You're a Snarky Little Shit (Frerard, Petekey)

this is literally one of the last chapters

Patrick's alarm clock displayed the time in bright red numbers: 4:32 am.

On a Sunday. (Well, technically Monday, but he wasn't worried about technicalities at the moment.)

Which meant, of course, he had approximately 2 hours until he had to get up for school. He tried pulling an all-nighter on a Wednesday once; he ended up falling asleep in the middle of third period. So Patrick knew this was nothing short of a horrible idea. However, he was still wide awake, unable to sleep.

Why?

The funeral jogged his memory of something that had been bugging him for weeks.

He kept replaying the last words he ever spoke to him, and it felt like he was still sitting atop the monkey bars with Mikey next to him.

"...I fucking hate you, but..."

Those five words were echoing through his head for hours; blasting music through his ears wouldn't even clear them from his mind. All he could focus on were five fucking words.

Patrick considered his options: one, he'd wake his mom up, ask her to take him back to his therapist (who he hasn't seen for months), and everything will be peachy-fucking-keen. Two, he stays up all night focused on the past, pretends to be sick so he can stay home and sleep, and will worry about school later. Three--his personal favorite--abandon life as he knows it to live in some abandoned shack with a stray goat he found on the side of the road. 

Then, there was lonely option number four.

Call Pete, who just might be able to calm him down enough to get him to sleep. Patrick felt guilty for always calling Pete in the early hours of the morning, but he couldn't really help it.

He had what 19th century doctors would refer to as monomania. He focuses and focuses on one petty thing or idea until that's his only thought. The thing Patrick found most helpful when he was having one of his "episodes" was to just vent to someone; unfortunately, these little episodes tended to happen between 1:00 and 5:00 in the morning. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up his cellphone and dialed Pete's number anyway.

~

"Pete...fuck...I-I need you to come over here."

"What the hell? It's almost 5 in the morning! I can't just waltz out of the house."

"Fine, I'll come there, then."

"That still involves me waltzing out of the house, Patrick. And I haven't waltzed in a long time."

"To be completely honest with you, I'm really not in the mood for jokes right now. I just...I really need to see someone in person right now, okay? So please, just sneak out. For me," Patrick pleaded.

"Wow, I never thought you'd be the one begging me to sneak out," Pete said.

"Whatever. Just get your ass down here."

~

Pete fast-walked down the sidewalk, leaves crunching beneath his sneaker-clad feet. The wind blew slightly, and the sun was just starting to come up, covering everything in an orangey gold light. If he wasn't so worried about Patrick, he would have stopped to take pictures, maybe upload them to Tumblr with some bullshit filter over top of it. Perfect.

Finally, Pete made it to Patrick's house. He saw Patrick waiting outside, and was a little surprised by his getup. Instead of pajamas or anything of that nature, he was wearing shorts, and socks, and a hat. And a shirt, of course. He looked odd next to Pete's pajama pants/hoodie combination.

"What's with the fancy getup? Did you get all dolled up, just for me?" Pete said, smirking.

"I needed to do something to distract me, and I thought a change of clothes would help. Stupid, but it almost worked," Patrick said as he slumped down onto the ground.

"Okay, I'll stop with the jokes. What's the matter?"

Patrick didn't say a word as he leaned his head on Pete's shoulder. 

"I...um...there's this, uh, thing. It's not a current medical term, but it's called monomania, and-"

"Wait! We learned about that in English class this year. Edgar Allan Poe wrote about people with monomania a lot."

A smile spread across Patrick's face as he realized he wouldn't have to explain it like he usually did. The smile quickly faded.

"Well, that's what I have, if Edgar Allan Poe were to describe me. And, I dunno, all I can focus on right now is Mikey, and how much of an ass I was to him. I hate focusing on him dying and shit because nothing ever seems to move forward. It's like everything is at a standstill right now. I just want to move on and stop thinking about it. I don't want to forget about Mikey or anything, but it's not healthy to dwell on his death like this. But I can't help it! All I want to do is stop, but that's not who I am. It's impossible," Patrick said, exhaling deeply.

"Maybe trying to forget the whole 'death' aspect of everything that happened is better for everyone."

"See, that's the thing; it's kind of, like, really fucking hard to 'just forget.'"

"Well, I'm not going to leave until you do fucking forget."

And so the two sat, Patrick's head never leaving Pete's shoulder. Of course, Patrick thought of it as totally platonic, because one, he's not in the right mental state to have a boyfriend right now. Two, he wasn't sure if he could even think of dating Pete again.

Pete fell asleep quickly, as he was basically half-asleep during his conversation with Patrick. He felt okay knowing that he (hopefully) helped his friend with his disorder. And, he thought that Patrick made him realize that it was okay to not dwell so much on Mikey's death. He hoped they won't mention it a lot when they talked, because it made him feel upset AND he didn't like to dwell on the past.

 Patrick fell asleep about an hour after Pete. The thoughts of what he last said to Mikey still raced through his head, but he felt a little relieved knowing he was able to talk about his feelings without his crusty therapist staring at him with a notepad.

For the first time in a while, Patrick felt content. 

ayy whats up shitheads

im sorry yall are so sweet ily

YO I SAW FOB ON FRIDAY AT MSG AND IT WAS RAD AS HELL LEMME TELL YOU

I WAS SITTING IN SECTION 212 SO YEPPER DEPPER DOO THAT wAS ME WAY UP THERE !!! THEY PLAYED WATER BUFFALOES AND SAVE ROCK AND ROLL AND JET PACK BLUES AND KIDS ARENT ALRIGHT AND FUCK ME UP THE ASS PETE WAS SO INSPIRATIONAL AND JOE WAS SO FUCKING GOOD AND PATRICK WAS A SWEETHEART AND ANDY WAS HARDCORE AS HELL YET A CINNAMON ROLL AND FIO:DFUDJLLOHDFUOE

this is going to have to end soon so i think there will be like 2 more chapters lmAO IM EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO THIS FIC but dont worry i have three more petekey fics in the making ((ones where mikeys alive wHOOP THERE IT IS))

vote/comment if you enjoyed that piece of shit

~tato