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Pete was shaking, and he couldn't stop. This was it, they were really done. Fall Out Boy was really ending.
The last show, and then we're done, Pete couldn't help but think. I know Patrick said maybe we'll come back and it's not permanent but...god I just can't lose him. Or Joe or Andy.
He gulped, pacing the hotel room he was sharing with Patrick. For the last time. The latter returned a few seconds later, and smiled at Pete. "Hey," he said quietly.
Pete smiled back, trying to keep the pain he was feeling out of it. "Hey," he repeated, looking over at Patrick.
The red haired man sighed, "Pete look I -- I'm sorry it's just, I want to explore music outside of Fall Out Boy, other genres, you know? Besides, we've all been at each other's throats lately, this'll be good for us."
"I know, I just don't want to lose you guys," Pete admitted, looking down at his feet.
Patrick gaped at him, "You - You're not gonna lose us Pete! You're my best friend, that's not stopping just because the band is."
"Yeah but you're thinking of starting a new solo career, what if you find a new best friend?" Pete mumbled.
"That's never going to happen."
~~**~~
"Thank you New York City! We're Fall Out Boy and we love each and every one of you!" Pete screamed into his microphone, as they closed the final show. The four of them ran off the stage and after meeting a few fans as per usual, they went back to the bus to be taken back to their hotel for the last time.
Around three a in the morning, Patrick had fallen asleep and Pete was, of course, still awake. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and pulled out his lyric notebook along with a pen. Pete glanced over at Patrick who was still sound asleep in the bed next to him, and immediately got inspiration to start writing.
There's a room in a hotel in New York City...
~~**~~
Three years later and Pete was standing on Patrick's door step, a drunken mess. He rang the bell, completely aware it was about three in the morning. He kept pressing it, intrigued by the slight ringing noise he could hear. A grumpy looking Patrick opened the door, as Pete stood there, still staring at the door bell. He poked it again, turning to Patrick and grinning like a madman at the sound. "Ding dong," he muttered, giggling.
Patrick sighed, "You're drunk aren't you?" Pete nodded an giggled again. "Why?"
"I felt lonely since Ashlee left me today one year ago," Pete blurted out. "And she has Bronx for the week and I didn't have anyone to go to so I opened my alcohol cabinet and drank like, a whole bottle of vodka, and some whiskey, and now here I am..." Patrick sighed and rubbed his temples. Pete placed a hand on his cheek, cupping it gently. "I've missed you," he whispered.
"Please just -- don't," Patrick whispered, looking him dead in the eye.
"Say you missed me too," Pete begged. "I need to hear it, please Trick." Patrick looked at his feet and refused to look Pete in the eye. "Fine, you know what? This was a mistake and I'm leaving," Pete muttered.
"You're not walking home like this and there's now chance in hell you're driving. You're staying here tonight," Patrick sighed, grabbing Pete's hand and pulling him into the house.
Pete grinned, before pressing his lips against Patrick's in a sloppy kiss, pulling back and beaming. "Thanks Trickydoll," he slurred. Patrick grabbed Pete by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall just inside the door, smashing their lips together again for about two seconds, before pulling away and running up the stairs. Pete blinked, but stumbled after him, and walked into Patrick's room. "Tricky, I -- what?"
Patrick just sighed again, "I'll explain tomorrow, you're too drunk. Get some sleep." Pete took that as an invitation to lie down in bed next to Patrick and pull him into his arms. Patrick sighed for like, the thousandth time that night, but rested his head on Pete's chest.
The two of them spent about two hours talking the next morning, and agreed to give this...whatever it may be, a shot.
~~**~~
Four more years later, and despite the odds, they were still together. Pete beamed down at his soon to be husband, and kissed him softly. "We're getting married in a week," he beamed.
"I guess we'll really be...setting in a honeymoon," Patrick grinned, pressing his nose against Pete's.
Pete groaned, "Why? Why am I marrying you?"
"Because you love me," Patrick teased, moving away and going to their shared night table drawer. He rummaged through it for a second before pulling out a piece of paper, shooting Pete a confused look. "What is this?"
"No idea," Pete replied, flopping onto their bed and putting his arms behind his head. Patrick unfolded it and read the hastily scribbled words.
"There's a room in a hotel in New York City..."