Beyond The Sea, 4/6

[ditchwitchbitch]

Part Three

---

Pete was too drunk to drive himself or the boat back home, so Patrick had to maneuver the catamaran out of the dock, Pete shouting instructions at him while simultaneously singing an almost unrecognizable Green Day song at him.

By the time they got back to Rean Pier, Patrick wanted to throw him off the boat. “Let’s swim!” Pete laughed, already halfway over the side before Patrick grabbed his shirt, dragging him back on board.

“No,” he hissed. “We’re already at the dock. Just get out.”

Pete eyed the distance between the boat and the dock. “If this is your idea of close parking…” He attempted to whistle, but mostly only air came out. Patrick shoved him, hard, but Pete seemed to get the idea and managed to jump the distance, even drunk.

“You’re maaaad,” Pete sing-songed, pulling on the handle to the Jeep. For the first time in years, Patrick had to close his eyes and mentally count to ten before finally unlocking the car and climbing in. Pete got in on the other side, quiet for once.

It wasn’t until they were almost to Pete’s house that Patrick spoke up. “This was supposed to be our first date,” he sighed, and it wasn’t fair, really, to do this now. Pete’s pupils were overblown as he stared at him in the dark, looking somewhere between sad and confused.

“Seals don’t give birth every day.”

Patrick wanted to throw something at him. “I know that,” he answered slowly, staring ahead. “But you ignored me half the night.”

“Seals,” Pete answered again, dumbly.

Patrick grit his teeth. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said slowly, and he could feel the anger that had been building all night rising quickly, tasting like bile in the back of his throat. “This was your whole idea. We’ve barely even seen each other outside work since Joe left. I saw more of you before he was gone, actually. And that’s fine, okay? If you didn’t want to date, that’s fine. But you shouldn’t have kissed me or pushed for this or gotten me all confused or… or… fuck you, Pete Wentz. This was your idea. If you don’t want to do it, just say it.”

But instead, Pete leaned over and kissed him, hard. The car swerved at the sudden movement and they were both knocked back, Pete left rubbing the back of his head from where it had hit the glass. They stared at each other as the car slowed to a stop in front of his house, and Pete hesitated, seeming trapped with too little time for decisions. “I’ll be better,” he said slowly, and clambered out of the car so fast Patrick began to wonder if he’d faked some of the drunkenness. But he saw him stumble up his stairs, and at least knew he hadn’t faked that.

Patrick went home alone again.

---

There was a light knocking at his door, but it felt too early, and Patrick groaned, rolling away and pulling a pillow over his head. “Hello?” Ryland called from the other side of the door before simply opening it. Patrick couldn’t even be mad - it was their house.

“What?” he sighed, pulling the pillow off enough to squint across the room at Ryland. His fingers grappled at the bedside table, fumbling for his glasses and putting them on lopsided at first. Ryland was smiling, but there was no coffee in sight, so Patrick didn’t return the sentiment.

“Pete’s downstairs,” Ryland nodded, leaning against the doorway. “He says it’s important.”

“Oh.” Most of the anger from the day before had faded away, but it still didn’t stop him from feeling a little bitter. “What, are more seals giving birth? Does he need someone to haul his telescope?”

Ryland shrugged. “He brought flowers. Is ‘hauling his telescope’ code?”

Patrick struggled to find something clever to say in his sleep-fogged brain, but by the time he had a decent comeback, Ryland was gone. Sighing, he dragged himself from the bed and threw on a pair of shoes, marching downstairs.

By the time Patrick reached the kitchen, Ryland and Alex had disappeared outside, even though Patrick could see Alex through the window, trying to watch them even as Ryland pulled him away.

Pete sat at the table, with the coffee that was rightfully Patrick’s, looking worse than Patrick felt. He almost felt bad. Almost.

“Hi,” Pete whispered, voice sounding hoarse and strained.

Patrick took the chair furthest from Pete. “Hungover?”

Pete shrugged, but took an extra long sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, and pulled the bouquet of flowers out from under the table to set them in front of Patrick. They weren’t store-bought, because Greta was the only one who occasionally kept those sorts of flowers in store here, and these lacked the pretty purple and white tissue paper she wrapped around them. Patrick thought they looked like the ones that grew down by the dock, but these were brighter and prettier. They smelled like spring. “I know it doesn’t make up for it.”

“Good, because it doesn’t.” What was left of his anger was quickly melting, though, and Patrick tried to remind himself why he’d been angry in the first place.

“Will you let me try today, though?”

Patrick sighed, looking out the window again. Alex was definitely watching them, peering in from where Ryland had pulled him off to the side. He narrowed his eyes at him, but Alex just smiled. “We have to work today,” he said after a moment, when he remembered what he was doing.

Pete shook his head quickly. “I’ll cancel the tour. It’s not a big deal. You can go back to sleep and I’ll come back later and we’ll have a proper date.”

