Hedonism - Part Three

[rosiedoes]

There was a hand on the small of his back before Joe realised anyone had come into the bus, at the first rest stop. They had an hour at a service station to stretch their legs and wait for the Paul Wall bus to rendezvous and Pete had run off to find the most sugared, caffeinated crap on sale and bother Dirty. There was only one person who'd creep up on him as he leaned into his bunk, trying to dig his wallet out from between the mattress and the wall.

"Hey," he said, finally retrieving the wallet and turning around, ready to have a pretty uncomfortable conversation.

"Miss you already," Patrick told him with a mischievous grin, smoothing his hands down Joe's back to squeeze his ass.

Joe smirked and kissed his forehead. "Pete thinks you're leading me on because you want the affection, by the way," he said, close to his ear. "And he feels bad, because, like, you'll never let me into your pants."

Patrick actually spluttered with laughter against the collar of Joe's shirt. "Really?" He drew his hands around to the front and made to undo Joe's jeans. "Is that what he said?"

"Dude! Stop it!" Joe ordered, trying to smother laughter against Patrick's hat. "He could come back any second, dude."

"You think he'd still go with that theory?" Patrick joked, letting go and shoving his hands in the pockets of his ridiculous mushroom hoodie. Joe sort of loved it.

"He'd either refuse to believe it, dude, or kill me on the spot, so... unless you wanna risk it..."

"Dude! No. Who would I manipulate into cuddling me then?"

"Geez, I guess that'd make it Andy's lucky day, dude..."

Patrick made a face and leaned against him. "You think this is going to be hard?"

"Something is if you like, won't stop leaning on me..."

"Joe, I'm serious. We have, like, a month of this. In separate buses."

"Well, I guess he doesn't suspect, now."

"You think you can sneak on mine?"

"When?"

"Whenever. Andy gave me the whole room to myself so my stuff doesn't mess up his bunk area."

"Thank God for the anal retentiveness of Hurley Burley."

"Thank God for my reputation as a slob."

Joe grinned. "That too."

"But seriously, man, any time you want to come hang with us, you can."

"Yeah... I mean, I will. I'll have to kind of like, figure out a way to make it seem I'm in my bunk or whatever, dude."

"Exhaustion," Patrick suggested without missing a beat. "You need to be tucked up in your bunk every night without fail. You can't go to all those after parties, dude. Right?"

"Dude. Right. I just can't believe I'm having to sneak around to hang out. This like, sucks so fucking much, dude. What's happening to us? We used to live together, dude... Now we're just –"

"Sleeping together. Behind Pete's back. While he sleeps with that... thing and makes sure it gets all over every fucking gossip column on the internet."

'Just'... 'sleeping together'

"I kind of figured we were more than 'just sleeping together', dude..." Joe admitted, not looking Patrick in the eye.

Patrick made a small sound that reminded Joe of the noises his parents made over Sam when he was a baby, and said, "We are, dude. This has never been 'just' anything. Do you think I would risk everything on the occasional fuck? Because I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not Pete." He finished with a nervous laugh and curled his fingers around Joe's.

Joe just shrugged and nodded because Pete could be back at any minute and he didn't need to overhear this conversation.

"So... you want to come and sleep with me tonight?" Patrick asked. "Seeing as, y'know: Pete'll have his little friend?"

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, okay." He knew Patrick didn't mean that the way it sounded.

"Are you gonna stay here for the rest of the ride, or you want to come out and hang in our bus?"

Joe didn't think twice about that, "Dude, let's fucking go." There was no way he could stand another four hours of awkward silence with Pete.



The tour itself – the shows and having the other guys around all the time – was awesome. It was like camp on an epic scale. Pete was pretty occupied with the Barbie Doll, at first, even if half the time she spent following him around like a second puppy he completely ignored her. Joe almost started to feel sorry for her, except her voice grated like nails on a blackboard and watching her prance around, a picture of falsified innocent girlishness, made him feel kind of sick.

With so many of their friends around, every single day, sharing a bus with Pete much more bearable than Joe first expected. It also drew attention away from what Joe and Patrick were doing. And most of what they were doing was actually perfectly innocent: playing video games in the bus; riff face-offs; watching their favourite films for the 10,000th time; hanging out with Andy or the other bands, sometimes. Normal stuff. When they could, of course, Joe snuck out of his bunk and into the other bus and then it was a lot less innocent. When he couldn't, they communicated via text messages and IMs that nobody else could intrude upon.

Andy turned a blind eye. He didn't even bother commenting, unless he thought they were being particularly indiscreet, which wasn't often.

There was one morning when Pete bounded into the bus and charged excitedly into Patrick's room while they were in bed together, but even he didn't comment on it. They were both still wearing t-shirts and boxers from the night before, too exhausted to do anything but curl up together and sleep. Pete rambled about some great, but entirely incoherent idea he'd had – already smacked up on sugar and caffeine at 8.10am – lost track of what he was saying and then disappeared again. Joe and Patrick went back to sleep.

It was mornings like this, like the ones they'd had when they were back home in Chicago during that first week, that Joe liked the best. They were the mornings when he stopped wondering if this was all about what Pete wouldn't give Patrick and started to wonder what they'd do if things did all blow up. He never asked, because really, right now, he didn't want the answer. But he still thought about it.

It was Gabe, predictably, who first commented on how much time Joe and Patrick were spending together. He cocked his head and leered at them, making kissy faces. Joe flipped him off and went back to reading Spin over Patrick's shoulder. But Gabe wasn't going to let it drop and bounced over and planted himself on the opposite side of the picnic table.

"Sooo, wife-swap?"

Patrick blinked at him absently and muttered something sarcastic about Ryland not being his type.

Rolling his eyes theatrically, Gabe retorted with equal sarcasm, "As if I'd share. No. I mean, you kids right here. Pete? Andy? What?"

"ANDY?" Joe echoed, staring at him. "Dude. That is so many levels of sick and wrong."

"Aw, poor Andy not getting any love? How come? Not enough meat on that little vegan body? Boy wants to eat some pies, dude, I'm telling you."

"Nobody's getting any 'love', man," Patrick said flatly.

"Oh," Gabe said, eyebrows arching in such a way that 'wink wink, nudge nudge' did not need to be said aloud. "Just plain old animal sex, huh?"

"Dude. Seriously. Stop."

"Sorry, Patty-Boy," Gabe replied, sounding far less sorry than he was entertained, and smacking the peak of Patrick's hat down with his fingers. He got up. "But for real: you kids are adorable. Seriously. You wanna ditch the manic elf and get some Frohman action, man." He winked and saluted at Patrick and then shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered off, looking pleased with himself.

"Sometimes," Patrick began, turning the page, "that guy really needs to remember that I get to fuck with his album."

