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moondarri's birthday, may it be epic and wonderful <3 (and no, I don't know why the cut us being weird :|)
Pete/Patrick, AU and aimless
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Pete, in presence and Patrick's life in general, was abrupt. They met at some party Joe dragged Patrick to then disappeared into the crowd, house stuffed wall-to-wall with teens getting drunk for the first time and upperclassmen on the prowl.
Pete crashed into Patrick, hardly believable considering he'd picked the one corner of the house not occupied by horny teens making bad life choices or stacked with empty plastic cups reeking of beer, and apologized for like two seconds before bombarding him with questions he had no right to ask (Hey, weren't you dating her for like five weeks last year? What happened, she find your kinky porn stash or whatever?) and making fun of his shorts (Your mom bought them for your birthday, I know. She get you a boutonnière for your date too, Susie Q?) It's just the way Pete was, Patrick learned. He'd entered this weirdly intense psuedo friendship with this guy who turned up on his doorstep as a Chippendale dancer for Halloween, with no clue as to how it happened except for the thought that Pete may have been a wrecking ball in a past life.
Whether or not it bothered him was a completely different thing.
They have no television back in the apartment, so it's usually take out and the busted ghetto blaster Pete stuffed in his luggage. To account for the lack of space for clothes, Pete wore the same busted pair of jeans every day, anyway, and had three band shirts in rotation and four he hadn't yet touched. Patrick tooled around on his laptop with headphones in, twirling a forkful of chow mein in one hand. Pete flew into his side, elbow digging in, and stole on earbud so Patrick had half Morrissey, half Christina Aguilara blaring at him from the floor til Patrick made Pete turn it off. That was the way Pete's motion became stillness, and the two of them lived little lifetimes inside each song, yawning out before them.
A few weeks turned into a few more weeks, and on Thanksgiving Patrick called both their parents because he had more minutes left on his cell. He idly ate his turkey and cranberries sandwich while Pete chatters on with his mother, hoodie half open in the way that made Patrick think she'd reach through the reciever and fix it right up. He took it upon himself, balancing the affectionate gesture by shooting Pete his best I Am Annoyed With Your Disregard For Self Preservation look, the very same one he used whenever Pete decided to jump off a roof with a sun shade to ineffectually ease the fall. Pete smiled at something she said, but looked right at Patrick, soft, dark, and private.
He did actually figure out he was cold later, tracing the walkways in Central Park, and Patrick was tugged under the trees, under shifting leaves and holes in the canopies. Hands in Patrick's pockets, Pete's breath is a whisper at his temple, and hours pass between them unnoticed.
moondarri's birthday, may it be epic and wonderful <3 (and no, I don't know why the cut us being weird :|)Pete/Patrick, AU and aimless
( Read more... )
Pete, in presence and Patrick's life in general, was abrupt. They met at some party Joe dragged Patrick to then disappeared into the crowd, house stuffed wall-to-wall with teens getting drunk for the first time and upperclassmen on the prowl.
Pete crashed into Patrick, hardly believable considering he'd picked the one corner of the house not occupied by horny teens making bad life choices or stacked with empty plastic cups reeking of beer, and apologized for like two seconds before bombarding him with questions he had no right to ask (Hey, weren't you dating her for like five weeks last year? What happened, she find your kinky porn stash or whatever?) and making fun of his shorts (Your mom bought them for your birthday, I know. She get you a boutonnière for your date too, Susie Q?) It's just the way Pete was, Patrick learned. He'd entered this weirdly intense psuedo friendship with this guy who turned up on his doorstep as a Chippendale dancer for Halloween, with no clue as to how it happened except for the thought that Pete may have been a wrecking ball in a past life.
Whether or not it bothered him was a completely different thing.
They have no television back in the apartment, so it's usually take out and the busted ghetto blaster Pete stuffed in his luggage. To account for the lack of space for clothes, Pete wore the same busted pair of jeans every day, anyway, and had three band shirts in rotation and four he hadn't yet touched. Patrick tooled around on his laptop with headphones in, twirling a forkful of chow mein in one hand. Pete flew into his side, elbow digging in, and stole on earbud so Patrick had half Morrissey, half Christina Aguilara blaring at him from the floor til Patrick made Pete turn it off. That was the way Pete's motion became stillness, and the two of them lived little lifetimes inside each song, yawning out before them.
A few weeks turned into a few more weeks, and on Thanksgiving Patrick called both their parents because he had more minutes left on his cell. He idly ate his turkey and cranberries sandwich while Pete chatters on with his mother, hoodie half open in the way that made Patrick think she'd reach through the reciever and fix it right up. He took it upon himself, balancing the affectionate gesture by shooting Pete his best I Am Annoyed With Your Disregard For Self Preservation look, the very same one he used whenever Pete decided to jump off a roof with a sun shade to ineffectually ease the fall. Pete smiled at something she said, but looked right at Patrick, soft, dark, and private.
He did actually figure out he was cold later, tracing the walkways in Central Park, and Patrick was tugged under the trees, under shifting leaves and holes in the canopies. Hands in Patrick's pockets, Pete's breath is a whisper at his temple, and hours pass between them unnoticed.
relieved]
okay]
lethargic]
accomplished]
depressed]
discontent]
blah]
determined]
chipper]![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}