When You Wish Upon A Star 3/?
Title: When You Wish Upon A Star
Pairing: Furture (lol furture) Peterick
Summary: Pete Wentz is a robot, it's the furture, Patrick Stump is a lonely music geek.
Rated: PG for now
A/N: SO SLEEPY...
Patrick sat quietly, strumming along the strings of his guitar, striking a mellow G chord. When music all went digital people were worried about what might happen to the scene. But the thing is, even when they developed holographic instruments, and super sonic sound quality, they didn't kill rock'n'roll. No matter what the music industry did, there was no bass-tone computer program that could cancel out the feel, the hum the sound of a six string acoustic guitar.
They were made from synthetic wood compound now, and recycled aluminum and copper for strings and components. It's still real, something to hold and feel the music ghost through. Betsy, Patrick's acoustic, was possibly his most prized possession. He started picking out this Saves the Day song he'd most recently taught himself by ear. He couldn't help tapping his foot along, couldn't really help singing the words along.
He played through most of it before hitting a bad chord he kept forgetting about, and setting his guitar aside. Looking up he saw an awestruck Pete standing near his door. Patrick's eyes shifted around, trying to focus on anything but the fact that someone had heard him singing.
"Angels." Pete blurted out.
"What?" Patrick countered, still not looking at him, instead adjusting his hat. It was a trucker hat with some logo for some team or business he'd never like. It was deep blue though, and he liked it.
"It was like, the room was filled with angels." Patrick snorted loudly in response. "No, okay...so my metaphor needs some work, but you...you should be in a band or something."
Patrick just scoffs a little quietly at that. He'd thought about it, but the only bands kids wanted these days were Holopop or Holocore...no one understood what a real instrument meant anymore. Pete looks sheepish, and he straightens the birthday cards Patrick had received from distant family members that his mom made him display on a shelf.
"I recorded it, if that's okay?" Pete finally asked.
"You..recorded..me?" Pete nodded and walked over to Patrick's laptop, pulling the usb attachment he'd used for charging out of his wrist. Patrick errantly thought that it wasn't the same wrist he'd touched earlier. "May I?" Pete added gesturing to the computer, Patrick nodded curiously.
Pete connected himself to the laptop's port, his eyes momentarily flashed green. Patrick averted his eyes again, finding it too strange. It was quiet but for some clicking noises of the keys, and then Patrick heard himself and a guitar playing back.
Patrick leaned over and watched the media player on his laptop's equalizer pulse up and down in time with the rise and fall of his voice. Pete had captured most of it, in fairly good quality. Pete was standing there smiling. He leaned over and opened up something, he was opening up himself Patrick realised, his own files on Patrick's laptop. For a moment Patrick wished he could have the ability.
Pete clicked on a folder marked Patrick, and in turn there were more folders; Videos: 1, Pictures: 13, Documents: 3, Sound Files: 11. Pete looked to Patrick while explaining, "Things I store so I can remember your likes and dislikes, like this."
Pete clicked on a document, and it was an exact transcript of the conversation they'd had yesterday. "It's like....these files are my memories."
Patrick couldn't help himself as he clicked on the pictures, before Pete could stop him. There were only 13 pictures, but they were great quality. Two were copies of Patrick looking towards the floor, cheeks ablaze. He felt them heating up in real time. Pete disconnected quickly, as though he were afraid Patrick might find something else or that he felt ashamed for having those saved.
"Why..?" Patrick made to ask, trying to think of a good way to phrase that.
"I told you, you're cute." Pete answered honestly, watching the chord automatically retract into his wrist before he pushes the flesh toned cover back over it, to hide it. Patrick made to change the subject.
"Were you watching tv last night?" Pete grimaced and nodded.
"I was hoping you'd forget...you're a fairly heavy sleeper."
"Shouldn't you have been on 'standby' or whatever?"
Pete shrugged, "I have troubles accessing it anyway."
"Oh, I'm sure my mom could get that looked at if you want?"
"No, I don't really like standby anyway...I mean, I can charge just as easily without it."
"Why don't you like it?" Pete hesitated, as though he didn't want to say. But he belonged to Patrick, Patrick got the say in what he did. If he asks something, Pete answers, it's only right.
"My dream sequence is...The way I was made, I have...Well, you'd relate it to nightmares."
"Oh...I hate those." Patrick replied, not sure what else to say. Pete looked suddenly alert.
"You should come with me, Mom's finished your surprise desert and dinner is ready."
Patrick perked up at this, "Surprise desert? Pumpkin squares?"
Pete nodded, looking slightly disgruntled, "I wasn't supposed to tell you."
Patrick laughed, Pete didn't need to tell Patrick that one of his saved sound files was Patrick's laugh. "It's okay dude....let's go."