Joe grinned and wrapped and arm almost head-lock tight around Patrick's neck. "I think maybe you should, like, ditch the manic elf, dude."

Patrick laughed and leaned a little nearer, but he didn't say anything.

The problem was that Gabe wasn't the only one who started noticing. Joe caught slightly questioning looks from William (who had probably been talking to Gabe, actually), then Sisky (who had probably been talking to William), then Alex, who turned slightly pink at being caught staring and grinned awkwardly before hiding his face in his book; Paul Wall walked in on them playing Mario Cart while Joe was deliberately leaning over Patrick to obscure his view and hurriedly backed out with something that was probably an apology; it was generally hard to tell. Mark didn't even realise that Patrick was supposed to be in a relationship with Pete and kept referring to 'The Happy Couple'. It took them a week to realise he meant Patrick and Joe. Pete was not amused. He took drastic action.

Joe thought there was something weird about the bus when he walked in, the next morning, somewhere in New York. It felt different. It only took him a few moments to realise that the place wasn't strewn with purses and 'cute' little cardigans or hoodies that were too small for Pete (although that never stopped him trying to make them fit).

Frowning, he turned around and walked back down the steps to lean out the door, scanning the backstage lot for any sign of his room mate. Pete was loitering on the loading ramp, a cup of Starbucks in one hand, his Sidekick in the other, looking oddly determined. Joe wasn't entirely comfortable with that. He had a feeling either some major damage was heading Dirty's way, or Pete was working on his next nefarious plan and that rarely bode well for anyone.

"Dude!" he called, beckoning.

Pete just looked up and yelled, "What?" back at him.

"Where's the chick, dude? Her shit's all gone."

Glancing around him furtively, Pete trotted over and leaned up against the side of the bus, beside the door, still looking down at his Sidekick, while he tried to type one-handed. "Home," he announced, simply.

"Home? What, did she like, get sick of hanging around or something?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

"I sent her home, kind of. Figured we were spending too much time together. Wasn't fair on Patrick, or whatever..."

What, and screwing her off-tour is fine, dude? "Oh. Right."

"Yeah," Pete shrugged, glancing up at him, "it's, like, I hardly saw him in the last few days, kind of. He's either, like, working with Gabe on the album, or hanging with you, or I'm with her and stuff... I just figured I needed to remind him what I look like or whatever." He glanced up and Joe again and smirked. "Naked."

Joe just nodded, feeling bile rise in his throat. He started to turn away but Pete stopped him.

"What's up, man? You feeling okay?"

"Um... yeah. Yeah, I think I'm just gonna..." He gestured vaguely back towards the bunks. "Catch you later or something, dude."

"Wait, Joe, dude - you look like you're gonna puke. You sure you're gonna be okay? I don't want your ass passing out on stage or something tonight..."

"Yeah, dude, it's cool. I'm gonna be okay. I just think I have a hang-over from last night. I'll live, man."

"Cool... Well, like - if you wanna spend tonight in the squares' bus I'd understand, because, y'know - I'll have company over here, kind of..." he grinned as if he thought Joe was going to share in his bravado.

Joe didn't reply; he shrugged and backed into the bus. He didn't want to think of Pete and Patrick alone together, but he wanted to hear it even less.

Joe was laying in his bunk with the curtains closed when Patrick poked his head in, looking worried.

"Hey..." he said softly, stroking Joe's hair off his forehead, "you sick?"

"Kind of."

"Pete said you puked."

"No, I just feel like puking. I'm fine, dude, seriously."

Patrick clearly didn't believe him, but he changed the subject. "So... she's gone, huh?"

"Yeah, dude, Pete said... Guess it's your lucky night."

"Huh?"

"Didn't he tell you, dude? You're booked."

"Um... what?"

"Tonight. He sent her home so you guys could kind of like... have some quality time. I got my marching papers, or something. I'm in Andy's bus, you're in here."

"Seriously?" Patrick asked, and Joe could see him blushing even in the half-light.

"I kind of like, don't have the energy to jerk your chain on this, right now..." Joe replied; he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice and he knew Patrick picked up on it, because he fumbled for his hand and held it.

"I didn't ask for this, dude."

"I know. But you'll go."

"What if I don't?"

Joe laughed softly, rubbing his stomach. "We'll never know, dude."

Patrick stared at him determinedly for a minute and then kicked off his Nikes. "Move over."

"Huh?"

"Move over. I'm getting in."

Joe squinted at him and shifted closer to the wall, tugging his shoulder to help him. Patrick settled mostly upright against the top of the bunk, and let Joe rest his head on his lap.

"Never drinking again."

"Wow. Deja vu. I swear I've had this conversation like 10,000 times, before."

Joe snorted and snuggled more comfortably. They laid there together for a long time, Joe on the verge of sleep, Patrick just quietly stroking his curls and chewing his own lip.

"Hey, Joe?" Patrick said after a while, looking down at him.

"Yeah?"

"You want to hang out tonight after the show? In my bus?"

"I'm already going to be in your bus, dude. It's you who's not."

"No, I won't. I'll be with you."

"Aw, dude - that's only going to piss Pete off..."

"Screw Pete."

"Yeah, I think that's kind of like, the plan..."

"Well, what if I say 'no'?"

"Pissy fit from hell?"

Patrick laughed a little. "I'm not going to just let him pick and choose what time he spends with me, man. You're the one who puts in the hours, y'know? I'll see him when I want to see him, not when he schedules me in."

"What, is this a timeshare deal, now?"

"No," Patrick told him, shifting to lay down a little more. "I'm trying to figure out my priorities."

Joe smiled into the fabric of Patrick's hoodie and cuddled him a little tighter, suppressing the tiny, protective part of himself noting that one of his closest friends was saying this about one of his oldest friends.

"I figure that right now, I want to stay right here and make sure you're okay."

"Dude," Joe sighed, "if you stay with me he's gonna like... figure it out. He's used to you being there when he wants you, man..."

"Maybe it's better that he starts to learn I'm not always going to be."

Joe pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at him. "Huh?"

"Nothing. Just, maybe one day, he'll turn around expecting me to be there to deal with the bullshit, and I just won't."

"Where will you be, man? Hiding in your bunk, playing Garageband?"

Patrick gave a soft snicker. "Knowing my luck, locked in my house, with cats, playing with myself.."

Joe laughed with him and squished his stomach affectionately. "Can I come, dude?"

"We'll see if Pete doesn't kill you, first."

"He's gonna kill me if you don't come over here, tonight."

There was a soft thud as Patrick's head bumped back against the wall of the bunk. "It's the principle, dude. I'm not a fucking call-girl. And you're not my pimp, so quit trying to get me to do it."

"I thought he was your boyfriend, and I was your little piece on the side..."

"Pete owns two properties with his piece on the side."

