FicWad

A/N: Again, sorry for the previous long chapter. I'm lazy. Sue me. Haha. Now, the next installment... Forgive me. (You'll know why when you get to that part...)

It'd been a few weeks after the restaurant and we have been in and out of the studio. Singing, rehearsing, editing...everything and anything you could possibly think of. Though, it has been hectic, it's been really fun as well. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my entire life.

But right now we're in the studio, once again, going over all the tracks for our record and it's far from fun.

"I don't think we need to cut anything." Sam pipes up, reclining as far as he can in the chair.

Emily nods. "Maybe not. But don't you feel something's missing?"

He sets the chair back on its feet with a snap. "Yeah...a good voice."

Emily shoots eye daggers at him before flicking him off. "Ass."

I sigh. Here we go again.

Patrick takes off his glasses and rests them on the table. He rubs the bridge of his nose and lets out a frustrated groan. "Can we please not start this again?" He pleads as he settles the frames back on his face.

See? This is what I'm talking about. The 'hectic' part. It's only because we're down to the wire on our album. We have been working non-stop. It really has taken a toll on all of us.

After arguing for approximately seven hours, we stop and decide to call it a day. Chad glimpses up at the roman numerals on the wall clock and informs us that it's "time to bounce".

We all part our separate ways, hands full with half-empty Styrofoam Starbucks cups and heads pounding with silent headaches.

Patrick calls me back as the others file out of the studio. I haven't had much alone time with him lately, so just time to speak with him one on one was fine by me.

"I was wondering...if you'd like to, I dunno, go out or something tonight. Maybe to keep your mind off things? I know it's getting a little difficult here, right now, with the album release date fast approaching-"

"-And we haven't even started promoting yet." I added.

"Yeah, that too."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to sound so..."

"I get it."

"But I'd love to go out with you...who else is coming?" I ponder. "Are the other guys tagging along too?"

"No. no." Patrick states, shaking his head. "I meant did you want to go out on a date with me. Just me."

"Oh." I say mechanically, as his words register through my head. Patrick Stump is asking me out on a date. Say something! "I...I would love to go out with you, Patrick."

He smiles. "Good. I have the perfect place. I'll come around your hotel room around, let's say nine-ish?"

"Yeah. I should be ready by then." I kiss him on the cheek. "I'll see you in a little bit."
--- --- ---

"Gorgeous..." I whispered.

"Yes, you are."

"What?"

"Oh. Um...nothing." Patrick turns away from me while tugging slightly on the brim of his dark blue paper boy cap.

I lean my head on his shoulder and a smile breaks across my face. He's so wonderful. The entire night has been so special. He took me to an exclusive restaurant with our very own VIP balcony view of Chicago. The stars even seemed jealous of us. Even though it was just us, it seemed like he wasn't letting loose entirely, like he couldn't be himself, as if he had to put this barrier up in case he got too close to me. I couldn't have that.

"Patrick?"

"Hmmm?" He sounds, as he dabs his lips with the white cloth that rests on his lap.

I circle the thin rim of my wine glass with my index finger. "Tell me something."

His eyes follow my motions before resting on my face. "Like what?" His shyness was such a turn on, but I was willing to see how far he could hold up this quiet persona.

"Something you've never told anyone."

He pauses, taking a moment to bite the inside of his lip in contemplation. "...I've...Oh, I don't know..."

I smile, shaking my head. "That many secrets, huh?"

"Well...no, I just...uh..." He stumbles over his words, but never gets them back.

"It's okay, Patrick. " I chuckle lightly. "I was just kidding."

"Fine then... What about you, Denise? Tell me something you've never told anyone."

I look up towards the starlit and satellite infected sky before looking back at Patrick. "I'm..." I whisper the rest in his ear.

"You're scared of the dark!?" He laughs.

I smack him on the chest. "It's not funny. I told you that in confidence. Very mature, 'Trick." I say, trying not to break out into a fit of giggles. His laugh is so infectious.

"No. No." He says, calming his laughter down. "I... I think it's cute. Really." He kisses me softly on the lips. "Very. Very...cute."

He stands up and blows out the long white candle in the middle of our quaint table. He sticks his hand out and I take it, following him out.

--- --- ----

"Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Ho-ly shit!" Chad rants over and over.

"Goddammit Chad! Stop fucking pacing! You're making me nervous!" Emily shouts. Every time we've ever gone to play live, no matter if it was in front of five or 500, she always got stage-fright right before we went out.

