Beyond The Sea, 2/6

[ditchwitchbitch]

Part One

---

By October, two long months after Patrick had arrived, the bay was teeming with wildlife. However, as the weather turned darker, the tours began to dwindle now that the summer rush was over.

When they needed supplies there was no longer a need to wait until their Tuesday day off. Pete and Patrick could handle the boat while Joe spent an afternoon dropping off test tubes or buying a new pair of binoculars after Pete had dropped theirs in the water while trying to show them he could balance it on his head.

One Friday afternoon found them in just that situation, Pete and Patrick sitting on the pier tossing rocks out as they waited.

“They’re not coming,” Patrick said for the third time, glancing at his watch. Over an hour and a half late. In his head, he was already counting how many of the data sheets he could have entered into their database, how many words he could have written on their research proposal about how tourism wasn’t affecting the whale behavior patterns in the area, how many…

Pete nodded. “I know.” Sighing, he dragged himself to his feet and held out an arm to help Patrick.

Patrick dusted himself off, turning his head toward the sky. “Shame, too, as the sun’s actually out today.”

Something changed across Pete’s face and he smiled, grabbing at Patrick’s hand. He’d been doing that more often lately, but Patrick didn’t question it much anymore.

“What are you doing?” Patrick laughed as Pete pulled him toward the boat.

“You’ve been here three months and you’ve barely even seen the area.” Patrick didn’t really think that was an answer, but he smiled anyway.

“Well, maybe if my boss didn’t have me working so much, I’d have time to see some things…”

“Maybe if your boss was rich, he wouldn’t have to work so much either.” Pete beamed, proud of his own logic, while Patrick laughed behind him and allowed himself to be dragged onto the boat.

“You didn’t have anything to do today, did you?” Pete asked but he wasn’t waiting for a response this time. “It’s a good thing I packed sandwiches. Though I don’t know what we’ll do about dinner. I keep telling Joe we should put a grill in. And fishing poles.”

“Aren’t we supposed to save the fish, not cook them?” Patrick asked, taking a seat on one of the benches and stretching out.

They didn’t spend a lot of time just the two of them, not with Joe around. Patrick wasn’t complaining, he liked Joe a lot. But as he searched his mind for the last time he and Pete had spent any time alone, he couldn’t come up with anything more than when Joe had made them clean the dishes after a rousing afternoon of the Terminator trilogy.

Pete shrugged. “Can’t save all of nature. There’s a chain of command, right? Isn’t that how the world works? So if some little fish were to end up in my stomach for me to have enough energy to go and save the whole ocean, well, so be it.”

“The whole ocean is pretty big.”

He turned to grin at Patrick, like it should have been obvious. “Have to start somewhere, right?”

Pete spent the rest of the short trip chattering happily about food, and asking Patrick about all his favorite places to eat in Chicago and if they were still open. He didn’t usually mention anything at all about his hometown, so Patrick was happy to amuse him until he docked in what Patrick had finally figured out was Horse Island, after some 100 tours of Pete or Joe sighing and saving him any time one of the passengers asked him.

“What are we doing?” Patrick asked, not really expecting an answer.

Pete lowered the Voyager’s anchor and then began to shove the sandwiches into his backpack.

The pier, and subsequent trail, led down to a sandy beach very unlike the ones back on the mainland. There were rocks, including some high boulders he could practically feel Pete vibrating with the energy to climb, but he hadn’t seen sand like this since California.

“We should have done this ages ago,” Pete was saying, leading them on, up a hill now. Patrick struggled to keep up with him, more in shape now than when he’d arrived but still not as fast as Pete. “You can’t fully appreciate anything from the boat. And these views are the reason I stayed.”

With that, he placed a hand on Patrick’s shoulder to stop him from walking and turned him around, facing out on the bay again. They were high enough now to see some of the other islands and the water - for once looking crystal clear blue - stretching out before them. Pete leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder, and staring out with the same wide-eyed expression as Patrick.

“Definitely why I moved here,” he sighed.

Patrick hesitated. He’d always wanted to know, but felt it off-limits. “Why did you move at all?”

Pete didn’t tense beside him, just continued to stare out into the distance.

“I was a teacher.” He smiled against Patrick’s shoulder - he could feel it, and that sent an unexpected shiver down Patrick’s spine. “Since being a rock star didn’t really pan out, and I didn’t want a real job. Figured it was the next best thing.”

“So what happened?”

“I fell in love,” Pete whispered, and his grip on Patrick tightened, arm curling around his side to pull him in closer, like he needed to know someone else was there. Patrick was about to tell him he didn’t need to explain anything, but Pete was talking again. “They don’t like you dating a student, especially… There’s a lot of fucking homophobic assholes in academia. Open-minded liberal school, my ass.” His shoulders tensed, but he shook his head. “So they fired me, threw him out of school, and I ran as far away as I could. It seemed like the answer at the time, to show them and move somewhere foreign and exotic, away from anyone I’d ever met. Sometimes I miss home. Usually, I don’t. Not when I have this.”

Pete fell quiet for a minute, and Patrick wasn’t certain what to do. He was useless in situations like these. He had a good ear for listening and knew when to nod encouragingly or pat someone’s back, but when whoever was done talking, Patrick had no brilliant advice, no words of wisdom. He kissed Pete’s forehead again instead and closed his eyes, and eventually Pete started to relax.

“Today’s not sad,” Pete whispered against Patrick’s neck, and he was smiling again this time, untangling himself slowly from Patrick. “I think I see otters.”

Back on the beach, Pete was right - there were otters, a dozen or so. Pete and Patrick lounged against one of the boulders, watching them a few meters away, diving in and out of the water and chasing each other up and down the shore.



Art by bluelittlepig

Pete took off his shoes and tossed them somewhere behind them, stretching his legs out so the tide could lap at his toes. It took more coaxing to get Patrick to do the same, but Patrick was firm about leaving his jeans on even as they got damp. Pete changed into shorts in his backpack, waving his extra pair like a flag and frightening off several of the otters.

“I’m king of the world!” he shouted later, finally on top of the tallest boulder that he had spent most of the afternoon eyeing, and Patrick was laughing so hard on the ground that he fell over onto his side.

By the time the sun was going down, they’d finished off the sandwiches and wandered along the shore far enough to find the only pub and convinced the owner to package them up more sandwiches, and a bottle of wine. Well, Pete had. Patrick had mostly cowered in the doorway, the owner glaring at his sopping wet clothes from where Pete had dragged him protesting into the water. Pete, whose boxers were likely still flapping in the wind on the flag he’d made with a stick and stuck in the ground, had made certain the rest of his clothes were dry.

“Did you even get a corkscrew?” Patrick asked, following along behind Pete. He was even slower now, dragged down by the damp clothes. Maybe he should have taken Pete’s extra pair of shorts afterall, but he refused, especially after Pete had stripped down to almost nothing. Patrick definitely did not look like that without his clothes on, and he didn’t want to subject mother nature to what he did look like.

