Fic: A Boy Called Pete (Paddington Bear AU) (Pete/Patrick)
Title: A Boy Called Pete
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true at all.
Summary: Joe and Andy first met Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third on a railway platform.
A/N: This is because I saw Pete in this coat way back in October, and duffle coats always make me think of Paddington Bear. So of course writing a Paddington AU made sense. Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend who kindly didn’t point out how insane I am.
Joe and Andy first met Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third on a railway platform. It had nothing whatsoever to do with how he came to have such an unusual name, for Chicago Union was a good name for a station, but not for a boy. Andy had argued that it would be unique, going against society’s norms, but Joe had pointed out that Pete had already introduced himself to them, and that changing his name was only going to end in confusion.
Joe and Andy were at the station to meet Brendon and Jon, when Joe spotted Pete.
Pete was sitting on top of his battered suitcase, looking around the station and kicking the heels of his Supras idly. There were a lot of people around, hurrying from place to place, and no one was paying attention to him.
He hopped down off his suitcase and straightened his hoodie and duffle coat. His friend Gabe had pinned a note on his chest before he’d sent Pete off from darkest New York on the long voyage to Chicago. The note said ‘Please take care of this boy. Thank you’. Pete hadn’t wanted to leave, but Gabe had received a vision and had to go and see a Cobra about a mission or something. And so here. Pete was, all by himself, alone in Chicago.
Gabe had told Pete that William would be there to meet him, but Pete suspected that Gabe had forgotten to even tell William about his arrival, what with his haste to get to the desert. He was sure that was the only reason William wasn’t there. Pete wasn’t even sure he liked the sound of this William, as when he’d asked Gabe about him, all Gabe had said was that William had sinfully long legs and a very clever tongue, and Pete was always a tiny bit suspicious of people who were much taller than him.
“Hi,” Joe said, and Pete looked up at him and smiled.
“Hello,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “My name is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, but you can call me Pete.”
Andy, who had collected Brendon and Jon from their train, came over and peered at the note attached to Pete’s coat. He read it aloud, and then turned to Joe.
“We can hardly refuse such a request,” Joe said, and Andy nodded. And so they took Pete home with them, to 32 Clandestine Gardens.
~~~
Pete liked it in Clandestine Gardens. He had his own room in the top of the house, where he could open his suitcase in private. It had the initials P. W. on it, and he could peer inside the secret compartment, which was where his notebook lived. And his notebook was where all of his words lived. Pete had never met anyone who he could show his words to, not even Gabe or Travis or the others he’d lived with all the way in New York. But here things were different. He liked it here a lot. He hoped that maybe he would find someone to share his words with.
Joe and Andy had pretty much adopted Pete into their lives, which Pete was very happy about. They were kind, generous people. Andy even took Pete to buy a new pair of Supras so his feet wouldn’t get wet when it rained. Andy was firmly against a lot of things, but fancy sneakers were not one of them, it seemed.
Joe had a job in the city so Pete didn’t get to see him a lot, but he was always happy to see Pete when he got home, and never yelled, not even when Pete accidentally set fire to the Barbie-hair rug that Joe loved so much. Joe liked to do a lot of gardening at the weekends, cultivating leafy green plants that made him smile a lot. Jon would help look after them too, and when Pete asked, Joe gave Pete his own tiny patch of ground to grow whatever he wanted. Pete hadn’t decided what to do with it yet.
When Pete got hungry, he would go into the kitchen. Spencer was in there a lot, making breakfast and lunch and dinner and generally frowning at Pete whenever he drank juice straight from the carton. Pete wasn’t sure exactly what Spencer’s job was, but he figured it was mostly to keep Brendon and Jon (and now him) in line. Pete thought Spencer was awesome, because Spencer would make him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches whenever Pete asked. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were among the most important things in the world, Pete thought, and he always made sure to keep a jar of each in his suitcase. And he always, always, carried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hoodie pocket, in case of emergencies.
Sometimes that emergency was that Brendon and Jon were hungry, and Pete would happily share his sandwiches with them, especially if it meant they let him watch. Brendon and Jon had a music room, which Pete was in awe of. He’d asked if he could play, once or twice, but every time had ended up with broken strings and out of tune pianos that never quite sounded the same again. But from time to time they would let him watch, and afterwards Pete would go up to his room and write things down in his notebook.
