Requested by me: It's the reader's birthday on tour, but she's having a shitty day, and Patrick who she shares a room with, tries to make up for everyone else forgetting about her.
Reader: female
Warnings: alcohol, insecurity concering body image, about 3 ideas mixed into one story, aka chaos
Word count: 4 437
A/N: 1. I'm still sick, so there'll have slipped more errors through the proof reading than usual.
2. Happy Birthday to me, I guess.
3. I want to dedicate this to everyone out there whose birthday falls on a holiday of their culture/religion that is fixed in the calendar (e.g. like Christmas in Christianity). I know how much it sucks when everyone is busy with the festive activities etc. and completely forgets about you. This story is for us.
Surely it had to be every musician's dream to spend at least one of their birthdays on tour, surrounded by their friends, travelling the world, making music. And it had been your dream too, your birthday being Boxing Day. As a child you had never had friends over for your birthday, because it was a holiday, and instead you had celebrated with your family.
When you had been little, you had been disappointed, but growing older you had always enjoyed the time with your family. That was about the same time as you realised that you had never gotten a birthday cake before. It was always a big drama, making the birthday cakes for your siblings, but for you? When you had asked your mother about it, she had said there were still so many baked goods in the house, mostly Christmas cookies and chocolates that it would be crazy to make even more.
Another thing, and that was by far the most painful one, was that, other than your parents and grandparents, every single person, most years including even your siblings, forgot that it was your birthday. All your friends were so busy with Christmas, complaining about their families and their presents that they completely forgot about your birthday. God forbid you would have forgotten their birthday though.
And over the last years you could not help like feel as if the people who already liked to use you to drop their problems, took you for granted, not even wondering when you had come into this world for them to use you. After you had joined the band Fall Out Boy, it had gotten better, mostly because you had been able to drop these people, but you still usually celebrated your birthday with your family.
This year was different. Somehow the label had had the brilliant idea you should play shows on the days from the 27th to the 30th of December, so you would be back home just in time for New Year's Eve. Not that you were looking forward to that evening either, knowing all of your friends had plans that did not include you, but that's how life was sometimes.
Generally you would not have minded spending the day cramped into the narrow seats of a plane, or running across gigantic airports, trying to catch the next flight. You were not the kind of person who wanted to be in the centre of everyone's attention, you did not want everyone to focus on your birthday, but if you were honest, you would have expected a bit more than a pat on the shoulder and a "Happy birthday, (y/n)." "Oh right, it's your birthday".
Now you were sitting on the blanket of a sterile hotel bed, contemplating your life, and feeling miserable. Pete, Joe and Andy had gone out with the crew but forgotten you were still on the bus, leaving you and Patrick, who had not wanted to join them, behind. Deciding it would be the best to claim one of the rooms into which your manager had already checked you in, you had taken your night bag, and made your way to the shared room. Patrick and you had agreed that it would make the most sense to share a room, since this way you would not get woken up when the others returned.
Through the door to the en-suite bathroom, you heard the water of the shower running. You had already taken a quick shower, which had not at all helped to make you feel any less self-pitying, but you decided for once you had a right so mop around. Patrick would go to sleep soon anyway, so he would hardly be bothered by your bad mood.
Unhappily you looked down your body, and wiggled your toes. Recently you just felt uncomfortable in your body. It was like your skin was an additional layer of clothes, old, dirty clothes, and all you wanted to do was rip it off. Sadly that was kind of impossible, so all you could do was being a miserable little lump on your side of the far too huge bed. Seriously, as long as you were sharing with Patrick, you would not have minded if the bed had been smaller.
You had always liked Patrick, but recently your adoration for the chubby lead singer with the shoulder long, strawberry blond hair, had grown a lot, and while you knew the chances of him even just considering being with you were infinitesimally small, you could not help your fluttering heart, or the little glances when he was not looking.
A few minutes later the water got turned off, and you heard Patrick rustling around in the bathroom. You remembered vividly how much the idea of Patrick taking a shower with just a thin hotel room door separating you, had thrown you off just couple of months ago. But now, after having shared a room with him countless times, you had gotten used to getting your mind back under control.
