Jumper [one-shot]
Title: Jumper
Author:
therentmatrix
Rating: PG13-ish
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
POV: 3rd, but very Patrick-centric
Summary: One day, Patrick comes home from school and Pete’s sitting on the roof of his garage. That’s how the whole thing starts.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It never happened. Title may or may not be a song by Third Eye Blind (and by that I mean it is).
Author’s Note: This comes from not enough sleep, Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah, and a deep love for unstable!Pete and wise-beyond-his-years-but-still-really-i
Word count: 4628 (the longest one-shot I've ever written)
x-posted in a few places.
Dedicated to my betas,lucentvictrola (for yelling at me over and over and over and over again about calling Pete “panda”) and xiaoisms (for encouraging me and being all awesome likewoah!), and also to psychodragon82 (for being my first real person-I-don’t-know-IRL friend on lj).
One day, Patrick comes home from school and Pete’s sitting on the roof of his garage. He almost doesn’t notice, except Pete’s got a bag of popcorn and is throwing pieces onto the driveway for birds to peck at. Patrick wanders over and looks up at him, and Pete smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What are you doing on my roof?”
“I was gonna jump off, but I figured I should wait until you got home so you could talk me out of it.”
“What?!” Patrick almost shouts, dropping his backpack.
“I was going to jump off of your roof. Like, to kill myself. But I got here and your mom offered to make me some popcorn. So I said okay, and she did and said you’d be home in a little while, and I went in your room and climbed onto the roof through the window, and here I am.” He swings his feet over the edge and tosses a few kernels into his mouth, dropping some over the edge as he does it.
Patrick stares for a few seconds as Pete eats another handful of popcorn.
“So... you decided to jump off my roof to kill yourself.” Pete nods. “You’re serious?” Another nod. “Why?” He shrugs. “Can I talk you out of it?”
“Yeah, I said that’s why I was waiting for you to get home.” He throws a kernel and it bounces off of Patrick’s hat. “So get talking.”
“Um. Pete, really, just. Go back in through my window and we’ll talk, and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. Just, don’t do this, okay? You’ve got friends and family, they’d be devastated. I can help-”
“Patrick- honestly, you suck at this. I don’t know why I bothered waiting.” Pete stands up and steps closer to the edge of the roof. Patrick starts to get panicky and takes a step back.
“Pete, what do you want from me?”
They both stand in silence for a few minutes.
“I want everything to stop hurting, ‘Trick. Not just for me, but for everyone. I want things to make sense, and be fair, and I want innocent people to be okay. Do you know how many people die every day in accidents that aren’t their fault?” He shuffles his feet a bit. “And I want an excuse to be selfish sometimes. I want to mean something to someone, just so I can feel like I matter. I don’t want to wake up alone anymore.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to cry myself to sleep because it’s the only way I can shut my brain off without a lullaby. But I don’t want to have to be someone’s doormat all the time, loving them because they’re the best I can get even when they treat me like shit.”
“Pete,” Patrick says quietly. “I can’t save the world for you.” Pete glances down at him before turning his gaze upwards to the sky.
“I know,” he whispers. “But can you save me?”
“Hold on, just- stay there, okay? I’m going to come upstairs and- and everything will be okay, alright? Just don’t move, I’ll be up there in a minute.” Patrick runs into the house and slams the door, dashes up the stairs and into his room. He trips over something and falls, catching himself on his wrist and elbow. He can feel the carpet-burn on his arm as he opens the window and climbs out carefully, breathing hard and hoping he didn’t screw up completely. Pete’s still standing by the edge, tossing the remnants of the popcorn off. Patrick reaches out a hand and makes a noise that comes out more like a squeak than he meant it to. Pete turns and looks at him.
“Patrick, I’m just sick of it. I’m sick, and I can’t keep going like this.”
“I know, Pete, I know. Take my hand.”
He does. And Patrick pulls him close, pulls him into a hug and rubs circles on his back when Pete breaks down and cries into his shoulder. He’s a mess, a jumble of tears and mumbled words, and finally a “thank you.”
Patrick leads him back to the window and into his room, sitting with him on the bed and just holding him. He tries to be reassuring, comforting, but has a feeling he’s not doing a very good job.
“You’re okay now, Pete,” he says. “Right? You’ll be okay, I’ll take care of you.” Pete’s not crying now, just shaking, and he shakes his head slightly. “What can I do, what can I do to help you?”
Pete mutters something Patrick can’t hear, and lifts a hand to cup Patrick’s cheek. Their eyes meet, and suddenly Patrick gets it. He gets why Pete came to his house, and not Joe’s. Why it had to be his roof.
Their lips connect for a brief, electric moment, and Patrick’s mind starts racing. He shouldn’t be getting into this, he thinks, and it’ll only cause more trouble. But Pete bites his bottom lip and Patrick just thinks, fuck it.
They kiss again and again and again before Pete finally slides his tongue against Patrick’s bottom lip and they open their mouths and it’s about a million times better, in Pete’s opinion. They break apart panting and Pete lets himself fall against Patrick’s chest.
“Patrick, you’re just a kid. God, you’re still just a kid. You can’t handle this.”
“It’s why you came here, though, isn’t it? Why else would you pick my house?” Pete lifts his head a little.
“You know, that fall wouldn’t have killed me.” Patrick sighs.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just the fact that you would threaten to do something like that... that’s what scares me.” He pulls Pete even closer, nuzzling his ear and exhaling enough to make Pete giggle in a very undignified manner.
“Shit, get off of me if you’re gonna do that. That tickles, stop it!” He laughs and pushes Patrick. They scuffle a bit, and don’t even realize until it’s too late that Pete’s now got Patrick pinned on his back, a knee well-placed between his thighs. Their eyes meet again, and Pete just grins, making no move to change their positions. “Well, this is awkward.” Patrick squirms.