But the thing Pete liked best of all about living at 32 Clandestine Gardens, was his next door neighbour. His name was Patrick, and he didn’t seem to like Pete much. Pete wasn’t sure why- he’d thought that Patrick would have liked the bunch of flowers he’d picked for him, even if they were out of Patrick’s own flowerbed, and he’d accidentally trodden mud into Patrick’s nice clean carpets when he’d let himself inside.
“WENTZ!” Patrick yelled. A lot. Pete didn’t really understand why Patrick yelled at him so much, when he was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know that steel wool shouldn’t be used to clean cars (he was doing it to try and apologise for the flowers and mud) or that it was possible to shrink hats (he’d wanted to make Patrick’s favourite one all shiny and new looking, as an apology for the car) or that Patrick didn’t lock his bathroom door when he was taking a shower.
Andy said Patrick really liked something called pumpkin squares, and so Pete went to market to try and buy a pumpkin. But the stall owners laughed at him and told him it was the wrong season. That weekend, Pete went outside to look at the tiny patch of dirt Joe had given him, then he went and asked Spencer if he could have some pumpkin seeds, which he planted in his very own garden. Pete cultivated the seeds day after day, making sure they got enough sunshine and water and eventually they started to sprout, green tendrils curling out of the ground.
Pete discovered that watching pumpkins grow was very boring so sometimes he would go up to his room and read the postcards Gabe sent him from the desert. It sounded like Gabe was having a very nice time with the Cobra, and that he had ended up in a magical sounding place called Vegas, where everyone seemed to be called Alex. Pete was glad that Gabe was happy, and also that Gabe hadn’t mentioned that long-legged William person again.
Every day, after having peanut butter and jelly on toast for breakfast, and watering his pumpkin, Pete would go down to see his friend Ryan Ross.
Ryan Ross owned an antique shop. It was dark and musty smelling and there were a lot of scarves, but Pete liked it very much. He would call around every morning and they would have elevenses. Ryan would have always just popped up to Starbucks and they would sit and sip their iced mocha lattes with extra whipped cream and talk. Sometimes they would talk about why Patrick didn’t like Pete, and Ryan would frown a lot.
“I don’t know why you’re so bothered about him, Pete Wentz,” Ryan would say. Ryan was very polite and always called Pete that, and so Pete always addressed Ryan as Ryan Ross. It made him feel terribly grown up.
Pete got the feeling that Ryan didn’t like Patrick very much, which Pete thought was strange. Ryan was very, very nice, and always wanted to sit close beside Pete. He would offer to let Pete spend the night so as to save himself the walk home, but since it was always late morning when Pete visited, and he only lived around the corner, Pete never took Ryan up on his offer. Ryan always seemed sad when Pete refused.
~~~
Weeks and weeks later, the pumpkin was finally ready to harvest. Brendon helped Pete cut it from it’s stalk and carry it inside, but Pete insisted on cooking the pumpkin squares himself, even though Spencer frowned at him lots and lots until Brendon had to drag him away to distract him from the mess Pete was making. Pete didn’t know what went into pumpkin squares other than pumpkins and, presumably, squares, so he threw things into the bowl, making sure to add a generous amount of peanut butter and jelly for good measure.
When they were done, Pete piled them carefully on a plate, slapped Jon’s hand away, and walked around to Patrick’s front door. Patrick was home (he always was and it intrigued Pete, made him wonder what it was Patrick did all day) but it took him a little while to answer the door.
“Oh,” Patrick said, frowning when he saw Pete. “It’s you.”
Pete nodded and smiled. He held out the plate. “I made you something,” he said and grinned when Patrick stared at the plate in surprise.
“Are those pumpkin squares?” Patrick asked. “For me?” He took the plate and walked towards the kitchen.
Pete followed. “I made them myself,” he said. “And I even grew the pumpkin from a seed.”
Patrick set the plate down on the counter, and turned to get two glasses out of the cupboard. Pete watched silently as Patrick opened the fridge, took out some milk and poured it into the glasses. He handed one to Pete, and Pete took it, even though he hated milk without coffee and sugar and whipped cream in it.
“Mmm,” Pete said, taking a sip and smiling at Patrick, who smiled back at him for the first time ever. It made Pete’s knees feel a little weak and his stomach flip flopped, but he figured that was probably from the strange taste of pure milk.