“Do not underestimate my powers,” Pete warned, but he was laughing.

The sun was almost all the way down before they found their beach again, boxers mysteriously vanished (“I liked those!” he whined against Patrick’s ear, while Patrick grinned and reminded him, “Then you shouldn’t have left them near the otters.”). Pete had gotten a corkscrew, as well as several bags of chips, so they took turns passing the bottle back and forth while they munched on their roast beef sandwiches.

“So why did you leave Chicago?” Pete asked suddenly, and Patrick paused. He’d asked, so he supposed it was only fair.

“My ex,” he said after swallowing his bite, leaning back again and considering.

“Must have been some ex if you went all the way to Ireland. Pringle?” He held out the canister, but Patrick shook his head.

“I didn’t actually think they’d send me out this far. I’m glad they did though.”

Pete grinned and bumped their shoulders, handing him the bottle, which Patrick did take. “Me too, Patrick. Me too.”

They stayed out for a few more hours, talking in the darkness and listening to the waves that had fallen back again. The lighthouse some eight miles off turned on when it got dark enough, and its slow sweeping light circled, calming.

“They closed the lighthouse for awhile,” Pete said, head on Patrick’s shoulder again. “But everyone complained. The houses on these islands are so far, you might have to walk 40 minutes to your neighbors, you know? It meant they weren’t alone. I like that.”

Patrick closed his eyes, still able to catch when the light danced across them, hitting his eyelids. “I like that too,” he sighed.

Winter

The bar was nowhere near packed, but this was the furthest gig they’d played from campus in awhile. Really, it was one of the only gigs they’d played in awhile. But Joe was nothing if not a professional, so he played the best he could and tried to get one or two of the girls occasionally looking up from their beers to clap along. Mostly, everyone just seemed to stare at them, especially when Joe did a high-kick off one of the speakers. They were never going to be rock stars, so they might as well enjoy it while it lasted, right?

After the set, the rest of the band loaded up their stuff but Joe, usually perceived to be the most trust worthy, was sent to the bar to get their cut. While the barman counted out the change from the register, Joe could feel one of the guys sitting at the bar staring him down and it made him hyper-aware of the sweat making his shirt stick to his skin, and the wild and crazy look his hair always seemed to take on after a show. He tried not to look up, but when he did, brown eyes were staring him down, mildly curious. “You’re the only one who can play,” he said, as casually as if he were asking for the time, and Joe laughed despite himself.

“Yeah, well.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling nervously. So far, Joe’s luck with cute guys in bars had not been good. The last one had stolen his wallet, actually. That had been tricky to explain to his parents the next morning.

“You should get a different band. A good band,” Brown Eyes said, motioning to the bartender for two beers. Joe felt his throat swell up a little and he glanced around, nervous, wondering who was playing a practical joke on him. Guys like this didn’t talk to him.

“That’s easier said than done,” Joe said lightly, making no move toward the beer.

Brown Eyes grinned at that, too-big of teeth flashing in the dim lighting. “Don’t I know it. But sit down. It’s on me.”

Well, Joe couldn’t really argue with logic like that.

The bartender eyed Joe and his beer warily as he counted out the money to him, but he said nothing about him being underage, and Joe said nothing about how the money was $10 short. Mutual indifference was kind of nice, he thought as he took a swig from the bottle. Though beer really wasn’t his favorite.

“I’m Pete,” he said, and something about the way Pete’s fingers grasped his bottle made Joe pause. He wasn’t even aware someone could hold a bottle distinctly. “But more importantly, who are you?”

“Joe,” he said around his own bottle, holding out a hand quickly. Pete looked at it for a moment, bemused, but he shook it anyway.

“You’re kind of cute,” Pete said in a way that didn’t feel wholly judgmental, but Joe flushed anyway and laughed nervously again, ducking his head.

“That’s, um, okay.” He took another sip, and this one went down easier. It had been awhile since he’d really had anything to drink. College was so not the party place all the movies he’d grown up watching had promised. There were tests, and study sessions, and band practices, and a part time job at Starbucks. What there wasn’t a lot of was time. “A lot of people would disagree.”

“A lot of people aren’t me,” Pete said, leaning closer to laugh against his ear. Joe could feel his breath there, and it was maybe supposed to be hot, but he just twitched.

“Well, no,” he reasoned. “If a lot of people were you, you’d either have like, a problem with your identity being stolen or you’d be a clone. And neither of those sound very good. Maybe the clone thing. Then you could build up an army and defeat the galactic empire…” He trailed off, wishing he hadn’t spoken at all. Joe’s cheeks turned bright red, and he downed the rest of his beer with every intent to take his money and get the hell out of there before Pete clubbed him over the head and stole it all because Joe was that much of a loser.

But Pete didn’t produce a club or any other sort of a weapon. Instead, he burst out into high, loud laughter and caused some of the patrons to stare at him, but he just kept grinning at Joe. “I don’t know if I’d make a good galactic army. If it was just me.”

“There’s force in numbers,” Joe whispered, still embarrassed, but Pete wasn’t running. He motioned for two more beers, and something in Joe’s stomach was doing flip flops.

---

Pete looked even prettier without his shirt. That was about the only thought Joe could process after he’d been shoved roughly against one of the walls of Pete’s apartment, his head still swimming from the alcohol as Pete pressed tight against his thigh and he could feel his cock already hard under his jeans. Joe gasped, and the room kept spinning, faster and faster, so it was easier if he just closed his eyes and ran his fingers slowly down Pete’s chest.

“So sexy,” Pete whispered against his ear, tugging lightly, and Joe tried to fight the urge to twitch again. He wasn’t sexy and he knew it, but there was a beautiful guy in front of him, going down on his knees, and really, all that was missing was the hidden prank camera or the morning hangover that included a missing kidney. He grinned down at Pete anyway as thoughts melted away, his jeans a forgotten tangle on the floor somewhere beside them as Pete took him into his mouth, tongue running up the length of his cock.

But then.

Then something very bad happened, and Joe was pushing him away and running toward the kitchen sink, throwing up all over the shiny faucet and spotless counter.

Joe really didn’t remember the rest of the night, but when he woke up, Pete was gone. But his wallet was intact, his shirt was freshly washed, and there were directions for getting from the apartment to the nearest bus station.

---

Joe loved having late afternoon classes. Anything that didn’t require him to wake up before 10 am was a winner in his book, especially when that something was Marine Conservation Ecology. It wasn’t specifically what he wanted, but he had enough money saved up now to take the summer off from work and find a real internship working with penguins, and this was just a first step in the direction of protecting the wildlife he’d grown up loving.

No one really looked as excited as he was to be there, though, so he pulled his hat down lower on his head and drew little stick figures in the margins of his notebook until their professor walked in, tossing his briefcase into a chair.