“Yeah, just a little.” He’s trying to ignore Pete’s blatant mood-swing. He doesn’t know what else to do. “You want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
---
Three days, Patrick thinks later. Three days of Pete sleeping over at his house, spending every moment he isn’t in school glued to his side, hip, arm, lips, whatever body part is readily available. Three days before Patrick’s parents tell Pete he should probably go home, since he does have his own room after all and can see Patrick whenever he wants (they’re implying band practice and weekends, of course). Not that they ever have a problem with Pete- he’s always such a polite boy, very nice, and why don’t we invite him to dinner sometime next week? Patrick sighs and flops down on his bed, stretching out and feeling awkward without another warm body pressed against his, sharp hipbones and cool fingers against his skin.
And of course his phone rings, just as he’s getting comfortable enough to grunt at anything that isn’t terribly important and ignore pretty much everything short of a fire, or maybe a tornado. Or his phone ringing. He fumbles around in the dark looking for the offending piece of plastic and wires, and presses a key.
“Yeah?” he mumbles, not caring for manners much since he knows it’s going to be one of three people.
“Patrick? ‘Trick, I can’t sleep without you here. Or me being there, or something.” Patrick can’t help but smile at Pete’s slightly raspy voice whispering through the phone.
“Why’re you being so quiet?”
“The ‘rents are home, and they think I’m sleeping. I don’t know, actually.” His voice gets a little louder, back to normal tones. “But I can’t sleep.”
“What, you want me to sing for you?” He listens, and assumes it’s a yes in the silence that follows since Pete has a tendency to forget he’s on a phone and just nod his head. Patrick tries to think of a song, and starts humming the first thing that comes into his head. He starts to sing, softly, and hears Pete sigh. He keeps going, letting his voice rise and fall easily through the verses and the climax of the song (he thinks he might hear a faint scuffling noise on Pete’s end of the line, but brushes it off as static or something). He hits the final note and feels it linger in the silence. “Pete?”
He’s met with nothing but the quiet buzz his phone makes sometimes, and is about to click the off button when he hears something.
“Mmm, Patrick, I’m not asleep yet.” Pete’s voice is breathy, and Patrick rolls his eyes a bit when he hears a very soft gasp.
“Pete, I am not staying on the phone so you can jerk off to my voice,” he says, sitting up a little. “If you want to get off, do it by yourself. Seriously.”
“But ‘Tri-ck,” his voice cracks between non-existent syllables, “your voice is like fucking magic. I just-”
“No, Pete. I’m hanging up the phone now.” He really is, he’s got his finger on the button (because Pete’s never done this to any of the other guys, as far as Patrick knows, and just because they’re making out and watching out for each other doesn’t mean he can do it to Patrick) and the phone’s not even by his ear anymore but he still hears his name followed by a long moan and dammit that may have gotten his attention just a little. “Dammit, Pete,” he grumbles, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “You bastard.”
“Hey, hey, not my fault you didn’t want to get involved.” Patrick can hear the grin in Pete’s voice. “Not my fault your voice is so sexy, either.” And then, he yawns. “I’m tired now. Still alone, but I’m tired. I think I might be able to sleep. Patrick?”
“Yeah?” And no, Patrick’s hand is most definitely not wandering lower to the waistband of his boxers.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Pete. But we’ll see each other tomorrow. It’s not that bad.” He bites down on his lip to avoid any further embarrassment, sucking in a breath and holding it as he moves his hand below the waistband and slowly starts to stroke himself.
“Can I walk you to school in the morning? I’ll be a gentleman and everything, and I’ll carry your books for you.” Patrick squeaks a little and almost drops the phone. Pete laughs. “Oh my god, you’re totally touching yourself right now, aren’t you?” Patrick exhales, and can hear Pete snickering like he’s covering the mouthpiece of the phone.
“Shut up, Peter,” he shoots back. “It’s not like you weren’t a minute ago.”
“I want to hear you,” Pete says, and his voice has dropped now and it’s rougher and with the phone right against his ear Patrick imagines he can feel Pete’s breath on his cheek. His throat feels tighter, and he lets a quiet groan escape before biting his bottom lip again. “No, baby, don’t. Let go.”
“Pete-” he gasps, hoping his parents don’t decide to come check on him for any reason. He moves his hand just a bit faster, hearing Pete encouraging him.
“Dammit, Patrick, stop holding back. I want to hear your fucking voice.” And Patrick really hopes his parents don’t come anywhere near his room, because that would be embarrassing on so many levels (I mean, it’s one thing to get caught jerking off, but it’s a whole other issue if you’re caught doing so while on the phone with a very male friend). But he stops biting his lip and moans, soft and low. Pete must be grinning so much it hurts, and Patrick hopes he appreciates this because it really is fucking awkward. He comes minutes that feel like an eternity later, Pete’s name spilling from his lips.
“Fuck,” he pants. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“Mmm, it wasn’t so bad though was it?” Patrick laughs a little.
“I guess- I guess not.” There’s a few moments of Patrick’s breathing evening out and Pete just being quiet for a while. Patrick wipes his hand off and smiles a bit when he hears another yawn from Pete. “Hey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow okay? And you can walk me to school if you want.”
“Good night, ‘Trick.”
“Night, Pete.”
He doesn’t hang up until he hears a dial tone.
---
They go to practice the next day, and Patrick blushes when Pete kisses him in front of Andy and Joe. He kind of giggles and shoves Pete away, and Joe laughs and makes smooching noises, which prompts Pete to get him in a headlock that sends them both tumbling to the floor.
When they finally actually get to picking up their instruments and playing a bit, Pete keeps wandering over to Patrick and talking to him. This leads to Patrick getting distracted from his singing, which leads to Andy and Joe taking each of them aside.
“I’m glad you’re happy, man,” he says, patting Patrick’s shoulder. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing. Pete’s a handful.”