“You know,” Patrick said, picking up one of the pumpkin squares and gesturing at Pete with it, “I think maybe I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly. I thought you were kind of a douche who was sent here to make my life a living hell. But this…this is very sweet of you. They’re my favourites, you know?”
Pete nodded. “I know. I hope you like them. I hope you like me. I’d really like you to like me, Patrick,” he said hopefully.
Patrick took a bite of the pumpkin square. He put the rest of it back on the plate. He swallowed, then made a face. Then he rushed from the room, down the hallway and into the bathroom.
Pete listened to Patrick throwing up and picked up the pumpkin square Patrick had set down. He sniffed it, then took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. It tasted okay to him. Maybe a bit too much Tabasco sauce, and it could have done with more anchovies, but the maple syrup gave it a bit of a kick too. But Patrick obviously didn’t like it.
“Patrick?” Pete called. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Would you like me to rub your tummy until you feel better?”
Patrick didn’t say anything, just threw up again. Pete waited.
“WENTZ!” Patrick yelled, a few minutes later and Pete made a sad face and hurried out the door and back into number 32. He went upstairs and into his room and into his secret compartment inside his suitcase. He took out his notebook and wrote about how he didn’t know how to get Patrick to like him, how he was trying, how he was scared in this new place and that in that moment Patrick had smiled at him, this place had really, truly, finally felt like home to him.
~~~
The following Saturday, Andy and Joe decided to have a barbeque, because it was Pete’s birthday. He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, because it was never something he’d thought about much and Gabe had always said that age didn’t matter. But between them they figured out that Pete was probably somewhere in his mid-20s, just like Joe and Andy.
They invited a lot of people, including Ryan, and also Patrick. Pete didn’t think Patrick would come but Joe said no one could resist the food Spencer always made for their barbeques. Spencer’s potato salad was to die for, Jon said. He made the tastiest burgers, the juiciest chicken breasts, and his thighs were apparently divine. Brendon gave Jon a nasty look when he said that and took Spencer by the hand and disappeared upstairs for an hour. When Spencer came back his hair was kind of messy and he was wearing one of Brendon’s shirts, but they both looked very happy.
The barbeque was a lot of fun. Pete stayed as far away from Patrick as he could, because he didn’t want to make Patrick angry again. There were lots and lots of people there, people who Pete didn’t really know, because the entire neighbourhood had turned out for the party. But Pete was happy to talk to his friends with a silly cardboard hat on his head and a massive birthday cake that Spencer had baked.
Pete was sure the cake tasted delicious, but in his excitement to cut it Pete managed to knock it onto the floor and send the knife sailing out of his hand to embed itself in the trunk of a tree only a few inches from Patrick’s head. Patrick moved quickly away and Pete watched him go, sadly, while Spencer and Joe tried to salvage the cake.
Pete slunk indoors to get himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to cheer himself up, but there were people in the kitchen already, talking loudly.
“What a joke,” one of them said. It was a voice Pete didn’t recognise, so he held back, feeling embarrassed because of the cake thing. He didn’t want strangers to see him with his cheeks all flushed red.
“I know, right?” another voice said. “I don’t know why Joe and Andy let him stay here. I mean, what does he even do, besides create disasters they have to clean up? You know only last week he managed to destroy their front law on one of those ride-on mowers?”
Pete thought about that, how no one had ever told him that you couldn’t put mowers on top of shrubbery, that they’d chomp it all away and then get stuck and start smoking ominously. He’d only been trying to help.
The first person laughed. “I hear he broke some priceless vase in Ryan’s shop a few weeks back too. Ryan told him it was worthless, to save his feelings, but it looked pretty expensive to me.”
The second person snorted. “It’s not the vase that’s worthless. It’s that Pete. Did you see him almost decapitate poor Patrick? No wonder he hates him.”
Pete’s heart sank. He hadn’t realised that Patrick hated him. And that he was creating so much expensive damage for his friends.
“If he was really their friend, he’d leave,” the first voice said, and Pete decided that that faceless person was right. He turned to leave, and found Patrick standing a few feet away. Patrick looked mad, and Pete didn’t want the last contact he had with these people who’d become his family to be Patrick yelling at him, so he ran up to his room.
