Chapter Text
The last few days have been a nonstop whirlwind of writing, tracking, and surprisingly, only a few existential crises. Spencer and Kenny read through the lyrics for the new song and thankfully they are just as excited as we were and with a bit of tweaking here and there, the melody pretty much wrote itself.
We ended up in the studio three days sooner than we were initially planning, but it will be worth it in the end- at least that’s what we keep telling each other. We are all itching to get this album completed and the sooner that can happen, the better.
The sudden boost of progress seems to be enough right now to keep us creatively motivated. It's honestly crazy to think that we went from literally nothing but a few scribbled phrases, to a recorded, finished song in a little less than 4 days. I still have no idea how we did it… how I did it.
We also somehow managed to record two different variations for the song, which now has a working title of “Gospel”. Our “album” variation is a full band, vocally dramatic, absolutely incredible mix of pop and mournful; it's beyond amazing. Version two is piano accompaniment only, and it's fucking gorgeous! I spent a good part of the day trying to convince Bren to add the piano version to the album, even as a hidden track, but more than likely, the full band version will end up on the record if Bren gets his way. Honestly though, they both sound ridiculously amazing; I am very proud of how it all came together.
As of right now, we have 6 songs finished and B is over-the-moon ecstatic with what we have so far. I can’t blame him, it’s pretty fucking astonishing that we are this close to finishing this album, considering we started it more than a year ago.
We finally break for the day after 15 hours of recording and re-recording multiple times per track. All of the ‘stop and go’ of our studio days begin to feel overwhelming at times- physically and mentally. It's always hard on everyone, but I can tell it's really starting to take its toll on Brendon- not that he would ever admit to that. Brendon is, essentially, always on ‘AutoPilot’ when we are recording. He stresses himself because he can see the finished product so clearly in his mind that he wants to get there as soon as possible which is admirable, but at the pace his is going lately, he is pretty much walking zombie at this point.
The last few hours, he’s been shuffling around, mumbling who knows what to himself. His eyes are barely half open by the time we say our goodbyes to everyone for the day.
As we’re walking through the parking lot, I make a split second decision to snatch the car keys from his hand, shuffling his tired ass to the passenger seat instead. He doesn’t even bother to argue even though he knows I usually hate to drive, but there is no way I would let him behind the wheel with how fucking exhausted he is; I’d rather risk having a panic attack or two... or five.
I take a slow, deep breath while I situate myself in the driver’s seat- moving it to a more comfortable position then adjusting the mirrors. He slowly turns towards me, his eyes barely open; he honestly looks completely pitiful. I gently pat his thigh with my hand, “Just relax- we’ll be home soon, babe. I’ll throw a pizza in the oven and we can just chill out the rest of the night. Does that sound alright?”
He yawns dramatically, nodding his head before leaning it against the window with a soft thud against the glass. “M’kay.”
We’re home in about 35 minutes, which is not too terrible considering I take as many back roads as possible to avoid the highway; rush hour traffic is the fucking worst and I lack the patience and mental stability to deal with it. Brendon didn't seem to mind though; he fell asleep about 5 minutes into the drive. Thankfully, there was hardly any traffic and the drive was actually rather pleasant. I gently shake him awake as I pull into our driveway. As expected, he groans, pouting petulantly which turns into a quiet laugh when he notices the small, wet spot on the window that formed from his drooling/breathing while he napped. I roll my eyes,smiling at him, he’s usually pretty adorable when he's sleepy- this is apparently no exception.
“Gonna carry me, Dallon?” He whines, drawing out the ‘a’ in my name, as I open the passenger side door.
“Um… up the hill and the porch stairs?” I chuckle, “We’d never make it, Bren.”
He murmurs something to the effect of ‘yeah’, looking more like a sad puppy, rather than a famous rockstar.