“Welcome,” he said, grabbing the chalk and beginning to write in tight, scratchy handwriting across the board, “to Marine Conservation Ecology. I’m Professor Wentz. If none of that sounds familiar, you’re probably stoned, in which case, you better share with the class or get out.” Something about that voice was familiar, and Joe paused in drawing the last leg of his latest stick figure, trying to place it. He glanced at Professor Wentz’s back, considering.

When he turned around, Joe dropped his pen altogether. Pete caught the motion and glanced toward him, stumbling over his own words in his speech, but he smiled quickly instead and tried to compose himself. He carefully didn’t look at Joe at all after that for the rest of the class, but Joe couldn’t help but stare.

The only acknowledgement Joe got was a note, passed subtly to him on his way out the door, written in that same scratchy handwriting that read simply ‘See me in my office’.

---

“You’re not serious,” Joe said, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork spread out across what used to be a desk, but was now mostly just a table with Pete’s notebooks, old plates, seven calculators, and a lot of Joe’s cramped handwriting filling pages of various things sticking out of everywhere. One day, Patrick was going to organize it.

“Dead serious.” Pete nodded gravely from his position on the back of the couch where he perched precariously, seeming ready to tip over to the ground. Patrick mostly watched him, wondering how long before he really did.

Joe pulled off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pausing to consider the right words. “Pete, we’re not taking customers out on kayaks to explore the caves. Especially not in November! They’d freeze their asses off. Can you get frost bite on your ass? Because if you can, we’d be sued for that.”

“There’s no frost in Ireland,” Pete said patiently, and Patrick watched as one of the notebooks sailed across the room. It landed at Pete’s feet rather unsatisfactorily.

“I actually agree with Joe,” Patrick said slowly, and both turned their heads to stare at him.

“Ha.” Joe leaned back and grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Pete down.

“I thought you loved me best.” Pete ignored Joe, choosing to pout instead. But Patrick had enough experience to be mostly immune to it by now. Mostly.

He cleared his throat. “Those kayaks aren’t really sea worthy, are they? For long periods of time, at least?”

Pete narrowed his eyes. “We take them out all the time. So do the locals. No one’s drowned.”

“Yet,” Joe mumbled.

Patrick nodded slowly. “But the locals aren’t stupid tourists on vacations looking to swim with the dolphins.”

“We’ll tell them there’s sharks that can smell their tacky perfume,” Pete said brightly, and across the room Joe’s forehead hit the desk.

---

When Pete inevitably went to go look at more sea worthy kayaks for a few days, Joe was left with Patrick. He liked Patrick, especially when he took Joe’s side over Pete’s, which no one else ever did, but the dynamic was all off without Pete around.

Joe knew Pete well enough to know they’d never done anything, but every time he caught Pete watching Patrick when he thought no one was looking, Joe felt his chest tighten. He pushed it back down, because looking was okay, especially when it meant they might spend their weekends all three cramped on a sofa watching Jaws for the third time that month, but he got to drag Pete into the bedroom when it got late enough to start thoroughly suggesting Patrick get lost for the rest of the night.

That option was sadly lacking without Pete, and it was getting harder to push that feeling back down the more Patrick talked to their customers, telling them how awesome their missing host was and how they’d have to come back and see him. Because Pete was just so funny. So good with the animals and so charming.

Joe so wanted to throw Patrick overboard.

And that sucked, because Patrick was awesome.

He tried explaining this on the phone to Spencer, who sounded particularly bored with him.

“So Pete’s got a wandering eye. We knew that. What’s your point?”

Joe sighed and leaned his head against his desk, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “I don’t know that I have one.”

“Good.” Spencer perked up. “So when are you coming to get these damn data sheets and water samples? You said you’d be by today. I have better things to do than wait around for you.”

“What else is there to do on an island, Spencer?”

“Better things than wait for you. Are you deaf?” He sounded particularly pissed today, and it was giving Joe a headache.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. With Pete gone, someone has to give the tours. And we’re booked this week.” He tapped his fingers along the desk, considering. Pete was gone for at least another two days, and they had an entire family of fifteen offer to pay double just to come in on Tuesday, and seven had booked for the next day. And somewhere in all of that, he still had to fill out the forms for the possible assignment in Chile. But… “Patrick can come.”

“No.”

Joe sat up, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. It would get Patrick off the boat and away from him for an afternoon, too. “But he can’t drive the boat, and if those water samples need to go that badly…”

“They can stay right here.” His voice was tenser, and Joe could practically see his lips pursing in annoyance on the other end, his fingers digging in harder to the wooden desk of his and Ryan’s cottage.

“I’ll send him on the ferry tomorrow, you two can borrow my Jeep. He’d probably love a trip out of the city, and I know you know where Andy’s lab is. It’s an awesome plan.”

“It’s an awful plan,” Spencer corrected.

“I’m sorry,” Joe said happily, already in a better mood. “I think I have better things to do than wait for you to realize I sign your paychecks. You’ll see Patrick at nine.”

With that, he hung up.

At least this way he didn’t have to push Patrick overboard. Joe liked Patrick.

---

Patrick had never been on the ferry before, and it felt weird to be traveling over the Bay in anything that wasn’t the Voyager. It was too big, especially since the tourist season was over and the parking spots were now all empty, leaving several yards between him and the driver.

Who was dressed in neon green and sporting a visor and sunglasses, despite the cloudy sky overhead.

“That’s just Gabe,” Joe had said after dropping him off and seeing Patrick’s wide-eyed reaction. “He might bite, but he doesn’t mean it. Just don’t bite back.”

“Couldn’t you just take the samples in tomorrow?” he asked, hating the way his voice cracked at the end. Gabe was leering at him from the ferry, beckoning him forward.

Joe shook his head, giving Patrick a little nudge. “It has to be done. It won’t be so bad, Patrick. I’ll buy you a drink later, okay?”

That was definitely a photo of Justin Timberlake hanging around Gabe’s neck.

“Dead men don’t drink,” Patrick hissed, but Joe rolled his eyes and pushed him again, knocking him onto the boat where Gabe grabbed his hand and leaned down to kiss it.

“Welcome,” he said, drawing out his accent. “I’m your humble servant this afternoon. Your every desire, I will see to.”

Patrick squeaked.

Joe waved to him from the shore, and Patrick started to wave back, but changed his mind and flipped Joe off instead when he heard cackling from the shoreline.

Once on the boat, Patrick had claimed the corner seat as far away from Gabe as he could manage, but his voice still boomed out, echoing around the Bay, and Patrick could swear Gabe was staring at him from under those sunglasses.

“And which lovely island are we visiting today? Or maybe you just want a leisurely ride around the Bay?”