“I know,” Patrick sighs. “I know he is. But I like that about him. Does that make sense?” Joe shrugs and tilts his head. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well whatever, if you ever need me to kick his ass for you I can.” He does a karate-chop motion and Patrick laughs.
Across the room, Pete shuffles his feet and looks up at the basement’s window.
“Seriously, though, it’s not a big deal. Like, we fit together, and I’m not gonna screw it up. You can trust me.”
“Right,” Andy says blankly. “Pete, just listen. If you ever hurt him- Pete, pay attention.” He snaps his fingers and gets Pete to look away from the window. “If you ever hurt Patrick, I will kick your ass so hard you’ll wish you didn’t have one.” They stand in silence for a beat, and then Pete grins and hugs Andy.
“Yeah, yeah. Scrawny vegan drummer’s gonna kick my ass?”
“I am not ‘scrawny,’ I’m stronger than you are!”
They both look over towards Patrick and Joe when they hear a loud squeal and a thud. Patrick’s on his back on the floor, laughing as Joe tickles his sides mercilessly.
“Stop it stop it! Joe- I can’t- breathe!”
“Tell me and I’ll stop, ‘Trick. Come on, it’s yes or no.”
“Y-yes, we have- now stop!” he gasps. Joe grins and jumps up.
“Okay guys, we can go back to practice if you want,” Andy states, raising an eyebrow.
After Pete and Patrick leave, Andy asks Joe what it was he asked Patrick. Joe smirks and glances around conspiratorially before leaning closer to whisper, “I asked if Pete’s tried to have phone-sex with him yet. And if he actually did it.”
---
Patrick’s sitting in English class, trying to pay attention to his teacher droning on about Shakespeare and the metaphors in his works. Really, Patrick is trying to focus. But he feels his phone start buzzing in his pocket, and he’s glad his phone isn’t really loud like some other ones (Pete’s, to be honest). He discreetly pulls it out and glances at the screen. Peter. He raises his hand. When the teacher finally notices his hand up amongst the other half-asleep students, she beams and calls on him.
“May I please go to the bathroom?” Patrick asks, feeling only slightly bad when her smile fades and she just nods curtly. He stands up and walks out of the room, trying to keep it cool until he gets down the hall and around the corner. He pulls out his phone and presses speed dial (number 2). It rings twice before he hears Pete pick up.
“Hello?”
“Pete, it’s Patrick. You called me?” He bites his lip nervously and leans against the wall.
“Yeah, yeah. I did. I mean, it was stupid, and I didn’t think you’d actually call me back or anything. Aren’t you supposed to be in class? Ah- shit, I didn’t get you kicked out of class, did I? I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called, and-” Patrick cuts him off with a shushing noise.
“No, I asked to go to the bathroom. My phone was on vibrate. It’s cool.” He slides down the wall a bit until he’s sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Did you want to talk about something?”
It’s silent for a while, but he hears a soft hum that probably means yes. He just waits, though, knowing that Pete will say whatever it is eventually. “I just- I mean, I’m home all alone, and I remembered to take my meds this morning...” Patrick winces just a little bit at the mention of the pills Pete’s constantly got in his backpack or his jacket pocket or the glove compartment of his piece-of-shit car. “But I- I had a headache, so I took some Tylenol, but I’m scared, ‘cause I think- I think I took a pill or three over the recommended dose. Patrick, ‘Trick, I’m scared- what if I die?”
“Pete, you’re not gonna die from taking one too many headache pills. Seriously.”
“But I’m all alone- what if I do die and no one’s here to help me? I’d never see you again. I was thinking about that, and I got really freaked out.”
“Where are you right now?” Patrick asks. There’s no answer. “Pete? Where are you?” He’s starting to panic just a little. “Pete! You’re scaring me- please say something-”
“I’m sitting on the floor in my closet with a flashlight and some old comic books. There’s an old guitar case digging into my side, and I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on shoes. It’s really dark, but it’s better than outside... Patrick, can you come over to my house now? I don’t think I can handle being alone right now.”
Patrick’s never cut class before. Surprising, really, considering who he hangs out with (his bandmates are a bad influences, but he loves it). He glances around, and notes that there’s about ten minutes left of class, and no one is out in the halls.
“Okay, I’ll get my stuff and leave in ten minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He dashes back to class and sits down, hoping no one noticed how long he was gone. As soon as he sits down his phone starts vibrating again, and he pulls it out. It’s a text message. He opens it just as the bell rings and reads it as he puts his pencils and notebook back into backpack.
I love you.
Patrick practically runs to his locker to grab some other books he’ll need for his homework and thinks briefly that he’ll have to call someone later for the rest of it. He also curses the fact that he doesn’t have a car, and probably won’t for a while. So he has to get off the campus on foot and not look suspicious.
He settles for hiding in the bathroom until everyone goes into class, and then running as fast as he can (which, sadly, isn’t exactly ninja-speed) as soon as the coast is clear. Once he’s a block away from the school, he shifts his backpack and settles on a quick pace and heads off in the direction of Pete’s house. It’s not too far- farther than Patrick would normally like to walk just to visit Pete, though, especially considering Pete does have a car. But he gets there, finally, and hops up the steps to the porch and tries the door. It’s unlocked, which he kind of expected.
“Pete?” he calls once he’s inside. He goes up the stairs and finds Pete’s bedroom door closed- and locked. “Pete, the door’s locked.” Patrick hears a door open and some scuffling, and the door clicks open. Pete’s a total mess. His eyes are red like he’s been crying, and what little eyeliner he may have put on is gone now, just a dark smudge around his eyes. He’s shirtless, in pajama pants, and he’s got his arms wrapped around himself like he’s cold. He sniffles, and in that moment Patrick has no clue what he’s supposed to do.
“’Trick,” Pete mutters, smiling weakly.
Patrick sees him start to lose his balance and fall, but luckily he’s got awesome reflexes and catches Pete under his elbows and supports him enough to lead him to the bed. When Pete lies down, he curls up and shivers. Patrick feels his forehead, like he remembers his mom doing to him when he was little.