He packed his suitcase quickly. He didn’t have much, not really. Hadn’t ever wanted or needed much, not with his friends around him.
When he’d finished packing, Pete hesitated, then took his notebook out of his secret compartment. He couldn’t just leave without a word, so he scribbled a farewell note and tore the page out, placing it on his pillow.
“Where are you going?”
Pete jumped and turned to see Patrick standing in his doorway.
“I’m leaving,” Pete said, not meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“Oh Pete,” Patrick said, sitting on the bed beside him. “You don’t bother me.”
Pete gave Patrick a sceptical look.
“Okay,” Patrick admitted. “Maybe you do. But. Maybe I kind of like it. A little. Sometimes.”
Pete gave Patrick a shy smile. “Really?”
“I know you mean well, Pete,” Patrick said. “I really do. Sometimes I’m a bit grumpy and I don’t mean to yell. But I like you a lot. And I’d miss you if you left.”
“I have to go,” Pete explained. “I realise now that I’ve not been a very good friend. There were people, earlier, in the kitchen and-”
“I heard what they said,” Patrick said, sounding mad again. “And I told them they were wrong and that they should leave pretty quickly unless they wanted my fist in their throats.”
Pete gazed wide-eyed at Patrick. “You threatened to punch someone? For me?”
Patrick ducked his head, and nodded.
“That’s so romantic!” Pete breathed and after a moment, Patrick nodded again.
Pete frowned. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“It means I like you,” Patrick explained. “It means we all like you, we all love you. It means that the people who matter, who’re your family don’t care if you mess up every once in awhile, because you do everything with the best intentions, and we love you for that.”
Pete hesitated, then threw his arms around Patrick. “I love you too,” he said. “Um. All of you, I mean.”
Patrick nodded, and looked away. “What’s this?” he asked, picking up Pete’s notebook.
“No, don’t-” Pete started to say, then stopped himself. “I mean, yeah. You can look at it.”
Patrick flipped through the notebook making little appreciative noises every so often.
“Pete,” Patrick said, when he’d finished. “This is…wow. I didn’t know you were a poet.”
Pete shrugged. “I’m not,” he said. “I just…write things down that come into my head.”
Patrick gave him a considering look. “You know,” he said slowly. “I’m a musician. I work from my basement, writing tunes that I pretty much give out to recording artists because I can never find the words to go with the melody. Some of these...would you mind if I put them to my music? If I gave that a try?”
Pete was delighted. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said, and then kissed him.
Patrick squeaked, and then laughed and kissed Pete back.
“What was that for?” Patrick asked, when Pete leaned back.
“For not laughing at me,” Pete told him. “And for not hating me for all the dumb things I’ve done.”
“I could never hate you,” Patrick said sincerely. “I just think I need to watch you next time you decide to cook me something.”
“Okay,” Pete said, and kissed Patrick again.
“There are fireworks to be let off outside,” Patrick told Pete, a bit later.
“Oh?” Pete said, trying to contain his excitement (about the fireworks, about the party, about Patrick, about everything), and followed Patrick to the door. Then Pete hesitated. “What if…what if the others want me to leave though?” Pete asked, his earlier worries flaring up again.
“They don’t,” Patrick told him firmly. “Trust me. They are downstairs, waiting to celebrate your birthday with you. And there are fireworks. You know you don’t want to miss that.”
When they got back outside, there were already Catherine wheels spinning and sparklers being waved around, and Andy was lighting several rockets. They all stood together, staring up at the sky and watching them explode and fill the night with brightness. Pete felt very happy, with all of his friends, his family around him. And Patrick was close by his side. It was the best birthday Pete could ever remember, and he hoped next year would be exactly the same.
“Go on, Pete!” Andy said, handing Pete some matches. “You light this big one.”
Pete grinned and lit the fuse, hurrying back to stand beside Patrick.
The firework didn’t go off. Well. It didn’t go up. Instead it fell over and went sideways, straight into Joe’s precious garden.
Pete looked at Joe, expecting to get scolded, but Joe just made a small face and shrugged.
“Looks like it’s going to be a really good party,” Jon announced, once the small fire had been put out and just smoke was drifting over the back garden.
Pete sighed and looked at Patrick, who was laughing.
“How do you always manage to do things like this?” he asked, smiling and holding Pete’s hand tightly.
Pete shrugged, but he was smiling. “Things happen to me,” he said. “I’m that sort of boy.”