“Sherkin,” Patrick said quickly, and Gabe almost looked disappointed, but he mostly left Patrick alone for the rest of the ride.

When they docked at the same pier Patrick remembered from that first Date Night, Spencer and Ryan weren’t waiting. He didn’t see anyone at all, actually. Gabe was watching him expectantly, having been told they’d be going right back after they picked up two others.

“I’ll just… find them. I won’t be long.” Patrick scrambled over the side of the ferry onto the pier.

The island wasn’t quiet, but Patrick supposed it never was. Here, the sound of the late-morning waves crashing against the shoreline felt louder than usual. There were distant calls of birds somewhere off in the distance, and even a family of foxes rustling in a bush nearby.
But despite the noises, the place felt deserted. The only building he could see was a ruined church at the top of a small slope, and Patrick doubted Ryan and Spencer were in there.

When he reached the top of the slope to stand by the church, he looked around at the green, rolling and empty hills that seemed to stretch on in every direction. He’d been told a few hundred people lived here, but it seemed hard to believe.

“Patrick?”

He turned around quickly to find Jon leaning against the abandoned church, camera in hand and, thankfully, smile painted across his features. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since…” He trailed off, but the smile remained in place.

Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m supposed to be meeting Ryan and Spencer, to take some stuff to a lab, but… I don’t know where they are.”

Jon glanced down at a watch on his wrist and then turned to the east - where Patrick guessed Ryan and Spencer lived. There was no one on the horizon heading their way, but Jon reached out to give Patrick’s shoulder a friendly squeeze anyway. “They’re always late. Well, Ryan is. They’ll be around before too long.”

Patrick followed Jon’s gaze when it moved to the ferry, where Gabe was now lounging on one of the benches, shirt off and apparently sunbathing despite the lack of any sun in the sky. “He won’t be going anywhere,” Jon assured him, then began to lead him into the church.

There was no roof, which Patrick had been surprised he hadn’t noticed before. There were varying shades of gray stones, and as Jon led him through an open courtyard, he noted a graveyard off to one side. “I brought extra coffee, if you want it,” Jon offered, picking up two thermoses.

Patrick grabbed at one gratefully, taking a long sip. Joe had gotten him out of bed early that morning, telling Patrick he was giving Ryland the day off from carting his ass around, but it had also meant none of Alex’s coffee was waiting for him on their way out the door.

“This is the Abbey,” Jon said while Patrick took another sip, switching into tour mode. “It was destroyed in the 1500’s after the local clan stole 100 tons of wine from some sailors. It’s been cleaned up since then.” He continued to lead Patrick around the grassy area, pointing to the only room Patrick had seen that had a roof - it was a wide, open room with few windows, but light streamed in from cracks in the stone. “We have our art exhibits in there most of the time in the summer. We even show movies here sometimes, when the projector will work. If you’re still here in May, you should come.”

“I might,” Patrick said. He’d loved going to the movies at home, being able to sit in a theatre for a few hours and losing himself, but the idea of watching a movie without Pete leaning over him to steal his popcorn or Joe not mouthing the words along to his right felt wrong. He’d have to see if they’d come too.

Jon paused at something, then motioned for Patrick to follow again. “I think they’re here.” Patrick had heard nothing but their feet crunching the grass beneath them, but he followed obediently, and sure enough, Spencer and Ryan were standing at the bottom of the hill, looking bored and annoyed.

“Hey,” Jon called, and Spencer turned around first, smiling until he realized Patrick was there too. Ryan turned, but narrowed his eyes at Patrick. This was going to be a long day.

Together, Patrick and Jon walked down to the pier, Ryan and Spencer tracking their every move.

Jon stopped in front of Spencer, lopsided grin firmly in place. Patrick wondered if it hurt to smile that much, but Spencer was turning red and staring at him, so maybe it was having the desired effect. Maybe Spencer didn’t hate Jon after all.

“We were waiting for you,” Ryan snapped, crossing his arms.

From the boat, Gabe’s voice called out, “We were waiting for you,” but he made no move to get up.

“It was my fault,” Jon explained, shrugging. “I thought I’d show him around the Abbey while he waited. Get him some coffee.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed even more, and it was his turn to glare at Patrick. Why did everyone on this island hate him?

“Whatever,” Ryan sighed, grabbing at Spencer’s hand. “We need to go.”

“In a second,” he whispered, not moving from his position in front of Jon. When Ryan stared him down, Spencer cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I’ll be there in one second, Ryan.”

Sighing, Ryan marched off onto the ferry, sitting as far away from Gabe as possible. At least Patrick wasn’t the only one freaked out.

But Patrick wasn’t entirely certain what to do. He looked between the ferry and Jon and Spencer, and both parties seemed to be ignoring him completely. Well, Gabe was maybe watching him out of the corner of his eye. Patrick stood there for so long it seemed too late to move, so he didn’t.

“You never come by anymore,” Jon said, fiddling with the camera in his hand.

“The gallery is closed,” Spencer said patiently, crossing his arms and looking a mirror image of Ryan. He actually did indifferent way better, but Patrick wasn’t going to tell either of them that.

Jon nodded slowly, titling his head. “So? It’s a small island. You could find out where I live.” He paused, smiling hopefully at Spencer. “I stole the espresso machine.”

“You always pick the worst times,” Spencer muttered, shaking his head and then jerking it toward Patrick, proving he at least knew Patrick existed. It was something. “I have to take him to Andy’s.”

“Every time is bad for you,” Jon said quietly, though he didn’t sound mad. When Spencer remained silent, Jon held up his hands. “The coffee’s eventually going to get cold, Spencer. But go on.”

Jon turned to walk back up the hill, and beside him, Spencer sighed. Patrick wanted to touch his shoulder, but he was afraid Spencer might attack him. “God, you suck,” Spencer sighed after a moment, when Jon’s back had disappeared behind the grey walls of the Abbey, but Patrick suspected the comment was directed at him and not Jon. Without waiting for a response, and Patrick had none, Spencer walked toward the ferry with Patrick trailing along behind.

---

The ride to the lab felt like it took hours, but Joe had promised Patrick it was only an hour and a half to Andy’s lab in Cork. The last time Patrick had made this trip had been his first day in the country, and he’d slept through most of the countryside. It was odd not to see the ocean spanning out before them, but he pressed his face to the window and did his best to ignore Ryan and Spencer in the front seat, playing music Patrick actually liked, though he wondered if it was just left-over CDs from Joe.

“How’s Brendon?” Ryan had asked halfway through the ride, staring straight ahead. It had taken a few moments for Patrick to even realize he was the one being addressed.

“Um.” Patrick rubbed at the back of his neck, confused. “I don’t know? I only met him the once.”

Ryan’s eyes got wide, but he kept quiet. From his position, Patrick could see Spencer reaching over to put a hand over Ryan’s, and glancing back at Patrick in the rearview mirror with an unreadable expression. Patrick just went back to staring at the green hills and sheep outside.