Sam was too busy practicing tempos on the wall with his drum sticks to even notice either of the two. He was "in the zone." I wonder how he could do it. How any of them could do it. I guess we all had our own ways of getting pumped for performances.

I don't spend too much time analyzing everyone's methods, as long as we play a good show and don't fuck up too badly, I'm fine.

I unglue my ear phones from the sides of my head and jump up from my cross-legged position on the floor. "Here." I hand my MP3 player to Emily. "Hold this. I'll be right back."

She quirks an eyebrow up at me but accepts the small music player. "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere. I can't just sit here and keep thinking about the show."

Andy and Joe chorus out of one of the many back stage doors. I take this as my opportunity to stick my nose in places it didn't belong just as Joe began to reiterate his passion for Star Wars and smoking weed with Young Jeezy.

I stop in front of a door. Fall Out Boy, the post-it note read in blue permanent marker. I knock. No answer. I knock again.

-"Come in."

I enter and spot Patrick bent over his laptop, furiously finding the appropriate play list to warm up to on itunes.

"Found something yet?"

"Yeah, the usual. Usher, show tunes, oldies..." He called over his shoulder. He placed a final click on the keyboard and the sounds of Ne-Yo's "So Sick" erupted through the small speakers.

I squeal and almost literally jump for joy. "Oh my God, Patrick! I love that song..."

He laughs, "I know. I have heard your cell phone go off more than once."

I blush lightly. "It's an obsession. I know this."

"Not necessarily a bad one. I like Ne-Yo too."

"Well," I utter truthfully. "It has more to do with you than Ne-Yo."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Your voice is so soothing. I pretty much live for the line 'we only want to sing you to sleep in your bedroom speakers'.

"Yeah?" He notes, sneaking his arms around my torso.

"Yeah." I bring my arms around his neck and can't help but smile. If I was feeling any anxiety before, it was totally gone now. All I had to do was look in his eyes and everything was fine, everything felt right.

I propped myself slightly on my tip toes and craned my neck to meet his soft lips in a short, sweet kiss. "Thanks, 'Trick."

He lowered his hands from the small of my back to my waist. "For what?"

"For..." I peck him on the lips. "Being you."

He pulls me tighter into his embrace. The cotton material of his hoodie comes in direct contact with my cheek as I hug him back. I take a moment to inhale the wonderfulness that is Patrick Stump.

"You better go. You're on in a few minutes," he whispers huskily.

I pout internally. I didn't want to let him go. I place a final kiss on his mouth. "Wish me luck."

"Luck." He stated cutely as I left the room.

--- --- ---

"FUCK YEAH!" Sam yelled as we got back to the hotel and into his hotel room. "Did you see the fuckin' crowd. Just...FUCK YEAH!"

Pete just laughed.

"This calls for a celebration!" Sam announces, leaping onto the bed. "Who's with me?"

"I'm up for it." Chad says sluggishly, already intoxicated.

Sam chucks a pillow at Chad's face. "Let the games begin!"

Andy grabs a hold of another pillow and flings it at Sam, knocking him over. "Vegan for the win, bitches!" As soon as he gets five seconds to gloat, he gets a decorative pillow to the temple. He jumps onto the bed and steals another pillow, launching one at Joe.

Joe stumbles at the sudden impact. "I know you're super stoked and all, but c'mon. You can not defeat me." He strikes a pose. "I have the force."

"The force can not save you here." Chad says seriously with a smile, pretending to hold a light saber.

Pete shakes his head and looks over at Emily, sitting in a relatively safe zone from the stupidity brewing from the guitarists and drummers of the two bands.

Emily looks up and a glint appears in her eyes. "Well, you guys have fun, I'm gonna go out and celebrate formally. Not," she laughs. "In 'Arms Race' style."

"And formally would mean?" I surveyed, lifting an eyebrow as I blocked a pillow from hitting me square in the chest.

"Well, Travie invited us out. He knew we played our first real big show tonight."

I smirked. "Invited us or you?"

"Uh...well, he didn't say 'us' per say but I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Joe throws a pillow at her. "HEY!"

Joe falls over laughing. "Why don't you just go? Pete'll go with you."

"I will?" Pete questions, after snapping out of his zoned state.

"Yes," he lisps. "You will."

I stand up from the lone chair near the window. "I'm gonna go. You all have fun without me."

Emily pouts her lips at me. "Aw, c'mon. Don't be such a party pooper."

I place my hands on my hips. "I'm not! I just don't feel like it."

