the summer of like {petekey}

11

e l e v e n
shut your eyes,
kiss me goodbye,
and sleep.

"Pete?" Patrick calls, looking around. He notices Pete sprawled on his bunk and laughs quietly. "Come on, sleepyhead, it's rehearsal time." Pete doesn't stir. Patrick shakes him lightly, furrows his eyebrows. "Pete?"

"Is he up yet?" Joe complains from behind.

"No," Patrick sighs, "He's not even stirring..."

Joe steps around him. "Lemme try," he says, then slaps Pete in the face. Zero reaction.

It's Patrick who notices the spilled sleeping pills on the floor. "Joe, wait," he whispers, his voice dropping. He points to the little pills and the empty orange container. Joe's face turns ashen. "You think he-"

"He was really drunk last night," Joe mumbles. "Add those, and you..."

He looks up at Patrick and they lock horror-wide eyes. "Should we call someone?" Patrick asks quietly. "We can call off rehearsal today."

Pete whimpers in his sleep, if you can call it that. Immediately their attention snaps to him. "Pete?" Joe asks. "Wake the hell up."

He goes to slap Pete again but Patrick catches his wrist, kisses him lightly. "Shh. He'll wake up, I think. Don't hurt him."

Joe's face softens and he kisses Patrick back. "Okay. Should we leave him then?"

"Yeah," Patrick nods, "Definitely call off rehearsal, though. And maybe get Mikey here." He smiles at Joe.

"Got it, baby boy."

-

Mikey arrives when they tell him what happened, and he nearly passes out when he sees Pete.

"Fucking Sleeping Beauty," he mutters, then whips his accusing gaze to Joe and Patrick. "You didn't call anyone?"

"Other than you, no," Patrick answers. "Why?"

"He could be fucking dead by now!" Mikey snaps. "Alcohol and sleeping pills? Not a good fucking mix." He sinks to his knees and checks Pete's pulse. "Right, so he's not dead. But he could be."

Patrick bites his nails. "Sorry," he mutters, and Mikey rolls his eyes.

"Maybe instead of apologizing, you could call a fucking ambulance?" he snaps, still focusing on Pete. "Wait, don't do that. I think he's waking up. Get me a bucket or something."

Luckily, they have one on hand, and Mikey gets it just in time as Pete leans over and vomits into the bucket. His eyes flutter open and he slumps, moaning slightly.

"Pete?" Mikey asks quietly. "Are you okay?"

Pete retches again and turns to Mikey weakly. "Huh?"

"You took too many sleeping pills mixed with too much alcohol. Just short of having a severe reaction, apparently, but I'm no doctor." Mikey strokes his forehead. Pete's eyes are dazed and glossy, his demeanor feverish.

"...Right. N-not dead?"

"Not dead," Mikey confirms, and Pete purses his lips.