Work Text:
Lately, things had been dull. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the feeling that he was caught in a bubble he couldn’t see through or, even more so, leave, and as though untaken chances bounced back from this unwanted ball of isolation.
He sat on his bed (once again), listening to music on his mp3-player. He knew that he only helped the bubble to stay where it was around him, but he also didn’t really feel like doing anything else.
He also had emails and text messages to reply to but he had been procrastinating doing that for weeks now and by the time almost an entire month had passed, forgotten about them.
He let himself slide down the bed, back now pressed against the mattress, his feet dangling in the air over the edge of it.
He was so deep in thought – and, most concerning as Joe would tell him when he had seen Pete in this state the last times some... months ago, in “non-thought”...
... he almost missed the doorbell. He unwillingly dragged himself to the door and pulled it open – slowly, hesitantly, unsure of whom to expect at 4 pm.
It was Patrick. Hair incredibly blond and short, smiling and back from tour.
“Pete, I’m home!” Patrick exclaimed, pulling Pete into a deep hug.
The bubble burst.