“Shit, Pete. You’re burning.”
Now, Patrick has options. Since he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he could call his mom and explain what happened and get advice from her. Or he could wing it and probably not do any good at all. He picks up his cell phone.
“Pete, you stay here. I’m gonna call my mom and we’ll get you feeling better.” Pete grunts and rolls over, eyes squeezed closed tightly. Patrick goes out into the hall and dials his mom’s number. It rings a few times.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it’s Patrick. I uh... Okay, I know this isn’t going to sound good, but I’m at Pete’s house. He called me and didn’t feel well and no one else was home. He’s got a fever, I think, and he almost passed out and I don’t know what to do.”
“Honey, I’m glad you called me. I’m not so happy you’re skipping school, but I know Peter means a lot to you and you just want to help. I’ll give you a few tips, but then I’ve got to get back to work.”
They talk for a few minutes and Patrick manages to find a cold compress in the kitchen. When he returns to Pete’s room, he’s stretched out on the bed and staring at the ceiling.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing Pete’s slightly damp hair away from his eyes and placing the cold compress on his forehead. “You scared me.”
“I’m fine, ‘Trick. Just. Ugh, I feel like shit.” Patrick chuckles.
“Yeah, I think you’re okay. Looks like you might be sick though.” He runs his fingers over Pete’s dry lips and smiles when Pete’s tongue darts out to lick them. “Don’t do that, weirdo. I’m going to make you some soup, and you’re going to eat it, okay?” Pete nods sullenly and closes his eyes.
---
It’s the day after their one-month anniversary. Patrick is glowing more than usual, and when Joe arrives at practice he points it out. Pete’s up in the kitchen making lemonade or something, and Andy isn’t there yet so it’s just them on the couch in the basement.
“I’m going to turn on the radio. It’s really quiet down here,” Patrick says. He stands up and goes to the small clock-radio and turns it on, trying to find a suitably static-free station. Joe snickers and he turns around with a questioning look.
“Dude, Patrick, you’re totally limping.” Patrick’s eyes go wide.
“No I’m not,” he says.
“Yeah, you totally are.”
Patrick bites his lip. “Is it really that noticeable?” he asks, sitting back down carefully. Joe just laughs and nods.
“So, you gonna tell me what happened?”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Patrick says, smiling slyly and winking.
Five minutes later finds Joe smoking and Patrick gushing excitedly, recreating several moments in detail (including vocalizations and hand gestures). He feels light-headed, probably from second-hand smoke.
“It was possibly the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says with a sigh. Joe falls off the couch and Patrick laughs at him.
Joe sticks out his tongue and rolls around on the floor in front of the couch, and Patrick just laughs harder, holding his sides. They both hear clomping footsteps on the stairs and look up in time to see Pete with three glasses of water, blushing slightly.
“I, uh. You guys having fun?” He grins and sets the glasses down before flopping down next to Patrick and kissing his cheek. “Joe, put that out before Andy gets here. You know how he is,” he says absently before licking along the edge of Patrick’s ear.
“Pete, stop that- what, are you constantly horny or something?” Patrick shoves him playfully.
“Only around you,” is Pete’s reply, and Joe groans and picks himself up off the floor.
“You two are utterly, disgustingly sappy.”
---
The sun is going down, and it’s been months since the roof incident. Patrick thinks it’s probably closer to a year, but he doesn’t feel like calculating it as they’re lying together on his roof in the cool evening, blanket spread beneath them. The sky is a brilliant mixture of pinks, oranges, purples and blues, and Patrick just lies on his back and watches it shift and change. Pete rolls over and throws an arm across Patrick’s chest, kissing along his jaw.
“Beautiful,” Pete says, and Patrick tilts his head when Pete’s lips move to his neck.
“Pete?” He shrugs his shoulder a little to nudge Pete away from him for a second. “Hey, look at the sky over there. See the clouds?” They both look towards the horizon and Pete smiles.
“Patrick, I was talking about you, not the sky.”
“Suck-up.”
The sun goes down slowly, and soon it’s dark and the temperature is dropping. Patrick looks up and instead of pinks and oranges and purples it’s all blues and the points of light of the stars. He sighs.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” he asks, and Pete reaches down and grabs his hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing gently.
“We’ll make it, ‘Trick. And even if we don’t, I know you will.”
“Don’t say that, Pete. I wouldn’t be anything without you, without Joe and Andy, without this. I’d still be that kid in argyle sweaters and black socks who spent all his time on the computer writing music that would never go anywhere. I don’t think I could go on the same way after meeting you guys. Meeting you.”
Pete sees a light shoot across the sky and makes a silent wish. He sits up, still holding Patrick’s hand, and stands, tugging Patrick with him.
“Come on, I’ll prove we’ll make it.”
He pulls them both over to the edge, just over the grassy backyard. Patrick looks at him reproachfully and stops.
“What’re you doing?”
“We’re gonna jump off your roof. If we can survive that, we can survive the future,” Pete says, smiling up at the stars. “Hold onto my hand, and we’ll jump together. Don’t land on your ass, and try to roll with it when you land. And don’t worry. Trust me.”
They stand together, and as he counts Pete looks over at Patrick and contemplates the way he seems to glow in the light of the moon and the streetlights a block away.
“One.”
Patrick sucks in a deep breath.
“Two.”
He squeezes Pete’s hand.
“Three.”
He feels Pete pulling him as they jump, and he’s falling and oh shit, it’s scary- until he lands, and it’s not so bad. They tumble in the damp grass and Pete’s laughing (“that fucking hurt!”) and Patrick’s breathing heavily from the adrenaline. They end up on their backs in the grass, hands still linked and eyes twinkling, pain of landing quickly forgotten.
“I told you we’d make it.”
“Yeah. I guess we will.”