When he finally left the bathroom, dressed in shorts and a shirt that was several numbers too big for him, his hair dishevelled and still wet, you were still sitting on your blanket. From just sitting around, you had started to notice that it was actually pretty cold in here, but you ignored it the raised hair on your arms.
Patrick rummaged through his belongings, putting away his shampoo and day clothes, not really paying any attention to you. That gave you another opportunity to just look at him. He was concentrated, hunched over his bag, his back a soft round shape that made you wonder what it would feel like to wrap your arms around him now. It had been ages since you had been in a relationship, or even anywhere near one, but you felt like hugging your significant other unexpectedly would be something you would do. But Patrick was not your significant other. The thought hurt you, and the pain reminded you just how awful you had felt all day; like an object that was around, but not really noticed.
Just when your self-deprecating thoughts had reached a new high, Patrick turned around, picking up on your mood immediately.
"(Y/n)? What's wrong?"
He placed something next to him on the bed, but you did not care to look, because he crawled up on the bed next to you, worriedly reaching his hand out for you.
"Nothing, just- nothing," you replied, fighting to hold back the tears of anger and disappointment. Why were you so emotional about this all of a sudden?
"Because you're not home with your family on your birthday?"
Patrick was not so easily satisfied with your answer, he always wanted to help, and that was just one more reason why you loved him.
"Because nobody even remembered it's my birthday," you asked back, looking up at him.
His eyes were wide, and full of concern, a strand of his hair adorably dangling at the side of his face.
"I actually wanted to do that now," he explained, "maybe I should have said something earlier, but I wanted to surprise you."
Quickly he grabbed the things he had placed on the bed next to where he was sitting now, and showed them to you. He was holding a small bottle of sparkling wine, just enough for two people, a box of chocolates, and a tiny bouquet of flowers. How he had hidden all of these was an unsolvable miracle to you.
Had you successfully kept your tears in check earlier, you now failed. Overwhelmed by Patrick's sweet gesture, you started crying, confusing the poor man.
"What's wrong, (y/n)? Hey (y/n)?" Concerned he reached out for you once more, and gently placed his hand on your knee. "Did I do something wrong?"
Unable to answer immediately, you just leant forward, and hugged Patrick, who quickly wrapped you in his arms. He was warm and soft, he smelled of the shampoo he had used to wash his hair, and his regular breaths managed to quickly calm you down. Slowly he drew small circles into your back until you had recovered from crying.
"Thank you so much, Patrick, for thinking of me," you whispered and eventually pulled back.
Patrick's cheeks were dusted over with a hint of pink, and you gave him a smile through your tear wet lashes.
"Of course, I mean, it's your birthday!" He remembered the small gifts he had gotten you. "So uh, I mean, happy birthday?"
You laughed a little at his insecurity, and nodded.
"Thank you, this is perfect."
Patrick opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again quickly as if he had remembered that it was not appropriate to say what had been on his mind. Instead he nodded towards the flowers.
"I'll get a glass with water so they don't dry out," he explained, and quickly scrambled off the bed, giving you the impression that he was almost embarrassed about something.
"Can you bring two glasses for the sparkling wine, too?"
"You wanna open it now?"
You knew Patrick had not intended for the edible presents to be shared, but right now seemed like the perfect moment. Otherwise you would just carry the things around with you the whole time.
Patrick popped his head out of the bathroom and gave you a long look.
"You don't have to, you know? I didn't mean to-"
"I want to open it now," you interrupted, "it's my birthday, can't I do what I want?"
Patrick chuckled at your childish argument, and returned a couple of seconds later, carrying a glass with water in one hand and two paper cups in the other.
"This is going to be so fancy," he joked, when he showed you the cups.
He placed the glass on your bedside table, and you quickly put the flowers in. The bouquet was made from white roses and baby's breath, framed by green pine tree twigs and holly, a big, red amaryllis being the centre of the arrangement.
Patrick crawled back up on the bed next to you, this time a little closer.
"Wanna open this," you suggested, and held out the bottle with the sparkling wine to Patrick.
"Don't you want to do this yourself," he asked confused, "it's your present, you should have thee honour."