Despite his better judgment, Patrick found himself nodding, and maybe even smiling when Pete broke out into a full grin, looking more relieved than he had in weeks. “You won’t regret this,” he swore, bouncing to his feet.

Patrick really hoped he was right.

---

After a good ten outfit changes (“You can’t wear what you wore last night,” Alex said, frowning at him from over the top of his paper where he’d been pretending not to notice him. “Are you insane?”), Patrick felt even more self-conscious of the way his too-thin hair poked out from under his hat and stuck to his forehead, the way his stomach felt too big for the jeans Ryland had requested he wear.

“You look fine,” Ryland reassured him, tossing Patrick’s favorite tennis shoes into a corner. His fingers itched to put them back on, but he looked down forlornly at the brown shoes he hadn’t even realized he’d brought. It wasn’t the same.

Alex lightly kicked Ryland, all the while smiling at Patrick. “And if he fucks up tonight, no more fifteenth chances.”

Their concern bordered on pestering, but it was nice having two people care so much about him. He took his time reassuring them he was a grown man and could fend for himself, he promised, but it took Alex answering the door and questioning Pete about his intentions for five minutes before they even let Pete enter the Ivy League.

“I didn’t know the Spanish Inquisition moved in,” Pete murmured against his ear, suddenly close enough to make Patrick’s skin tingle and flush. “You ready?”

Alex reached out to grip Pete’s arm. “I want him back before midnight if he’s not getting lucky,” he said, but Patrick was pulling them apart and out the door before Alex expanded on that line of thought. By the time they were at the car, even Patrick was laughing a little hysterically.

“Jesus,” Pete laughed, buckling himself into the driver’s seat. “Did you tell them I beat you?”

“I told them the truth,” he admitted, and Pete had the decency to look affronted, but only before he was laughing again.

“No more talk about your crazy landlords tonight, got it?”

Patrick nodded.

With that, the car jolted forward, beginning its descent back into the town below. Patrick couldn’t ever remember having a Friday evening off that wasn’t filled with going back to the small office at the pier and printing out photos, making itineraries for the tour the next day, or counting up their earnings. Most of what he saw of the town was the late-afternoon or evening drive back up the hill, when he was too exhausted and sore to do more than stay seated upright.

He didn’t really know how he’d failed to notice how alive Union Hall suddenly was.

There were more people on the streets than Patrick had ever seen, and it was as if every resident had suddenly appeared, along with several of the summer-home early arrivals. Bob, Greta’s occasional employee at the store, had a cart set up that reminded Patrick of Chicago hot dog stands, but instead there were bite-size tapas and sandwiches, along with a mixture of drinks. The lights of the pubs filtered down into the streets, casting them with a strangely friendly glow, especially as the sounds of music filtered down the lanes.

“This,” Pete grinned, pulling the car to a stop, “isn’t Chicago, but it’s as close as we’ve got.”

Patrick considered making a detour to Bob’s stand, but a moment later the music spilling out of Scimeca’s changed, and Patrick was hurrying ahead of Pete to see if his ears were deceiving him.

“We have live bands sometimes. We’re not totally barbaric,” Pete explained when he’d finally caught up to Patrick, watching the way his eyes got wide at the vision of Nick and William standing on the karaoke stage, drums and guitar and microphone stand gripped firmly in hand. “Though tonight, it’s just them. They’re not bad, though.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if they were. Patrick hadn’t heard live music in so long that his heart clenched at the idea of the long months it had been since he’d even seen a guitar, let alone gotten to touch one. Marine biology was his first love, but if he had an affair, it was music. He’d almost forgotten how wrong the world felt when he wasn’t around it.

“Where do you want to sit?” Pete asked, leaning closer to Patrick so they could hear over the noise. There were dozens of people in the bar, which didn’t seem like many, but Scimeca’s wasn’t meant to hold large crowds. Add in that most of them were drunk, and it was almost deafening. But even then, Patrick still had room and didn’t have to, but he pressed back lightly against Pete just the same, enjoying the rush of warmth from their bodies.

“Wherever you normally sit,” he said, smiling as Pete put his hand on Patrick’s back again, leading him to a booth toward the front of the room. He slid in first, leaving Patrick with more legroom and a better view.

“I can’t believe I never knew they did this on Fridays,” Patrick laughed, looking around again. It was nothing like on Tuesday nights, when William’s drunken karaoke versions of Cure songs were no match to the way his voice was carrying out now, taking notes and crafting them into something Patrick didn’t think the usually stoned owner was capable of. “Do you come here and just not tell me?”

Pete considered for a moment, smile wider than what it usually was on the boat. “We used to, before the tours really picked up. We haven’t had time in ages. Too tired, you know?”

“I’d have come even if I was sleepwalking the rest of the week,” Patrick said, and flushed after at Pete’s amused look.