Author:
therentmatrixRating: PG13-ish
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
POV: 3rd, but very Patrick-centric
Summary: One day, Patrick comes home from school and Pete’s sitting on the roof of his garage. That’s how the whole thing starts.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It never happened. Title may or may not be a song by Third Eye Blind (and by that I mean it is).
Author’s Note: This comes from not enough sleep, Jeff Buckley’s version of Hallelujah, and a deep love for unstable!Pete and wise-beyond-his-years-but-still-really-i
Word count: 4628 (the longest one-shot I've ever written)
x-posted in a few places.
Dedicated to my betas,
lucentvictrola (for yelling at me over and over and over and over again about calling Pete “panda”) and xiaoisms (for encouraging me and being all awesome likewoah!), and also to psychodragon82 (for being my first real person-I-don’t-know-IRL friend on lj).One day, Patrick comes home from school and Pete’s sitting on the roof of his garage. He almost doesn’t notice, except Pete’s got a bag of popcorn and is throwing pieces onto the driveway for birds to peck at. Patrick wanders over and looks up at him, and Pete smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What are you doing on my roof?”
“I was gonna jump off, but I figured I should wait until you got home so you could talk me out of it.”
“What?!” Patrick almost shouts, dropping his backpack.
“I was going to jump off of your roof. Like, to kill myself. But I got here and your mom offered to make me some popcorn. So I said okay, and she did and said you’d be home in a little while, and I went in your room and climbed onto the roof through the window, and here I am.” He swings his feet over the edge and tosses a few kernels into his mouth, dropping some over the edge as he does it.
Patrick stares for a few seconds as Pete eats another handful of popcorn.
“So... you decided to jump off my roof to kill yourself.” Pete nods. “You’re serious?” Another nod. “Why?” He shrugs. “Can I talk you out of it?”
“Yeah, I said that’s why I was waiting for you to get home.” He throws a kernel and it bounces off of Patrick’s hat. “So get talking.”
“Um. Pete, really, just. Go back in through my window and we’ll talk, and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. Just, don’t do this, okay? You’ve got friends and family, they’d be devastated. I can help-”
“Patrick- honestly, you suck at this. I don’t know why I bothered waiting.” Pete stands up and steps closer to the edge of the roof. Patrick starts to get panicky and takes a step back.
“Pete, what do you want from me?”
They both stand in silence for a few minutes.
“I want everything to stop hurting, ‘Trick. Not just for me, but for everyone. I want things to make sense, and be fair, and I want innocent people to be okay. Do you know how many people die every day in accidents that aren’t their fault?” He shuffles his feet a bit. “And I want an excuse to be selfish sometimes. I want to mean something to someone, just so I can feel like I matter. I don’t want to wake up alone anymore.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to cry myself to sleep because it’s the only way I can shut my brain off without a lullaby. But I don’t want to have to be someone’s doormat all the time, loving them because they’re the best I can get even when they treat me like shit.”
“Pete,” Patrick says quietly. “I can’t save the world for you.” Pete glances down at him before turning his gaze upwards to the sky.
“I know,” he whispers. “But can you save me?”
“Hold on, just- stay there, okay? I’m going to come upstairs and- and everything will be okay, alright? Just don’t move, I’ll be up there in a minute.” Patrick runs into the house and slams the door, dashes up the stairs and into his room. He trips over something and falls, catching himself on his wrist and elbow. He can feel the carpet-burn on his arm as he opens the window and climbs out carefully, breathing hard and hoping he didn’t screw up completely. Pete’s still standing by the edge, tossing the remnants of the popcorn off. Patrick reaches out a hand and makes a noise that comes out more like a squeak than he meant it to. Pete turns and looks at him.
“Patrick, I’m just sick of it. I’m sick, and I can’t keep going like this.”
“I know, Pete, I know. Take my hand.”
He does. And Patrick pulls him close, pulls him into a hug and rubs circles on his back when Pete breaks down and cries into his shoulder. He’s a mess, a jumble of tears and mumbled words, and finally a “thank you.”
Patrick leads him back to the window and into his room, sitting with him on the bed and just holding him. He tries to be reassuring, comforting, but has a feeling he’s not doing a very good job.
“You’re okay now, Pete,” he says. “Right? You’ll be okay, I’ll take care of you.” Pete’s not crying now, just shaking, and he shakes his head slightly. “What can I do, what can I do to help you?”
Pete mutters something Patrick can’t hear, and lifts a hand to cup Patrick’s cheek. Their eyes meet, and suddenly Patrick gets it. He gets why Pete came to his house, and not Joe’s. Why it had to be his roof.
Their lips connect for a brief, electric moment, and Patrick’s mind starts racing. He shouldn’t be getting into this, he thinks, and it’ll only cause more trouble. But Pete bites his bottom lip and Patrick just thinks, fuck it.
They kiss again and again and again before Pete finally slides his tongue against Patrick’s bottom lip and they open their mouths and it’s about a million times better, in Pete’s opinion. They break apart panting and Pete lets himself fall against Patrick’s chest.
“Patrick, you’re just a kid. God, you’re still just a kid. You can’t handle this.”
“It’s why you came here, though, isn’t it? Why else would you pick my house?” Pete lifts his head a little.
“You know, that fall wouldn’t have killed me.” Patrick sighs.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just the fact that you would threaten to do something like that... that’s what scares me.” He pulls Pete even closer, nuzzling his ear and exhaling enough to make Pete giggle in a very undignified manner.
“Shit, get off of me if you’re gonna do that. That tickles, stop it!” He laughs and pushes Patrick. They scuffle a bit, and don’t even realize until it’s too late that Pete’s now got Patrick pinned on his back, a knee well-placed between his thighs. Their eyes meet again, and Pete just grins, making no move to change their positions. “Well, this is awkward.” Patrick squirms.
“Yeah, just a little.” He’s trying to ignore Pete’s blatant mood-swing. He doesn’t know what else to do. “You want to watch a movie?”