"You never feel like it." She mutters.

"I heard that!"

"It's true!" She shouts, tossing a pillow from the floor at me.

"Whatever." I shrug, rolling my eyes. "I'm gonna go take a shower and go to bed."

I exit Chad and Sam's room, but right before I close the door I hear Sam yell over the others. "Wait! I wanna watch!"

--- --- ---

I lean on the edge of the sink's counter, straightening my hair. I finally finish the last strand of hair and adjust my long side-swept bangs. I take a final look at my figure, clad in only my violet bra and short shorts. I'm confident that Sam won't bother me in my room. He's probably way to drunk to even remember his name. I laugh out loud at the thought of Joe, Chad, and him, passed out in their hotel room.

I walk over to my laptop and open up my play list. I fiddle with the volume controls and get it so that the volume is as high as possible.

Escape The Fate's Situations pour out of the speakers. I strum the air fantastically, head banging in beat with the tempo. More songs play and I'm completely submersed in the melodies and lyrics. Noche De Sexo drips from the computer. I roll my hips sexily, my eyes closed as I move to the undeniably rich reggaeton ballad. I sing the Spanish lyrics fluently never missing a beat.

-"Damn."

I open my eyes into the mirror and stare back at Patrick's reflection. "Oh shit!" I fumble and end up on the floor. I just sit on the carpet, wallowing in my embarrassment as Patrick comes over and lends his hand out.

"How come this feels vaguely familiar?" He chuckles as I accept his hand and stand up.

"I wonder." I roll my eyes, sticking my arms over my chest, to cover up my lack of clothes.

"Nice...underwear." He smirks.

"You are such a guy." I sashay to the bed, resting on its edge.

"What? I can't admire my girlfriend?"

"Wait? What? We're boyfriend and girlfriend now? When did this happen?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Well, I thought it was only fair. I mean the entire media world thinks so." He grins.

"Oh, and I thought it was because you liked me." I pout playfully.

He nudges my shoulder with his as he sits down beside me. "That too."

I push him and he falls over exaggeratedly. I laugh and lay back onto the bed beside his form.

"You think that's funny?"

"Why yes. Yes, I do." I say, my voice resembling the southern drawl from characters in old movies like Gone with the Wind.

"Well, how about," he pounces on me and attacks my sides, "this!"

"Patrick!" I yelp. "Stop," I coax through laughter. "Please! Patrick!"

His fingers tickle me mercilessly until I start tearing from giggling so much. He pauses and smiles smugly as my laughter dies down.

I grin at him while he straddles me. His face turns from one of pride to an almost worried emotion. He chuckles nervously. I run my slender fingers up his sides, beneath his shirt.

His intake of breath as my hands delve in the softness of his skin causes me to stop abruptly. "I'm- I'm sorry."

"No. Don't 'be." He bends down and catches my lips with his. My fingers tangle themselves in the strawberry-blonde hairs at the base of his neck. He places his hands firmly on either side of my head and penetrates my mouth with his bubble gum tongue. He backs up, panting lightly.

"No one tastes sweeter than you, Pat."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You called me Pat."

My mouths gapes open a smidge before I realize it and snap it shut. "I-I guess I did." I answer meekly. I know he hates being called that.

He kisses me deeply. "Only you...are allowed to call me that."

"Why just me?" I grin before pecking his lips once more.

He nibbles on the skin across my collar bone. "Because."

"Can't argue with that." I wrap my arms around him as he settles between my legs.

Our kisses intensify and I can feel our want emanating from our bodies. His hands guide themselves around my every curve as I motion to remove his shirt from his chest. I toss it to the floor and immediately attach my lips to his, running my fingers up his torso.

He looks back at me and smiles. I smile back but the grin fades from his lips.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh...nothing," he lies. "It's just that..." He scoots off of me and dangles his legs over the edge of the mattress. "I don't want to do this."

"Do what Patrick?" I ask innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"Denise, you can't be that naïve, can you?"

I peer down at my somewhat exposed form and the embarrassed flush returns itself on my skin. "No. Guess not." I reply, wrapping my arms around me. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He turns up his gaze from his feet to my eyes. "I just don't want to ruin what we have..." He trails off.

I swallow hard and realize what could have happened. I rest my chin on his shoulder. "I understand. I don't think I could have let it go that far either... it's just that with you..."

"I know what you mean. I care about you -about us- too much to do that. I'm not saying I don't want to or anything. Believe me. I want to. I just think its better if we wait."

