Spin For You [Peterick]

-33-

[A/N: *nervous laughter*]

Patrick.

I'm not really sure if I can write this one. But I'll try, anyway.

-

We'd just had a show. I say show, I mean four annoyed dudes forced onto a stage making noise that sort of resembled whatever we'd done on the record.

It had been our first one for ages, and to be honest, I wasn't really sure if I was still in the band or not. We knew it was gonna be awful, it was on one of those fucking stupid breakfast TV shows no-one watches, and it was early too, so even you weren't up for it, and you're usually the most enthusiastic. And then there was the small problem of Andy and Joe hoping I'd accidentally fall out a window at some point.

I could tell you were worried when I picked you up; you were all tense and not as huggy as usual. And the first rule of dating you is that an unhuggy Patrick equals an unhappy Patrick.

I tried to cheer you up, I really did, but it just seemed to make things worse. My smiles were weakly returned, my kisses pulled away from too soon.

It was horrible when Joe and Andy arrived. Neither of them spoke to either of us, but all the words we needed we exchanged in hatred-laced glances. The thing was, though, that I didn't really want to talk to Joe anyway, after what he'd said to me and to you, but you did. You tried so hard to make conversation, sitting next to him and asking him whatever question you'd thought up, tapping him on the shoulder to try to make him look at you. But he'd just talk over you to Andy.

The performance was horrible; we were hitting wrong notes all over the place, most of the audience looked either bored or in pain, and people would rather pick at bits of fluff on their jeans than listen to us. Oh god, and the interview after. Everyone but you just gave one-word answers, with sullen faces and expressionless eyes. We were like a bunch of zombies.

I sure felt pretty dead as I walked out of that place; it was just after lunch, it'd taken ages to pack all the gear up, and I'd spent most of that time trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone. Even the crew were in shitty moods. I should've known, it was a fucking omen.

You walked beside me in silence as we headed to my car, whilst I finally got to vent about Joe.

"...I mean, the guy's a dick, if he wants to fucking throw me out, then he should just go ahead and do it, not just give me dirty looks and not talk to me. I thought he said he never wanted to see me again?" I said, using elaborate hand gestures to show you how pissed off I was about this.

"Yeah," you said, not looking at me.

"And he's got Andy on his side too. I mean, I guess I expect it from Joe, but from Andy? He used to be with us, and now he just goes and fucking switches sides!"

"Mm."

"That show was a fucking car crash, what the fuck were we even doing? Joe kept giving me glares, like, right in front of the cameras, now everyone'll know we're dicks. Or at least he is. And the whole interview, he didn't say a single word, did he?"

"No."

"I fucking hate him. If he's got so much against me, he should leave. He's not even that good, I mean, we could get a better guitarist than him easy. We could get someone new, and be an actually good band, like, one that doesn't mess up talk shows, couldn't we?" I looked at you for reinforcement, but you were just staring at the ground as you walked.

I coughed a bit to get your attention.

You looked up, blinking at me a few times. "Oh, uh, yeah, we could," you shrugged, and went right back gazing at the ugly grey tarmac.