When they finally reached Cork, it was like a different world. It was an actual city, with people bustling about and tall buildings hanging over them, even stretching on into the distance. Patrick knew a little about the place from what he’d heard from tourists on the boat, but he wanted to get out and see some of it. The car kept going, though, Spencer driving them further from the tall buildings and leading them to the outskirts of town, to a plainly decorated building. There was no sign, but a beat-up van outside had the words ‘HURLEY ENVIRONMENTAL AND LABORATORY SERVICES’ painted across it.

“This is it?” Patrick asked, glancing around. There were no other buildings in sight.

“Andy keeps a low profile.” Spencer hopped out of the driver’s seat and stretched his legs, but neither he nor Ryan waited for Patrick before they headed inside.

Just what kind of experiments went on here? But Patrick followed, and inside, it did look like any other laboratory he’d ever been in. There were microscopes and clean, clinical white walls. The only thing out of place, really, was the tiny red-headed man in a lab coat and shorts, sitting barefoot on a stool as he placed specimens on a slide.

“Hey Andy,” Spencer called, setting his bag down on one of the counters and moving to unpack the test tubes and folders marked with the week and different species names. Patrick had never really seen much of the actual information they were meant to be collecting, and the student in him itched to look through the files and analyze the numbers, to see what they were really accomplishing. It felt like all he’d done since he’d arrived was show tourists the area, point out a few dolphins or whales, and occasionally write down what they’d spotted. They took photos of all the animals, and matched them in a big book to see if there were any new animals each year, but that was as exciting as it got.

“You haven’t been here in awhile,” Andy said after a moment, setting the slide down. “Didn’t miss me?”

“We don’t get off the Island much,” Ryan said. Andy nodded as though he understood and began to move the test tubes, motioning for them to follow suit with the remaining ones. Patrick picked up one container and followed him to the other side of the room.

“You must be Patrick,” Andy said, glancing at him over the rim of his thick black glasses. “If you ever get tired of working the boat, you can come here. Though my last two assistants didn’t work out well.” He shot a pointed look at Ryan in particular, who fidgeted uncomfortably.

“It’s not his fault he’s clumsy,” Spencer offered in Ryan’s defense.

“I say it is.” Andy shrugged after a moment and turned a blinding smile onto Patrick. “Anyway, if they treat you bad, you’re welcome here. And say hi to Mixon for me.”

At Patrick’s blank stare, Spencer sighed. “Do you pay any attention? He’s Scimeca’s bartender. He serves you every Date Night.”

“I only went once,” Patrick said, and Spencer seemed surprised at that. Even Ryan looked a bit guilty.

They didn’t stay long. Once the folders were placed in the right bins, Andy shooed Ryan out of his lab and told them he had a lot of work to do. Ryan wouldn’t meet Patrick’s eyes on the way home, but when they parked in front of the B&B, Spencer leaned back, smiling hopefully at Patrick. “I hope you can come to Date Night this week. Really.”

Patrick paused. Spencer seemed sincere, and it might be nice to get out of the bed and breakfast more than one night a week. “I think I might,” he said, and Ryan’s shoulders relaxed.

---

Spencer kept his word and the next two Date Nights went by without a hitch. Ryan even stopped glaring at Patrick long enough to hold a few conversations, and when he got very quiet and couldn’t sleep one night, he told Spencer he liked Patrick.

Spencer’s thoughts were so preoccupied with how well the second Date Night had gone that when the ferry docked, Gabe already drunk and crooning what he claimed were Spanish lullabies at them, he almost didn’t notice the two figures waiting at the bottom of the pier. But when he looked, there were Jon and Brendon, staring up at him. Jon smiled hard, clutching his camera bag.

Shit.

Spencer glanced back at Ryan, who was still looking out at the water on the opposite side, not yet having noticed their visitors.

He turned back to Jon, trying to motion for the two of them to leave, but Jon just shook his head slowly and even in the moonlight, Spencer could see him holding up two fingers and motioning him forward. Brendon just paced back and forth, looking ready to pass out.

There was no way to yell down at them without drawing attention, and they were too close to the island now for Spencer to fake having left his cell phone back in Joe’s jeep on the mainland. He turned to Ryan again, closing his eyes to draw his courage, then walked over. “Brendon’s here,” he said slowly, and Ryan stared back at him blankly, not understanding.

“What do you mean?”

“He and Jon are here.” When Ryan continued to stare at him, Spencer pointed to the pier, where two figures were now clearly illuminated.

“What,” Ryan whispered, but the thought was never finished as he stood and moved past Spencer to the edge of the ferry, leaning out to look at them. Spencer followed, and he saw Brendon give a slight, nervous wave. Ryan even returned it.

Together, they climbed onto the pier. Ryan’s lips were a thin line, and for once, Spencer couldn’t read him. Brendon, on the other hand, was vibrating with nervous energy. He tried to bolt once, but Jon put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” Jon said, holding his camera bag tighter.

Spencer wondered just how long they’d been waiting here, as their cheeks were pink and their breath no longer came out in puffs of air that hung in the night sky. He figured he owed them something for waiting, but he wasn’t certain what. Spencer crossed his arms. “And why would you do that?”

“Hi,” Brendon stuttered out beside them, Ryan tilting his head to gaze at him like he was some abstract painting he never could quite comprehend.

“We thought it might be nice.” Jon was staring him down, silently daring.

“But why?”

Brendon tried to bolt again, but this time it was Ryan who stepped forward to put a hand on his arm. “Wait.” Brendon stilled under the touch, looking at him with wide, nervous eyes. Slowly, Ryan moved closer and Brendon drew in a sharp breath.

“Can we talk?” Brendon whispered.

Ryan nodded, glancing at Spencer once for permission, and they had a silent conversation in the few seconds that passed before Brendon began moving up the hill to the Abbey, out of sight. Ryan trailed along behind after Spencer gave a stilted nod, leaving him alone with Jon.

Spencer uncrossed his arms, but he continued to fidget and hated himself for it. “Seriously, Walker, why did you two come here? How did you even know we’d be here?”

“Every other Monday, right? You’re a creature of habit.” He stepped forward, smile flashing in the moonlight. “Brendon came because I thought he’d distract Ryan. Clearly, I am a genius.”

“An evil genius,” Spencer corrected, and was pleased his voice didn’t shake. Jon was definitely invading his personal space now. It had been weeks since he’d seen Jon at all, and longer since he’d thought of the way he always smelled like photo chemicals and coffee beans, with a hint of sea salt. It was all he could smell now.

Jon reached into his bag and removed two thermoses, holding one out to Spencer who took it hesitantly. “I’m a patient guy,” Jon said, sipping from his slowly. Spencer could smell the coffee even before he lifted his own thermos to his lips. “But this is kind of the last chance you get to have coffee with me.”