"I'm scared the cork will fly out," you explained, still holding the bottle for him to take.
"So if everything goes wrong it's my fault?"
Laughing Patrick took the bottle.
"Of course, I need someone to blame."
Giggling you watched how he carefully pulled out the cork, until the bottle made a small plop. Much to your relief there was no sparkling wine flying everywhere. Quickly you held out the paper cups, and Patrick split up the contents of the bottle between the two.
"To you," Patrick raised his cup, "Happy Birthday."
"And to you," you too picked up your cup, "for being such an amazing friend."
Patrick smiled, and you clicked your paper cups together before taking a sip of the sparkling drink.
"So... how are you, we haven't really talked that much lately," Patrick asked, leaning against the headboard, pushing his pillow behind his back.
"I don't know, fine, I guess?" You tried to distract yourself from Patrick's question by tearing the plastic film off the box with chocolates. "How are you?"
"Upset, because I know you're lying." You could feel Patrick's eyes in your back. "Come on, (y/n), it's clear you haven't been yourself lately. Even if you don't wanna talk about it, at least don't sell me for silly, and admit that something's off."
Trying to delay your answer, you turned to Patrick, and offered him the opened box, to take a chocolate, but he just grabbed the box out of your hands, and put it aside. It was clear he wanted you to be honest with him. Swallowing hard, you shrugged.
"I don't even know myself," you admitted, "it's just... everything feels wrong at the moment, and I can't tell you why."
That your feelings for Patrick played an important part in it, you did not mention. For one it just felt wrong to have feelings for your friend in the first place, but having these feelings, and them being unrequited felt even more wrong. Sure, the fact alone that you were in love with someone who probably saw you as their younger sibling did not make anything better either.
Patrick nodded at your answer.
"But you know that if there's anything you wanna talk about, you can always come to me, right?"
"I know, thanks," you mumbled, but at the same time you knew you would not take him up on his offer.
For a while you sat in silence, and even though the small amount of alcohol had temporarily made you feel warmer, you started getting cold again, and shivered.
"Are you cold too," you eventually wondered, and turned to Patrick.
He had finished his drink a while ago, and placed the cup on his nightstand.
"So it's not just me," he chuckled.
Pushing the untouched box with chocolates back over to you, he got up and walked over to the heater, carefully placing his hand on the metal.
"It's icy cold," he noticed, while you packed away the chocolates, and scooted underneath your blanket, hoping it would keep you warmer. Patrick bent down to check the little knob where you could decide how warm the room should be. "It's already on the highest setting."
He sighed, and walked back over to the bed, getting under his blanket as well.
"Should we tell the reception," you wondered, trying to avoid your teeth chattering.
"If you like, but honestly don't think they'll be able to help much," Patrick shrugged.
You could feel him move under his blanket until he had found a comfortable position. Trying to distract yourself from the cold and Patrick, you wondered what your family was doing right now, but thinking off them only made you sad again. The lamps on both Patrick's and your bedside tables were still on, and you were about to suggest to turn them off, when Patrick spoke up.
"Are you still so cold?"
"Definitely," you nodded, having pulled up the blanket up to your nose.
"Maybe they have additional blankets in the wardrobe," Patrick suggested and quickly climbed out of the bed again.
Sure enough there was a woolly blanket on the highest shelf of the wardrobe, and Patrick had to get to his tip toes to reach it with his fingertips. Once he had managed to pull it out, he sighed again.
"It's just one," he stated, holding up the grey fabric, "we'll have to cuddle up."
You were about to protest, not sure your heart would survive being so close to Patrick, but he added with a smirk: "plus we can share body heat."
Knowing that he was right, you decided not to speak up, but you could feel your heartrate picking up speed as he walked back over to the bed, and climbed back in.
"C'm here," he encouraged, stretching his arm out for you to cuddle into his side.
Hesitantly you scooted over until you were next to him, trying to keep a few inches between the two of you. Patrick grabbed his normal blanket and threw it partially over yours, so they were overlapping, in order to keep the little warmth underneath the blankets. Then he unfolded the woolly blanket, and spread it over the two of you, making sure you had enough fabric covering you.