"Lucky Pete." There was a quiet lull for a few minutes before Joe said, "I just want to keep the peace for like, as long as we can, dude. If the band's gonna get fucked up, I just wanna wait until this is over. Have it kind of like, implode in private."

"I don't want it to implode at all, man."

"Me either, but like... if it does? I just want us to have some dignity or something, dude."

Patrick was very quiet for a while before he finally said, "Are you asking me to leave him?"

"What? No, dude, of course not!"

Patrick just nodded.

They had no time to discuss it further because Pete's light footsteps hopped onto the bus. "Hey, Troh? How you doing, man?" he called from the kitchen.

"Fine," Joe told him, settling back down on Patrick's lap and telling himself that their closeness was normal to Pete, anyway.

Pete walked down to them and grinned at Patrick when he saw him there. "Looking after the baby, huh?" he asked, and kissed Patrick on the cheek. "I want some of that, dude. You wanna come look after me tonight, kind of?"

Suddenly, Joe wanted to throw up a little more.

"Dude, I don't think I can..."

Pete backed away a few inches and looked at him reproachfully. "Huh?"

"I just think Joe should have a little time to sleep, you know?"

"He can sleep in your bus, dude..."

"Not when he's sick."

"I'm just hung-over, man. I can deal. Go do... gross stuff I don't want to think about."

"I didn't mean now," Pete laughed. "I mean after the show, or whatever? C'mon, Lunchbox, dude... I sent the hottie home for you."

"Hottie? You sent the 'hottie' home for me? Wow, man, I'm honoured. We're only practically fucking married, but hey – you sent the 'hottie' home. Awesome. That's the most thoughtful thing you ever did."

"Oh, Patrick, c'mon, dude – you know how things are!"

"I know you've been fucking her the whole time."

Pete stared at him, his face draining of colour. "What the fuck?"

Joe sat up, ready to hop off the bunk and make a swift exit. He didn't need to be in the middle of this.

"You know what, Pete? Don't waste your fucking breath. I know. I know you lied about the fucking side effects and I know you've been sleeping with her the whole time. I saw the photo, man. That's really classy, y'know? But you always were into photographs of your dick, right?"

"You smashed my fucking Mac because of a photo, dude? That's not even – that's just..."

"How fucking dumb are you, Pete? It has nothing to do with a photo! This is about wasting the last five years believing you when you told me you were doing this shit so we could be together! How can you not get that?"

Joe made to slide off the bunk and disappear, but Patrick grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go.

"Stay there. This is your bus, too."

"I kind of like, want to not be here, right now," Joe tried, wriggling his arm a little to free it.

"You're staying," Patrick told him pointedly. He turned back to Pete. "And you, you spineless asshole – fucking deciding you were gonna have me instead of her for a few days? You think that's, what? Romantic or something? Because you are this close to me just fucking telling you where to go, Pete. This. Fucking. Close."

Joe didn't know whether the flutter in his stomach was excitement at the thought of Patrick breaking up with Pete and what that could mean, or panic that if Patrick broke up with Pete, everything would fall apart. Or maybe it was just shame for the fact that either of those mattered when he knew his best friend was being cheated on. By him.

"What the hell are you talking about, man? We've always done this! You had Anna for four fucking years!"

"Yeah, I shared a fucking apartment with a girl I knew since high school. We slept in separate fucking rooms! That is not the same, Pete! I did not – ever – agree to an open relationship. I agreed to a fucking ruse. All I got was screwed over."

"I should probably –" Joe began, awkwardly. This was a really bad place to be, considering.

"You should probably shut up and stop trying to get out," Patrick snapped. "You know what, Pete? I know – believe me, man, I fucking know – that I am not that little skinny kid he introduced you to. I see myself in the mirror and every fucking music magazine, so it's really, really clear to me. I know I've changed, but you fucking lied to me. You made excuses to not sleep with me. Do you seriously find me so gross, now, that you can't even - ?"

"Patrick, man, stop!" Joe cut in, frustrated. "You need to drop the image issues, dude. You're hot, you know I –" He stopped, blushing and looked at Pete. "Tell him, man."

There was silence for a few moments, as Pete stared at the floor with his arms folded. Then, he muttered, "He's beautiful. He's always been fucking beautiful, dude."

"Don't bullshit me, Pete, you made it pretty clear you don't want – "

"Fucking shut up, man! No one wants to hear the girl panic, okay? Not me, not Joe. Just... It's nothing to do with that! It nothing... I mean. Jesus. I don't even fucking know."

"You... you don't know why you wouldn't fucking touch me off stage for months? You don't know?!"

Pete kind of slumped a little and dug the heel of his hand into his eye. "Dude, it has nothing to do with the weight. Or the hair. Or anything, man. I just couldn't do it, okay? I spend most of the time I'm with her, being the cute and fucking caring boyfriend who is basically supposed to be into her and not the sex. We don't do it, dude. So there have been a couple of times, kind of, but you can't convince a chick you're in a relationship if you're just not doing it."

"You were pretty convincing from where I was sitting. Couldn't get her out of our fucking house during that month we had when we were all supposed to be doing band stuff."

"Dude, she's a girl, she lives fucking fifteen minutes away! She thinks she has a right to see me every fucking day, man..."

"And what, I don't?"

"I'm not trying to convince you that we're in a legit fucking relationship, or whatever, dude!"

"Well, maybe it's time you started!"

"Maybe you're the one fucking person I thought would never need convincing!"

There was a silence so sudden that it seemed to shock all of them. Joe shifted uncomfortably and slipped off the bunk onto his feet.

"I really just kind of want to... leave you guys to, um..." he pushed past Pete and headed for the door.

"Joe!" Patrick called after him, jumping down from the bunk and shoving Pete out of his way. He looked straight at him, anxious and a little sad. "Dude... later. I'll find you, okay?"

Joe nodded and left, not daring to look at Pete. As soon as he was outside the yelling started.

Ryland was sitting on the step of the Cobra bus and he squinted against the sunlight as Joe appeared. "Hey, Troh? Are you guys alright in there?"

Joe just stared at him for a second and scrunched the hair out of his face. He didn't know how to answer, so he shrugged and walked away.

Andy was sitting in the lounge of the other tour bus when Joe sloped up the steps. He didn't look up from his book, but he did say, "Patrick's yelling."

Joe hovered around the kitchen counter, nervous and nauseous, and feeling a little as though he was a criminal waiting to be handed the death penalty. "I think, like... somebody's breaking up today and somebody's getting laid... and I don't know which is me."

Andy did look up at that. "What?"

"Patrick, like... um. Patrick told Pete he saw the picture of him and the Barbie Doll, and kind of freaked out and like, Pete was saying he thought that he could trust Patrick to know that he was kind of like, still just doing his duty or whatever... I dunno, man, I just... I had to get out of there."

