Rain

•18•

Pete walks into the radio station. They told him to come in after school to pick up his passes and tickets.

"Congratulations!" The lady from the station, Pete doesn't remember her name but her voice is recognizable. She looks different than what Pete expected.

"Enjoy your passes!" The man says, looking somewhat similar to Pete's imagination.

"Thank you!" He takes the passes and chats for a small bit for leaving.

The passes feel so foreign in his hands. The tickets, the lanyards signifying backstage access. It's...amazing. He feels fuzzy on the inside, almost forgetting the chance of rain. This day should be everything Pete hopes for. Nothing should go wrong...
Things can't go wrong.
Pete drives, the tickets' presence radiates an exciting vibe. He pulls his car into the driveway messily before running inside to show his parents the tickets. Sadly, his parents aren't home yet. Dad, still at work and his mother is at the store, her note mentioning that she finished her work calls and just ran out for a brief moment. Pete instead heads upstairs to his room and grabs his guitar. He's been finishing up on the tempo to the one song Patrick sang. The Last Of The Real Ones, is typically what Pete calls it. He's not sure if Patrick has a name. He's not sure if Patrick even finished it. He opens his window, like always. Patrick can he seen by his window, his standing by his bed with bright red cheeks. Patrick leans forward, listening. Voices can be heard but Patrick's lips aren't moving.

"He plays soccer." Patrick corrects.

Pete cocks his head. Laughter erupts from the other house.

"He emerges from the shower, muscles glistening. You start kissing again, he slams you into the bed and you unwrap his towel, his massive-"

Pete's eyes widen. They aren't talking about him right?

"STOP!" Patrick throws a pillow.

"You boys need anything? Snacks? Water?" Pete can hear a softer voice.

Pete can hear a lot of breathing. Patrick is as red as a cherry. "A WATER BECAUSE PATRICK IS THIRSTY AS HELL."

"I'll be right back." Patrick scurries out of sight.

There's only laughter that follows. Are they laughing at him? Who is laughing at him? Pete feels anger slightly bubble up, this isn't fair to Patrick. He turns to his guitar, trying to remain silent, like he didn't hear anything.

"Oh shit." Someone mutters.

From his peripheral, he can see a boy with a literally mop of brown hair on his head. A paler redhead, the same one Pete sat next to, pops into the window.

"Do you think he heard anything!?" The redhead whispers.

"I did." Pete says, focused on the strings of his guitar.

"Hey, we were just kidding." The mop-headed boy says.

"Don't tease Patrick." He finally looks at them.

Their eyes are a mix between confusion and a slight widen.

"It's not fair to him and you both are assholes."

"Have you ever had friends?" Mop boy gets defensive. "Because that's what we do."

"There is a fine line between joking and ruthless teasing." Pete controls his voice but sets down his guitar in anger. "And you've crossed it." He sets his guitar down and falls onto his bed.