Muddy Shoes Means Saying Good-bye (one-shot)

Neither of them wanted to be there. Neither of them wanted the looks they were being thrown; those looks of disgust, and hatred. But it was a public place and they were allowed to stand against the large white pillar they were standing against. This was the only place their families wouldn't look for them. An art museum wasn't exactly their usual hang out. They barely looked the part.

Both sported soaking wet hooded sweatshirts and one a denim jacket as well, that smelled like wet dog from the downpour of rain they had just come in from, and despite being together, both wore frowns on their faces. Their shoes squeaked against the polished floor at every move they made. One boy, Patrick, was leaning against the marble pillar, the other boy, Pete leaned against him, their hips attached like magnets. Pete rested his calloused fingers on his boyfriend's hips, watching him trace the hole in Pete's sweater, his brow was furrowed in concentration, bottom lip being gnawed on. He liked the feeling of Pete being so close to him. He wanted that to last forever, excluding the glares he was getting from that elderly woman and her husband. Pete felt Patrick's other hand wrap around the small of his back, and gripped tightly to the thick fabric of the hoodie, still circling the void in his bright red sleeve.

"Hey..."

"...Hey."

This wasn't them greeting each other, no, they had already done that. It was simply letting the other know he was still there. Patrick finally looked up into Pete's eyes, sending chills down the older boy's back. Pete began rubbing his hands up and down Patrick's jacket when he saw a tear in the younger boy's eye. He inhaled deeply wishing to just pet away his friend's feelings. He knew he couldn't, but with Patrick's eyes softenening, he couldn't help but continue as Patrick's hands locked on his back, pulling them if even possible, more closer than before. But it couldn't last. They knew it couldn't.

Pete's hands ceased after what seemed like an eternity, and he rested their foreheads together.

"Patrick..."

"Patrick, I'm so sorry."

Pete whispered these words against Patrick's ear, trying hard to ignore the security guard shaking his head, but not taking his eyes off of them. Pete had no real reason to apologize. This wasn't his fault. Nor was it Patrick's.

"I know, Pete. I know, Pete. I know."

They said their names as often as they could. Before, it was just because they liked how their own name sounded coming from the other's lips, but the way 'Patrick' and the way 'Pete' sounded now was desperate, and sad. The words seemed to throw the speaker into silence. It wasn't a comfortable silence, but one full of tension, mostly from the more appropriately dressed art lovers, and tear filled eyes.

The reason for the whispered apologies, and the tension filled silence between Pete and Patrick was because Pete was moving away. He wasn't just moving down the block, or across town where you could take the train to get to his house. No. Pete was moving to California. New York and California. Opposite ends of the map.

The stares spoke for themselves. Two teenage boys in such a revealing position in public, in a sophisticated public place like this, it was just uncalled for, and people let them know. But, this was a hide out for them, not a field trip to look at the exquisite artwork. Their red hoodies clung to each other, closer than their stomachs, sharing body heat, mostly from the looks they were recieving. Patrick brushed Pete's wet bangs from his eyes, trying to coax a smile from him. Patrick wanted to see those impeccably white teeth, those teeth that would bite in all the right places, and leave bruises that was hard for Patrick to explain to his mother. He smiled, a pitiful smile, making a weak half-assed grin cross Pete's face. He didn't want to go.

"Patrick?"

It was so desperate, so on the edge of breaking. It was sad.

"Pete?"

Pete looked into Patrick's eyes, as if telling him what he wanted. They spoke with their eyes often. They were friends their whole lives, so speaking without using words happened on more than one occasion.

Pete remembers once, he had brought Patrick home from "hanging out" at his house, after curfew, and when Patrick's mother asked what happened, they spoke silently, dull hazel eyes communicating with light ones. Seconds was all it took for them to come up with an answer. And now, Patrick could tell what Pete wanted. The stares they would get...It didn't matter. Patrick nodded in the way he does when he understands their eye language and leaned forward as Pete leaned in. Patrick stood up a little straighter and and his lips met Pete's in a simple kiss, that deepened with Pete's hands gliding up denim that protected his friend's torso, and wrapped his fingers around the collar pulling Patrick deeper. At the very same moment, they had dipped their tongues out of their mouths to seek entrance in the others. Smiling at their obvious mind reading ability Pete and Patrick let their tongues roll together in a sort of rhythm only they could explain. Dominance wasn't important in this kiss; Pete was older, sure, but he felt completely equal to Patrick. Pete let his eyelids close, Patrick did the same, and he knew exactly why Pete had shut his eyes.

People passing to look at another display or another painting had stopped dead in the middle of the gallery and watched them. They werent smiling like they would if the boys were a happily married couple fondling each other in public. The people's faces were green, with disgust. A young man put his hand over his throat as if stopping a gag. Pete and Patrick knew it was happening, but with their eyes shut they couldn't see them. With their eyes closed they were lost in their kiss, completely, in each other. Hands on hips and necks, and the pillar suddenly didnt look strong enough to hold up Patrick as Pete leaned in deeper and harder against the younger boy. Finally almost gasping for air, they pulled apart, but just barely. People's mouths fell open realizing the two were smiling, and this wasn't just some stunt. They had enjoyed that kiss.

Pete rested his head on Patrick's once more, his smile fading a little. Patrick licked his lips, tasting Pete's unexplicable vanilla flavor. Pete watched him do so, a small smile coming back to his face. Patrick's eyes were still closed. He savored every kiss Pete ever gave him, this one more so, because it would be their last for a long time.

"Patrick?"

Patrick eyes snapped open, almost as if he was asleep, thinking about Pete.

"I love you too, Pete."

Pete nodded, because that is exactly what he meant by saying Patrick's name. He doubted anybody else would understand if he did that to them. Patrick, he just knew.

"Write every day.."

"But you're a better song-writer than me, Pete."

"You know what I mean..."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Patrick circled the whole in Pete's hoodie once more, as Pete once again watched him do so. He was going to miss Patrick so much. It was such a shame that their last meeting would be in a place they hardly ever went to. This museum held nothing of importance to them. Of course it was full of beautiful art from talented artists, but none of it was that tree in the park where Pete carved their names in the trunk with his pocketknife. None of these paintings were Pete's notebooks that were full of words he wrote for Patrick. None of this was Patrick's messy room that Pete spent countless nights in, because he hated cuddling with old stuffed animals. He hated every piece of art in here. The look in Patrick's eyes said the same thing. He would rather have spent the day in a place that was more familiar to them.

"I'll call you when we leave"

"Okay."

"And on the flight."

"Okay."

Pete's eyes burned with red-hot tears. Patrick looked to be swallowing a lump in his throat the size of a small melon. Pete felt an apology needed to be said, but a lump had decided to constrict any noise that would have come out of his mouth. He and Patrick were now holding hands, still against the marble pillar. Pete kissed Patrick's temple and rested his head on the shorter boy's shoulder. He could feel Patrick's chest rise and fall, probably taking in the vanilla scent that, despite his bad hygiene, Pete seemed to have.

"I'm gonna miss you."

"I know. Me too, Pete."

Pete's words were slightly muffled as he announced the into Patrick's jacket, but so were Patrick's as he had nuzzled into Pete's chest.

"Patrick...I love you."

"I love you too, Pete. I love you too."

These words werent muffled as they were now looking directly at each other. A small peck on the lips sent the woman next to the into a fit. She huffed loudly and looked at the boys.

"We better go."

"Yeah."

Patrick nodded, and the two left, holding hands, leaving a trail of mud on the floor from their red Converses.