Spilt Milk

                                    

                                          
Pete's POV:
"Do you think I should just move my stuff down here? Like I know it's not a huge place but I'd save me running up a flight of stairs all the time." 
                          
Mikey set down two mugs of tea before joining me on the couch and cuddling into my side. He did this a lot recently and I wasn't complaining.
Mostly because I loved his company but also because he would often fall asleep with his head on my chest and my arm slung round his shoulder. He would still wake up spontaneously, sometimes with a start, and the night terrors visited him a few times a week but now he talked to me about it when he awoke. 3am if it was bad, or whatever the fuck time I woke up when he insisted he was fine. And I listened.
More importantly, he was sleeping of his own free choice and waking up with me every morning. I loved him for this as left to his own devices he would still be up at 2/3am.
                          
"Oh, you asking to move in with me, Wentz?" He glanced up at me with a smirk.
                          
"Well yeah I guess. Only if you want me to." I shrugged.
                          
"No I don't. I don't want my apartment to smell and also I think you're repulsive and I'd much prefer you as far away from me as possible, Peter." 
                          
I picked up a cushion and bashed him repeatedly.
                          
"Stop! Stop! Of course I want you to move in but don't think for a second I'm doing the work for you, it was bad enough getting all my stuff in here."
                          
"Let's do it this weekend yeah? Gives us more time."
                          
My phone flashed up from the table. Mikey grabbed it before me. I knew exactly who it was from already.
                          
"What's got Patrick so upset?" He asked showing me a stream of rather punctuated texts.
                          
"God knows." I scrolled through them quickly. 
                          
Although I did know and I felt a twist of guilt strike through me. 
                          
My phone began to vibrate in my hand. I got up and walked towards the kitchen.
                          
"Hey 'Trick." 
                          
"Hi Pete."
                          
"What's up?"
                          
"Practice. 6pm Wednesday. Alright?"
                          
" 'Trick?"
                          
He sighed.
"You can't do Wednesday? You and Mikey are busy? I need to rearrange?"
                          
I felt my stomach knot.
                          
"...again." He added very quietly.
                          
"No, I'll be there." I swallowed hard.
"And Patrick? I'm sorry." There was a pause on his end of the line and I wished I was better at reading people's emotions. "Patrick? You're my best friend. You still know that, right? And I'm sorry. I'll be there. I promise."
                          
He was quiet for a few more seconds but his tone was different when he replied; softer.
                          
"It's alright Pete. I'm sorry too, I'm just stressed with deadlines. I'm sorry, I'll see you Wednesday. Take care." He hung up.

                          
"What was that about?" Mikey had entered the kitchen and was looking at me with a mixture of confusion and concern; a common duo when I was a part of the equation.
                          
"I miss a lot of practices and we've got a deadline for the album we're writing and Patrick's understandably upset." I sighed.