Spencer motioned to the cup in his hand. “I’m pretty sure I already am.”

Jon smiled properly, his face softening. “Then come for a walk.”

He led them down the beach, even though it felt too late to be doing this. There were no lights anywhere except the moonlight reflecting off the water, and Spencer tripped over rocks and dried seaweed as he walked with Jon, trying to decide if he was being led off to his doom, or if he’d care. Mostly, Spencer settled on the latter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jon alone without Ryan.

“That was clever, with Brendon,” he murmured when they reached the top of a hill.

“I’m a clever guy. You’d know that, if you hung around more.”

Spencer sighed and took a large gulp of his coffee. “You always do that. I don’t have all the free time in the world.”

Jon shrugged. “Maybe. But I think what you really mean is, you don’t have that much time away from Ryan, which means no Jon time.”

He wanted to spit back a response, age old anger boiling in the pit of his stomach about how no one had the right to judge his and Ryan’s friendship because no one understood them like each other, but he’d had the same thought. It seemed petty even to Spencer to yell at Jon for that one.

Spencer’s thoughts were still swirling around in his head, trying to come up with the appropriate reaction, when Jon stopped in front of a small cottage Spencer hadn’t even noticed before. It wasn’t very impressive, and in the dark the vines growing along the cobblestone walls blended in with the green hills painting the backdrop. “This,” Jon said, opening the door and flicking on the light, “is home.”

The inside was a completely different story.

Spencer tried not to stare at the brightly covered red wall to his right, or the black and white photos lining the hall. He knew they were Jon’s, could decipher various parts of the island or had seen them hanging in the gallery before it had closed for the winter. There was one, though, of Spencer and Ryan, heads bowed together and looking over that day’s seal count on top of the hill, that he hadn’t even realized Jon was present for. That photo, he stopped at.

Jon laughed, sounding almost embarrassed. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“You’re kind of a stalker,” Spencer breathed when Jon stepped up beside him to look at the photo with him. “But a talented one.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, before Jon sighed and set his coffee on a nearby table, wringing his hands together. “It took me how long to get you here? I’m not waiting another five months to have another conversation.”

Spencer squinted at him, still trying to read him. “I don’t know how I feel about strange men distracting my best friend so they can lure me away to their stalker cave. Though,” he paused, finishing off the last of the thermos, “I definitely missed the espresso machine.”

“I’m hoping you feel pretty strongly about it,” Jon said, and the playful smile was nowhere in sight, throwing Spencer off his game. Then again, where Jon Walker was concerned, Spencer kind of had no game at all.

When Spencer continued to stand there and stare at him, Jon sighed and there he was again, in Spencer’s face. “You’re such an idiot,” Jon mumbled, and Spencer would have argued but then there were lips on his and oh, so coffee was definitely a code word for hooking up. Spencer had been hoping, but coffee for coffee’s sake was also good, but then there was Ryan.

Jon pulled back, narrowing his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” Spencer frowned, reaching to wrap a hand around Jon’s waist and pull him in closer again.

“Stop thinking, will you?” Jon sighed, and this time when he kissed Spencer, the thoughts all vanished from his mind except for that he wanted to remember the little noises Jon made when he dragged his teeth over his lower lip or threaded his fingers through his hair.

“I wanted to do that forever,” Jon whispered what felt like hours later, but hadn’t even been five minutes.

Spencer closed his eyes. “Me too.”

“Then will you stop avoiding me?” Jon asked, tugging a little sharply at Spencer’s coat sleeve. “Because I’m kind of crazy about you, and this whole being ditched thing is hard on a guy’s crush.” Laughing, Spencer nodded.

“But I don’t want to tell Ryan yet.”

“You just want me for my coffee, anyway.”

“What do you think he’s doing right now, anyway? With Brendon?”

Jon rolled his eyes and leaned his head back, groaning. “Making out, simply to spite me because I’m not.”

Spencer was definitely smiling for real now, and he could feel the heat spreading across his face, knew he probably looked like a fool. But none of it mattered when Jon finally smiled back at him, looking just as stupid, and Spencer reached for him again. “Shut up, Jon.”

---

“Are you going over to Pete’s for Christmas?”

Patrick looked up from his morning fruit plate to find Ryland staring at him and Alex leaning in from the kitchen, pretending to be interested in some minute design on the wall and not at all listening to them, though very clearly failing at the pretending thing. Patrick swallowed the rest of his grapefruit.

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Why would I? He lives with Joe. They spend it together, right?” The look they were giving him was making Patrick feel uneasy. Even Indiana Jones, who was usually still curled up asleep on the windowsill this early, seemed to be perking his head up to stare at him.

“No reason,” Ryland said quickly, sitting down and opening the jam jar for his toast.

Alex, who had forgotten he wasn’t meant to be paying attention, added, “You’re welcome to spend it with us, if you don’t have other plans. I’m sure it’s hard, not being home for the holidays.”

Patrick hadn’t thought about home in awhile - he called his mom once a week and they always caught up on anything important, but there was no one else to really miss anymore. He didn’t know if this was information he should share with his landlords, though, so Patrick just smiled and picked up a piece of an orange.

“Though,” Ryland added slowly, “I think Pete will ask.”

“Just, if he doesn’t.” Alex smiled at him quickly before returning to chopping up whatever delicacy he was working on in the kitchen.

“Pete and Joe usually do their own thing,” Patrick reminded them, and across the table Ryland appeared to have a coughing fit so bad Alex actually stepped into the dining room, crossing his arms and staring Ryland down until he stopped.

“You hang out with them a lot,” Ryland said, and Patrick tried to convince himself he was imagining the smile.

Alex huffed and gave up on whatever was in the kitchen, joining them. “What he means is, we never see you.”

“I thought I was usually in your way?”

“You are,” Ryland said, then winced at something Alex did to him under the table. “Um, only not?”

Alex reached over to squeeze Patrick’s shoulder and it felt oddly reassuring. “Just, be careful. You don’t know everything about them.”

Patrick nodded to make them feel better and to get them to stop staring so he could finish his breakfast in peace, but the words echoed in his mind, whispering suspicions and secret wishes that didn’t seem unfounded.

Suddenly, Patrick was missing home a lot more than he’d realized.

---

Sure enough, Pete did ask. Alex’s words were still lingering in his mind, but when Pete promised most of the town showed up to his annual Christmas Eve party, Patrick had thought it would be safe.

What he hadn’t expected was to walk into the house Pete shared with Joe and find it a verifiable winter wonderland on crack, complete with Hemmy sitting in a corner sulking at the reindeer outfit he’d been forced into.

