You can't exactly be a singer of a growing successful band if you have such terrible stage fright that you pass out in front of your crowds.
Pete doesn't want to kick Patrick out of the band, none of them want to kick Patrick out of the band. But if...
Patrick looked up from his book. "Do I wear hats? Should I be wearing a hat?" He gestured to the photo frames on the wall behind him. "I'm wearing a hat in every photo."
"Well, I mean, you don't have to do anything you don't want to..." Pete walked over, kicking stuff out of the way, and sitting down on the other side of the bed. "You used to really like hats."
"Used to." Patrick stated, letting the words roll off his tongue. "I don't really know who I used to be... or who I'm meant to be... it's weird. Like... there's just these big empty chunks and I don't know how to fill them. I can look at you, and I know that you're Pete, and you're my best friend, but, well, I don't know how we met, and I don't know all the things that we've done together, and I don't remember coming to live with you even though you keep telling me that I did, and then I don't know my home address either, but I do know yours. Is that weird? I don't know." Patrick went silent for a second, before sighing. "I don't know anything anymore."
Pete was staring at his friend, computing what he'd just said. It was probably the most intelligent and thought-out thing he'd said since waking up. "'Trick, it really doesn't matter what you do and don't remember. You're still you, you don't have to pretend to be the 'old you' or whatever. It really doesn't matter at all. Me and the guys and the label and stuff, we just want you to be you. The right-now you. And look, I don't know what memories you're gonna get back and stuff, but it honestly doesn't matter. We're gonna make new memories together."
"Does it make you sad that I don't remember things?" Patrick asked, looking up at his friend with a solemn expression.
Oh boy, now that was a big question. Pete took a second to think before responding. "I'm not sad because you can't remember things, I'm sad because you're hurt pretty bad and I can't really help you."
"But you're my best friend, right?" Patrick asked, and Pete nodded. "Then that means that you liked the old version of me, before I went splat and stuff. So now that I don't really know who that was, it means that that person is gone and that means that you don't have your best friend any longer... so wouldn't that make you sad?"
"Shit, Patrick, I... I don't know how to respond to that."
"It's okay if you are." He murmured. "Sad, I mean. I'd be sad if you were gone. I mean, I don't know a whole lot about you right now, but if old me was best friends with you then you weren't half bad. And you've stayed with me a whole lot in the hospital and you're patient and when I don't remember something you don't get mad, and... yeah. So you must be a nice guy, and I think the new me likes you as much as the old me did."
That got Pete all choked up, and he put his arm around his friend, puling him close. "I like you too, Patrick. Always. Whether it's the old you or the new you, I don't care. You're the best damn friend I've ever had."
"Awww." Patrick smiled and rested his head on Pete's shoulder. "That's nice of you to say."
Pete couldn't help but smile. "Hey, so I've invited the guys over for dinner to have a chat and then we're gonna have a bit of a jam session downstairs. So does that sound alright? I know you only know a little about Andy, and you don't remember Joe, but it'll be good to get to know them again."
Patrick wrinkled his nose up. "But they'll just think I'm rude because I don't know anything."
"'Trick, they all understand what happened. They don't think you're being rude."
"Why do you call me that?" Patrick asked suddenly. "I know my name is Patrick and stuff, but wouldn't that be shortened to Pat?"
"Um... well... your Mom used to be called Pat by all her friends and stuff so you didn't like being called Pat because it made you think that people were talking to your Mom. So we call you 'Trick instead."
"Oh, that makes sense..." He paused a second. "So Pat is my Mom's name. Okay..."
"Yeah...." Pete rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand, realising that was information that they were waiting for Patrick to come up with on his own.
"One more question... um, when everyone gets here, how am I meant to know which one is Joe?"
"Well, there'll only be the four of us there, and you know yourself, and Andy, and me, so the only one that you don't know will be Joe."
"That makes sense..."
"Yeah. Hey, how about we clean this room up while we wait for everyone else to get here?" Pete slowly stood up and started gathering the clothes off the floor. "It might be a bit easier for you to get around if there's nothing on the floor."
"Yeah..." Patrick laughed awkwardly. "I, I was trying to piece together a few more things about the room and all my stuff, like learn a little more about myself... and I wasn't really thinking about how I was gonna clean it up."
"That's okay, just, like, next time, come ask me and I'll help you go through stuff so it doesn't end up like this."
Patrick nodded. The two got to work, with Patrick folding the clothes on the bed, and Pete putting the folded clothes back into their drawers and sorting out everything else. By the time they were done, the room looked suitable again, and dinner was nearly done. Pete handed Patrick his crutches and helped him up, before they both went to the kitchen to set up for the dinner party.
By god, Pete was happy that his best friend was home.
Fun fact: I drew this chapter and it turned out super cute so here you go:
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