“Sure.”
---
Three days, Patrick thinks later. Three days of Pete sleeping over at his house, spending every moment he isn’t in school glued to his side, hip, arm, lips, whatever body part is readily available. Three days before Patrick’s parents tell Pete he should probably go home, since he does have his own room after all and can see Patrick whenever he wants (they’re implying band practice and weekends, of course). Not that they ever have a problem with Pete- he’s always such a polite boy, very nice, and why don’t we invite him to dinner sometime next week? Patrick sighs and flops down on his bed, stretching out and feeling awkward without another warm body pressed against his, sharp hipbones and cool fingers against his skin.
And of course his phone rings, just as he’s getting comfortable enough to grunt at anything that isn’t terribly important and ignore pretty much everything short of a fire, or maybe a tornado. Or his phone ringing. He fumbles around in the dark looking for the offending piece of plastic and wires, and presses a key.
“Yeah?” he mumbles, not caring for manners much since he knows it’s going to be one of three people.
“Patrick? ‘Trick, I can’t sleep without you here. Or me being there, or something.” Patrick can’t help but smile at Pete’s slightly raspy voice whispering through the phone.
“Why’re you being so quiet?”
“The ‘rents are home, and they think I’m sleeping. I don’t know, actually.” His voice gets a little louder, back to normal tones. “But I can’t sleep.”
“What, you want me to sing for you?” He listens, and assumes it’s a yes in the silence that follows since Pete has a tendency to forget he’s on a phone and just nod his head. Patrick tries to think of a song, and starts humming the first thing that comes into his head. He starts to sing, softly, and hears Pete sigh. He keeps going, letting his voice rise and fall easily through the verses and the climax of the song (he thinks he might hear a faint scuffling noise on Pete’s end of the line, but brushes it off as static or something). He hits the final note and feels it linger in the silence. “Pete?”
He’s met with nothing but the quiet buzz his phone makes sometimes, and is about to click the off button when he hears something.
“Mmm, Patrick, I’m not asleep yet.” Pete’s voice is breathy, and Patrick rolls his eyes a bit when he hears a very soft gasp.
“Pete, I am not staying on the phone so you can jerk off to my voice,” he says, sitting up a little. “If you want to get off, do it by yourself. Seriously.”
“But ‘Tri-ck,” his voice cracks between non-existent syllables, “your voice is like fucking magic. I just-”
“No, Pete. I’m hanging up the phone now.” He really is, he’s got his finger on the button (because Pete’s never done this to any of the other guys, as far as Patrick knows, and just because they’re making out and watching out for each other doesn’t mean he can do it to Patrick) and the phone’s not even by his ear anymore but he still hears his name followed by a long moan and dammit that may have gotten his attention just a little. “Dammit, Pete,” he grumbles, bringing the phone back up to his ear. “You bastard.”
“Hey, hey, not my fault you didn’t want to get involved.” Patrick can hear the grin in Pete’s voice. “Not my fault your voice is so sexy, either.” And then, he yawns. “I’m tired now. Still alone, but I’m tired. I think I might be able to sleep. Patrick?”
“Yeah?” And no, Patrick’s hand is most definitely not wandering lower to the waistband of his boxers.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Pete. But we’ll see each other tomorrow. It’s not that bad.” He bites down on his lip to avoid any further embarrassment, sucking in a breath and holding it as he moves his hand below the waistband and slowly starts to stroke himself.
“Can I walk you to school in the morning? I’ll be a gentleman and everything, and I’ll carry your books for you.” Patrick squeaks a little and almost drops the phone. Pete laughs. “Oh my god, you’re totally touching yourself right now, aren’t you?” Patrick exhales, and can hear Pete snickering like he’s covering the mouthpiece of the phone.
“Shut up, Peter,” he shoots back. “It’s not like you weren’t a minute ago.”
“I want to hear you,” Pete says, and his voice has dropped now and it’s rougher and with the phone right against his ear Patrick imagines he can feel Pete’s breath on his cheek. His throat feels tighter, and he lets a quiet groan escape before biting his bottom lip again. “No, baby, don’t. Let go.”
“Pete-” he gasps, hoping his parents don’t decide to come check on him for any reason. He moves his hand just a bit faster, hearing Pete encouraging him.
“Dammit, Patrick, stop holding back. I want to hear your fucking voice.” And Patrick really hopes his parents don’t come anywhere near his room, because that would be embarrassing on so many levels (I mean, it’s one thing to get caught jerking off, but it’s a whole other issue if you’re caught doing so while on the phone with a very male friend). But he stops biting his lip and moans, soft and low. Pete must be grinning so much it hurts, and Patrick hopes he appreciates this because it really is fucking awkward. He comes minutes that feel like an eternity later, Pete’s name spilling from his lips.
“Fuck,” he pants. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“Mmm, it wasn’t so bad though was it?” Patrick laughs a little.
“I guess- I guess not.” There’s a few moments of Patrick’s breathing evening out and Pete just being quiet for a while. Patrick wipes his hand off and smiles a bit when he hears another yawn from Pete. “Hey, I’ll talk to you tomorrow okay? And you can walk me to school if you want.”
“Good night, ‘Trick.”
“Night, Pete.”
He doesn’t hang up until he hears a dial tone.
---
They go to practice the next day, and Patrick blushes when Pete kisses him in front of Andy and Joe. He kind of giggles and shoves Pete away, and Joe laughs and makes smooching noises, which prompts Pete to get him in a headlock that sends them both tumbling to the floor.
When they finally actually get to picking up their instruments and playing a bit, Pete keeps wandering over to Patrick and talking to him. This leads to Patrick getting distracted from his singing, which leads to Andy and Joe taking each of them aside.
“I’m glad you’re happy, man,” he says, patting Patrick’s shoulder. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing. Pete’s a handful.”