People, dozens of them, were already there and talking in groups, their voices rising above the old fashioned Christmas tunes playing in the background. There were hundreds of white snowflakes cut out of paper and taped to every wall and hanging from the ceiling. The whole place smelled like gingerbread, and the desk Patrick had been itching to organize all season was finally cleared off to serve temporarily as a holding ground for mountains of Christmas cookies and other treats. There was mistletoe in every corner, and some two inches from Patrick’s face, was Pete.

“Welcome,” he slurred a little, trying not to drop the mostly-empty bottle of wine clasped in his left hand, “to Christmas!” Pete grinned widely at Patrick and blew on the end of his Santa hat that had fallen into his face, but it didn’t budge.

“Ignore him,” Joe said from nearby, arranging cookies on a plastic plate. He was dressed as an elf, though Patrick suspected that was Pete’s doing. “He thinks since I’m Jewish and he’s a Christmas-a-holic, it means he can start getting drunk on eggnog seven days early.”

Pete nodded, staring wide-eyed at Patrick. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Joe sighed, shaking his head at Pete. “Oh, just say yes or he’ll never let it go.”

“Yes,” Patrick laughed.

“Knew I could count on you!” Pete slapped his shoulder before wandering off.

Joe stepped up beside Patrick, offering him a cookie. “He’s mostly playing it up. He likes to remember this holiday, it’s the only one he likes after Halloween.”

“What holiday do you like?”

Joe tilted his head, considering. “Groundhog Day.”

“You just like Bill Murray.”

“Duh.” He took a long sip of his eggnog, grinning at Patrick from behind the plastic cup.

---

Ryan was definitely sulking. But, to his credit, he was trying hard to hide it from Spencer and to act like he didn’t want to be anywhere other than in a crowded room, some few feet away from where Brendon was talking to Greta and laughing a little too loudly, already drunk. Spencer patted his knee affectionately, and appreciated that Ryan wasn’t full on pouting.

What he didn’t appreciate was the way Jon was eyeing him from the corner, perched underneath a sprig of mistletoe. He’d tried hard to dissuade Jon from coming at all, but he’d had his own invitation from Joe as they knew each other from Chicago, or maybe Joe provided Jon with his weed. Spencer still wasn’t certain.

“I want to go home,” Ryan sighed, glancing across the room to where Gabe was standing on a table and singing a modified rendition of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer, with help from Alex and Ryland. They weren’t getting back to their island any time soon.

Ryan leaned back and closed his eyes. “I hate my life.”

Jon was definitely glaring at him now, but Spencer just shrugged helplessly at him. He knew what Jon was thinking - they’d been having this same conversation for weeks now. Jon wanted more than leaving his door unlocked late at night or Tuesdays, when Spencer pretended to be working on some early-morning assignment for Pete in order to sneak off and spend the day with Jon. He was surprised Ryan fell for it at all considering he knew how much Spencer liked to sleep in.

Spencer just didn’t know if he was okay with more than that. Telling Ryan meant there was something to even tell him about.

Besides, sneaking around was kind of fun. It had been years since he’d properly employed his stealth mode, and even if he was a bit rusty, it felt exciting.

Finally, Jon gave up his position in the corner and walked over, firmly planting himself on the other side of Spencer.

“Hey, Ryan,” he said, and Ryan raised a hand in greeting. “Having a good time at the party?”

“I hate Christmas,” Ryan said darkly.

Even from across the room, Pete shouted, “I hate you, Ryan Ross. Do not spoil Christmas!”

“You suck!” Ryan shouted back, and Jon was nice enough to hand whatever was in his red plastic cup to Ryan, letting him take a long sip. “You do not suck, Jon Walker.”

“I might. You’d have to ask this one, though,” he said, raising a brow at Spencer, who turned bright red and made choking hand motions to Jon. It just made him grin more, and that in itself was a little worrying.

Ryan was ignoring them completely, though, lost in his thoughts. “You know who really sucks?”

“I do, actually, it’s-” Jon started, but Spencer dug a finger sharply into his side, and Jon yelped in pain. He cleared his throat, starting over. “Why don’t you just tell Brendon you like him?”

“That’s not better,” Spencer hissed. “He’s right over there.”

“Brendon does not like me,” Ryan sighed dramatically.

Jon and Spencer both glanced toward Brendon, who was definitely pretty far gone at that point, and sitting in the lap of their boss, Victoria Asher. Jon had told Spencer he liked Victoria, sure, she signed their paychecks and brokered their art, but Brendon usually just made high pitched noises and hid when she was around. “Bullshit,” he said, taking another sip from his drink.

“I asked him,” Ryan said. “He said no.”

That was news to Spencer.

“You can stop gaping at me like a fish,” Ryan muttered, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, but he closed his mouth. “It happened.”

“When, exactly?”

Ryan waved his hand dismissively. “In the Abbey.”

Jon was leaning closer, pressed mostly against Spencer. It was sending warm tingles down his spine and his fingers itched to feel the material on Jon’s shirt, but he controlled himself.

“Are you sure you didn’t just ask him if he liked you? And he freaked out and ran?” Jon asked.

Ryan finally lifted his head, looking at Jon for a long time. “He told you?”

Jon shrugged. “We’re friends.”

Spencer hit Jon’s arm, hard enough to make him pull back and look at Spencer. “You didn’t tell me?”

This time, he looked a little sad. “I thought our policy was friends first, Spencer. Truth later.”

There wasn’t even any way he could argue with that. Sighing, Spencer pulled away from them both and went to get more punch. He really hoped someone had spiked it by now.

---

After an hour, Patrick found himself squished into one corner of the sofa next to Greta who was giggling madly as she tried to stop Brendon from climbing over Victoria.

He sipped his beer and watched, amused, as Greta grabbed one of Brendon’s flailing arms and pulled it back sharply toward her. Brendon jerked belatedly, spilling his drink over his own shirt and Victoria’s lap.

Victoria stood quickly, brushing at her skirt and scowling at Brendon as she muttered something about artists and children and incompetent dorks. Brendon looked crestfallen, but only until Greta wrapped her arms around him.

Patrick looked away, drinking a little more deeply and he smiled when he saw Ryan looking their way. He raised his hand in a friendly wave. Ryan’s plastic cup collapsed in his hand as his fist clenched and he stormed away, Spencer and Jon trailing slowly after him.

Joe was sitting on the stairs with Gabe, both leaning back against the wall, eyes closed as they passed a joint back and forth. They looked happy and relaxed and, thankfully, in no mood to sing anymore dirty Christmas carols.

Patrick needed more beer.

He pushed himself to his feet and squeezed past Alex and Ryland, who were busy kissing drunkenly under the mistletoe hanging in the doorway to the kitchen.

Patrick paused when he finally got past, stopping when he saw Pete sitting on the kitchen counter, playing with some gingerbread men. The perky, excited host from earlier had vanished, replaced by a darker, sadder looking Pete. Patrick blinked at him for a moment before remembering why he’d come into the kitchen at all. “I was just looking for more beer.”