"Did they know you were there?"

"Patrick was in my bunk with me. He wouldn't let me leave."

Andy stared at him expressionlessly. "And Pete?"

"Pete's either gonna write a lot of stuff in his blog tonight, or come over here and kick my ass, dude." Joe folded his arms on the work surface and rested his head on them.

"Joe – "

"Am I a coward, man? Should I still be over there?"

"You don't know that Patrick is going to say anything about the two of you. Maybe they're just gonna hash the whole thing out and make up."

Joe straightened up and exhaled hard, tipping his head back and pushing his fingers to his eyes. "I don't know which, like... which one I want," he admitted. "I mean – which situation, man... not which one... I figure things are complicated enough not to go there, too..." He laughed hollowly.

Andy turned down a corner in his book, neatly, and placed it on the table. "Joe, what are you going to do if Patrick chooses Pete?"

Joe looked at him. "I guess I'm gonna, like... deal with it," he shrugged heavily, his heart sinking at the prospect. "I did before."

"I don't think it'll be that easy, man. Not after the last few weeks."

"No, but, like... at least I will have kind of like, had some practice, right?"

"And what if he chooses you?"

"Then..." he looked at Andy, realising how much of a piggy-in-the-middle he was – how out of his control they had taken his future – and found himself slightly choked. "Then, I am like, really, really sorry, man..."

Andy just picked up his book again, and thumped his foot against the vacant side of the couch, indicating that he should sit his ass down unless he planned to go cry into his hoodie and listen to Dashboard Confessional. Joe did, grateful of the company.

An hour or two later, long after the shouting had subsided, Patrick dragged himself up the steps of the bus and stopped in the middle of the lounge, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"So, um," he began, swallowing, "I'm going to need a couple of hours. So, if anyone kind of wants me for anything, can you just say I'm busy?"

Andy looked at Joe, then up at Patrick's pale face.

"Patrick? Are you okay, man?" he asked, starting to get up, but Patrick jerked back slightly.

"Um. I guess you should know that... uh, I broke up with Pete. He's kind of, um... cut up about it, so maybe one of you can just make sure he's okay and, y'know: all his pills are still in the jar and stuff, in a while?" He sounded completely numb, as if none of it was sinking in, yet.

"You broke up?" Joe asked, starting to climb off the couch, his heart racing. "Seriously?"

Patrick just gave a sharp nod and made a dash for his room, closing the door firmly behind him.

In the lounge, Joe and Andy sat in shocked silence. It had happened. It had actually happened. There wasn't even anything to say.

"He didn't say what he told him."

"What?" Andy asked, focusing intently on his drawn-up knees.

"He didn't say what he told Pete. I don't know if he knows about us."

Andy took a deep breath and got to his feet. "I guess that's my cue..."



Joe gave it half an hour before he approached the door to Patrick's room. He didn't want to let him think he had to deal with this by himself, but he didn't want to smother him, either. He knocked first, soft and apologetic, but when there was no response he carefully let himself in.

"Patrick?"

He was sitting on the bed, headphones on, gazing vacantly at the wall opposite. It was no wonder he hadn't heard.

"Patrick," Joe said again, a little louder and waving his hand to attract his attention. Patrick sighed and looked over at him despondently, before slowly dragging off his headphones. "You alright?" Joe asked, although it was a stupid question and he knew it.

"I don't know."

Hesitantly, Joe moved nearer, perching on the bottom corner of the bed, not wanting to appear presumptuous. "So... is it, like, final, dude?"

Patrick just swallowed and nodded, not looking at him. "I can't be second best any more."

Joe echoed his movement, "Is the band over?"

"I don't... I mean, we didn't talk about that."

"No. Right. I mean... obviously. There's like, more important stuff."

"Yeah, maybe..."

"Did you, um... does he know, dude?"

"No." Patrick sniffed and rubbed his nose self-consciously. "He asked if there was someone, but I just... lied. I didn't want to, like... bring the shit down on your shoulders."

"I kind of like did that myself the first time I slept with you, dude."

Patrick tried to raise a smile and failed, but he still crawled across the bed to Joe and buried his face in his shoulder, clutching at him tightly. Twisting at a difficult angle, Joe managed to kiss his cheek, and then just held him, because he still remembered a pink-cheeked seventeen year old looking at Pete From Racetraitor like he was the second coming and the way he'd walked around with the most ridiculously huge smile on his face for two whole weeks after he and Pete got together.

Joe remembered that, and hated himself a little. Or, maybe a little more.



The trauma the break-up caused wasn't limited to the band. Within 24 hours, everyone knew and people were dropping by to covertly find out if it was true and offer "stealth condolences" as Pete called them. Everyone was on tenterhooks, not sure what to do or say and unsure whether talking to one meant taking sides against the other. He and Patrick were trying fiercely to act as if nothing had changed, but more than once Joe looked up to find Pete staring at Patrick with a bleak, mournful look in his eyes. Patrick just wouldn't talk about it.

They took to the stage each night, caricatures of themselves. Pete still nuzzled up to Patrick, Joe still tornadoed around and fell at Patrick's feet. Sometimes, art imitated life. And the show still had to go on.

When they came off stage, though, Pete would get changed and leave for the after parties with anyone not on the verge of collapse. Sometimes, Andy went along, just to make sure that things weren't getting out of hand. They all knew how Pete could be after a break up; every time he broke up with Jeanae he'd been the same, and that wasn't even supposed to be a real relationship: he went on a mission to self-destruct. For once, Joe didn't want to go back to two years ago.

Joe and Patrick spent the nights that all the others were out partying sitting together in Patrick's bus – it didn't seem right to spend it where Pete had to sleep – pretending to watch films so they didn't have to talk about what was going on. Joe wanted to, in a way. He wanted to know where they stood and how they were going to carry on from here, but talking about it now would make it real. The relationship at the very core of what they did would be half of what it was, and there would be a very real chance that it was over.

But for the timebeing, they were holding it together at the seams and at least that was something.

It was the day before Pete's birthday that things changed. Joe was on his way back into the venue with Charlie, having been on a shopping excursion, when The Butcher pelted around the corner toward Joe and Pete's bus, and skidded almost to the floor when he saw them. A second later he was followed by Nate who just made a beeline for them.

"Troh! "

"Are you guys okay? Why the rush?" Joe asked, looking up at Charlie in bewilderment.

"You need to get backstage, man," The Butcher told him seriously, "right now."

"What? Why?"

"Seriously, Joe," Nate urged, half dragging him, "you really, really need to get backstage."

Standing in the midst of wood-splinter debris strewn across the floor, it became pretty clear what the rush was. Charlie dived forward and tried to grab the Gibson out of Pete's hands, but Pete jerked it out of reach, yelling, "Fucking back off!"

Charlie actually did, and stared at him as if he thought he was cracking up.

