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

Wrap an Arm Around My Waist and We'll See Where It Goes From There

I'M SO SORRY I TOOK FOREVER ON THIS I COULD GIVE YOU EXCUSES WHETHER IT'S HOMEWORK OR SOME SHIT, BUT UH--tbh I'm just really lazy and at a lack of inspiration. This chapter kind of sucks, but I hope you enjoy it anyway <3

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Wide brown eyes scan the passing buildings, blurry signs moving back and forth throughout Pete's vision as he gazes out the car window, glass spotty and grimy with dust and what else.

Leaning forward he places his forehead against the glass and sighs quietly. Pete's so exhausted, as if just communicating and being around--just knowing of Patrick's existence--drained the life out of him.

A soft tune is blaring from the radio, melodic and sweet, and it's calming, but it only serves to make Pete furthermore drowsy, his eyes begin to flutter shut until the car swerves to the left and Patrick lets out a muted curse resulting in a jolt from Pete, narrowly avoiding a concussion as his head lurches forward.

Well he's somewhat awake now. "The hell s'that about?" Pete slurs, eyes half lidded and Patrick grunts in response, "Bird," Pete's face scrunches up in confusion. "Bird?" Patrick nods firmly. "Bird," he repeats softly.

"Okay..." Pete replies, slumping back into his chair. To this, Pete honestly thinks it could not be more abnormal, him and Patrick driving in a car--together--to his house--and it's actually kind of peaceful, if you ignore the tension swarming around them and it almost manages to make Pete dizzy.

Blood's pounding against his cranium again and now his mind is kind of at a disadvantage and he's finding himself admitting that he's sort of agreeing with Patrick's earlier comment about the whole--he shouldn't be left alone after a panic attack or whatever--he'd probably end up falling down the stairs and dying or some shit equivalent to the ridiculous former.

Pete tried to contact Brendon--and or Joe, but they're both fucking busy and he really doesn't wanna bother them, but he also really doesn't wanna be alone with Patrick--well, he has Hemmy--Hemmy better not stab him in the back and befriend Patrick, Pete swears.

Aw, Hemmy must be worried 'cause he's not back yet. Pete frowns at that--as much as he can frown as he still feels kind of anchored, immobile and useless really.

Pete squints his eyes, barely being able to detect the faint sensation of a hand on his thigh. He gives an uncomfortable squirm, but that only ensues the hand to tighten and he hears Patrick's voice murmuring quietly. "Relax." The tone is soft and gentle and so unlike Patrick it makes Pete's head hurt.

Pete lets out a small groan of annoyance, he'd really prefer not to be touched by anyone right now. The presence of a palm on his leg isn't really helping his senses at the moment, really only succeeding in frazzling them, like the wiring in his brain is fried--kaput.

Pete sighs, turning his head back to put his gaze on the flashing lights once again. Easier to look at then the road before him which is only victorious in reminding him of his current situation.

And then it hits him--he forgot to take his meds, he forgot--fuck, he feels another groan ripping through his chest, but chokes it back down, god, how could he forget?