I help him out of the car, my arm snaking around his waist to support him as I attempt to shut the door with my foot. Apparently, he’s not going to make this easy for me as he immediately leans the majority of his weight against me. There is no use trying to encourage him to help support his weight because he really can't, so all I can do is laugh while I drag him towards the house.
I get it though… I have been through this level of exhaustion many times before and from experience, I know he is definitely not going to make it up the stairs on his own. We barely stumble into the house before he starts to slump out of my grip again, so I gently deposit him onto the nearest couch as I catch my breath. I miraculously manage to take his shoes off and cover him with the blanket before he turns over, not opening his eyes even once.
I really hope the neighbors don't call the cops thinking I've murdered him by the way I had to drag him from the car.
“Where ya goin’?” He asks, his voice soft and sedated.
My heart skips a beat, I love ‘Sleepy Brendon’, “I’m going to put a pizza in the oven, we’re going to eat, and then you can go to sleep until tomorrow, okay?”
“M’kay.” He mumbles. I smile, he’s so damn cute! He’s snoring again before I even leave the room.
It’s been a very long time since I have had to ‘take care’ of Brendon and even then, it was usually just the random drunken nights on tour or the occasional cold or flu. He usually takes pretty good care of his body, unlike me, which is why he is generally so overprotective.
It’s such an odd dynamic between us because he's been so determined to make everything “as easy” on me as possible, that I forget this is a two way street sometimes. I love being the one he can depend on when he needs something, he just doesn’t let me do it very often. As I have said before, he takes everything in his life to an extreme and being with me, taking care of me, is something he would go to the ends of the earth to do and no one will ever be able to convince him otherwise. I feel like right now is a perfect opportunity to really be able to reciprocate how he cares for me and I intend to do just that- if he cooperates that is.
I wake him right before the timer is set to beep on the oven. His hair is a mess, his eyelids still heavy with sleep, but he looks adorable anyways. He yawns, loud and obnoxious, stretching his arms high above his head, the both of us laughing at the noises his stiff joints make.
As we sit down at the breakfast bar to eat, he leans over and kisses me sweetly on the cheek.“Thank you for making dinner, babe.”
“It’s just pizza, Bren,” I laugh, “But, you’re welcome. Do you just want to go upstairs after we finish? We should probably get a decent night of sleep.”
“If you want to. I know you’re tired, but the million dollar question is… are you going to actually sleep, Dall?” He inquires- as he always does.
Sure, I would love to go to sleep at a decent hour; shit, I would love to go to sleep at all, but it’s not really up for debate tonight anyway. Lately, I just ignore the question or it will turn into a discussion about meds and I am so sick of those discussions. Instead, I attempt to pacify the situation by saying, “I can try?” or something to that effect. He’ll understand someday, today is not that day though. We don’t have to be at the studio until 10 tomorrow morning, so at least we can try to sleep as late as possible, maybe run some errands before we head in.
By the time we slowly finish our pizza, it’s nearly 8:30 and Brendon is starting to nod off again as I attempt to wash the dishes we used.
“Bren, let me help you upstairs so you don't kill yourself on them. I’ll come down and finish these before I come to bed.” I suggest. He nods slowly, his eyes are still barely open as I take his hand, guiding him step by step to our bedroom. It takes at least 10 minutes, but I finally get him to change into Pj’s, into bed, and covered so that I can finish cleaning up downstairs.
I kiss his cheek softly, “I’ll be back up in just a little bit, okay?”
“M’kay.” He mumbles from under the covers. I am sure he will already be asleep before I'm even back in the kitchen.
I finish washing and drying the few dishes that are left in the sink- just a cup, a few plates, and a measuring cup; we really haven’t been here at all this week. In my quest to tidy everything, I realize I have no idea where he keeps this damn measuring cup- or why it was even out in the first place. I begin opening the less used cabinets under the island until I find some other measuring cups and bowls that are similar. I decide to nestle it in there among the others; if he can’t find it, at least I know where I put it if he asks.