Joe didn't ask what was going on; why all but one of his guitars were now a collection of tinder and broken strings. In the pit of his stomach, he already knew. And the crowd gathering around them were also beginning to figure it out, speculating amongst themselves.

Didn't he and Patrick just break up, man?

I guess now we know why...

"Pete..."

Pete just turned to Joe, looked him in the eye, his face contorted in rage, and smashed his last remaining instrument against the solid concrete wall at the back of the venue. Twice. Three times. And then the neck broke in two. He hurled what was left in Joe's direction.

"There, you cheating fuck!" he screamed, kicking a chunk of Pilsen across the ground at him. "How does that feel, Joe, huh? Having the thing that means more to you than anything on the fucking planet destroyed by your best fucking friend? How does it feel, Joe?" Pete lunged for him and Joe almost tripped over the broken neck of one of his instruments, trying to back away. "Best friend! Best fucking friend, dude! I treated you like my brother!" Pete snatched up a shard of guitar and threw it at him as hard as he could; it bounced off Joe's shoulder and hit Jack in the shin. For once, Joe was glad he didn't have a camera in his hands, but that had really fucking hurt, and there was a small spot of blood welling on the faded t-shirt where it had grazed the skin and ripped the fabric.

"Pete – this isn't... I'm sorry. We never meant to hurt you, dude, it's just – "

"FUCK YOU! Fuck you! How could you, Joe? How could you, of all people fucking do this to me?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen, Pete – we didn't – "

"How long?"

"What?"

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN FUCKING MY BOYFRIEND?"

Joe dropped his gaze and wrapped his arms around himself, unable to bring himself to say 'weeks', 'over a month', maybe 'a couple of years', in an abstract way. He heard someone, he thought it was Victoria, say, "I'm going to get Patrick..." and the sound of running.

"Fucking tell me!" Pete reached for another chunk of guitar, but Charlie rushed forward and caught him in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his side as he writhed and tried to escape.

"Dude. Chill. Chill, c'mon."

"Let me fucking go, man! I'm going to fucking –"

"Yeah, I know, and that's why I'm not letting you go." He looked over his shoulder and yelled for Dre.

Joe just sank down where he was and picked up pieces of his guitars, looking at them in shock. His guitars were in splinters but God knew what had happened to his band while he was out.

"Everyone get the fuck out of here!" Charlie bellowed, "There's nothing to see. Go. Now."

People started to filter away, glancing back with looks of disbelief at the mess and the men in the midst of it all.

"I thought you," Pete began again, sounding as though he was going to breakdown in anger, "I thought you, of all people... I fucking trusted you, Joe! I trusted you and you repay me by stealing the only person who mattered to me, ever? So much for fucking loyalty, man! So much for loyalty..."

Loyalty. Like Pete knew the fucking meaning of the word. Joe looked up at him sharply, suddenly losing his cool a little, "Pete, don't you fucking dare pretend you're fucking innocent, dude. You treated him like you fucking owned him! You care more about Hemingway than you do Patrick! Don't even... just don't."

There was a short scramble as Pete made another break to attack and Charlie nearly lost his grip.

"Let him go, dude," Joe told him, shrugging morosely. "Let him do what he fucking wants. It won't change anything..."

Pete wrenched himself out of Charlie's grip, but fell forward onto his hands and knees a few feet in front of Joe. He didn't try to kill him, he just pulled back to sit on his heels and curled almost into a ball. It took Joe a minute to realise that he was sobbing. He just watched at first, not sure what to do; Charlie didn't know, either. He kind of hovered awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head like he couldn't believe this was happening.

It was taking his life in his hands, and Joe knew that, but he did the only thing that felt right: he shuffled nearer and rested a hand on his best friend's shoulder, whispering, "Pete, don't... please, dude..."

Pete shrugged him off ferociously and Joe retracted his hand, but he didn't back away.

"Pete, I know you pretty much hate me, right now, but... like... this isn't about fucking around behind your back, dude. I swear it's not..."

"Shut your mouth!"

"No... no, I want you to fucking know. I never wanted you to find out like this, dude. I didn't... Patrick breaking up with you was a fucking shock to everyone, including me, man. And I would never just like, screw around behind your back for the sake of fucking around, dude, you have to know that about me!"

"I don't care why you did it! Don't you get that? All that matters to me is that you fucking... you betrayed me, Joe! You just... I love him, you stupid fucking..."

"Yeah," Joe nodded, swallowing and climbing to his feet, "me too. And you know what, dude? Like... if I love someone, I don't put them through the bullshit you put him through."

It was then that Patrick and Vicky-T came rushing over, Patrick so out of breath that all he could do was grab Joe and cup his face, looking to see if he was hurt. Joe just shook his head, "I'm fine. I will be, anyway, maybe..."

"What happened?" he asked frantically, just as Andy rounded the corner and stopped dead, surveying the mess.

"Shit."

Pete started to get to his feet, then, smearing his eyeliner on the sleeve of his hoodie as he dried his face and approached Patrick. "You fucking lied to me," he ground out, shoving him hard, "you couldn't even tell the fucking truth when you were saying it was over, you gutless fuck."

Patrick didn't retaliate, he just closed his eyes and shook his head. "I told you I wasn't because I didn't know what he wanted, Pete. Because Joe had no fucking influence on my decision. I don't even know if he wants me now, Pete, but I know that if you'd given me half the goddamn respect he does, we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation, you arrogant prick! He's been a better boyfriend to me in the past few years than you ever were, and he didn't even want to lay a hand on me when I threw myself at him a couple of weeks ago, because of you. Because of the person who was supposed to be my boyfriend, but couldn't drag himself away from the girls long enough to realise that he was even fucking losing me!"

"So, what...? It's a series of pity fucks strung together into some fucking fling, kind of? Is that it, man, because that's pretty fucking pathetic. Pretty fucking pathetic..."

Patrick's fist had connected with Pete's jaw before any of them even realised he'd raised a hand. They both stumbled and landed on the concrete, Patrick on top of Pete, fists flying targetlessly until Dre stepped forward and bodily picked Patrick up off of him. Charlie yanked Pete to his feet and dragged him out of reach.

"Guys, c'mon," Andy said, moving over to lay a soothing hand on Pete's arm. "No more fucking fighting. Patrick, go back to the fucking bus. Pete, I'm taking you to yours. Joe – "

"Joe can come to ours," Victoria offered, taking his wrist and giving him a sympathetic smile. "I know Ryland's in there, right now, so..."

"Fine," Andy nodded with a heavy sigh. "I think everyone just needs to cool the fuck off."

