Chapter Text
I.
Patrick Stump experienced the normal preshow nerves: the nervousness, the ‘what-if’s’, the jitteriness. It has lessened since his first couple shows, sometimes backing out because of his anxiety. It got better, like everything, with experience, but he still experiences them with varying intensity to this day. He rarely got close to the level he once experienced; only one time that happened and it was on what he considered the worst day of his life.
That day’s show was the first show on the American Beauty/American Psycho tour.
He had done so many interviews in many different states, constantly traveling for the week beforehand; he could barely remember the name of his hometown.
To say he was exhausted would be an understatement.
Maybe that was why his anxiety was higher than normal.
His normal preshow nerves were multiplied by a factor of 5. He could not sit still, his breathing was halfway between normal and hyperventilation, and his mind was focused on what could go wrong in the show.
“’Trick?” Pete interrupted the lead singer’s frantic pacing. “You all warmed up?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” Patrick responded, trying to put up a front. He could not have his band members thinking he was weak.
“You sure?” Pete asked, stepping into Patrick’s mauve dressing room and closing the door. “you look a little shaky. Do you feel alright ‘Trick?” Pete stepped up to Patrick and felt for a temperature.
“I-I’m fine.” Patrick muttered as his breathing increased like someone was pressing the gas pedal in his lungs. “Just a bit nervous.”
“’Trick, you are not ok.” Pete said after staring into his friend’s eyes. “What is going on?”
“I don’t know! I am just really nervous for the show. I didn’t get much sleep this week and I’m sorry.” He shut his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the ears. “I am sorry. I am the voice of the band and I can’t even get it together for the first concert of our tour. Sorry.”
“Hey, ‘Trick. It’s alright.” Pete brought him in for a hug. “You are human. You are entitled to have emotions. It’s alright.”
Patrick tentatively hugged Pete back until Pete finished talking. Then he tightened his grip on the man, his fingers grasping the black cotton of the shirt as a wet spot subtly grew larger. He felt Pete’s hand rub soothingly in circles on his back. The slight vibration of Pete’s chest indicated that he was humming a song, barely audible over Patrick’s sobs.
He stood there long after he stopped crying, just holding Pete, his anchor, and breathing in his scent, which was slightly tainted by a salty residue on his shoulder. The warmth mixed in with the aftermath of the raw emotion made Patrick oddly comforted.
He felt a kiss on the left side of his head as Pete kept humming a melody Patrick had never heard causing Patrick’s heartrate to mimic the butterflies in his stomach.
In a haze of sleep deprivation and emotion, he whispered, “I love you.” He swore that Pete’s heartbeat skipped a beat, but he chalked that up to his wonky imagination.
“Do you feel up to preforming?” Pete asked a few minutes later, pulling back. Patrick almost whimpered at the loss of contact.
“Of course! Don’t want to let down the fans.” Patrick smiled, sincere.
Pete cocked his eyebrow but did not question it. “After that, let’s grab a beer at the local bar?”
“Could we stay in tonight? Movie night in my room? I’ll get someone to buy us a six-pack.”
“Sounds great!” Pete smiled, gave Patrick another hug (too short in Patrick’s opinion), and turned to leave. “Oh, and John wants us out in well, five-ish minutes now.”
“Tell him I will be out by then!” Patrick responded, feeling a new surge of energy.
He couldn’t wait for the concert to be over.