I stand back up from my crouched position, groaning at how tired and sore my body feels. I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the kinks when out of the corner of my eye, I realize that the drawer that I discovered Brendon was keeping my meds in, is literally next to my right hand.
My whole body suddenly freezes.
See, curiosity is a bitch of a thing to have, but so is anxiety and I momentarily let the former overrule the latter. I reach for the handle of the drawer, my fingers hesitantly lingering just above the polished stainless steel as I contemplate my next move.
Just go upstairs, Dallon.
I stand, shuffling backwards towards the sink leaning against the counter for support. I take a deep breath, it’s not that big of a deal. I have no reason to be in that drawer; he probably moved everything anyways, right?
Go the fuck upstairs and go to bed!
Go the fuck to bed, Dallon!
I try... but I can't talk myself out of it- I have to see what is in there. I take the few steps to the drawer, sliding it open before I talk myself out of it. I can see them right away; two plastic, orange pill bottles. It’s hard to tell if there are any other bottles in there without digging through the entire drawer for a closer inspection and that's not something I am interested in investigating right now.
The bottle closest to me reads “Klonopin”. The label on the other bottle isn’t facing up, but it looks like one of the meds I took about 6 months ago, so why he still has it is beyond me. Just glancing at the bottle of Klonopin, there has to be at least 90 or more pills in there. If I remember correctly, I was initially told to take them three times a day; I’ve only ever taken it maybe 3 or 4 times total, much to the annoyance of Brendon. I know I should take it because it quiets my brain, but it makes me feel as if I am a completely different person. Although, now that I think about it, maybe that’s the point in the first place?
I pick up the bottle of Klonopin, examining the tiny yellow pills, being careful not to make any noise. The last thing I need is for Brendon to wake up and catch me with a fucking pill bottle in my hand.
My heart starts to beat a little faster as I begin to grasp the implication of my situation. I haven’t had this many pills in my presence, let alone all at once in my hand, since the tour. When we were on tour and I needed to refill my prescriptions, I would have my therapist’s office call them into the closest pharmacy in whatever city our venue was in. That was the easiest solution for everyone involved. In the beginning, I would just make up an excuse that gave me alone time for 20 or so minutes so that no one knew I was on medication. Once Brendon found out, I would just let him know I was leaving and he would cover for me with Zack until I returned. The shit part of all of it was that my therapist would check with the pharmacy to make sure that I picked up my meds, so I had to at least keep up the appearance that I was being “compliant”. What B didn’t know at the time, was that I only took them for about 3 weeks into tour, he only saw me take them a few times. The rest of the tour, I hid them in a small, box-like opening inside the frame under the mattress in my bunk. In approximately four months, by the time we were finished touring, I had close to 500 pills between the various medications I was prescribed. I knew I wasn’t going to need nearly that many to accomplish my “goal”, but at the time, I didn’t really care what was left over, I only cared about the outcome. I don’t even know what happened to all of those pills. Now that I think of it, I never saw them again after that day. I assume the boys did the responsible thing and took them to be destroyed or gave them to my therapist...or something. I never thought to ask and I highly doubt they would tell me anyway.
Some people would say, that even the thought of suicide is selfish, but when you feel so utterly depressed and destroyed by your own mind, it can sometimes seem like the only option you have. The unspoken truth, to many of us with suicidal ideation and/or those of us who have attempted, is that some of us still feel like that from time to time or more often than not. We've mostly made peace with the fact that there isn't much we have been able to do about it, but we will always have our “Plan B”.
Everyone has a “Plan B".
Don't get me wrong, the meds and therapy- they can and do help a lot of people, but there has never been an exact formula to completely eradicate depression or suicidality from existence and the truth of the matter is that there probably never will be. The many, many meds that work for millions of people, don't work for the other millions of people and even though it's understandable, it's also super fucking frustrating. The matrix and chemistry of an individual person is so complex that it makes it nearly impossible to structure a treatment plan that works for everybody, let alone a majority. The worst thing about depression though, is that even when you think it’s finally gone, even if you’ve felt happy and amazing for years, one seemingly tiny, little thing can trigger the pull of your psyche back into the void of hopelessness, forcing you to start all over again attempting to climb back out from underneath it all.
