Forgetful
Forgetful
Pete/Patrick-ish drabble. Unbeta'd.
Eddis64: "I'm bored…entertain me, Mandi!"
For you, mah darling.
Pete doesn't like the sound of the trumpet. But he knows that Patrick has to practice. So he just usually pops in some earbuds and twitters until Patrick decides again that Pete is more important than a stupid wound-up piece of brass. And he knows Patrick actually likes to practice; it's just that sometimes he forgets.
So maybe he's sitting in their dressing room - on the couch, turned upside-down to be exact, the blood is rushing to his head and it's kind of super cool - at three-thirty - the time Patrick tries to hopefully practice everyday - and Pete honestly doesn't remember - because sometimes he forgets, every person does - until Patrick walks in, holding the shell of his instrument and buzzing a warm-up tune that sounds suspiciously like Let's Get It On into his mouthpiece. He startles mildly when he sees Pete, but then he does that thing where he closes his eyes and very slowly lets out a breath and then he opens them back up again and says something in a measured tone. In this case he says, "Yes, Pete?"
Pete just smiles back and shrugs and when he blinks, he's got little spots behind his eyes. His head feels like a million pounds. Awesome. He grins wider and winks just for the hell of it.
"I have to practice…" Patrick says, because he happens to know that Pete hates the sound of brass instruments as a general section - he really doesn't have anything against just the trumpet. His hatred includes baritones and trombones and tubas and French horns too.
"I know." Pete shrugs. Tries to shrug. Falls off the couch. Same thing.
Patrick looms over him and says, "You were upside-down."
"I forgot," Pete says, making a pouty face.
"I have to practice," Patrick reiterates.
"I forget things," Pete explains. He's still sprawled on the floor, his feet dangling on the edge of the couch. It's not a bad position; he just sort of misses all the blood in his head.
"I noticed," Patrick chuckles.
"But Patrick," Pete says suddenly, scrambling to his feet. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick."
"Uh." Patrick slides his mouthpiece into the end of his trumpet. "What?" He mindlessly does the fingering to a scale and Pete's kind of transfixed on his fingers and Pete…forgot what he was going to say.
So instead he settles on, "I'll never forget how awesome we are. Me, but mostly you." He smiles and Patrick smiles back.
Pete/Patrick-ish drabble. Unbeta'd.
Eddis64: "I'm bored…entertain me, Mandi!"
For you, mah darling.
Pete doesn't like the sound of the trumpet. But he knows that Patrick has to practice. So he just usually pops in some earbuds and twitters until Patrick decides again that Pete is more important than a stupid wound-up piece of brass. And he knows Patrick actually likes to practice; it's just that sometimes he forgets.
So maybe he's sitting in their dressing room - on the couch, turned upside-down to be exact, the blood is rushing to his head and it's kind of super cool - at three-thirty - the time Patrick tries to hopefully practice everyday - and Pete honestly doesn't remember - because sometimes he forgets, every person does - until Patrick walks in, holding the shell of his instrument and buzzing a warm-up tune that sounds suspiciously like Let's Get It On into his mouthpiece. He startles mildly when he sees Pete, but then he does that thing where he closes his eyes and very slowly lets out a breath and then he opens them back up again and says something in a measured tone. In this case he says, "Yes, Pete?"
Pete just smiles back and shrugs and when he blinks, he's got little spots behind his eyes. His head feels like a million pounds. Awesome. He grins wider and winks just for the hell of it.
"I have to practice…" Patrick says, because he happens to know that Pete hates the sound of brass instruments as a general section - he really doesn't have anything against just the trumpet. His hatred includes baritones and trombones and tubas and French horns too.
"I know." Pete shrugs. Tries to shrug. Falls off the couch. Same thing.
Patrick looms over him and says, "You were upside-down."
"I forgot," Pete says, making a pouty face.
"I have to practice," Patrick reiterates.
"I forget things," Pete explains. He's still sprawled on the floor, his feet dangling on the edge of the couch. It's not a bad position; he just sort of misses all the blood in his head.
"I noticed," Patrick chuckles.
"But Patrick," Pete says suddenly, scrambling to his feet. "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick."
"Uh." Patrick slides his mouthpiece into the end of his trumpet. "What?" He mindlessly does the fingering to a scale and Pete's kind of transfixed on his fingers and Pete…forgot what he was going to say.
So instead he settles on, "I'll never forget how awesome we are. Me, but mostly you." He smiles and Patrick smiles back.