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not true at all.
Summary: Joe and Andy first met Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third on a railway platform.
A/N: This is because I saw Pete in this coat way back in October, and duffle coats always make me think of Paddington Bear. So of course writing a Paddington AU made sense. Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend who kindly didn’t point out how insane I am.
Joe and Andy first met Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third on a railway platform. It had nothing whatsoever to do with how he came to have such an unusual name, for Chicago Union was a good name for a station, but not for a boy. Andy had argued that it would be unique, going against society’s norms, but Joe had pointed out that Pete had already introduced himself to them, and that changing his name was only going to end in confusion.
Joe and Andy were at the station to meet Brendon and Jon, when Joe spotted Pete.
Pete was sitting on top of his battered suitcase, looking around the station and kicking the heels of his Supras idly. There were a lot of people around, hurrying from place to place, and no one was paying attention to him.
He hopped down off his suitcase and straightened his hoodie and duffle coat. His friend Gabe had pinned a note on his chest before he’d sent Pete off from darkest New York on the long voyage to Chicago. The note said ‘Please take care of this boy. Thank you’. Pete hadn’t wanted to leave, but Gabe had received a vision and had to go and see a Cobra about a mission or something. And so here. Pete was, all by himself, alone in Chicago.
Gabe had told Pete that William would be there to meet him, but Pete suspected that Gabe had forgotten to even tell William about his arrival, what with his haste to get to the desert. He was sure that was the only reason William wasn’t there. Pete wasn’t even sure he liked the sound of this William, as when he’d asked Gabe about him, all Gabe had said was that William had sinfully long legs and a very clever tongue, and Pete was always a tiny bit suspicious of people who were much taller than him.
“Hi,” Joe said, and Pete looked up at him and smiled.
“Hello,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “My name is Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, but you can call me Pete.”
Andy, who had collected Brendon and Jon from their train, came over and peered at the note attached to Pete’s coat. He read it aloud, and then turned to Joe.
“We can hardly refuse such a request,” Joe said, and Andy nodded. And so they took Pete home with them, to 32 Clandestine Gardens.
~~~
Pete liked it in Clandestine Gardens. He had his own room in the top of the house, where he could open his suitcase in private. It had the initials P. W. on it, and he could peer inside the secret compartment, which was where his notebook lived. And his notebook was where all of his words lived. Pete had never met anyone who he could show his words to, not even Gabe or Travis or the others he’d lived with all the way in New York. But here things were different. He liked it here a lot. He hoped that maybe he would find someone to share his words with.
Joe and Andy had pretty much adopted Pete into their lives, which Pete was very happy about. They were kind, generous people. Andy even took Pete to buy a new pair of Supras so his feet wouldn’t get wet when it rained. Andy was firmly against a lot of things, but fancy sneakers were not one of them, it seemed.
Joe had a job in the city so Pete didn’t get to see him a lot, but he was always happy to see Pete when he got home, and never yelled, not even when Pete accidentally set fire to the Barbie-hair rug that Joe loved so much. Joe liked to do a lot of gardening at the weekends, cultivating leafy green plants that made him smile a lot. Jon would help look after them too, and when Pete asked, Joe gave Pete his own tiny patch of ground to grow whatever he wanted. Pete hadn’t decided what to do with it yet.
When Pete got hungry, he would go into the kitchen. Spencer was in there a lot, making breakfast and lunch and dinner and generally frowning at Pete whenever he drank juice straight from the carton. Pete wasn’t sure exactly what Spencer’s job was, but he figured it was mostly to keep Brendon and Jon (and now him) in line. Pete thought Spencer was awesome, because Spencer would make him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches whenever Pete asked. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were among the most important things in the world, Pete thought, and he always made sure to keep a jar of each in his suitcase. And he always, always, carried a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hoodie pocket, in case of emergencies.
Sometimes that emergency was that Brendon and Jon were hungry, and Pete would happily share his sandwiches with them, especially if it meant they let him watch. Brendon and Jon had a music room, which Pete was in awe of. He’d asked if he could play, once or twice, but every time had ended up with broken strings and out of tune pianos that never quite sounded the same again. But from time to time they would let him watch, and afterwards Pete would go up to his room and write things down in his notebook.