It's fucking exhausting.
If you have ever attempted, people will tell you that they are happy that you are “alive”- “living”, essentially. I've never understood that though, because to me, feeling “alive” and “living” are two entirely different things and I'm not sure I will ever be able to feel both at the same time.
I glance through the doorway towards the stairs, making sure that Brendon isn’t lurking around a dark corner somewhere. I unscrew the white lid of the bottle quietly, carefully spilling half a dozen or so pills into the palm of my hand. They are so tiny that the few in my hand feel as if nothing is there, but the weight of their significance is hitting me all at once.
My hands began to shake at the thought of what I could do with this bottle of pills, what I wanted and planned to do the last time I had a large amount of pills at my disposal. I pour a few more into my hand, counting out at least a two dozen or better. Each pill now a tiny reminder of the night I failed to do what I thought would be the best option- for everyone. Even now, I am still not entirely convinced it’s not a terrible idea and that thought scares me more than I would ever admit out loud.
You couldn’t even do it right- you fucked everything up!
You failed, Dallon!
You fail at everything!
You even broke the promise to yourself!
You promised yourself you would end all the pain and you only made it worse!
You're fucking pathetic!
I start to feel sick to my stomach and I know a panic attack looming somewhere in the near future. My hands feel numb and I can feel my pulse beginning to race as I slide down the cabinets to sit on the cold tile floor. I just need to sit for a few minutes so I can breathe. Tears begin to well at the corners of my eyes, then slide down my warm cheeks. The really fucked up thing is that I don't even know if it's because I am scared to die or if I am scared of what it would do to Brendon if I did.
What the fuck is wrong with me!?
I have no idea where all these thoughts are coming from all of a sudden, but I did this to myself. I take another deep breath, screwing my eyes closed for a few seconds; it unfortunately doesn’t do anything to ease the tight springs of tension taught in my chest. I feel so fucking scared right now and what's worse is that I can't even tell anyone how I feel right now because they will tell B. When I open my eyes again, I realize I have been down here for at least 45 minutes; this is ridiculous.
Why the fuck am I even doing this?!
My hands are shaking as I carefully pour the tablets back into the bottle, closing the lid tightly. I try to place it back in the drawer as close to where they were positioned as I can, hopefully B won’t notice. I gently close the drawer, taking another deep breath before I reach for the countertop to help me stand, my legs are a little shaky, but I think I can make it up the stairs without a problem. I wipe my eyes with the towel next to the stove in the event that Brendon is awake when I get to the room.
As calmly as I can, I switch the kitchen light off, walk the expanse of our living room, and up the stairs to the bedroom. Thankfully, I can hear Brendon snoring as I open the door, carefully closing it behind me. I change my clothes quickly, sliding into bed next to B. My heart's still beating a mile a minute; I just need to be close to him right now. I shift my body so that my chest is at his back and I wrap my arm around his waist as if I am holding on for dear life. He stirs slightly and my heart sinks.
“Dall, what time is it?”
“Around 10.”
“Oh.” He mumbles, “You okay, baby?”
I snuggle even closer, laying my head on his pillow. I am practically lying on top of him, my arms clinging to him and my leg over top of his like some sort of lovesick octopus. “Yeah, just- I want to cuddle, is uh… is that okay?” I ask, breathing against his neck, my heart still beating out of my chest.
“Yeah, c’mere.” He laughs quietly, pulling my arm tighter around his middle. “Love you, Dall.”
I manage to say, “Love you, B.” without completely breaking down. Too many years on tour buses has taught me how to cry and panic as silently as possible. As terrible as it sounds, it's also a very necessary skill to possess when you are so close to 12 other people that you can practically hear their heartbeats while they sleep.
I spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying the scene in my head over and over again- me with a handful of pills sitting on the kitchen floor. I briefly consider telling Brendon about it, but he would flip his shit if he knew. I hate lying to him, but it's easier to just pretend that my fatigue was the result of another night of insomnia, he’s used to that at least.
I look at the clock and it’s 7am already. I have been in bed for the better part of 8 hours trying to find some sort of semblance of sleep. I give up any hope of that happening and decide to shower and get ready before he wakes up, that way he can take his time and have plenty of hot water.
He eventually wanders downstairs around 8:25, stretching his arms high above his head, yawning as he walks into the living room. Flopping down next to me on the couch, he winds his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. I kiss him on the cheek as he leans his head onto my shoulder.
“Did you sleep well, love?”
“Yeah, I feel much better than I did last night.” he says squinting at the clock above the TV. “Although, now it’s too late to do any errands before we head in. They weren’t too super important anyway.” he shrugs.
“Nope, they can wait.” I yawn, sympathetically.
“Did you sleep at all last night, Dall?”
“Not much. I'm okay though. I’ll probably sleep tonight.” I feel him nod against my shoulder.
“What time do we have to be at the studio?” He yawns again.
“Ten. You need to get showered and get something to eat so we can get there on time.”
“Fine.” He groans, rolling his eyes.
I laugh at him, “If you want Spencer to give us shit about why we are late, then by all means, take your time, Brendon.”
“No, no. I’ll go get ready.” He mutters with a pout as he sulks up the stairs.
***
The majority of the day has been relatively uneventful, but Brendon has been picking apart one fucking song for the last 3 hours and I desperately need a break. He decided he ‘didn’t like the last few bars of the chorus’ so he is diligently trying to rework it while Spencer is pacing back and forth in the control room. He gets nervous when Brendon starts to nitpick at songs, especially since we are so fucking close to the finish line. B has been known to scrap entire songs right before mastering, so it’s not unreasonable that Spence is as anxious as he is. I however, have absolutely nothing to do with this part of the song and I use the lull in the day to my advantage.
“Spence, I’m gonna go take a nap. If B ever decides to leave well enough alone, tell him to come get me so we can move on to the next song he'll hate today?”
Spencer stops in his tracks, takes a long deep breath which turns into an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll let him know.” He smirks.
Spencer has been down this road many, many times with Brendon, it’s going to be at least another hour at minimum, before Brendon decides if he is in over his head or not and at least 30 additional minutes before he decides to let anyone else know what he decides.
It's been about 20 minutes since I found my personal nirvana in the form of a quiet room and a semi-comfortable couch. If I can get a solid 30 minutes of sleep, I will be good for the rest of the day. I am just barely drifting off when I hear the door open slowly. Figuring it’s one of the boys also trying to find some peace and quiet, I don’t even flinch from my position on the couch, let alone open my eyes.
“Are you going to just nap all day? Is that what we’re paying you for?” A voice says, laughing softly. I know that voice, but it takes a second or two before my brain can register who it belongs to. I open my eyes, attempting to sit up quickly as they cross the room, wiping the sleep out of my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Mr. Wentz, Mr. Stumph, so happy you two could make it to the party!” I snicker, as Pete pulls me in for a quick hug. “What the hell are you doing in Vegas?”
“Oh, you know, we were just in the neighborhood- decided to drop by.” Pete shrugs nonchalantly, with a smartass, ‘Pete Wentz’ smirk etched on his face. Patrick rolls his eyes, playfully smacking him in the shoulder as he shakes his head.
“Shut up, Pete. Let me hug him too.” Patrick grins, gently shoving his boyfriend out of his way as I wrap my arms around him. He tightens his embrace for a few seconds before we part. He has always given the best, most comforting hugs.
