We Won't Regret This

John was going to lose his mind. He was tired, his throat was sore, and he hadn't slept in three days. But he didn't care. His sleepless nights were spent with Pat, rest didn't matter. The drummer was equally exhausted, but he didn't seem to mind the fatigue when John was with him.

Their days were spent driving, walking lines, running around venues, and performing in the endless heat. Their nights were entirely different. If they were on the road at night, they spent their time in the front lounge of the bus, talking quietly. If everyone else was asleep, John would slip into Pat's bunk, the feeling of each other's touch keeping them awake. John loved nothing more. It felt like every minute he held Pat close made him that much happier. He loved Pat's smell and his voice. He loved the way Pat's breathing stopped when John kissed him and the way his eyes seemed to get more and more beautiful every time he looked into them. John knew he was in too deep, but he didn't mind much. All that mattered was how his heart stopped when lips met lips, skin met skin. John was completely head-over-heels, and Pat didn't seem too far off; he craved nearly everything about John. When John kissed him, the world stopped. When John kissed him, he needed to remind himself to breathe. When John kissed him, he was happy and nothing could change that. They loved those nights.

The rare nights spent in hotels made all the difference. They were showered and fed, free of curtains and small, enclosed spaces. Sleep always seemed so inviting to John when he was in a bed. Yet, for Pat, it seemed the sight of a bed increased his hyperactivity. Pat was freshly showered for the first time in almost 10 days, jumping up and down on the still-made bed. Walking out of the bathroom, John laughed upon seeing his boyfriend's childish antics.

"How can you be this hyper?" John asked bewildered, "You've barely slept for the past four days."

Pat simply shrugged and jumped off their now-messy bed, "I'm gonna go see what Jared is doing while you shower, 'kay?"

"Sure," John nodded and gave Pat a quick peck before he walked back into the bathroom. Pat giggled and walked out of the room, skipping freely down the burgundy hallway. He turned a corner, skipping right into someone's chest. From the floor, Pat looked up, dazed, to see Jack Barakat towering above him.

'Hi, Pat," Jack greeted, obviously fighting a laugh, "here," he offered his hand out to the smaller boy. Pat clambered off the floor, grasping onto the guitar player's hand.

"Where are you headed?" Jack asked, still holding onto Pat's hand.

"I was gonna go see Jared," Pat explained, "what about you?"

"Goin' to party with Alex," Jack grinned, "you should come!"

Pat shrugged, "Why not? Jared's probably just watching a movie with Garrett or something, and I can't sit still that long. I'm gonna tell Jared to tell John where I am, okay?" Pat had begun pulling Jack down the hall towards his band mate's room without waiting for an answer. Jack just shrugged, smirking at him; Pat reminded Jack of himself sometimes. Pat began chattering away aimlessly, jumping down the hall much to Jack's amusement.

Pat's rambles were cut short by Jared, stepping out of his room, directly in front of their path.

"Jared!" Pat squealed, releasing Jack's hand to jump into his red-haired friend's arms. Chuckling, Jared smiled at the boy in his grasp, "Hey, Pat. I was just about to grab some ice from the machine down the hall," he gestured to a black bucket by his feet that he must've dropped to catch Pat, "wanna come?"

Pat climbed off of Jared and poked Jack's stomach, "Nope. Me and Jack-o here are gonna party!" he started jumping up and down, poking Jack some more.

"Sweet," Jared chuckled, "Gary and I are just gonna chill tonight, he's got 'Dawn of the Dead'."

Pat stuck out his tongue, "Gross, zombies."

Laughing again, Jared asked, "Where's John? You two are usually glued hip-to-hip."

Pat's eyes noticeably lit up at the mention of the singer's name, his smile growing wider. "He was showering. Can you call him later and tell him I'll be across the parking lot with Jack?"

Jared nodded in response and the dark-haired-duo said their goodbyes and made their way down the hall.

"You're being awfully quiet," Jack noted after a couple seconds of silence, "what's up?"

Pat had this small smile on his face, his mind obviously turning, "Just thinking about stuff."

Jack cocked his head and glanced at the younger boy, "Are you dating John?"

Pat stopped walking and nearly began to choke, "W-what?"

Pat's reaction didn't even alter Jack's straightforwardness, "Well, you guys seem really close, but not like in a 'best friends' kinda way. Like, your eyes light up when someone brings up his name and you got all dreamy-looking when Jared asked you about him. I dunno, you talk about him a lot, too."

"I do?" Pat laughed weakly, "That's crazy. We're just good pals."

Jack shrugged, dropping the matter and held the door open for Pat to exit the building. The lights in the parking lot were dim, casting dark shadows across the faces of the two boys. They headed across the lot, towards a small club. Pat tried to read the sign, but the supposed-florescent sign was unlit. The two musicians entered the bass-thumping, smoke-filled building, instantly separated in the small, sweaty crowd. The moment Pat was alone, he missed John. He wandered the club aimlessly, hopelessly searching for a familiar face.

"Pat!" he heard someone call his name and he turned, spotting Kennedy and Vito waving frantically in his direction.

"Hey guys!" Pat greeted, settling onto Kenny's lap, "how's it goin'?"

"We're drunk," Vito informed him cheerfully. Pat spent a while laughing at his friend's drunken antics, until he got restless and spotted Jack grinding on Alex nearby. He walked over to the two All TIme Low band mates, giggling. "Patty Cakes!" Jack roared happily, pulling the drummer into a bone-crushing hug, "Dance with me!"

Alex pouted as Jack's attention was averted from him, but all traces of sadness left his features when he spotted an unsuspecting Rian walk by. Pat's eyes widened and he shook his head furiously, "I don't dance."

"Please?" Jack begged, his thin frame swaying as his alcohol-laden breath wafted towards Pat's senses.

"You're turning green," Pat warned, crinkling his nose, "if you're gonna puke, you better do it outside." He dragged the older boy out of the sweltering building, despite his protests and propped him crookedly against the brick wall.

The night air was somewhat cool, and Pat thanked the breeze silently as he sucked the fresh air into his lungs.

"Pat," Jack whined, "I'm fine!" I wanna dance," he huffed, stomping his Nike-clad foot. The drummer raised an eyebrow, somewhat amused, "You're sooo drunk."

Jack giggled, pulling Pat closer to him for much-needed balance. "Can we please, please go back in?" Jack asked, swaying before clutching Pat's shoulder.

"Just rest a little while, Jack-o. What if you get sick?"

"Could I persuade you to let me go in now?" Jack asked, his eyes drooping slightly.

"No, Jack, you still look really nauseous. I really don't thin--" his impatient words were cut off instantly when Jack slammed their lips together. Squirming, Pat tried his best to push the drunken, older boy off. He squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance, attempting to pull away but was blocked by the wall.

"Pat?"

The voice had come from deeper into the parking lot, weak and broken. Not realizing Jack was pulling away, Pat shoved the guitarist as hard as he could, sending him to the rough concrete before he puked everywhere.

Pat looked up wide-eyed at a near-speechless John O'Callaghan.