"Me too..."

"So, rain check?" He proposes

I chuckle. "Definitely."

He turns and faces me and places a kiss on my mouth.

"Besides," I breathe against his lips, "kissing you whenever I want is fine by me. There's no rush. I like where we are right now." I peck him on the lips quickly. "Now, go. I don't want to freak Emily out when she finds you half way disrobed in my room."

He laughs. "Sure, baby. I'll go. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Bye Pat." I whisper as he creeps to the door.

He takes a final glance at me and blows me a kiss before shutting it behind him. I flop down onto the bed and exhale.

I take a nap for an hour before the door creaks open and I shoot up from the comforter. "Patrick?"

"Uh, no." Emily remarks, closing the door. "Why? Was he here?" She took in my lack of clothing. "I'm guessing he was."

"No, no." I shake my head. "I just came out of the shower earlier and I decided to straighten my hair."

"So...what you're saying is... you and Patrick did the deed and then you decided to wash up and do your hair?"

"Ugh. No! Just forget it." I smoldered for a second before placing the conversation back on her. "Where's Pete?"

"Coming. He'll be up in a little bit. We were just going to talk."

"Talk."

"Yeah. Talk. That's what people do."

"Sure... well I don't feel like listening to you two. So, I'll be-"

"-with Patrick." She concluded.

"Yeah." I rummage around in my bag for a simple tank top. I throw it on and whip out of the room, bumping into Pete.

"Whoa there, Denise." He calls, but is unheard because of my quick dart into Patrick's room.

Patrick looks at me with wide eyes. He is down to nothing but boxers.

"Ready for bed?" I prod, tossing him his shirt that he had left in my room.

"Something like that." He runs a hand through his thin hair out of habit.

"You look fine. Don't worry 'Trick."

"Sure. Easy for you to say." He coughs, rolling his eyes.

"It's easy because it's true. You're gorgeous." I skip over him and crush him in a hug. "Mmmm...you smell good."

"Mr. Bubble is the shit, if I do say so myself."

I giggle at his statement before losing myself in the image of Patrick in the tub full of frothy bubbles. I yawn, barely clasping my mouth over it in time.

"Ready for bed?" He echoes my previous question. He chuckles to himself and flips off the switch instantly blanketing the room in dark stillness.

I find my way to his bed and duck under the covers. "Patrick!" I call out. "Where are you?" The tension in my voice is obvious.

"I'm right here. Stop freaking out." He pauses after he gets comfortable beside me in the bed. "Oh wait. You're afraid of the dark." He laughs.

"Shut up!" I lie back down and rest my head on the pillow, away from his gaze.

"Aw, c'mon don't be like that."

"It's not funny, Pat." I shift and look up at him. "It's not just that I'm scared of the dark. I'm- I'm scared of being alone."

"Don't worry. I'll never leave you." He whispered against my lips before sealing it with a kiss. He gets up on a whim and dashes over to his acoustic guitar. He rests it on his lap and positions himself accordingly back on the bed.

"What are you doing, Patrick?" I question lightly as I sit back up.

"Singing you to sleep." He strums mechanically before deciding on a song. He smiles, but it's barely seen in the dim room. He strums again, fingering each string.

He probably doesn't even need to look down. He knows the entire instrument by heart. I open my mouth to protest that he doesn't have to do this, but his voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"Want to but I can't help it
I love the way you feel
just kinda stuck between my fantasy and what is real
I need it when I want it
I want it when I don't
tell myself I stop every day
knowing that I won't

I got a problem and I don't know what to do about it
even If I did I don't know If I would quit but I doubt it I'm
taking by the thought of it
And I know this much is true

Baby, you have become my addiction
I'm so strung out on you
I can barely move
but I like it
and it's all because of you
all because of you..."

I don't even get to hear the end. I close my eyes and drift off to blissful sleep. I feel him stir as he moves to place the guitar down on the floor. He kisses my forehead and whispers "Good night."

"'Night Patrick." I sigh sleepily.

He shuffles under the covers and wraps his arms around me, spooning against my form. Perfect? Yeah, you could definitely call it that.

--- --- ---

A faint familiar song echoes beyond the door. I bring a fist to knock, but stop and opt to let myself in quietly. I shut it behind me stealthily and creep towards the sound.

Patrick scratches the back of his neck and picks up his hat from his head before settling it snugly back down, adjusting the rim in the process. I press my lips to his neck. He jumps, falling out of the chair.