“I love that you two are here, but seriously- what are you guys doing in Vegas? I thought you would be on tour by now.” I invite them to sit on the couch with me, vaguely holding my arm out in gesture. As they lower themselves onto the couch, I see the split second widening of Patrick’s eyes then he glances at Pete who seemingly ignores him. If I needed any definite confirmation that Patrick was fucking clueless to the goings on in the last year, the look of sheer panic on his face certainly solidifies it. I notice though, that for once, I don’t feel as anxious about someone seeing my scars. Maybe because it’s Patrick- I mean, he was the only other person that picked up on the severity of my depression back then. He's also one of the least judgemental people on the planet.
“Not until the beginning of September. We’re just doing some random press release shit until then. I talked to Spencer the other day. He said recording was going really well, so we figured we would fly out to see everyone since it’s been so damn long. We saw you through the window, so we figured we would bug you first.” Pete laughs.
Patrick, chewing his bottom lip almost anxiously, nods his head as if to agree, but he isn’t really paying attention- he’s thinking. I decide, momentarily, to pretend that the giant, incredibly fucked up elephant in the room doesn’t exist; I am sure we will talk about it when the time is right.
I shake my head. “Spencer and I must have completely different outlooks on the recording process.” I deadpan. Pete raises his thick eyebrows in question, “Oh my god, I’m kidding! I'm kidding!” I chuckle, “Actually, it really seems to finally be coming together. We just finished recording this fucking amazing song! I think it’s going to be a really cool album; very different from V&V, but I am starting to get really excited about it being finished.”
Pete smiles widely, “That’s awesome! I knew you guys would get back into a groove sooner or later. It’s hard being away from it for so long, but sometimes you need a break so you can step back and come at it with a fresh view. We’ve done that plenty of times.”
“Right? It’s been a really long year, but we really needed this to pull us out of our funk. Has Brendon sent you two any of the demos?”
Patrick shakes his head, “Uh, not yet; we’re excited to hear them though.” He looks really uncomfortable having this conversation. Normally, he would be so excited to talk music, but I feel like he is trying to figure out what to say, if anything, about my scars.
I decide to break the tension, “Come on, let’s go find Brendon, he is going to be thrilled that you are here!” I am trying very hard to sound excited, but those anxiety butterflies are back in my stomach. I have had the conversation about my attempt many, many times now, but I may just wait to see if Patrick brings it up. I doubt that is really fair to him, but he probably doesn’t know that Zack told B and I that he was concerned and that Zack basically ignored it and Pete has known this entire time. There are no formal instructions on how to have a conversation like that; it would be really fucking helpful if there were though, it would honestly make my life a hell of a lot easier right now. We’re walking quietly down the long, carpeted corridor when I can’t take it anymore and break the awkward silence. “So, no one knew you were flying out here?”
Patrick shakes his head, “You know Pete is all about the element of surprise and spontaneity!” he deadpans. Pete snorts at his words as I push open the door to the studio. Brendon is standing with his back to us in the booth, but I can see through the window that the door is open. He’s either had an epiphany with the track or he’s scrapped his changes and has admitted defeat; it’s hard to tell from here.
“Bren, babe,” I yell, “Some guys are here to see you!”
Without turning around, his shoulders hunch forward and he shakes his head, yelling back, “If it’s Bilvy and Gabe, tell them to go the fuck back home! I don’t have time for this shit today!”
Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but I am laughing so hard, I can barely breathe. He can be such a fucking dickhead when he wants to be; especially when he is stressed.
Patrick seems to be rather confused by what is going on, but Pete laughs fondly, answering Brendon for me, “Well, isn't that a fucking nice way to greet someone! Do I fucking look like a 6’4” Uruguayan asshole to you?!”
Through the window, we watch Brendon turn around slowly. His initial shocked expression fades quickly as he realizes who the voice belongs to. He barely makes it out of the booth without tripping over his own feet, a wide smile on his face.
“What the fuck?” Brendon laughs loudly, tossing his head back, “I had no idea you two were going to be here!” He throws his arms around Pete in a tight hug, laughing as they remove themselves from the embrace.
