Notes:

Hey all! I'm sorry again for the posting delay! Uni has been super intense already, and I've been struggling to find time to write. I'll do my best to get chapters out in a timely manner, but I apologize ahead of time if there's over a week between updates. But anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It's a little sappier for sure!

Around ten minutes later, the bus begins moving again, this time with Andy behind the wheel. You haven't moved from your spot in the corner of the couch. “Pete, will you please go talk to him?”

“No. You should.” He doesn't even look up. You've been batting back and forth like this for a while now.

“Why me? He’s your best friend.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s really into you. And plus, he's not that happy with me right now.”

“Why’s that?” You shift so that you're facing him, feet on the ground.

Pete pushes his hair back and leans deeper into the couch. He lets out a long breath. “All he does since he got that gig writing for Cobra Starship is sit on the fuckin bus. I've been on his ass about coming out with the guys and me… Just to fuck around like we used to. But he's so preoccupied with all this work, and we've barely seen him aside from for soundchecks and shows and that shit. That's why we've all been teasing him. But we've seen a lot more of him since you got here. So… thanks… I guess.”

You nod at him and give him an awkward, “Yeah… no problem…”

“So please, go talk to him. It's you he wants to see right now. Not me.”

“Fine. But can you try to make amends? If I'm the glue that's holding you together right now, then I'd imagine this tour isn't going to end well.”

“Deal.” Pete leans forward, holding out a hand for you to shake. He has a look on his face like he's messing with you, but something about the gesture feels truly genuine. You take his hand and shake it. “Now go.”

He ushers you up and past Joe, who has dozed with his Game Boy tucked protectively against his chest. That's where he leaves you, left to your own devices, to face Patrick. You knock gently on the door. “Patrick?”

“Yeah?” You hear his soft voice through the door. It doesn't quite sound like he’s been crying, but you can't say for sure through the flimsy laminate separating you.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Of course.” With that, you press the button, the door sliding open as awkwardly as ever on its squeaky automated track. Patrick is seated in your spot on the bed, nestled in the same way you were earlier. His guitar sits flat on his lap. You press the button once more, and the door whirs shut behind you.

“So… How's it going?” You don't dare step forward yet. Instead, you wait, helpless, at the end of the bed. He looks a little pink around the eyes, but otherwise perfectly fine from what you can tell.

“Fine. Just doing some more work.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” He smiles and pats the spot next to him. You make your way over, sitting next to him and pulling your laptop onto your lap.

You both work silently for a while. Work isn't quite how you'd describe it, though. All you can manage to do is type out a sentence or two before deleting it and rewriting. Every now and then, you glance over at Patrick, who seems to be having just as hard a time as you are. He strums away, but he never seems satisfied with what he’s playing. Whatever you do, you can't quit worrying about him. It's manifested into this horrible monster in the pit of your stomach, tearing at your intestines, begging you to say something to him.

Finally, you give in.

“Hey, so about earlier…” You wait for him to meet your gaze. “Are you alright?”

His head droops a bit, almost defeated. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” You hate to pry, but it's clear he's not telling the truth.

He nods. You reach out a tentative hand to rub the small of his back.
“I just hate when people talk about me like that.” He whispers. You immediately recognize that he’s referring to the waitress from earlier.

You nod, continuing to rub his back.

“It’s so stupid to get so upset about it, I know.” His head falls into his hands.

“It's not stupid. You have every right to be upset. She was a total asshole. I can't believe anyone would actually say that.” You lean closer to him, speaking softly.

“She's not the first, and I doubt she'll be the last. But usually it doesn't get to me like that. I hate that you're seeing me like this. I'm sorry.”

“Stop that, Patrick,” You coo. “You have absolutely no reason to be sorry.”

“It's just… I really like you… And I hate that she said all that in front of you… and I hate that I’m so upset about it… And I hate that I'm telling you this. God, why am I telling you all of this?” He slumps onto his guitar.

“Thank you for telling me.”

He looks at you, “So you're not horrified?” You can tell he's half joking, a small smile creeping across his face.

“Of course not,” You grin and kiss his cheek. “I like you a lot, too.”

“Really? You're not just saying that?” He sits up straight again, eyes locked on yours.

You roll your eyes and chuckle. “Seriously? I've spent the last day with you. We napped together for Christ's sake. I like Patrick. More than I probably should.”

With that admission, he is beaming. He pushes the guitar off his lap and pulls you close to him in a long, comforting bear hug.

“I hope this isn't moving too fast for you… I just… I can't think of the last time I've felt like this about someone.”

“No, I get what you mean. Completely.” And you do. You're sure it's too early to call it love, but the compassion and care that you feel towards this little man is more than you’ve ever felt for anyone in your entire life. You wish you could just crawl inside of him and be a part of him forever.

He gestures for you to crawl into his lap. You oblige, putting up absolutely no fight. He holds you like that for a long time, nose nestled into your hair, arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

Once you're sure he’s feeling better, you look up at him, a mischievous look painted across your face. “So what was it you wanted to tell me earlier? About that ‘really good dream?’”

Notes:

Thank y'all for sticking with me!! I hope you liked this chapter! Let me know what you think!!:))