(this is what everyone looks like except pstump's hair is red ((also, the fedora hasn't made an appearance, but get ready)), and andy doesn't have the beard ((bc he's in high school, you weirdos)). continue on.)

I Don't Care
+
t e n

"I want you guys to play some gigs around Illinois and Wisconsin and a few states around there," The guy -- Sam, was it? -- tells us. I look around and make eye contact with everyone except Pete.

Except Pete because Pete didn't show. Pete didn't show for the most important time in our career. All because he didn't want to see me. Or at least that's what everyone's saying.

"We'll do it," Andy says, taking charge because Pete isn't here. Fucking Pete.

"Great," Sam flashes us an award-winning smile, and we all look at each other before smiling back at him.

Joe stands up to shake his hand, saying, "You've got yourself a deal,"

I hope we made the right choice.

About thirty minutes (and a lot of fucking signing ((and forging Pete's name)) of contracts) later, we were finally done. "Celebration lunch, anyone?" Andy asks us, and Joe nods. They both turn to look at me.

I run a hand through my new red hair and think about Pete. Things can't be like that with us all the time. "I think I'm going to check on Pete," They both look sceptic and disappointed, so I add, "but you guys enjoy your date, really,"

Andy waves at me as I walk off to my car. Here we go.

--

"Patrick?" Pete sniffles. His whole face is pale, his nose is red, and his eyes are droopy.

"Oh my gosh, Pete," I feel his forehead. He's burning up. I brush past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him with me, shutting the door.

"Patrick?" He asks again, blinking tiredly.

"Holy smokes, Pete, I feel like an asshole. I thought you skipped out on the record label because you didn't wanna see me," I feel like a fucking douche.

"Oh fuck, that was today?" He asks, groaning. "I'm so sorry," He sniffles again.

"Pete, I would've killed you if you showed up like this, if we're being honest," I look through his medicine cabinet. On the very top shelf, I see a lone bottle of Ambien that's halfway full.

"Patrick, you don't have to do this," He says, and I'm not really listening. I reach for the bottle, trying to be quiet. "What are you looking for?" I quickly stash the bottle in one of my pockets and grab an antibiotic.

"Here," I hand him the bottle and gesture for him to sit on the counter. He does so, and I ask, "Have any eye drops?" He nods and points at the cabinet.

I find the eye drops easily, grabbing the bottle of nasal spray that sits next to it for his red nose.

I stand in between his legs and tell him to lean his head back. He does as I say, and I put three drops in each eye. We move on to the hard part now.

"Okay, this isn't going to feel good," I tell him. He nods, and I stick the bottle to his nose. "When I push, you sniff,"

"Okay," He cooperates, which makes it all easy.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed," I help him get off the counter, putting my hands on his hips, but before I can help him down, he places his hands over mine.

"'Rick, we can't avoid this conversation," And shit, even a sick Pete is a wise one. I sigh.

"Pete, man, come on," I try to help him down, but he grabs my hands and moves them to his shoulders, actually getting down. "What are you doing?" I ask as he fumbles around with his phone.

"Dance with me, Patrick," He whispers in my ear, putting his hands in the back pockets of my jeans. He lays his head on my shoulder. I know I'm blushing.

"Pete," I say weakly. Honestly, this is really nice. The Backstreet Boys come on, and I smile. "I knew you were a boyband guy,"

"Who doesn't like the Backstreet Boys?" He moves his forehead to my neck, and he's not hot anymore. His forehead is actually cool.

The next thing I know, I nose his cheek until he looks at me. I make eye contact with him for a second before closing the gap between us.

I've actually missed this. Pete is so daring and fun, while Elisa is just calm and predictable. He makes me feel alive.

He pulls my bottom lip between his, and I gasp. He chews on my lip (ring) for a second before our tongues meet. I know we're both running out of breath, and he does too from the way he's breathing.

"Patrick," He breathes when we pull away, leaning his forehead against mine, "we can't keep doing this,"

I sigh. "I know," He kisses me one more time.

"I don't want to be your 'side chick,'" He quotes the words. I shake my head.

"You aren't, Pete. It's not like that," I tell him.

My phone starts ringing, and I pray that it's not Elisa. It is.

"Sure as hell feels that way," He mumbles, and I can see the unshed tears in his eyes. "Just go, 'Rick," He points at the door. "We're not doing anything like that again until you decide who you want to be with,"

I sigh and nod, doing as I'm told.