Joe spent the rest of the afternoon sitting uncomfortably in the Cobra bus, Vicky-T with her head on his shoulder and her arm linked around his and Ryland and Alex trying to make conversation that in no way, under any circumstances, even slightly touched on the matter. It was awkward, but none of them were doing it intentionally and none of them seemed to want to inflict bodily harm upon him, so it was fundamentally more pleasant than being in his own bus, right about then.

Andy came by to check that everything was okay, around three thirty, bringing him an unbloodied t-shirt to change into. He told Joe that Pete was asleep, which was a good thing because it meant he wasn't working himself into a fit about Joe and Patrick. It also meant it was relatively safe for Joe to slip back to Patrick's bus and see if he was okay.

Patrick almost tripped over himself, scrambling up from the couch to greet him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, before Joe could do exactly the same thing.

"I think so, dude, I just... Worst day ever?"

Nodding jerkily, Patrick reached out to him, hesitating as if he wasn't sure he was still allowed. Joe hugged him as tightly as his bruised and scraped shoulder would allow, propping his chin on Patrick's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Joe," he murmured into Joe's neck, holding him just as tight. "I didn't... this is all my fault. I fucked up everything."

"It's not your fault. It's our fault. I didn't have to do all this with you, dude... but I seriously don't know what I'm gonna play tonight..."

Patrick gave a soft snort and buried his face in Joe's shoulder. "There might not be a 'tonight'."

"Did he... I mean, like... is the band over?"

"I don't think so. Not yet."

"How does he even know, dude?"

"He read my messages, Joe... all the stuff from being in the separate buses, when we were messaging each other all the time. I was stupid enough to keep them... they made me feel better, sometimes, y'know? Looking at them... and I'm a total fucking chick, I know, but... whatever. He saw them."

"Shit..." Joe rubbed his forehead, remembering some of the things they'd said to each other – from tender statements of affection, to mean jokes at Pete's expense and even a series of highly explicit messages that no one was ever, ever supposed to see. He'd never been more ashamed in his life.

"I'm sorry... I wish I'd taken better care, y'know? I knew he wanted to find out why I did what I did, and I just... I was so stupid... I can't believe I just left it there!"

"It's too late to worry, now... what's done is done."

"I'm just so sorry he did this to you... I know how much some of those guitars meant to you, Joe, and... Fuck. I'm sorry..."

"Stop apologising, dude. It's... it's not all good right now, but it could be worse... No idea how, but..."

Patrick have a small, miserable laugh and pulled back to kiss him briefly. "I love you."

Joe's heart missed several beats and he couldn't do much but blink at him in surprise. "Um... you... Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I love him too, and I'm probably always going to, but... I love you, and I feel like... Maybe, y'know... maybe this could work."

Joe stared at him. "This? Like... you and me, dude?"

"Well... well, yeah. Us. If you want to?" He could see the panic starting to rise in Patrick's eyes, thinking that he was going to lose both of them.

"Of course I want to! I've wanted this since... dude. Since England. I told you that already!"

"Yeah, I know, but... after everything, y'know? And I just didn't want to assume or anything..."

Joe tentatively ran his fingers down Patrick's cheek leaning down to kiss him softly. "We kind of have a lot to figure out..."



For a few hours, Joe was torn between total, overwhelming happiness, and chronic, bone-deep shame that he was shacking up with his best friend's ex three days after they broke up. They played the hardest show of their lives, going through the routine but each running on a different emotion; Pete was angry and flung himself toward Joe on several occasions, narrowly missing him with the head of his bass; Joe tried to keep to his side of the stage as much as possible, self-conscious and ashamed; Andy just focused all his frustration into concentration and Patrick put more force into his vocals than should really have been humanly possible.

The only reason they were able to play at all was through the kindness of others.

When Joe walked backstage to try to take stock of what he was going to have to rush off and buy with Diaz, his rack was already loaded with four separate guitars. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Ryland's black Telecaster, two of Mike's spares and what looked like a shiny new Pilsen, with a note attached, "This doesn't mean you get to fuck me. – Hoppus."

If a whole bunch of people hadn't been lurking around, waiting for his reaction, Joe might have cried. He had really thought he was the bad guy that no one but the Cobra Starship guys would speak to again. He couldn't quite believe they'd done this and wondered whose idea it had been. It kind of made him feel more and more of an asshole. Especially when the fact Mark had left him the guitar as a present reminded him that it was Pete's birthday the very next day. They were supposed to be having a party. He wasn't sure he was invited, any more.



He spent the night in one of the two spare bunks in the Cobra bus, laying awake and staring at the underside of Gabe's, hearing him come bouncing in around 3am and whispering with Ry about whether things were okay.

Patrick texted him around four, asking if he was asleep. Joe replied, saying only 'no rest for the wicked, dude'. They couldn't meet outside, because they were in motion, but Joe didn't think it would have been a good idea, even if they could. The early hours of the morning were Pete's time, and the last thing he needed was to see them lurking in the shadows together.

Joe couldn't help thinking about their houses. It seemed weird – cold, maybe – to think in terms of whether Patrick would just move to their Chicago apartment or if they'd sell up and he'd get a new place... maybe whether Patrick would want to move into the house Joe had just bought, seeing as he'd already had a hand in decorating it... if it was even okay for them to just move in together. This may be a new development in their relationship, but they weren't exactly unused to being in each other's company.

They didn't talk about it, not yet, not even through the supposed privacy of text messages. They hadn't even told Andy what was going on, yet, never mind Pete. It didn't seem right. Then again, if he'd done what was right six weeks or so ago, instead of what his dick was telling him to, they wouldn't be in this predicament.



It was Andy's idea to just leave their gifts in the other bus before Pete woke up, the next day. Nobody felt comfortable trying to pretend things were okay, offstage, but it would have been callous to ignore the date altogether. Andy may still have been in Pete's favour, but Joe and Patrick definitely weren't.

Later, when Joe stepped off Andy and Patrick's bus, Pete was just passing and Joe stepped directly into his path. He apologised awkwardly and edged out of the way, heading back to the Cobra bus, but Pete grabbed his arm tightly and yanked. Joe turned to look at him – he didn't have much choice – and half anticipated a punch in the face, but it didn't come. Instead, Pete looked at him for a moment and then away, letting him go.

"Thank you," he said flatly and turned to continue on his way, but Joe stopped him, hoping this was an opening – a chance to at least make things the smallest bit better.

"Pete?"

"Keep walking, or whatever, dude. I got nothing else to say."

"Well, I kind of like do."

"Yeah? How about you text me, kind of?"

Joe didn't try again. The next he heard from Pete actually was a text, stating only, 'u need 2 b there. press. no arguments. u owe me.'

It really didn't leave Joe with much choice.

