You're a Hot Mess (Peterick)

Chapter Nine - Scattered Paper

The room's jolting with laughter and conversation like the penultimate leg of the tour almost coming to a close is giving them reason to celebrate, to savour every moment.

One more after this, who knows how many shows it entails. I don't know how the band's kept up, how they're surviving. I know I've barely been recently.

Another lounge in another venue in a whole other city. Countless faces I won't remember the morning after. I truly don't know how the band does it.

The people are lively, the room's electric, the drinks are alcoholic. None of it surprises me.

"What do you think, Pete?" Dallon asks me, and just like that, the attention's focused on me. That's the kind of popularity Dallon has. His talent, his power. He talks, people listen. It's common for the famous.

I tell him I haven't been listening and he laughs, giving his crowd permission to laugh too. He tells them I'm just kidding, that I'm hilarious. They all giggle along.

Patrick shifts beside me, removes his arm from my shoulder, laughing uneasily. "Stop being broody." He says under his breath, so no one else hears it.

We argued again last night. Ever since that night at the hotel, most of our conversations haven't been conversations at all.

'Mikey' isn't a name anymore, it's a topic, a debate.

I'm through playing defendant but it doesn't seem like I have much choice in the matter, and neither does he.

We haven't talked about the kiss. Not verbally. Besides, what would we say? We're past kisses now. We're back to square 'minus something' and I'm not even sure where we were before it.

"I don't want to be here." I tell him in defiance, just like I told him earlier, back in the hotel room.

Things are getting more professional around here, which apparently means more hotels. I can't help but think that maybe it was Patrick's idea.

He'd said I was being unreasonable, that we always hung out with our friends, but this isn't 'our friends', our friends are a long way away. These are the band's crowd; their followers that have too much composure to be labelled as fans.

In the end he told me to come or don't, and of course I had to show up then. If I didn't I would have came across as childish.

I can't let them know that.

He sighs with a smile on his lips, trying to pay attention to two conversations at once, keep up appearances. And he knows I'm not even trying, which is making him more determined.

"I don't want to fight. Please, one night. We haven't had an argument free night since-"

"I know."

At this point we've both detached from the conversation with the rest of the room and someone calls Patrick's name and we both snap back into it.

"You two okay?" Frank asks, apparently being the spokesperson for the rest of the room to ask what they're all thinking. I should ask him and Gerard the same question.

"Excuse us." Patrick says quickly, pulling me to my feet and taking me through the small group of people and out the door faster than I can comprehend what's happening.

He doesn't say a word when we're out of the room, just keeps dragging me around the venue halls until he finds an empty room and pulls us both in.

He lets go of my hand and turns to face me.

Before I can ask what the hell he thinks he's doing he pulls our lips together hastily, hands firmly on my hips.

When he pulls back I don't say anything.