But the thing Pete liked best of all about living at 32 Clandestine Gardens, was his next door neighbour. His name was Patrick, and he didn’t seem to like Pete much. Pete wasn’t sure why- he’d thought that Patrick would have liked the bunch of flowers he’d picked for him, even if they were out of Patrick’s own flowerbed, and he’d accidentally trodden mud into Patrick’s nice clean carpets when he’d let himself inside.
“WENTZ!” Patrick yelled. A lot. Pete didn’t really understand why Patrick yelled at him so much, when he was only trying to help. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know that steel wool shouldn’t be used to clean cars (he was doing it to try and apologise for the flowers and mud) or that it was possible to shrink hats (he’d wanted to make Patrick’s favourite one all shiny and new looking, as an apology for the car) or that Patrick didn’t lock his bathroom door when he was taking a shower.
Andy said Patrick really liked something called pumpkin squares, and so Pete went to market to try and buy a pumpkin. But the stall owners laughed at him and told him it was the wrong season. That weekend, Pete went outside to look at the tiny patch of dirt Joe had given him, then he went and asked Spencer if he could have some pumpkin seeds, which he planted in his very own garden. Pete cultivated the seeds day after day, making sure they got enough sunshine and water and eventually they started to sprout, green tendrils curling out of the ground.
Pete discovered that watching pumpkins grow was very boring so sometimes he would go up to his room and read the postcards Gabe sent him from the desert. It sounded like Gabe was having a very nice time with the Cobra, and that he had ended up in a magical sounding place called Vegas, where everyone seemed to be called Alex. Pete was glad that Gabe was happy, and also that Gabe hadn’t mentioned that long-legged William person again.
Every day, after having peanut butter and jelly on toast for breakfast, and watering his pumpkin, Pete would go down to see his friend Ryan Ross.
Ryan Ross owned an antique shop. It was dark and musty smelling and there were a lot of scarves, but Pete liked it very much. He would call around every morning and they would have elevenses. Ryan would have always just popped up to Starbucks and they would sit and sip their iced mocha lattes with extra whipped cream and talk. Sometimes they would talk about why Patrick didn’t like Pete, and Ryan would frown a lot.
“I don’t know why you’re so bothered about him, Pete Wentz,” Ryan would say. Ryan was very polite and always called Pete that, and so Pete always addressed Ryan as Ryan Ross. It made him feel terribly grown up.
Pete got the feeling that Ryan didn’t like Patrick very much, which Pete thought was strange. Ryan was very, very nice, and always wanted to sit close beside Pete. He would offer to let Pete spend the night so as to save himself the walk home, but since it was always late morning when Pete visited, and he only lived around the corner, Pete never took Ryan up on his offer. Ryan always seemed sad when Pete refused.
~~~
Weeks and weeks later, the pumpkin was finally ready to harvest. Brendon helped Pete cut it from it’s stalk and carry it inside, but Pete insisted on cooking the pumpkin squares himself, even though Spencer frowned at him lots and lots until Brendon had to drag him away to distract him from the mess Pete was making. Pete didn’t know what went into pumpkin squares other than pumpkins and, presumably, squares, so he threw things into the bowl, making sure to add a generous amount of peanut butter and jelly for good measure.
When they were done, Pete piled them carefully on a plate, slapped Jon’s hand away, and walked around to Patrick’s front door. Patrick was home (he always was and it intrigued Pete, made him wonder what it was Patrick did all day) but it took him a little while to answer the door.
“Oh,” Patrick said, frowning when he saw Pete. “It’s you.”
Pete nodded and smiled. He held out the plate. “I made you something,” he said and grinned when Patrick stared at the plate in surprise.
“Are those pumpkin squares?” Patrick asked. “For me?” He took the plate and walked towards the kitchen.
Pete followed. “I made them myself,” he said. “And I even grew the pumpkin from a seed.”
Patrick set the plate down on the counter, and turned to get two glasses out of the cupboard. Pete watched silently as Patrick opened the fridge, took out some milk and poured it into the glasses. He handed one to Pete, and Pete took it, even though he hated milk without coffee and sugar and whipped cream in it.
“Mmm,” Pete said, taking a sip and smiling at Patrick, who smiled back at him for the first time ever. It made Pete’s knees feel a little weak and his stomach flip flopped, but he figured that was probably from the strange taste of pure milk.
