fakebrain: (two verses)
[personal profile] fakebrain
Urgent Letters (400+ words)
Author: [profile] sharon_hate
Rated: G
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
 
Summary:
It’s a brief conversation between Patrick and Anna over coffee.
Mostly gen, mostly a break-up. Drabbleish.
 
 
 
"Urgent Letters"


“I don’t even see you anymore,” she admits, her mouth twisted, but her eyes seem soft and sympathetic. It doesn’t surprise Patrick as much as he thinks it should. “I don’t know where you are half the time.”
 
“*I* don’t know where I am half the time,” Patrick sighs, the stress between his eyebrows growing heavier.
 
“It’s not a tour-thing. It’s a, I don’t know. It’s like your catching it, that detached melodrama always dripping off him.” When she speaks, she leans in and pronounces all her words very carefully and precisely, the same way writers do. Her eyelashes flutter when she struggles for a particular phrase and the smile she usually wears is turned almost into a sneer.
 
Patrick used to find it endearing how dedicated she is to expressing herself.
 
But the casual irritation she sports dies into concern. Anna bites her lower lip and quirks a finely shaped eyebrow at him, “Is this how it’s going to be with you now? Is he finally getting to you?” He doesn’t respond, just continues to idly stir the spoon in the small cup, his eyes refusing to meet hers for several reasons he’d rather not say.
 
Anna stares hard the silver utensil slowly swirling in the creamed coffee before she starts again. “That’s always been his goal. I don’t know if you knew, but it was. I saw it the day I met him. He’s trying to drag you down with him, like drowning people do.”
 
“Stop it. Don’t say that,” he shakes his head, letting go of the spoon and it clinks against the porcelain of the cup. In an attempt to keep his fingers busy, he balls his fists and pushes them far into his pockets; there aren’t any strings available for him to pluck, or knobs of car radios for him to turn.
 
Her thin, feminine lips are tight, like her eyes. “Well, it’s true.”

The next day, when they’ve all returned to the bus, he tells them simply, “She made me choose between her and the band.” It’s better than elaborating, better than telling them about how she thought Pete would be his death and all the bad omens she saw in her tea.
 
Pete kisses his temple softly that night, after cautiously climbing into the bunk, careful not to jostle the laptop set at the foot of the space. That’s when he decides that really is the ultimatum she gave him.


**
Something I've had lying around for a while. I like exploring charcters like that, the (ex)girlfriends. I think I might write an Ashlee one next. Please, don't throw things at me.

Got a few things I'm working on. A funny Gabe/Patrick being one of them.
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J. Gomez

May 2009

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