“I know,” Patrick sighs. “I know he is. But I like that about him. Does that make sense?” Joe shrugs and tilts his head. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well whatever, if you ever need me to kick his ass for you I can.” He does a karate-chop motion and Patrick laughs.
Across the room, Pete shuffles his feet and looks up at the basement’s window.
“Seriously, though, it’s not a big deal. Like, we fit together, and I’m not gonna screw it up. You can trust me.”
“Right,” Andy says blankly. “Pete, just listen. If you ever hurt him- Pete, pay attention.” He snaps his fingers and gets Pete to look away from the window. “If you ever hurt Patrick, I will kick your ass so hard you’ll wish you didn’t have one.” They stand in silence for a beat, and then Pete grins and hugs Andy.
“Yeah, yeah. Scrawny vegan drummer’s gonna kick my ass?”
“I am not ‘scrawny,’ I’m stronger than you are!”
They both look over towards Patrick and Joe when they hear a loud squeal and a thud. Patrick’s on his back on the floor, laughing as Joe tickles his sides mercilessly.
“Stop it stop it! Joe- I can’t- breathe!”
“Tell me and I’ll stop, ‘Trick. Come on, it’s yes or no.”
“Y-yes, we have- now stop!” he gasps. Joe grins and jumps up.
“Okay guys, we can go back to practice if you want,” Andy states, raising an eyebrow.
After Pete and Patrick leave, Andy asks Joe what it was he asked Patrick. Joe smirks and glances around conspiratorially before leaning closer to whisper, “I asked if Pete’s tried to have phone-sex with him yet. And if he actually did it.”
---
Patrick’s sitting in English class, trying to pay attention to his teacher droning on about Shakespeare and the metaphors in his works. Really, Patrick is trying to focus. But he feels his phone start buzzing in his pocket, and he’s glad his phone isn’t really loud like some other ones (Pete’s, to be honest). He discreetly pulls it out and glances at the screen. Peter. He raises his hand. When the teacher finally notices his hand up amongst the other half-asleep students, she beams and calls on him.
“May I please go to the bathroom?” Patrick asks, feeling only slightly bad when her smile fades and she just nods curtly. He stands up and walks out of the room, trying to keep it cool until he gets down the hall and around the corner. He pulls out his phone and presses speed dial (number 2). It rings twice before he hears Pete pick up.
“Hello?”
“Pete, it’s Patrick. You called me?” He bites his lip nervously and leans against the wall.
“Yeah, yeah. I did. I mean, it was stupid, and I didn’t think you’d actually call me back or anything. Aren’t you supposed to be in class? Ah- shit, I didn’t get you kicked out of class, did I? I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called, and-” Patrick cuts him off with a shushing noise.
“No, I asked to go to the bathroom. My phone was on vibrate. It’s cool.” He slides down the wall a bit until he’s sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Did you want to talk about something?”
It’s silent for a while, but he hears a soft hum that probably means yes. He just waits, though, knowing that Pete will say whatever it is eventually. “I just- I mean, I’m home all alone, and I remembered to take my meds this morning...” Patrick winces just a little bit at the mention of the pills Pete’s constantly got in his backpack or his jacket pocket or the glove compartment of his piece-of-shit car. “But I- I had a headache, so I took some Tylenol, but I’m scared, ‘cause I think- I think I took a pill or three over the recommended dose. Patrick, ‘Trick, I’m scared- what if I die?”
“Pete, you’re not gonna die from taking one too many headache pills. Seriously.”
“But I’m all alone- what if I do die and no one’s here to help me? I’d never see you again. I was thinking about that, and I got really freaked out.”
“Where are you right now?” Patrick asks. There’s no answer. “Pete? Where are you?” He’s starting to panic just a little. “Pete! You’re scaring me- please say something-”
“I’m sitting on the floor in my closet with a flashlight and some old comic books. There’s an old guitar case digging into my side, and I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on shoes. It’s really dark, but it’s better than outside... Patrick, can you come over to my house now? I don’t think I can handle being alone right now.”
Patrick’s never cut class before. Surprising, really, considering who he hangs out with (his bandmates are a bad influences, but he loves it). He glances around, and notes that there’s about ten minutes left of class, and no one is out in the halls.
“Okay, I’ll get my stuff and leave in ten minutes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He dashes back to class and sits down, hoping no one noticed how long he was gone. As soon as he sits down his phone starts vibrating again, and he pulls it out. It’s a text message. He opens it just as the bell rings and reads it as he puts his pencils and notebook back into backpack.
I love you.
Patrick practically runs to his locker to grab some other books he’ll need for his homework and thinks briefly that he’ll have to call someone later for the rest of it. He also curses the fact that he doesn’t have a car, and probably won’t for a while. So he has to get off the campus on foot and not look suspicious.
He settles for hiding in the bathroom until everyone goes into class, and then running as fast as he can (which, sadly, isn’t exactly ninja-speed) as soon as the coast is clear. Once he’s a block away from the school, he shifts his backpack and settles on a quick pace and heads off in the direction of Pete’s house. It’s not too far- farther than Patrick would normally like to walk just to visit Pete, though, especially considering Pete does have a car. But he gets there, finally, and hops up the steps to the porch and tries the door. It’s unlocked, which he kind of expected.
“Pete?” he calls once he’s inside. He goes up the stairs and finds Pete’s bedroom door closed- and locked. “Pete, the door’s locked.” Patrick hears a door open and some scuffling, and the door clicks open. Pete’s a total mess. His eyes are red like he’s been crying, and what little eyeliner he may have put on is gone now, just a dark smudge around his eyes. He’s shirtless, in pajama pants, and he’s got his arms wrapped around himself like he’s cold. He sniffles, and in that moment Patrick has no clue what he’s supposed to do.
“’Trick,” Pete mutters, smiling weakly.
Patrick sees him start to lose his balance and fall, but luckily he’s got awesome reflexes and catches Pete under his elbows and supports him enough to lead him to the bed. When Pete lies down, he curls up and shivers. Patrick feels his forehead, like he remembers his mom doing to him when he was little.