“You know,” Patrick said, picking up one of the pumpkin squares and gesturing at Pete with it, “I think maybe I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly. I thought you were kind of a douche who was sent here to make my life a living hell. But this…this is very sweet of you. They’re my favourites, you know?”
Pete nodded. “I know. I hope you like them. I hope you like me. I’d really like you to like me, Patrick,” he said hopefully.
Patrick took a bite of the pumpkin square. He put the rest of it back on the plate. He swallowed, then made a face. Then he rushed from the room, down the hallway and into the bathroom.
Pete listened to Patrick throwing up and picked up the pumpkin square Patrick had set down. He sniffed it, then took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. It tasted okay to him. Maybe a bit too much Tabasco sauce, and it could have done with more anchovies, but the maple syrup gave it a bit of a kick too. But Patrick obviously didn’t like it.
“Patrick?” Pete called. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything? Would you like me to rub your tummy until you feel better?”
Patrick didn’t say anything, just threw up again. Pete waited.
“WENTZ!” Patrick yelled, a few minutes later and Pete made a sad face and hurried out the door and back into number 32. He went upstairs and into his room and into his secret compartment inside his suitcase. He took out his notebook and wrote about how he didn’t know how to get Patrick to like him, how he was trying, how he was scared in this new place and that in that moment Patrick had smiled at him, this place had really, truly, finally felt like home to him.
~~~
The following Saturday, Andy and Joe decided to have a barbeque, because it was Pete’s birthday. He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, because it was never something he’d thought about much and Gabe had always said that age didn’t matter. But between them they figured out that Pete was probably somewhere in his mid-20s, just like Joe and Andy.
They invited a lot of people, including Ryan, and also Patrick. Pete didn’t think Patrick would come but Joe said no one could resist the food Spencer always made for their barbeques. Spencer’s potato salad was to die for, Jon said. He made the tastiest burgers, the juiciest chicken breasts, and his thighs were apparently divine. Brendon gave Jon a nasty look when he said that and took Spencer by the hand and disappeared upstairs for an hour. When Spencer came back his hair was kind of messy and he was wearing one of Brendon’s shirts, but they both looked very happy.
The barbeque was a lot of fun. Pete stayed as far away from Patrick as he could, because he didn’t want to make Patrick angry again. There were lots and lots of people there, people who Pete didn’t really know, because the entire neighbourhood had turned out for the party. But Pete was happy to talk to his friends with a silly cardboard hat on his head and a massive birthday cake that Spencer had baked.
Pete was sure the cake tasted delicious, but in his excitement to cut it Pete managed to knock it onto the floor and send the knife sailing out of his hand to embed itself in the trunk of a tree only a few inches from Patrick’s head. Patrick moved quickly away and Pete watched him go, sadly, while Spencer and Joe tried to salvage the cake.
Pete slunk indoors to get himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to cheer himself up, but there were people in the kitchen already, talking loudly.
“What a joke,” one of them said. It was a voice Pete didn’t recognise, so he held back, feeling embarrassed because of the cake thing. He didn’t want strangers to see him with his cheeks all flushed red.
“I know, right?” another voice said. “I don’t know why Joe and Andy let him stay here. I mean, what does he even do, besides create disasters they have to clean up? You know only last week he managed to destroy their front law on one of those ride-on mowers?”
Pete thought about that, how no one had ever told him that you couldn’t put mowers on top of shrubbery, that they’d chomp it all away and then get stuck and start smoking ominously. He’d only been trying to help.
The first person laughed. “I hear he broke some priceless vase in Ryan’s shop a few weeks back too. Ryan told him it was worthless, to save his feelings, but it looked pretty expensive to me.”
The second person snorted. “It’s not the vase that’s worthless. It’s that Pete. Did you see him almost decapitate poor Patrick? No wonder he hates him.”
Pete’s heart sank. He hadn’t realised that Patrick hated him. And that he was creating so much expensive damage for his friends.
“If he was really their friend, he’d leave,” the first voice said, and Pete decided that that faceless person was right. He turned to leave, and found Patrick standing a few feet away. Patrick looked mad, and Pete didn’t want the last contact he had with these people who’d become his family to be Patrick yelling at him, so he ran up to his room.
He packed his suitcase quickly. He didn’t have much, not really. Hadn’t ever wanted or needed much, not with his friends around him.
