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Boys of Summer

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"Pete, come on, you have to pick up sometime. I know your phone's on... Please Peter, just let me explain. I didn't mean for it to happen, I just want t-" And that's where the voice mail cut him off and told him to press 7 for more options.

Patrick let out a frustrated sigh, hit 'end', and flipped the phone closed before tossing it to the bed he let himself fall backwards onto. He hated this; this silent treatment. Not returning his phone calls, not answering the door when he went over to his house, not even acknowledging his existence when they were (forced to, in Pete's case) together. Not that Pete had willingly come within 20 feet of him in the past two weeks. He'd fucked up, big time. This, he thought, should be on one of those PSAs about all the terrible things alcohal can lead to. Impaired judgment, horrible auto accidents, drunkenly kissing a stranger while your boyfriend is in the bathroom of a crummy bar...god; he'd done it this time. He knew there was a reason he never drank.

It's not like he'd even wanted to kiss this guy, it just sort of...happened. It was after the last show of Warped. After all the scene kids and teeny boppers at the meet-and-greet, they'd gone out with a few of the older fans who'd persuaded them that "you're only here sfor tonight; you might as well enjoy it." The night had started out great; catching up with these kids they hadn’t seen in age and just generally having a good time over a few drink. One beer led to another, Pete excused himself from talk of fashion and the latest tour stories to go pee. While he was gone, a not so unattractive guy came up and decided to make real friendly like with Patrick. Patrick, having had, for the first time in a long time, one too many, wasn't able to put up much of a fight when this intriguing stranger brushed his bangs out of his eyes and attached his lips to his. They stayed like that for a few seconds while Patrick's body caught up to his brain and he pushed the boy away. "No, I can't do this. I'm sorry, but I've got a-" he cut himself short as he saw Pete standing across from them in the bathroom doorway. Patrick's heart shot down to his feet. Pete just stood there like someone'd just run over his puppy. He couldn't get that look of hurt on his face out of his head. Needles to say Pete and run out of the bar and Patrick hadn't talked to him since.

Now he lay staring at the Smiths poster on the ceiling of his bedroom wondering how the hell he was going to fix this. He was running out of options fast. There were only so many more voicemails he could leave before Pete flat out blocked his number. God...he was so stupid. He’d done nothing but go over the ‘what-ifs’ in his head for the past 13 day (nine hours, twenty-three minutes…). He should have pushed that guy away before he could even sit down. Now he was paying the ultimate price for one meaningless kiss, the love of his life wouldn't even give him the time of day. He had to fix this, and soon. So he laid there for what seemed like all night trying to think of some way he could make up for this. Hell, to even get Pete to look at him. And he started forming a plan. A cheesy, cliché plan, but who was full of more cliché romanticisms than Pete? Patrick jumped into his shoes and jacket, grabbed his portable stereo and an old cassette tape and took off for Pete's house. This was his last shot; if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what would.


xxxx

At exactly 3:42 AM Saturday morning, Peter was awoken by a bad Don Henley recording. Somewhere between "What the fuck?" and "I wasn't aware it was still 1984", he scrapped himself out of the bed and to the window across his bedroom. After arriving at it, he raised the blinds and found a very determined, very hatless Patrick standing in his front yard with a blaring boom box held over his head. It took Pete's brain a few moments to register this sight, all the while the stereo belted out the song the Patrick felt summed up everything Pete wouldn't let him say.

Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer's out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I'm drivin' by your house
Though I know you're not at home

But I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin' in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone


His mouth hung open a bit, all previous anger towards the boy who stood out in his yard on hold for the time being as he opened the window. Patrick took this as a good sign, cut Don off mid-second chorus and approached Peter. He had a sort of appearance very much like a princess in a castle tower waiting to be rescued, but Patrick figured Pete was pissed at him enough without him telling him he looked like a girl.

They stood silent, just looking at each other for a few minutes, Pete with his perfect hair unstraightened as askew from sleep, Patrick beginning to become very aware he's left his hat on the back of the chair.

"Patrick, I don't-"

"No Pete, just...god, just hear me out, okay? I know I screwed up. I know I can't take back what happened, and that I'm a terrible person for letting it happen, but I miss you. You're like drugs, Pete; the longer I go without you, the more it hurts. You can never understand how sorry I am. There was nothing between that guy and me. No faceless stranger in a bar could ever mean more to me than you do," He hesitated, "You're everything to me. I-I love you." It was the first time he'd uttered these words out loud, and their power was apparent as Pete's eye softened. He waited a moment for the air to settle before he spoke.

"You hurt me, Tricky."

"I know, Panda, and I'm so fucking sorry," he took Pete's hands, which were resting on the window sill and laced their fingers together. Pete nudged him closer and rested his forehead against Patrick's. Their breathe mingled together in the summer air, "You can come in, you know,” he muttered, “I'm sure the neighbors are wishing you had cancer right now."  Patrick grinned a little and nodded against Pete’s forehead and pulled himself through the small window, settling himself on Pete's bed. Pete closed the window and blinds before joining Patrick. He lay down, pulling Patrick down with him, who immediately wrapped his arms around him, Sighed and kissed his neck before resting his head in the crook, "I missed you, too," a kiss to his jaw.
Patrick leaned his head against Pete's, the sleep he hadn't gotten the past two weeks taking this time to decide it was a good time to make a come back. They laid there for a while on the edge of sleep and reality before Pete whispered his name, "Trick?"  

"Mmhmm..?"

"Did...did you mean what you said? All of it?"

"Every word, Panda Bear. Why?"

Pete shifted upwards so he could look at Patrick through the thick rimmed glasses still on his face, and kissed him softly on the lips; Patrick returning it every bit and then some, "Because…I think I love you too."
One-shot/PetexPatrick (Fall Out Boy)

If you stalk me, this is that thing I posted in my journal last night. Only I edited it a bit and ran spell check.
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