The Problem with Patrick || Fall Out Boy

you're the one habit I just can't kick

Patrick was hesitant to pick up music again. From the way that Pete had been talking, it was clear that it was something that was essential to who he used to be. Apparently he was super talented, he could play loads of instruments, and according to Pete, 'had the voice of an angel'.

It was such an odd thought. Everyone had told him that he was some kind of musician, he used to work at a record shop, and he used to write all these amazing songs for his band to play. And yet he felt absolutely empty when it came to music now.

That was probably why he was hesitant when Pete kept pushing him to come down to the basement and pick up an instrument. Everyone had these expectations of him, that he was good at this kind of stuff, and yet as Pete handed him a guitar, the body felt unfamiliar and the only thing he really wanted to do was hand it back.

He was sitting on a stool, in the middle of this room that felt familiar, and it felt warm to Patrick. Like good things happened in this room, and he that once upon a time he was happy when he was here. He couldn't tell what those things were, but the comforting atmosphere did provide some relief. Pete walked over and plugged the guitar into an amp, and came back with a pick. Unlike the guitar, the pick did fit perfectly in Patrick's hand, and it found it's place on the strings immediately.

"Can I try something?" Pete asked, picking his bass up and setting it up. "I'm gonna start playing some of our songs, and then if you remember, you come in with the notes, alright?"

"Do we have songs?"

"Just try."

"Okay..."

Pete started. He started with the bass line, and smiled excitedly, but there was no input from his friend who seemed to only be listening. He tried again with the same song, and still nothing. Then with a different song. Nothing. This probably went for about half an hour (Pete had pretty much tried every song on the record) before he noticed Patrick's knee bouncing in time with the beat.

"Okay, pass that back." Pete took the guitar off him and put it away, before sitting him down at the drum kit. "Do you know what instrument this is?"

"Drums." Patrick responded quickly, running his finger along the edge of the cymbal.

"Uh huh. And who plays drums?"

"Andy." Patrick responded, again, not missing a beat.

"And?" Pete prompted with a smile.

"And what?"

"And who else plays drums?"

There was a moment of silence before realisation appeared visibly across Patrick's face. "I do."

"That's right." Pete grinned, running and grabbing his drumsticks. "These are yours."

Patrick took them in his hands, and ran his hands over the wood. They felt familiar, and comfortable, and without even thinking he spun one of them around in his hands. "I, I think I know these."

"Yeah? That's good." Pete smiled. "Those ones are your drumsticks."

"Andy's not allowed to play with them. These... these were expensive... I don't, I didn't like to share them."

Pete grinned widely, and patted his friend on the shoulder. "That's right buddy. You got this."

"Are you gonna play and wait for me to come in again?" Patrick asked.

"No, I think it's better if you just go freestyle." Pete sat down on the stool in the middle of the room and watched his friend. He remembered the early days, when Patrick never wanted to sing at all. All he wanted was to sit at the back of the stage and hide behind the drum kit. This was the instrument he had known the longest, and was probably the one he was most confident in playing. That probably explained why he had a memory of the drumsticks, but Pete didn't dare say anything. He didn't want Patrick to feel he had expectations. He just wanted him to go at it in his own time.