Style Doesn't Matter When You're On Your Knees [9]
Title: Style Doesn't Matter When You're On Your Knees/Corduroy Boy
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There was no point in denying it now.
A/N: long time, no update.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
Walking down those steps felt like the most strenuous and never-ending journey you had ever been on. You were deep in thought; which was reasonable pending the more than awkward events of the night. You were feeling cocky; a personality flaw which had held you back from many things in your life. You always replaced discomfort with arrogance. Things were just easier that way.
In this state of mind, you were able to leave all the tears and heartache in that carefully folded napkin, living in your back pocket. Now you were left to face, yet again, the unknown being the thoughts in that simple, but oh so complex boy’s threshold of a mind.
With the departure of your foot from the last step, also went a bit of that pride. Every step toward that dining room got heavier and heavier until you found yourself staring blankly at a wall keeping you from two moms and a mystery. You had always acted upon spontaneity, so you weren’t about to spend ten minutes planning out a well-crafted speech. You had a lot of practice in being Pete; smart mouthed egotistical Pete, that is. With an incline of the shoulders and lift of the chin, you walked straight into the dinner conversation consisting of attractive pool guys and nail salon drama, to make an announcement; loud and clear.
“Ummmm, yeah mom. I don’t feel so well, can I walk over to the corner store to get some medicine and go to sleep?”
Ok, so maybe that wasn’t the bold, electric statement you had worked up yourself to make, but nonetheless effective.
“Sure hunny. Feel better, I’ll see you back at home.”
Your mother didn’t even look at you while giving you permission, as she was too caught up in conversation with her new found gossip source.
Patrick’s mother wouldn’t let you off the hook that easy.
“Peter, won’t you at least let Patrick walk you there? You can’t be walking the streets alone at night, especially being sick. While you’re at it, Patrick dear; bring Peter up to your room and lend him another jacket. He’ll catch pneumonia in that thin little shirt.”
You closed your eyes and prayed for a negative response out of Patrick’s mouth, but knew exactly what he would say.
“Sure mom.”
Patrick stood up, nonchalantly; grabbed your arm and led you up the stairs for the third time this twisted night. You allowed him to drag you all the way up to the door of your, or his room. You really needed to stop thinking about it this way; that room in your possession was all in the past, never to return.
“Sit Pete, let me find you something to wear.”
You sat down into the imprint he had made earlier; the one made when you had been frantically concealed in the closet. You didn’t want to look up at the walls, in fear of bringing up a much longed for nostalgia that no longer belonged to you. Unfortunately, this crazy boy wasn’t burger king, and having it your way was something he was proving he knew nothing about.
“So what do you think?”
“What?” his question caught you off guard, being that you were focusing so hard at grains on the floor, avoiding a fate you knew you were destined to run into.
“What do you think… of my room?”
“Oh it’s cool, I guess,” you managed to mutter, as you looked up to be greeted by that all too familiar handwriting.
“Since we moved in, I haven’t been able to tear myself away from these walls, and these words. They are just incredible,” he turned back from the closet just long enough to respond wide-eyed and amused.
“Yeah, they’re ok.” Short and to the point.
“Are you kidding! Did you even read them? Did you even TRY to interpret them?” he sounded almost, offended.
“More than you know.”
After that last statement you cupped your hand over your mouth; big mistake.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, can we just go? I don’t want to be late for the bonfire.” You weren’t even sure what you were talking about.
“What bonfire?” Patrick look genuinely confused, as he pulled a brown, plush jacket, with fur on the hood out of the closet.
“Well as if you haven’t noticed, I’m not actually sick. But I am actually in the mood to get the fuck out of here. How bout you?”
“Uhhh, ok. I g-g-guess.”
“Whatever, I’m leaving. Come or don’t,” you announced. As you started to walk out the door you could hear a faint cry from the innocent aggravating boy.
“Wait! Don’t forget the jacket.”
You reached out your arm, but before handing over your source of warmth for the night, he reached up past your cheek and behind your ear, pulling out a piece of light brown fur. It took you a minute to register that the fuzz resting in his hand matched that of the fur lining the hood of the jacket in his arms. Before you even had a chance to have a full blow mental freak out, in fear of being exposed, you looked into those magnificent eyes.
“Hmmm,” and he just smiled.
He walked right past you, and out through the door frame first; leaving you to vacantly stare at that teal notebook carefully tucked inside the back pocket of those mind haunting, corduroy pants. You felt them brush up against your leg; a feeling that would stick to you, all the way down the stairs and most of the walk to Joe’s house.
