Give Me A Taste Of What You're Really Like (Peterick)

I'm A Wheel of Emotions When I'm With You, All You Have To Do Is Give Me A Spin.

Writing style was changed slightly--kay, a lot, it's been changed to match my one shot I've been working on kind of and it's just more detailed I guess, tell me your thoughts <3

Pete's pretty sure he's dead right now--did Patrick kill him or some shit?--if he did, Pete called it--wait no--his back is pressed against something, so he's probably alive, maybe--he's lying on a plush-like object--a cushion, possibly?

Everything still feels kind of hazy, like a misty dream clouding at his brain, like he's not actually there--his mind is someplace else almost. He tilts his head, causing his cheek to scratch against the somewhat rough material. He snakes his tongue out to moisten his chapped bottom lip, his mouth feels dry and his throat raw, the only memory floating around in his head is a disordered jumble of a facial expression, nervous..and alarmed?--familiar...Patrick, maybe? Pete's not sure, it's kind of unsettling if he's honest.

Pete gives a slight squirm, his body twisting and his back arching until he huffs, falling back into the bed?--couch?--he feels a small wave of panic ripple through him at the lack of knowledge regarding his surroundings and his foot twitches, thumping into the--arm of a couch, it's a couch--he's on a couch--okay.

No more panicking--except for the fact that he has no clue where he is, what the hell even happened?--he inhales deeply, attempting to calm his nerves--though they're practically skittering, and he squirms once again until he's lying face down, on his stomach, which eases him a bit and he sighs in relief.

Pete can recognize a small movement sounding from the room next-door--and he'd rather not acknowledge that, not now at least, he really just wants to sink back into his formerly unconscious state--for awhile, or even an eternity, why not?

He stretches his body out, straining several of his muscles and his frame partially resembles a cat for a moment from his curved spine to his bent knees, curled up toes, and sprawled out fingers clawing into the couch, pressing and leaving small indents, before one of his wrists bump into a velvety-like fabric, though the object is squishy and one of his eyes crack open, to which he discovers the object is a pillow--score.

Pete wiggles closer and extends his arms out to coil around the desired element to obliterate the annoyance of his headache and a disturbing image of a spider seizing it's prey inserts itself into his mind and his face pulls into a sort of grimace, that image is definitely not what he needs right now--it relates to him enormously--in an almost pathetic amount.

His bottom lip juts out--involuntarily--and he shoves his face into the cushion, his arms tightening around it as he gives a tiny muffled groan. His eyes are clenched shut and his shoulders tense, he should probably get up--eventually, but he's so...exhausted.

Pete's chest begins to expand as a yawn bubbles up and escapes his mouth, although it's smothered and almost silent. He kicks his legs out once again to attempt at succeeding in finding a more suited position for himself.

He lets out a questionable noise when he realizes his legs are tangled up in a...He lifts his head up to take a small glance downward and detects a blanket wrapped around his calves, he arches a brow and a lazy smile curls upon his lips.

Pete worms his way onto his side reaching down he paws at the duvet, digging his fingernails into the creases, loosening and unraveling it before he tugs it upward to sheath his form within the pleasant warmth he didn't know he craved and his body wiggles in delight.

His legs curl up, initiating him to coil into a ball and right as he's getting comfy and the sensation of cozy and nice entwined into a little ball inside his chest spirals, the door creaks open and he freezes while his formerly blanket warm blood runs cold.