He lets out a relieved sigh. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes, it's me." I giggle, bringing a hand down to pull him up.

He sits back down onto his seat and shakes his head.

"So...what are you doing. It's kinda late, Trick."

He bites his lip. "I know. I just- this song is pissing me off. It's not sounding the way it should. There's something missing." He turned a dial clockwise. "I just have to find it."

I rub his shoulders, kneading my fingers into the soft material of his shirt. "C'mon, I don't like the fact that you're here all alone. Just go to sleep."

He turns around in the chair to face me. "I can't. That's why I'm here. Working."

"Well..." I shrug my shoulders. "Stop working."

He smiles. "I can't. You know that, even though I want to." His grin wanes as he continues. "Once I start I can't stop. I'm a work-a-holic. Music is what I do. It just so happens that I am one hell of a fucking perfectionist and it'll just bug the hell out of me if I don't work on something until it all falls into place. Exactly how I want it to." He let out a sigh. "Work keeps my mind from all the other shit going on."

"I understand." I sit down on his lap and let out a breath. "Want me to keep you company?"

He nods. "Yeah...I'd like that."

"Good," I laugh. "You better."

--- --- ---

I'm sprawled horizontally out on the studio couch, limbs angled sporadically, watching him. I don't utter a word, there's no need to. (Besides, I doubt he'd be able to hear me with the ear drum exploding volume of the music.)

His glasses catch the light of the computer screen he's currently looking at, reflecting its image on the lenses. It reminds me of an old press picture I saw a few years ago.

The gigantic headphones around his head almost seem to consume him. He's so dedicated, completely enthralled in his work as he adjusts tempos and ranges. He lets out a yawn, refusing to pry his fingers from the keyboard to stifle it. He tries to shake the tiredness from his mind, but his drooping eyelids know better.

Surrendering to his body's request for sleep he grudgingly takes off the headphones and powers off the laptop. He swivels around in his chair and smirks at my contortedly comfortable form on the couch.

"How do you do it?" I say softly.

"What?" He gets up from the chair and walks over to me. He kneels down beside the sofa and softly trails a knuckle down my cheek.

"Everything..."

He grins and kisses my forehead. "I don't know."

I close my eyes at the tenderness of his touch before I open them and look deeply into his indescribable hazel irises. "You do so much and yet are so humble. I really don't think you see how incredible you are." I shift my position and sit up so that I'm looking directly at his crouched form.

He stands up and acquaints himself on the sofa cushion beside me. "I'm not anything special, Denise. I'm barely ordinary." He looks down at himself. "I honestly don't get what you see in me.

I look at him in awe. I couldn't believe the words coming out of his perfect mouth.

He sighs. "I'm fat, I'm balding, and my social skills are limited to shy tendencies and forced laughter. I'm not attractive or remotely handsome for that matter. The only adjectives that are used to describe me are ones that you'd use to describe a five year old: cute and adorable."

"Is that all?"

"No. I'm the guy girls want to take home to mom, which is funny because I'm horrible at relationships. I either try too hard or not at all. I'm absolutely oblivious to the obvious and sing damn show tunes to get myself out of bad moods. I don't like barbeque sauce. I can't read anything other than the newspaper because I'll start thinking in music and..." He takes a deep breath. "I'm in love with a girl who's way too good for me."

He leans in and kisses me slowly, as if he'd never get the chance to do it again. He pulls away and with my eyes still closed, four words drift from my lips. "I love you, Patrick."

"I-" He's interrupted by a loud rapping against the studio door. "Hold on." He gets up and trudges over to the door and opens it. "What are you doing Pete?" He snaps.

"Nice to see you too Pat."

Patrick rolls his eyes. He's told him countless times not to call him Pat, but Pete still does it anyway. Pete pushes Patrick out of the way and bounds into the studio.

"What?" He says spinning back around to look at Patrick. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Yeah. You did." Patrick glares at him, clenching his fist. "What do you fucking want Pete?"

Pete puts a hand on his shoulder. "No need to get hostile, Patty. I'm here for Denise," He smiles crookedly.

"Well...whatever you have to say, say it."

"Not with you here. I need to talk to her alone...Patricia." He grins watching Patrick's face tense up in anger.

Patrick wills the sudden urge to punch Pete dead in his mouth away and stomps out of the room. Pete laughs and jumps onto the couch in true Tom Cruise fashion.

"That was a pretty bitch move Pete." I say unimpressed as he settles into the seat.

"Yeah, well... Whatever. He'll deal with it." Pete tugs at the strings on his jacket and adjusts his hood over his head.