Pete, who Joe was right, did not look drunk at all anymore, gestured to the bucket of ice on the table that was keeping the bottles cool.

Patrick glanced down and smirked. “It’s empty.”

Pete jumped down from the counter and bit the head off one of the gingerbread men, chewing it loudly. He pushed the other one into Patrick’s hand and walked across the room to throw open the back door, letting the cold air in.

“Glorious Irish winter,” he explained. “My own personal refrigerator.” He picked up two bottles from one of the many six packs lining the back porch wall, and sat down on the one step leading down to the grassy area, motioning for Patrick to join him.

He hesitated, but did as he was told. They sat in companionable silence for awhile, drinking their beers and looking out across the hills, lit only by moonlight. Patrick didn’t know how many times he’d been here before, but he’d never really taken in the view. It was gorgeous.

“Are you having a good time?” Pete asked after the minutes began to stretch on, Patrick’s fingers going numb in the cold.

“It’s a fun party,” he nodded, because it was. But Patrick didn’t know many people here, at least not well enough to go up to them and start a conversation.

Beside him, Pete snorted. “That’s not what I asked.” Finally, he smiled and turned to Patrick, who allowed himself to relax a little. He rested his head against Pete’s shoulder, telling himself he could blame the alcohol later.

“We could go for a walk,” Pete murmured against his hair. Patrick closed his eyes, content.

“It’s too cold. This is nice. Let’s just stay like this.”

Pete sighed against his hair and nodded slowly. “I guess.” He paused, making a face - Patrick could feel it. “I’m kind of bored.”

Patrick pulled back just enough to look up at Pete. “I thought you loved Christmas?”

“I do, but… they’re all drunk now. And I’m not. And there’s no snow. It’s not Christmas without snow.” He reached a foot out to press the tip of his sneaker against the wet grass, listening to the slippery noise it made when he dug it down. “It rains all the damn time, but it never snows.”

Patrick took a long sip from his beer, considering. “You miss Chicago?”

Pete laughed loudly, but it didn’t sound happy. “I don’t know. Yeah. But it was time to leave. You know how sometimes you get that feeling that you’re not supposed to be somewhere anymore, that it’s time to move on? It was that kind of a feeling.”

“Do you feel that way about here?” He held his breath until he realized he was even doing so, and then Patrick released it all at once, making a loud noise.

“I was supposed to go to Antarctica,” he said slowly, looking up at the stars. “Before I got fired. Do a research thing down there when I finished the semester teaching. That’s how I met him at college, actually. He wanted to save the penguins.”

Patrick grinned around his bottle. He couldn’t imagine Pete in Antarctica in thick winter coats, goggles on his eyes as he trekked after polar bears and penguins. “Do penguins need rescuing?” he asked slowly, and then Pete started to laugh as well, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I liked whales.” Pete set his bottle down, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Sometimes, I think we’re the ones who need rescuing.”

Patrick glanced sideways at him, trying to decipher what he meant, but Pete was staring right at him, pupils a little overblown from the alcohol. In the dim light, they seemed to glow, and Patrick felt his chest tighten.

“Pete?” he whispered, voice cracking on the end.

“I like you,” Pete said suddenly, still staring at him with the wide, hopeful eyes that made Patrick feel ten times drunker than he already was. “And I’m going to kiss you, unless you stop me.”

“I, I,” Patrick stuttered, but in the end, he never finished his sentence. Pete was dating Joe, but Patrick liked Pete. Enough to close his eyes and run his fingers slowly through his hair when Pete leaned closer, brushing their lips together. His silly Santa hat drooped too low, the ball on the end tickling at Patrick’s nose until Pete pulled it off altogether and tossed it into the grass. Their lips were cold from the chill outside, but Pete’s body was warm when he leaned closer, his own hands constantly moving, cupping the back of his neck, running down his chest, stroking his arm. It felt good. Too good. The butterflies he’d been getting in his stomach every time Pete grabbed his hand on the boat or whispered a movie line in his ear were back in full force, and this time, there was no denying that it was anything other than attraction.

Ryan opened the door to the back porch, holding an empty case of beer. “Pete, you’re out of… Oh.” He paused, tilting his head as Patrick pulled away quickly, flushed and embarrassed. Pete just stared up at Ryan.

“Beer?” Ryan asked after a moment, and Pete motioned to the cases lining the wall. Ryan grabbed one and started to head back inside, but he paused in the doorway. “Joe’s not going to like that.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when it was you,” Pete shot back, and Patrick felt a little sick to his stomach.

Ryan looked at them both one last time before shrugging. “I’m not telling him. But he’ll find out.” With that, he was gone.

Pete’s shoulders deflated while Patrick stood, feeling anxious and guilty. He liked Joe, a lot. He usually saved the last piece of pizza for him, and he didn’t make fun of Patrick when he needed to be reminded for the third time in a week which type of bird was which to tell the tourists. And he was making out with his boyfriend. “I should go,” he said, scrambling to his feet.

“Patrick, wait, let’s talk…” Pete didn’t make a move to get up, though.

The B&B was too far to walk to in the cold and it was locked anyway, so Patrick was forced to hide in the corner near where Ryland and Alex had moved to. No one was really bothering them, and he hoped maybe if he stood there long enough, they’d get the idea that he wanted to go home.

They didn’t.

In the end, it was Jon who saved him, stepping into his corner and glancing up at the mistletoe overhead. Patrick sidestepped quickly, while Jon laughed. “We’re going,” he said, motioning to where Gabe was practically passed out on the stairs with Joe. “He gave us the keys to the ferry and his car.”

Patrick raised both brows. “Really?”

Jon grinned and shrugged. “He said he’d do it for the good of the rabbit. I have no idea what he meant, but I don’t think we should stick around to find out. You want to come crash with us? I’ll take you and the ferry back here in the morning.”

Patrick hesitated, but when he spotted Pete finally coming in from the cold, rubbing his hands to get warm and laughing at something William was saying, he grabbed at Jon’s hand instead. “Let’s go!”

The ride back was peaceful, though they didn’t talk much. Spencer and Ryan chatted quietly, though Patrick thought he heard Brendon and Pete both mentioned, and he paled at the idea that he might actually be the center of their conversation. After that, he stopped eavesdropping.

When they got back to the mainland, there was one awkward moment where they all stood around in silence, staring at Patrick, trying to decide who should take him home.

Eventually, Spencer spoke up. “Why don’t you take him back, Ryan? I should make sure Jon gets home okay.”

Ryan frowned. “Why? He’s a grown man.”

Spencer glanced between them for a moment. “He’s kind of drunk, though. So I should go home with him. Make sure he’s okay.”

Jon, who had been walking fine all night, suddenly stumbled over a rock and grinned up stupidly at Ryan from his position on the ground.

Ryan shrugged. “Okay. Come on, then, Patrick.”

---

Part Three