______
They headed the lower level and Patrick's mom immediately covered Patrick's eyes with her hands, an odd chorus of 'Happy Birthday' ensued. And Pete, for having been a lead singer, was really off key. When they finished and Patrick's mom let him open his eyes, sure enough there was a pan of Pumpkin Squares with mini LED mock-candles stuck in them.
Patrick thanked his mom as she went to get the main course, veggie lasagna, and he sat down. Pete sat next to him at the relatively small rectangle table, it could hold hold more than it looked, it extended though Patrick and his mother have never needed it's ability to.
"Hey do you..eat?" Pete laughed his loud bray at Patrick's question, Patrick heard his mother's laugh from the kitchen, amused at Pete's amusement.
"Of course not....I mean, I could. I have the ability to masticate and pass food through an acutely replicated digestive system. But it's really just wasteful, and weird."
"Right..Can you like, taste though?"
"Probably...I was built with all five senses. I'm surprised you haven't asked if I'm anatomically correct." Patrick laughed awkwardly and reached to sip the water his mother had set out for the meal. There was a short lull as his mom walked in and set the hot pan of food down. "I am."
Patrick choked slightly on the water, Pete immediately reaching to pat his back. Patrick's mother just sat down opposite them smiling. "You are what, Pete?"
Pete looked quickly to Patrick, far too quickly for Patricia to see. Long enough for Pete to note the slight panic in Patrick's eyes and the redness that coated him to the tips of his ears. "A good singer, Patrick said I sucked."
"Patrick be nice." His mom said with a mock sternness, dishing out plates of food. Patrick just nodded and forked food into his mouth so he didn't have to speak. Had Pete just lied? Are androids even aloud to do that?
The rest of the dinner and desert was filled with politely joking conversation, at some point tapering off into a debate on whether or not Pop Punk should have the word 'punk' in it. Patrick's mom just nodded along quietly, not quite getting it, but still happy Patrick finally had someone that did.
Eventually, Pete and Patrick headed back to Patrick's room. Pete offering to stay and help clean up, but Patricia waved him on to 'go play with Patrick'.
_____
Back in his room, Patrick felt fairly tired from the day at hand, and slightly food sleepy. So he laid back on his bed, getting comfortable. Pete stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure if he should sit in the computer chair or just stand, so Patrick spoke up, "You can sit here if you want, there's room."
Pete took the invitation and sat halfway down the bed, "Did you have a nice birthday?"
"I guess." Patrick replied, eyes closed to the ceiling.
"I was your present right?" Pete asked. Patrick opened an eye and looked to Pete.
"Yeah..I guess you were." Patrick suddenly felt uncomfortable and sat up, sitting behind and slightly off the the side of Pete. Pete smiled slightly.
"Good present?"
Patrick smiled back, "Well...you didn't even have a bow on you. How can you be a good present without a bow?"
"You don't even have a hat on, how can you be a good Patrick when you're not even wearing a hat." Pete countered, Patrick reached up finding that his hat had slipped off when he'd laid down.
"I guess I'm not then....Hey, Pete?"
"Hey, Patrick." Patrick rolled his eyes lightly.
"You...you lied to my mom earlier."
Pete suddenly looked worried, "Should I not have? It seemed that you didn't want her to know what I'd said."
"Yeah, no! I...I didn't really want her to know, it's be a little weird I think."
"It was weird that I said that? I was just joking around." Pete's gaze dropped to the floor.
"Yeah, it was fine, I just..my mom might not have..found it funny or- Just...I don't know." Patrick felt weird sitting up this time, and laid back again, pushing his hat out of the way. Pete lifted his feet onto the mattress and reclined as well, grinning at Patrick. Patrick couldn't help smiling back at Pete he'd noticed, he even laughed slightly at the action.
"Are you, are you copying me?"
"Are you copying me?" Pete replied. Patrick just shook his head and asked Pete about Arma Angelus. Pete went off telling him all he'd been progammed knowing and it grew later. Pete was in the middle of telling one of his favorite stories that had come with the band's file when he noticed Patrick's breathing evening out.
Patrick looked sweet and soft and happy. Pete couldn't help but take the moment to lean over and press his lips lightly to Patrick's cheek. There was a spark, a literal one, static electricity. Patrick's eyes flicked open to see Pete close up, still hovering over him.
"Sorry." Pete muttered, and before Patrick could say anything he was across the room, powering down into his disliked standby. Patrick just brushed his fingers across his cheek, feeling for the tiny lightening strike that wasn't there before getting ready for bed and turning out his lights. It was almsot an hour earlier than his mom would have told him to sleep. But he just laid in bed anyway, feeling as though all the sleepiness had been washed away.
Patrick tried to turn his brain off, he wished he could go on standby so easily. Wishes sometimes come true though, because in mid-thought of going over what happened with Pete, he drifted into an uneasy sleep. Dreaming here and there of files and numbers and sparks of electricity.
Part 4