The last thing any of them wanted, after playing a show with energy so dead it flatlined, was to spend all night in a bar crammed with everyone they knew, and the press, and unsurprisingly, the Barbie Doll. The whole event was depressing: watching Pete feign smiles that just came off looking psychotic while his little friend clung to him; watching the look on Patrick's face when they jumped the queue to the bathrooms; watching Andy nursing his juice like a drunk drowning his sorrows; not being able to really spend any time with Patrick at all because they didn't want to make his birthday any worse with reminders...

The one time Joe tried to talk to Pete, to share in a joke he'd made, Pete turned to him with his teeth practically bared, and whispered, "Make no fucking mistake: you are not my friend. We will never be friends again. The only reason you're here, or whatever, is because I don't want fucking questions about why you're not. Don't speak to me."

Joe escaped the earliest he could, returning to his temporary – in theory, at least – bunk in the Cobra bus and spent another night staring into the darkness.

When they finally arrived back in Chicago for their three-night run, Joe headed straight to his house. It was so good to be able to spend the time away from everyone else, even Patrick, just for one night. He needed some space to figure things out. The only problem was that when he got there, he was instantly reminded of the first week and caught in a deluge of shame and self-doubt; it had all begun here. In his mostly-yellow living room, which they'd painted together after screwing on his couch while they were both with other people.

Which reminded him of Marie, and how dismissive he had been of her and how she was worth so much more than what Joe had done to her.

He spent the night sitting on the floor, in between the boxes, realising he couldn't live in that house. By himself or with Patrick.

Patrick actually came to find him, the next morning, brandishing coffee and donuts and looking disarmingly refreshed, as if the time out of the bus had brushed away some of the tension and lifted the weight from his shoulders.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, trying to kiss Joe without dropping his paper cups or the donuts in his other hand.

"Hi. You seem kind of in a good mood..."

"I am," Patrick grinned, heading for the kitchen. "I'm happy. I'm home, I'm with you, the weather is totally insane, and I've decided I'm going to fix my friendship with Pete."

Joe just blinked at him. "Um... like, how, dude?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to. We've been through way, way too much to let that fall apart completely, y'know? And I know him, Joe, I know that deep down, he feels the same way. We can't just let this go so easily."

Patrick kind of shot himself in the foot. Because it was true. It was more than true, and the guilt in Joe's stomach started to formulate into a plan; a way to reduce the collateral damage. It really just seemed like the only honest thing he could still do.

"You know he's not going to forgive me, right?"

Patrick sighed and leaned up against Joe's chest as he propped himself against the counter. "Maybe he will... eventually. Maybe we can come through all of this okay..."

"Patrick?"

"Yeah?"

"He's not going to, like, forgive me for this in any way, you get that, right? But you and Pete... you should try to make it up. It's been too long to throw it away, dude."

"Yeah... yeah, I will. It's totally stupid to let everything fall apart because of this... let it get in the way of the, y'know, of the music and stuff."

Joe kissed him and rested his chin on the top of Patrick's head, closing his eyes and trying his hardest to remember this. "Exactly, dude."

That same day, he posted a challenge to Ryland. How quickly did he think he could learn the complete Fall Out Boy set, seeing as he only had to bother with a handful of songs for the shortened Cobra Starship opening run? Ryland bet three days. Joe hoped he was right.



The next three days hurt more than the three hours after Pete found out about them. He tried to memorise everything about this. About the life he'd come to know very little but; the people – the friendships, the sense of family; the feel of an audience so huge it moved like an ocean with the rhythm of the songs they were playing. He took photographs on his phone, when people weren't looking, and carefully, trying not to be obvious, started to tie the loose ends. He felt a little like Earl, ticking people off on his list as he paid up on long-forgotten bets and apologised for the times he'd taken jokes too far or broken their possessions with his clumsiness.

Some of them looked at him strangely, some tried to shrug it off, but no one complained. At least not to Joe.

He also spent those three days watching Patrick. He pulled back from him as best he could, leaving him to spend all his time with Pete. If they were ever going to get back on track, they weren't going to do it with Joe's interference.

Pete was reluctant at first: cold and indifferent to Patrick's unsubtle attempts to engage him in conversation; outright nasty at times. But Patrick persevered, because he was a stubborn little fuck, which was something that Joe was counting on. This wasn't a loose end he really thought he could get his hands dirty tying.

When the last night came, before the departure for Indianapolis, Joe put the last part of his plan into action. His bag was packed and stashed in his car, in the parking lot – he'd said he was taking it home to do laundry the day before so no one suspected anything when they saw him lugging it all around. He had hand-written notes to all the most important people, left them places he knew they'd find them, even if they wouldn't find them before he was gone. He didn't want to risk anyone trying to stop him, he just wanted to fade out quietly, leaving things in as much order as he could, so they could just carry on without him. Patrick was the voice of the band and Pete was the face; neither of them could leave and still have things continue relatively unchanged. Which left Joe and he was sure that if they tried, if they wanted to, they could get past this and stay just as successful as they always were. It was the fairest thing to do for everyone. Andy didn't deserve to lose everything because of what Joe had done; the rest of their guys didn't deserve to lose their jobs over it, either.

He hadn't banked on being caught by Dirty, though, tucking his note under Patrick's pillow.

"Don't do it," he said quietly, positioning himself in front of the door as subtly as he could.

"Do what?"

"I'm a drunk, man, not an idiot. You're going to do one of two things and both are pretty stupid. And when even I'm saying that..."

"Dude, this is, like... the smartest thing I can do, right now."

"Look, Troh, dude, it's not my band, but you guys are my friends and... C'mon, man, you know this isn't necessary."

Joe stopped and looked at him for a minute, realising for the first time just how good a friend Dirty had always been to him. To all of them. He was glad he'd chosen to round up the figure he felt he owed the man to the nearest ten; Dirty would never know that, but Joe would, and if Joe was taking anything from this, it was that he knew he'd done his best by as many people as he could.

"I, like... I want you to take this, dude. Just kind of like... a token of my appreciation of whatever, for all the shit you put up with around here." Joe held out the little slip of paper for him to take, but he wouldn't do it. He just looked away and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Okay, dude, so... I'm gonna leave it on the counter. It has your name like, already signed on it, so... it's yours."

He started for the door, hoping Dirty wouldn't try to prevent him from leaving bodily.

"Joe," he said, as Joe slipped past, and grabbed his hand as if shaking it. "You'll be missed, dude."

Feeling a lump building in his throat, Joe just nodded and jumped down the three steps and onto the road.

"Dirty?" he called, turning back a few paces away. "Don't, like... don't say anything until you're away, okay? I don't want a search party."

Dirty nodded, and that was the last Joe saw of him.



The first call came just after 2am. Patrick. Joe cancelled. It rang again, still from Patrick's number. Joe cancelled that, feeling as though he'd swallowed glass. Then it was Andy's number. Charlie. Patrick again. Gabe – and Joe didn't even understand why he was calling. Patrick. Patrick. Patrick. Over and over until Joe felt sufficiently asshole enough that he was about to turn of his phone, but then the texts started.

