Kink: Vanilla
Ship: Pete/Patrick
Top: Patrick
Bottom: Pete
Words: 571

I'm trying to work on the requests etc. but I've been busy. Tomorrow's my birthday, too.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete's mind couldn't be put to rest. His insomnia took over and he couldn't do anything but /think./ Thinking was something he'd always hated. Thinking brought him to his demons. The, "I'll never be good enough's." And the, "Maybe it would be better if I ended it."

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete thought and thought. On and on about how fucked up he was. How it would be so easy to leave his bunk and instead head to the bathroom. His pills for depression were right there. He already felt empty enough as it was.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would think with his earbuds in but no matter how loud he turned it, it wouldn't block out his thoughts. The voices. The demons.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would listen to Summer Song and 7 Minutes In Heaven and Saturday and Hum Hallelujah and G.I.N.A.S.F.S. and Adam's Song and wish he could've just succeeded. When he'd add in the occasional Fourth Of July and Bang The Doldrums just for the nostalgia and to really torture himself with mistakes.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when all Pete could think of was Mikey and how he never shouldn't have done what he did. How he fucked up so many times. All the painfully awkward moments. All the times when he'd gone just an ounce too far and made a complete embarrassment of himself.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would lay, staring emptily at Joe's bunk above him and occasionally shift his gaze to Patrick's and break down all over again. All the feelings he can't put into words flood his throat and choke him.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would feel his throat tighten and his chest constrict. When the smell of tears would flood his senses and salty waves of depression would flood his eyes. When he would sob into his pillow until it physically hurt.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would do anything to make his thoughts stop. To make it all end.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would crawl into Patrick's bunk and wake him up. Begging him to make it go away. Begging him to lead his thoughts.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Patrick would kiss him gently and agree, pulling off their clothing with gentle, soft motions.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Patrick and Pete would spend their nights passionately and quietly, well aware that Andy was just above them but Pete wouldn't care. His mind was finally cleared.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Patrick would kiss Pete over and over and let him cum gently into the palm of his hand with a muffled cry, exhausted.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Patrick would clean them up and cuddle with Pete until he finally fell asleep, away from his demons and insomnia.

It was one of those nights.

The nights when Pete would finally fall asleep soundly.