Patrick holds his arms out wide, readying himself for a hug, “Get the fuck over here and hug me, Urie!” Bren’s smile hasn’t left his face since he walked out of the booth. I love seeing him both surprised and happy, especially with how challenging the last few weeks have been.
“Where’s everyone else?” Pete asks, looking around as we wander over to the couches to sit.
“Spence is probably back there killing another dozen or so drumsticks and Kenny is definitely in there laughing at him- if I had to take a guess.” I smirk.
Brendon laughs along with me, “They are both back there somewhere. I’ll grab them in a second. What the hell are you two doing in Las Vegas and how did none of us know you were coming out here?”
Pete rolls his eyes playfully, “Christ, you both ask way too many questions!” He laughs, “We decided to come on a whim; to surprise everyone. We haven’t seen you guys in a while and we wanted to see how the album was going since Spencer said you guys were recording again. So, um, surprise!?”
Brendon smiles, “Well, no matter the circumstance, we are always happy to see you both.”
“Babe, babe! Play ‘Gospel’ for them!” I say enthusiastically, elbowing him in the ribs and apologizing when he winces.
“Dallon, sweetie,” he says calmly, “Find your chill, okay?” He pulls me into a side hug, the two of us giggling like idiots. We eventually find Spencer and Kenny in the back of the studio.
Patrick is the first to quietly walk into the room. Spencer’s faced away from the door so he takes the opportunity to continue the surprise of their arrival. “So,” he says, clearing his throat, “just how many sticks have you killed today, Spence?” Spencer freezes, abruptly dropping the two sticks he has in his hand, turning to laugh when he realizes who is asking.
“Only a dozen or so- today… that’s totally in the budget for the album, right?” He jokes. Patrick and he high-five before Pete attacks him with an enthusiastic hug as Patrick and Kenny step aside to chat, hug, and say hello.
It's a Decaydance thing- everyone has to hug everyone all the time. There is a fuckton of love among the bands on this label. It took me a long while to get used to it when I was new.
Spencer peers over Pete’s shoulder before they split, his eyes wide as he mouths to me, “Did you know they were coming?” I shrug my shoulders, shaking my head. Spencer rolls his eyes. As much as we all love Pete and Patrick, when they drop in during recording, it puts him on edge. It apparently always has. I've been told that when they were recording ‘Fever’ Spencer would worry himself to the point of being physically sick. Pete was legitimately worried if Spencer would even be able to finish the album, but somehow they managed. Over the years, it's gotten a lot better, but he still lets it get to him. It's a wonder he doesn't have an ulcer by now.
We all gather into the control room, waiting patiently as Brendon cues up the track, crossing his fingers as he backs away from the board to stand near Spencer and I. The first notes ring out and Brendon immediately looks to Pete, who is nothing but smiles. Patrick on the other hand is leaning against the wall, eyes closed while he intently listens, his fingers tapping against his leg in rhythm to the beat. He’s hard to read sometimes, but he isn’t cringing, so I guess that’s a plus. As the last notes play, Pete turns, crossing the room until he is standing in front of the four of us, expressionless. I know in the back of my head, as I am sure the others do, that he is just fucking with us, but it’s still nerve wracking as hell.
Brendon’s the first to crack in the silence, rolling his eyes, “Well?!”
“You are so damn impatient, Urie! Can’t a person add a little dramatic pause before their critique without you interrupting them?” Pete laughs, clapping his hand onto B’s shoulder.
Brendon doesn’t say anything, just sighs as he walks past Pete, standing instead in front of Patrick who smiles knowingly. “What did you think, Patrick?” Patrick smiles widely as Pete stomps over to where the three of them are now standing facing each other.
“Honestly?” He says, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his t-shirt, “I don’t even know why you are asking for our opinion, you obviously know it’s a fucking hit. That shit is going platinum and everyone in this room knows it.”
