P.o.v Pete
"Patrick, you ok?" I ask slowly, coming up to him in the hallway of the venue in Boston. He whips his head around, his eyes glossy, "No," he replies, wiping his forehead where sweat had accumulated.
"What's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately..." "I know... I just haven't felt good at all, I think I'm gonna go lay down for a bit, I'm dizzy." He mumbles, stumbling past me.
"Do you want us to cancel the show?!" I yell down the hall, but he just waves me off, continuing through the door to our room backstage, probably going to lay down on the couch inside.
P.o.v Patrick
I don't know how much time had passed between when I walked in the door, ran to the bathroom, got sick, then fell asleep on the floor because my legs couldn't hold me up any longer.
I abruptly wake later to panicked knocks on the door, and several people shouting my name. I go to yell back an answer but another wave of nausea hits me and I'm propelled back to the rim of the toilet.
After, I stand and wash my face swiftly; heavy bags hanging under my eyes. I open the door to see Pete, Joe, and Andy staring at me blankly. I blink back at them, "Ready to go?" I ask weakly, trying to smile but I suddenly get dizzy again, and suddenly fall into Pete.
"Nope, we're taking you to the hospital," he says simply, leaving no room for discussion as he helps me walk out of the room and down the hall leading out to the parking lot. "What?! No, we can't just cancel the concert!" I protest, but in reality my eyes are starting to shut again as he helps me into the backseat of a car that is waiting. I faintly hear Pete tell Joe to post something on Facebook while he calls someone on the phone, and then he and Andy jump into the front seats.
I swallow heavily and put an arm over my eyes, sprawling across the back seat...
It's just the flu, that's all. It has to be.