When he lay back down, you decided to blow all caution in the wind, and scooted a little closer. You felt worn out by worrying, and being sad and angry all day, so all you wanted was some warmth and feeling Patrick close. But almost as soon as you had closed the last inches, Patrick stiffened. Concerned you turned your head, and found that he was looking at you, a blush starting to rise on his cheeks.
"What are you doing," he asked, but he did not sound annoyed or angry; he sounded insecure.
"Cuddling up, like you said," you explained, worrying you had overstepped your boundaries.
"You don't have to, if you don't want to."
Confused you looked at Patrick.
"But I do want to, what about you," you wondered quietly.
"I- I would love to, but it's fine if you feel uncomfortable," he replied, looking away, and started studying the pattern on the blanket.
"Why would I feel uncomfortable?"
"Because- I- god, I don't- "
"Because what? Patrick, what's wrong?"
This time it was you who insisted on an answer. You knew Patrick could be terribly insecure and anxious sometimes, and you hated that he started to feel that way around you. If anything you wanted to trigger the exact opposite of these emotions in him, make him feel loved, safe, adored.
"Because I'm... you know? Not very attractive?" He still did not look at you, his gaze flickering through the room, and his voice was barely above a whisper as if he was scared you would laugh at him. "Like... I'm chubby and I know people don't like my hair, and I totally understand if you don't want to be close to me, if you feel repulsed by me. I know everyone is anyway, so please don't torture yourself just because I was cocky earlier, and didn't think stuff through."
Shocked you sat up a little.
"Patrick, look at me, hey," gently you placed your hand at his cheek, carefully tilting his head so he would look at you, "you are beautiful, you hear me? I totally love your hair, and I love that you are so soft and warm and perfect to cuddle. And I know what it feels like not to like your body, but please don't assume that just because you don't like it, I don't either. Because I do, and I'm glad you asked to cuddle up, okay? But, of course, if you want some distance-"
"No!" Patrick interrupted you forcefully, but quickly lowered his voice again. "I... just don't want you to feel uncomfortable because of me."
"I'd feel the most comfortable right by your side."
"Are you sure," concerned he glanced up at you.
"One hundred percent," you assured him, giving him a little smile, hoping he would believe you, and it seemed he did.
"It's just... sometimes I have these troubled thoughts," he tried to explain, "and then I feel like I'm just a bother, and doing everything wrong, and ruining everyone's day."
"You made my day today," you let him know, slowly pulling your hand away from his face. Why did this feel so terribly intimate all of a sudden?
"Oh, okay," Patrick quickly turned his eyes away from your face, and cuddled deeper into the blanket, as if he wanted to hide from you, now that you knew what was going on inside his mind.
"Sometimes you have troubled thoughts and a self-esteem to match," you quietly noted, slipping back under the blankets again. It was still not very warm, but better than without anything, and slowly you felt Patrick's body warm up the blankets at his side. The warmth was tempting, just like him.
"Yeah, I guess. Hey, that sounds like a line that would go into one of our songs," he exclaimed.
"Pete read his notes to me the other day, I just quoted him," you giggled, amused how he was able to change the topic so quickly.
"He's weird," Patrick laughed.
"That's why he writes the texts."
For a while you lay in silence again, close but not touching. More than once you wondered if you should scoot over, cuddle into Patrick's side again, but you were scared he'd react as insecure as the first time.
Eventually he spoke up again.
"I never told anyone how I feel about my body and all," he confessed, making you turn your head and look at him. The lamps on the nightstands were still burning, making his skin glow orange. "Thanks for not laughing."
"Why would I laugh," you asked, again shocked that Patrick seemed so insecure.
"Because it's stupid," he shrugged, and turned to his side so he was facing away from you, as if he hoped to end the conversation that way.
"It's not stupid, Patrick," you tried to tell him, and reached out for his shoulder, gently placing your hand on it, "it's obvious that it's something that you worry about a lot, so it is important, simply because you think about it. Just because it's something that isn't important to other people, doesn't mean it can't be important to you. And if it's important to you, then it's important to me too."
Patrick did not react, and for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep, but then he reached up to his shoulder, and wrapped his fingers around your hand. Slowly he turned back to you.