"What is it that you want?"

"Straight to the point, aren't we? Missing Patrick already? Aw...my wittle wuvers." He announces, clasping his hands together over his heart. He puts them down and his lips twitch into a evil smirk. So, have you fucked yet?"

My mouth gapes open in shock. "What the fuck Pete! No! How can you ask me something like that?!"

"You've thought about it though, haven't you?"

I got up from the sofa. "I'm not talking to you about this." I begin walking to the exit but stop and turn around. "Just because Em has enough self worth not to sleep with your stupid ass doesn't mean you need to harass me about my relationship with Patrick."

He gets up, the hood slipping back down. He comes over to me and opens his mouth to speak, but for some reason the gifted lyricist has no words to express.

"Exactly," I reply to his lack of a comeback. "And to think I stuck up for you. When your little ex-girlfriend, or whatever the fuck she, is came around I told Emily that she shouldn't worry. That you were a good guy, that you just happened to be in fucked up relationship after fucked up relationship. 'You should trust him,' I told her. Now, I don't even know why I said that. You make one hell of a first impression, but your second?" I laugh bitterly. "That's an entirely new persona."

"Why the hell are you jumping down my throat?" He spits, his voice rising. His dark brown bangs swing across his eyes and forehead as he speaks with his hands.

"Maybe because..." I lower my tone. "Maybe I have thought about it." I exhale and look down at my black and gray Etnies. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. It's just...I don't know."

Pete pulls me into a hug and I unconsciously hug back. "Don't worry about it. I can be an asshole, I know this. I'm reminded every fucking day what a screw up I am."

"I didn't mean it," I murmur into his pink and red Bape hoodie.

"Sure you did. Maybe you're right..."

My eyes find his. "No. Em likes you. Really likes you. She is just having a hard time. I'm sorry I even said anything. It's not my place..." I beam sheepishly. "So...are you fucking yet?" I loudly whisper to lighten up the mood.

"Yes."

I yank myself away from his five foot seven form. "What?"

He chuckles and unleashes that million dollar smile of his. "No."

"Dammit, Pete. Yes or no?"

He puts his hands on his hips and tries his best to imitate a girl's voice. "I'm not talking to you about this." He chuckles as he walks away, swinging his hips in exaggerated fashion.

I run up behind him. He turns just in time to catch me and pull me to the ground on top of him. He rubs the back of his head and squints at the dull pain pecking his skull. "That hurt."

I sock him in the chest. "That's not gonna hurt as much as the pain I'm gonna inflict on you if you don't tell me!"

"Why don't you just ask her yourself?"

I shrug softly. "I can't. It's hard to talk to her about stuff she doesn't necessarily wanna reveal. I just hope she knows that she can come to me. We've been through so much together."

"She's lucky to have you." His tone showcases the utmost honesty as he props himself on his elbows. He flicks his head, shifting his hair away from getting into his eyes.

I smile faintly. "No, I'm the lucky one."

He stares at me and something flashes in his eyes and we both lean closer to each other and before I know it our lips touch with unknown initiation. I pull away just as the door flings open.

I crawl off of Pete, embarrassed, as his realization sets in. We scramble to our feet just in time to be panged with the guilt by two sets of judging eyes and two breaking hearts: Emily and Patrick.

--- --- ---

Emily shakes her head, tears spiraling down her cheeks, and quickly darts away down the hall.

"FUCK!" Pete yells. "EMILY! WAIT!" He dashes behind her, his voice resonating against the walls. "Let me explain! It's not what you think!"

I stand there, under Patrick's gaze. It feels like I'm being watched under a high-powered microscope and every single one of my flaws is magnified so much that I'm not even recognizable.

"Patrick," I begin as I step towards him.

He puts a hand up. "Don't." He remains in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. "You know... it's funny. I thought this time would be different. I thought you were different, but no. You're just like all the rest." He let out a dry laugh. "And To think, I almost said 'I love you'. What a waste." He spat viciously.

"Pat-"

"-No. Don't fucking talk to me. As far as I'm concerned, we're nothing."

"You don't mean that," I sobbed.

"I obviously can't trust you. You kissed my best friend! What's next, huh? Are you gonna fucking sleep with him!?" He shouted.

"No!" I yelled back between my tears. "I didn't mean for that kiss to happen. It was a mistake."

"Well, maybe...Maybe we were too." Patrick said softly as he turned away.

Out of the door.

Out of my life.