Andy. 'Where are you?'

Charlie. 'This is the dumbest stunt u have evr pulled. ANSWER FUCKING PHONE.'

Patrick. 'What ru doing? Pls talk 2 me. Worried. XXX' then, 'If u changed ur mind i u/stand. Don't do this. We can tlk it out.' then just, 'I love you.'

Ryland. 'Kerfuffle! Come home. Past bedtime.'

Then, of all people, Pete. 'didnt ask for this. hes freaking out. stop being a dick & come back. yr makin us late.'

Joe took the time to text his little brother, knowing he had to pass on a message that wouldn't leave his mother hysterical. 'Dude, tell mom I'm taking a vacation. AM FINE. Don't worry. Cu soon. Joey.'

Sam just had time to get out a 'WTF MAN?!?' before Joe switched off his phone.



Epilogue


"He's, um... I don't know what to tell you, man," Andy's voice crackled down the line. "He moved home. Pete and the girl are going to take the place in LA... They're selling up. It's all over. Everything. I guess I'm just... well. I'm back in Wisconsin, right now. Everybody just figured you did a Lord Lucan, or something. No one thought you were coming back and two of us sure as hell weren't going to go on without you."

"Is he like," Joe swallowed and pushed the hair out of his eyes, "is he okay?"

There was a long silence from Andy's end of the line and Joe had to check he hadn't been disconnected. "He's pretty much heartbroken, dude. He doesn't understand why you did it."

"I left a note."

"'Give him a second chance'? That's your note? That's fucking lame, Joe. Totally fucking lame."

"I just... I thought it would work out okay. I figured you'd replace me and they'd work things out, and... I didn't want this, dude."

"For what it's worth, Joe, I think the only difference your little disappearing act made to the last month was to Patrick. And that's a mistake you really need to fix."

Joe sat in the car outside the lakeside apartment Patrick had once shared with Pete, for two hours before he even dared to get out of the vehicle. He stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the unremarkable fifth floor window, one hand still on the car roof as if it were keeping him grounded. He didn't know if this was the right thing. He didn't know whether Andy was right and that Patrick was as miserable as he thought, or if he'd hammered the last nail into his own coffin the night he switched off his cell.

He turned his back on the apartment for a minute, looking out across the Drive to the beach, and that was when he saw him; a small figure hunched on the stepped wall beside the road. Joe's heart skittered. It had only been a few weeks, but it felt like so much longer. He started walking, heading for the subway under the road; by the time he got to the steps on the other side, he was running.

Patrick didn't seem to notice as he was approached. He just stared out across the water, his headphones blocking out everything else. He'd lost weight. Considerably, actually, considering Joe had only been away a few weeks. He looked pasty and hollow where his eyes were ringed from lack of sleep, but Joe had never been more glad to see him.

Now he was here, though, he didn't know what to say. So, at first, he didn't say anything. Instead, he just sat down on the wall beside him, waiting for Patrick to react.

It took a moment or two. He just blinked, slowly, then glanced over. He didn't say anything. He didn't even remove his headphones, he just nodded to himself, his lip pinched tightly between his teeth, and looked back out into the distance.

Joe copied, leaning back against the concrete, waiting.

He waited a long time, but finally, with a careful deliberateness that set Joe's nerves more on edge than they already were, Patrick lifted off his headphones and hung them around his neck.

"Hi," Joe tried, not daring anything more. It would be far too easy to say the wrong thing, now.

"Hi."

"So, um... I guess. I guess I heard that I kind of like, made a mistake. Like, a pretty huge error of judgement or something."

Patrick nodded, slowly, watching a cyclist speed past.

"Are you... uh. Are you okay, dude?"

There was a quiet laugh, at that, cynical and flat. "Well, let's see: I slept with one of my best friends, and then broke up with my boyfriend who was too busy sleeping with someone else to even notice I was fucking our best friend. Then, the best friend, who claimed he loved me, vanished, just when I thought I was going to get to settle down and have a normal relationship. Then my band – which was pretty much everything I lived for – went all to hell, and now the ex-boyfriend is living in my house with his girlfriend, all of which, y'know, kind of leads to a couple of pretty entertaining abandonment issues. So, y'know: I'm fine, how are you?"

Joe had never expected this conversation to be easy, but he really wasn't prepared at all. "I'm sorry," he just said, quietly. "I thought I was kind of like doing the right thing."

"Huh. Because just leaving when the going gets tough, that's always the right thing. Obviously."

"It wasn't like that."

"It wasn't? That's funny, 'cause it seemed just like that."

"I thought... I thought I'd just, like, go away for a while. Kind of like, take away the problem, because if I like... if I wasn't there, you and Pete might work it out. You could like, carry on, y'know? Replace me, maybe... maybe get back together or something, and then... I don't know. It made sense at the time."

Patrick took a long, deep breath and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. "At first, before your dad phoned, saying you'd texted your brother, I honestly, honestly thought you were dead. I mean – you left Dirty a cheque for fucking twenty thousand dollars, dude, that's like... that's... I know any one of us could afford that, but it's not like you."

"He doesn't get paid enough to like, deal with the bullshit Pete puts on him, dude."

"You're right, he doesn't. But you were tying up loose ends, dude – you were apologising and paying people back and no one started talking about it until we didn't know where you were, and nobody'd realised and I really, really thought you'd done something stupid." He clenched his jaw to stop his lip from beginning to shake.

"Well, like... I'm here now, right?" Joe offered, wishing he'd just texted to say he was okay. Wishing a lot of things that it was too late to change.

"Yeah, but what does that mean, Joe? How soon are you going to run off again?"

"I'm not!" he swore, turning to him, grasping his arm tightly and praying he'd understand. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever. I love this place... everything I have left is here, and it's not much, but I'm not just like, letting it go..."

Patrick quirked his lips a little, in something close to a smile.

"I, um. I'm selling the house. I kind of like just wanna start over, y'know?"

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Look, Patrick, I just... I don't expect you to like, forgive me, or anything, but... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you through that. I totally didn't."

"Yeah. Hindsight's a funny thing, right?"

Joe nodded. Just not funny-ha-ha.

"'Cause, y'know, in hindsight, if I'd known – if I'd noticed what you were doing..." Patrick paused and sucked his lip a little before finishing, "I would have packed my stuff and come with you."

"But that would have just defeated the object, dude... I did it so you'd stay and –"

"Joe, shut up and listen to what I'm saying: I would have come with you."

Joe looked at him, then, at the pink in his cheeks and wide, pale green eyes, and felt his heart miss several beats. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and asked, "So... what about now?"

Patrick just shifted a little, moved a little nearer, and looked back out across the water. "I thought you said you'd stopped running."

---

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