Cola and Cough Syrup

Title:Cola and Cough Syrup
Author:secularsaint::Katie
Rating: PG...maybe
Summary: Patrick's thoughts on Peter and a couple of other things.
Disclaimer: My brain supplies the ideas, my fingers type them. I don't own these boys.
Author Notes: I hope this makes sense. I'm not sure about it. I'm dedicating this to mandlebars. Because...I was commenting her back when I started getting into the weird mood that let me write this. Also, I'm aware of the run-ons. It's just how it's supposed to be read. Un-beta'd.


You're in one of those moods that I can't quite understand but makes my stomach squiggly trying to. Maybe it's rubbing off on me, but not really, 'cause you're getting it right and I'm all wrong, but that's how it's supposed to be because maybe I'd kill myself if I was better at them. You're making me feel linear again.

Thinking's getting hard in here 'cause your ideas are taking up so much space I can't see my own. These days are singing so softly I can barely hear them anymore.

I want to scream at you to make you realize you're loving quarter whores and I'll always be here for you but I can't do that 'cause it's just not supposed to be that way. I can't find the right words to think and I'd ask you but somehow that doesn't seem like the right thing to do. If I were you I'd write a song about this. But I'm giving you rhythms, not my heart.

If I were you I'd curse at the world and do what I want to, but I'm not. I'm sticking in my bubble (gum world) because it's comforting and the only thing I have right now. I give you nothing but me and you give me everything but you.

I'm thinking I could give you a run for y(our) money in the word department right now, but probably not. My words get jumbled in my mouth and never come out right. This extended metaphor gets old too quick.

The taste you leave in my mouth is something like cola and cough syrup, sticky sweet and vaguely childish. Always somehow comforting though. I'm walking through this town trying (not) to think of you.

Sitting on this grass brings back good memories turned bad of you. Good because I was with you, bad because I never told you what I wanted to. I want to climb trees or sit on a roof when I think of you. But I'm afraid of heights and maybe that's my whole problem.

You're this massive (5 foot, nothing) staircase that leaves me trembling at the bottom, to cowardly to take the initial plunge (step?).

Maybe it'd be easier after that first try, but maybe it'd be catastrophically horrible. I'm pretty intensely miserable without you.

This leaves me nostalgic for summer. For hot cola and only kinda bad music. I feel only penultimate in this haze, maybe even not that. I need to start making sense. Why is it so hot in April?

I realize too slowly that there's noise behind me but it's okay, 'cause it's only you and now you're sitting and staring at me. I wanna say everything I've been thinking but the only think that comes out is, Hey.

You're smiling that big white-toothed smile that makes my stomach want to do somersaults, and humming something so off-tune it makes my ears hurt. The only thing I can think of is sexual and involves someone getting pinned to the ground and maybe some hardcore licking. But I can't believe I just thought that and I'm scrunching up my nose trying to get the details out of my head before something embarrassing happens. You're laughing like you can read minds and it's freaking me out because I've had reason to suspect you posses that ability. I like the way your eyes scrunch up when you laugh. It's a real laugh too, throaty and with your head thrown back, not a camera laugh. (I can picture you doing other things with your head thrown back.) Sometimes I wanna kill the voice in my head.

I'm sitting with my legs splayed playing piano bits on the grass and you're laying on your back, counting stars. I kinda want to interrupt this silence but I know I can't and I'll have to wait for you to say something. However, the silence is better than (then?) your humming. I'll ask you later about that, but not now. I just doesn't feel right.

But then something clicks with this moment and I'm breaking my own rules. "Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you"

"I know."

I look at you and you look at me and now I'm pinned to the sweet smelling grass and you taste like cherry coke and this moment has got to be some kind of perfect.