When he’d finished packing, Pete hesitated, then took his notebook out of his secret compartment. He couldn’t just leave without a word, so he scribbled a farewell note and tore the page out, placing it on his pillow.
“Where are you going?”
Pete jumped and turned to see Patrick standing in his doorway.
“I’m leaving,” Pete said, not meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“Oh Pete,” Patrick said, sitting on the bed beside him. “You don’t bother me.”
Pete gave Patrick a sceptical look.
“Okay,” Patrick admitted. “Maybe you do. But. Maybe I kind of like it. A little. Sometimes.”
Pete gave Patrick a shy smile. “Really?”
“I know you mean well, Pete,” Patrick said. “I really do. Sometimes I’m a bit grumpy and I don’t mean to yell. But I like you a lot. And I’d miss you if you left.”
“I have to go,” Pete explained. “I realise now that I’ve not been a very good friend. There were people, earlier, in the kitchen and-”
“I heard what they said,” Patrick said, sounding mad again. “And I told them they were wrong and that they should leave pretty quickly unless they wanted my fist in their throats.”
Pete gazed wide-eyed at Patrick. “You threatened to punch someone? For me?”
Patrick ducked his head, and nodded.
“That’s so romantic!” Pete breathed and after a moment, Patrick nodded again.
Pete frowned. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“It means I like you,” Patrick explained. “It means we all like you, we all love you. It means that the people who matter, who’re your family don’t care if you mess up every once in awhile, because you do everything with the best intentions, and we love you for that.”
Pete hesitated, then threw his arms around Patrick. “I love you too,” he said. “Um. All of you, I mean.”
Patrick nodded, and looked away. “What’s this?” he asked, picking up Pete’s notebook.
“No, don’t-” Pete started to say, then stopped himself. “I mean, yeah. You can look at it.”
Patrick flipped through the notebook making little appreciative noises every so often.
“Pete,” Patrick said, when he’d finished. “This is…wow. I didn’t know you were a poet.”
Pete shrugged. “I’m not,” he said. “I just…write things down that come into my head.”
Patrick gave him a considering look. “You know,” he said slowly. “I’m a musician. I work from my basement, writing tunes that I pretty much give out to recording artists because I can never find the words to go with the melody. Some of these...would you mind if I put them to my music? If I gave that a try?”
Pete was delighted. “I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said, and then kissed him.
Patrick squeaked, and then laughed and kissed Pete back.
“What was that for?” Patrick asked, when Pete leaned back.
“For not laughing at me,” Pete told him. “And for not hating me for all the dumb things I’ve done.”
“I could never hate you,” Patrick said sincerely. “I just think I need to watch you next time you decide to cook me something.”
“Okay,” Pete said, and kissed Patrick again.
“There are fireworks to be let off outside,” Patrick told Pete, a bit later.
“Oh?” Pete said, trying to contain his excitement (about the fireworks, about the party, about Patrick, about everything), and followed Patrick to the door. Then Pete hesitated. “What if…what if the others want me to leave though?” Pete asked, his earlier worries flaring up again.
“They don’t,” Patrick told him firmly. “Trust me. They are downstairs, waiting to celebrate your birthday with you. And there are fireworks. You know you don’t want to miss that.”
When they got back outside, there were already Catherine wheels spinning and sparklers being waved around, and Andy was lighting several rockets. They all stood together, staring up at the sky and watching them explode and fill the night with brightness. Pete felt very happy, with all of his friends, his family around him. And Patrick was close by his side. It was the best birthday Pete could ever remember, and he hoped next year would be exactly the same.
“Go on, Pete!” Andy said, handing Pete some matches. “You light this big one.”
Pete grinned and lit the fuse, hurrying back to stand beside Patrick.
The firework didn’t go off. Well. It didn’t go up. Instead it fell over and went sideways, straight into Joe’s precious garden.
Pete looked at Joe, expecting to get scolded, but Joe just made a small face and shrugged.
“Looks like it’s going to be a really good party,” Jon announced, once the small fire had been put out and just smoke was drifting over the back garden.
Pete sighed and looked at Patrick, who was laughing.
“How do you always manage to do things like this?” he asked, smiling and holding Pete’s hand tightly.
Pete shrugged, but he was smiling. “Things happen to me,” he said. “I’m that sort of boy.”