This boy was stuck on more than just your tight, personal fashion statement.
There was no point in denying it now.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There was no point in denying it now.
A/N: long time, no update.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
Walking down those steps felt like the most strenuous and never-ending journey you had ever been on. You were deep in thought; which was reasonable pending the more than awkward events of the night. You were feeling cocky; a personality flaw which had held you back from many things in your life. You always replaced discomfort with arrogance. Things were just easier that way.
In this state of mind, you were able to leave all the tears and heartache in that carefully folded napkin, living in your back pocket. Now you were left to face, yet again, the unknown being the thoughts in that simple, but oh so complex boy’s threshold of a mind.
With the departure of your foot from the last step, also went a bit of that pride. Every step toward that dining room got heavier and heavier until you found yourself staring blankly at a wall keeping you from two moms and a mystery. You had always acted upon spontaneity, so you weren’t about to spend ten minutes planning out a well-crafted speech. You had a lot of practice in being Pete; smart mouthed egotistical Pete, that is. With an incline of the shoulders and lift of the chin, you walked straight into the dinner conversation consisting of attractive pool guys and nail salon drama, to make an announcement; loud and clear.
“Ummmm, yeah mom. I don’t feel so well, can I walk over to the corner store to get some medicine and go to sleep?”
Ok, so maybe that wasn’t the bold, electric statement you had worked up yourself to make, but nonetheless effective.
“Sure hunny. Feel better, I’ll see you back at home.”
Your mother didn’t even look at you while giving you permission, as she was too caught up in conversation with her new found gossip source.
Patrick’s mother wouldn’t let you off the hook that easy.
“Peter, won’t you at least let Patrick walk you there? You can’t be walking the streets alone at night, especially being sick. While you’re at it, Patrick dear; bring Peter up to your room and lend him another jacket. He’ll catch pneumonia in that thin little shirt.”
You closed your eyes and prayed for a negative response out of Patrick’s mouth, but knew exactly what he would say.
“Sure mom.”
Patrick stood up, nonchalantly; grabbed your arm and led you up the stairs for the third time this twisted night. You allowed him to drag you all the way up to the door of your, or his room. You really needed to stop thinking about it this way; that room in your possession was all in the past, never to return.
“Sit Pete, let me find you something to wear.”
You sat down into the imprint he had made earlier; the one made when you had been frantically concealed in the closet. You didn’t want to look up at the walls, in fear of bringing up a much longed for nostalgia that no longer belonged to you. Unfortunately, this crazy boy wasn’t burger king, and having it your way was something he was proving he knew nothing about.
“So what do you think?”
“What?” his question caught you off guard, being that you were focusing so hard at grains on the floor, avoiding a fate you knew you were destined to run into.
“What do you think… of my room?”
“Oh it’s cool, I guess,” you managed to mutter, as you looked up to be greeted by that all too familiar handwriting.
“Since we moved in, I haven’t been able to tear myself away from these walls, and these words. They are just incredible,” he turned back from the closet just long enough to respond wide-eyed and amused.
“Yeah, they’re ok.” Short and to the point.
“Are you kidding! Did you even read them? Did you even TRY to interpret them?” he sounded almost, offended.
“More than you know.”
After that last statement you cupped your hand over your mouth; big mistake.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, can we just go? I don’t want to be late for the bonfire.” You weren’t even sure what you were talking about.
“What bonfire?” Patrick look genuinely confused, as he pulled a brown, plush jacket, with fur on the hood out of the closet.
“Well as if you haven’t noticed, I’m not actually sick. But I am actually in the mood to get the fuck out of here. How bout you?”
“Uhhh, ok. I g-g-guess.”
“Whatever, I’m leaving. Come or don’t,” you announced. As you started to walk out the door you could hear a faint cry from the innocent aggravating boy.
“Wait! Don’t forget the jacket.”
You reached out your arm, but before handing over your source of warmth for the night, he reached up past your cheek and behind your ear, pulling out a piece of light brown fur. It took you a minute to register that the fuzz resting in his hand matched that of the fur lining the hood of the jacket in his arms. Before you even had a chance to have a full blow mental freak out, in fear of being exposed, you looked into those magnificent eyes.
“Hmmm,” and he just smiled.
He walked right past you, and out through the door frame first; leaving you to vacantly stare at that teal notebook carefully tucked inside the back pocket of those mind haunting, corduroy pants. You felt them brush up against your leg; a feeling that would stick to you, all the way down the stairs and most of the walk to Joe’s house.
This boy was stuck on more than just your tight, personal fashion statement.
There was no point in denying it now.