Brendon lets out a sigh of relief before promptly turning to stare at Pete. “See?! Now that’s all you had to say! For fucks sake!” Brendon yells playfully and everyone in the room starts to laugh, breaking the odd tension that had silently crept into the room. Pete is doubled over, attempting to catch his breath from laughing so much, but gains his composure quickly. He claps his hand on Brendon’s shoulder, “Ten years later and it is still so much fun to fuck with you, B.”
“So what you're really telling him, is that ten years later, you are still a giant prick?” Patrick laughs.
“I thought that was clearly implied.”
“Look, you could be Satan himself, but as long as you think the song is good, that’s all I care about.” I laugh.
Pete turns toward me with the most serious face I have ever seen him wear, “Dallon, it’s fucking amazing. I would never lie about something like that. This is going to be an amazing album.” My heart practically does somersaults in my chest. All of this is suddenly really overwhelming.
Patrick turns to address the rest of the guys. “It really is, guys. As amazing V & V was, this album is going to blow it out of the water, right out of the gate.”
“All we’ve ever wanted to do was make music we were proud of- that we believed in. When we started this album last year, it never felt as real as it does now. It's almost as if nothing we did before even mattered.” Spencer muses with a small chuckle, “Does that even make any sense?”
I nod my head, “I get it, Spence. I know exactly what you mean. I mean, never in a million years did I think that I- um, we would be standing here so close to finishing this album. It's so surreal.”
Brendon takes the opportunity to grab my hand, squeezing reassuringly; there is a lot of emotion in this room right now.
“Alright, alright, enough of this sentimental bullshit. Save it for the record release party.” Pete demands.
“Good lord! Ever the fucking “PR prince”...you really are a fucking prick, Pete!” Patrick says, swatting playfully at Pete’s shoulder.
“Yet, you’re the one that fucks me.” He shrugs.
Hearing that, everyone stops right where they are, completely nonplussed knowing how private Patrick tends to keep their sex life- their whole relationship, really.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD, PETE!” Patrick shouts, blushing furiously against his pale skin.
Pete’s smirk fades slowly and his eyes widen as he realizes he just crossed the line. “And that was too much information. I am so sorry, Trick. You’re right, I am a fucking prick.” Pete mumbles, nervously trying to lighten the mood.
Patrick glares at him, “Damn right you are! Lucky for you, there are too many witnesses in this room or I'd murder you…”
“We could always leave.” Spencer says quietly.
“I knew I liked you best.” Patrick laughs, “It's fine, I guess. At least it was just you guys and not a journalist or something.”
Pete looks visibly relieved. “So, you forgive me?”
“Not a chance, Mister!”
“I'll buy you something pretty?”
“You're ridiculous.”
Pete laughs, “Is that a yes?”
“Don't push your luck, Peter Lewis...” Patrick says, annoyed, but not exactly angry.
“Fair enough.” Pete grins. He turns facing the rest of us, “Hey, why don't we all go get something to eat and catch up later?”
“Sounds great!” Brendon laughs looking up at the clock. “We should only be a couple more hours. I just want to finish this song first.”
“Sounds like a plan. Just text us when you're ready, we're going to head over to the hotel for a bit.”
Brendon gives him a thumbs up as he walks back into the booth and I follow Pete and Patrick into the main hallway as they leave the studio and say my goodbyes, because I still have my heart set on taking a nap before we break for the day. I am almost to the door when my phone chimes. I groan, expecting it to be Bren asking me to come back to the studio. I was 100% wrong though, it's actually Patrick and I already know what it says, my heart skips a beat, but I read it anyway.
P: Can we talk later?
Yeah, of course.
P: Cool. See you at dinner.
See you then!
The thing about Patrick is that he is a sensitive soul, somewhat like I am. As soon as Patrick walked into that room, I could see his demeanor switch from chill and happy to concerned and upset. I have a feeling that this will be the hardest conversation yet.