“Shit, Pete. You’re burning.”
Now, Patrick has options. Since he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, he could call his mom and explain what happened and get advice from her. Or he could wing it and probably not do any good at all. He picks up his cell phone.
“Pete, you stay here. I’m gonna call my mom and we’ll get you feeling better.” Pete grunts and rolls over, eyes squeezed closed tightly. Patrick goes out into the hall and dials his mom’s number. It rings a few times.
“Hello?”
“Mom, it’s Patrick. I uh... Okay, I know this isn’t going to sound good, but I’m at Pete’s house. He called me and didn’t feel well and no one else was home. He’s got a fever, I think, and he almost passed out and I don’t know what to do.”
“Honey, I’m glad you called me. I’m not so happy you’re skipping school, but I know Peter means a lot to you and you just want to help. I’ll give you a few tips, but then I’ve got to get back to work.”
They talk for a few minutes and Patrick manages to find a cold compress in the kitchen. When he returns to Pete’s room, he’s stretched out on the bed and staring at the ceiling.
“You okay?” he asks, brushing Pete’s slightly damp hair away from his eyes and placing the cold compress on his forehead. “You scared me.”
“I’m fine, ‘Trick. Just. Ugh, I feel like shit.” Patrick chuckles.
“Yeah, I think you’re okay. Looks like you might be sick though.” He runs his fingers over Pete’s dry lips and smiles when Pete’s tongue darts out to lick them. “Don’t do that, weirdo. I’m going to make you some soup, and you’re going to eat it, okay?” Pete nods sullenly and closes his eyes.
---
It’s the day after their one-month anniversary. Patrick is glowing more than usual, and when Joe arrives at practice he points it out. Pete’s up in the kitchen making lemonade or something, and Andy isn’t there yet so it’s just them on the couch in the basement.
“I’m going to turn on the radio. It’s really quiet down here,” Patrick says. He stands up and goes to the small clock-radio and turns it on, trying to find a suitably static-free station. Joe snickers and he turns around with a questioning look.
“Dude, Patrick, you’re totally limping.” Patrick’s eyes go wide.
“No I’m not,” he says.
“Yeah, you totally are.”
Patrick bites his lip. “Is it really that noticeable?” he asks, sitting back down carefully. Joe just laughs and nods.
“So, you gonna tell me what happened?”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Patrick says, smiling slyly and winking.
Five minutes later finds Joe smoking and Patrick gushing excitedly, recreating several moments in detail (including vocalizations and hand gestures). He feels light-headed, probably from second-hand smoke.
“It was possibly the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says with a sigh. Joe falls off the couch and Patrick laughs at him.
Joe sticks out his tongue and rolls around on the floor in front of the couch, and Patrick just laughs harder, holding his sides. They both hear clomping footsteps on the stairs and look up in time to see Pete with three glasses of water, blushing slightly.
“I, uh. You guys having fun?” He grins and sets the glasses down before flopping down next to Patrick and kissing his cheek. “Joe, put that out before Andy gets here. You know how he is,” he says absently before licking along the edge of Patrick’s ear.
“Pete, stop that- what, are you constantly horny or something?” Patrick shoves him playfully.
“Only around you,” is Pete’s reply, and Joe groans and picks himself up off the floor.
“You two are utterly, disgustingly sappy.”
---
The sun is going down, and it’s been months since the roof incident. Patrick thinks it’s probably closer to a year, but he doesn’t feel like calculating it as they’re lying together on his roof in the cool evening, blanket spread beneath them. The sky is a brilliant mixture of pinks, oranges, purples and blues, and Patrick just lies on his back and watches it shift and change. Pete rolls over and throws an arm across Patrick’s chest, kissing along his jaw.
“Beautiful,” Pete says, and Patrick tilts his head when Pete’s lips move to his neck.
“Pete?” He shrugs his shoulder a little to nudge Pete away from him for a second. “Hey, look at the sky over there. See the clouds?” They both look towards the horizon and Pete smiles.
“Patrick, I was talking about you, not the sky.”
“Suck-up.”
The sun goes down slowly, and soon it’s dark and the temperature is dropping. Patrick looks up and instead of pinks and oranges and purples it’s all blues and the points of light of the stars. He sighs.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” he asks, and Pete reaches down and grabs his hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing gently.
“We’ll make it, ‘Trick. And even if we don’t, I know you will.”
“Don’t say that, Pete. I wouldn’t be anything without you, without Joe and Andy, without this. I’d still be that kid in argyle sweaters and black socks who spent all his time on the computer writing music that would never go anywhere. I don’t think I could go on the same way after meeting you guys. Meeting you.”
Pete sees a light shoot across the sky and makes a silent wish. He sits up, still holding Patrick’s hand, and stands, tugging Patrick with him.
“Come on, I’ll prove we’ll make it.”
He pulls them both over to the edge, just over the grassy backyard. Patrick looks at him reproachfully and stops.
“What’re you doing?”
“We’re gonna jump off your roof. If we can survive that, we can survive the future,” Pete says, smiling up at the stars. “Hold onto my hand, and we’ll jump together. Don’t land on your ass, and try to roll with it when you land. And don’t worry. Trust me.”
They stand together, and as he counts Pete looks over at Patrick and contemplates the way he seems to glow in the light of the moon and the streetlights a block away.
“One.”
Patrick sucks in a deep breath.
“Two.”
He squeezes Pete’s hand.
“Three.”
He feels Pete pulling him as they jump, and he’s falling and oh shit, it’s scary- until he lands, and it’s not so bad. They tumble in the damp grass and Pete’s laughing (“that fucking hurt!”) and Patrick’s breathing heavily from the adrenaline. They end up on their backs in the grass, hands still linked and eyes twinkling, pain of landing quickly forgotten.
“I told you we’d make it.”
“Yeah. I guess we will.”