"Thank you," he smiled sadly, "you always know what I want to hear."
"I'm not saying what I think you want to hear but what I think is true," you corrected him, making him nod carefully.
"I know... that's good to know."
For a while you were lying in bed, facing each other, his fingers intertwined with yours. Neither of you dared moving, and instead you just studied his face carefully; his cute nose, his pink lips, and his beautiful blue eyes.
You were not even aware of what you were asking until the words had been spoken.
"Can I kiss you?"
Patrick's eyes widened slightly, and you felt yourself getting sick at the thought that he surely would reject you, and ask you to leave now.
"Wh-what," he stammered out, blushing again.
"I just though-" quickly you sat up in bed, ready to leave as quickly as possible, while the blankets pooled around your waist, allowing the freezing air of the hotel room to brush over your skin. "I really wanted to kiss you, but I thought I should ask- I'm gonna leave."
But before you had gotten the chance to move any further away from Patrick, he pulled you back to him by the hand he was still holding. Before you even understood what was happening, he had grabbed your face with his free hand and pulled you in for a kiss, his lips hot and soft against your cold ones.
For a moment you forgot how to breathe, and your head started spinning almost painfully. Quickly you used the hand Patrick was not holding to prop you up over him in order not to lean all your weight on his chest. The kiss was hot and desperate, almost needy, as if he was trying to get as much from the kiss as possible before you would pull away, which in his mind was only a matter of seconds away.
But when he realised that you returned the kiss just as feverishly, that you did not pull away immediately, that you kissed him back and the fingers of your hand, which he was holding, closed only tighter around his, he finally allowed himself to relax a little. Carefully, testing, he slowed the kiss, and you followed his lead perfectly, a little sigh, or whine, he was not sure, escaping your lips as you pressed closer to him.
He ran his fingers along your jaw and into your hair, holding you close before flipping you over, causing you to squeal in surprise, but the sound from your mouth was muffled by his lips. Now it was him hovering over you, and you took the opportunity to use your now free hand to wrap your arm around his back, pulling him ever closer against you. It did not take long until the kiss slowed down more and more until in the end you were just lying there, lips motionless pressed against each other's, noses gently touching, forehead against forehead and uneven breaths filling the little space between you.
Eventually Patrick rolled to his side, and then to his back, giving you space to breath, which you did not want. Not having him so close by made you feel empty and lost. A little whine came over your lips, one that made Patrick look at you, and you quickly moved next to him, wrapped your arms around his chest and nuzzled your face against his shirt.
Patrick giggled quietly, and placed his arm around your shoulder, this way being able to pull you closer to him, and with the other hand he rearranged the blankets that had been pushed to the side during your little make-out-session.
"You know that there's no way I'm ever letting you go now, right?"
Patrick's voice was husky and deep, and his words both made your heart grow and ripped it apart at the same time. Just a few hours ago you would have thought it to be impossible to ever end up where you were now, cuddled into Patrick's side, him holding you close and declaring he would never let you go. Yet here you were.
"Good," you answered quietly, "I wouldn't want it any other way."
You could practically hear Patrick's smile, making you smile too, and he gently kissed your hair.
"Should we turn out the lamps?"
You nodded and for a few painful, and cold, seconds you sat up to turn your lamp off, Patrick doing the same. Quickly you cuddled back into him when he had lain down again, and his arm immediately wrapping around you again.
"I love you," you whispered, part of you almost hoping he had not heard you.
But he had. You could feel him freeze for a moment before his grip on you tightened and he gently pulled you even closer to him, leaving absolutely no space between you anymore.
"I love you, too, have since I first met you" he whispered back, making your hear flutter, and you tightly grabbed onto his shirt, making sure not to hurt him.
For a while you were lying in the dark, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier. You had painted small patterns against Patrick's soft chest, but now you hand was calmly resting on his stomach, following the even breaths he took, the air he exhaled slightly blowing against your hair. His arm around you had relaxed, and you were certain he had fallen asleep already. Knowing he was feeling safe, and hopefully happy, you finally closed your eyes too, and fell asleep, cuddled against Patrick.