“I didn’t even know you were that big into music. It’s just William.”

Patrick nodded solemnly. “I used to go all the time back home. I played for a bit, but I wasn’t very good.”

“If you say you played guitar, we are breaking up. You sound like Joe.”

The comment should have made things awkward, but Patrick found himself laughing and settling more into the slick leather seat. “No! No, I like drums. I can play some other stuff, though.” He grinned, making a face at Pete. “Including guitar.”

“But the water world stole you away?” Pete laughed, waving his hand. “You could have been them,” he motioned to William and paused, “or something better, but you just couldn’t resist the call of the dolphins?”

Patrick twisted his face. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t going to pay the bills, and I was never good enough for it. Besides, marine biology has its perks.”

“Like me?” Pete asked, batting his eyelashes, while Patrick laughed and rolled his eyes.

“I meant more like, I get to work with animals in a natural environment and feel like I’m making a difference. Besides, sometimes you meet interesting people. Sometimes.” He stuck his tongue out at Pete, not offering which category he thought Pete fit under, but they both already knew that. “What about you? Why marine biology?”

Pete shrugged, picking up a sugar packet from the table and opening it. He spilled it out onto the wood, feeling the way the grains felt under the tips of his fingers. “I wasn’t well suited for any real job, and let’s face it, there’s not a lot cooler than swimming with dolphins.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Patrick said, reaching over to touch one of his tiny mountains of sugar.

“You’ve never? I bet you’ve imagined it, though.” Pete didn’t even bother trying to hide his smirk, though Patrick sunk lower in his seat, tugging the collar of his shirt up higher as though it could hide the blush rising on his cheeks.

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “I feel stupid now, though!”

“Why?” Pete was grinning, white teeth flashing under the harsh lights. “I based my entire career around that dream.”

“Did it work out for you?”

Pete shrugged. “Does anything? It’s too late to change now.”

Mixon chose then to stop by their table for a short chat, asking after Andy and delivering their usual drinks. While he and Pete talked, Patrick could feel the wheels turning in his head, going over Pete’s words.

“It’s never too late to change,” Patrick said once Mixon was gone, and when he felt Pete staring him down, analyzing, added, “You can’t stay a kid forever.”

“I never said I was a kid,” Pete whispered. “Kids haven’t seen some of the things I’ve seen.” He cleared his throat, glancing back toward the stage so he didn’t have to meet Patrick’s gaze. “I don’t feel grown up either, though. I’m 27, and still feeling like I’m working a summer job.”

“I’m only 22,” Patrick said, pausing to sip from his drink. “And I know I’m not grown up, but I’m not a kid either. It’s this weird sort of limbo, isn’t it? But this is my escape.” He motioned with his head toward the stage - where another band was setting up, and Pete had to squint past layers of smoke to see. People were milling around, girls dressed in everything from short black dresses to jeans with holes from love and use, not high fashion. There was a happy buzzing around the bar, a high energy that still stirred Patrick’s bones some rainy days as he lay in bed, staring at his ceiling.

Pete smiled slowly at him, leaning against him until their shoulders touched.

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, closing his eyes. Patrick did the same, watching the way the light played on his eyelids. “This is the way to escape.”

He could feel Pete’s breath, warm and steady on his neck as the lights dimmed and another band started, soft notes rising from the stage to fill the room. “I love this,” Patrick whispered, and even if the music lacked the skill he was used to, he could sense something important was happening here. Pete nodded his agreement, humming along to tunes he didn’t know.

“I wanted to save the world too,” Pete said at length, when there were two empty glasses sitting beside them though they remained curled around one another in the booth. “Not from SeaWorld like you and Ryan, but I spent a spring break with a bunch of friends when I was 18 in Japan because we thought it would be fun.” Patrick opened his eyes to watch him, to see the way he was smiling, but it never reached his eyes. “I liked the beach, so we went there a lot. And one of the days we went, there were all these boats in the water, and I couldn’t figure out why. But we got closer, and they were driving the dolphins aground.”

Patrick reached for his hand, and Pete drew in a sharp breath. “There were hundreds of them,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “And I thought these people were standing on the beach and in the shallow water to help them, but instead they started pulling out knives and spears and stabbing them. Hundreds of them. And I just couldn’t understand how no one was helping them. They were literally tearing them apart. Painting the sea red.”

He shook his head slowly, trying to clear the memory from his head. “When I went back to school, I changed my major.”

“You do a lot of good,” Patrick whispered, stroking Pete’s back lightly as he pressed his face into Patrick’s neck, taking in deep, shallow breaths. “You and Joe both do.”

At the sound of Joe’s name, Pete seemed to relax more. Part of Patrick wanted to tell Pete that everything was okay, or that it was wrong for them to be here now without Joe, wrong for them to have thought a date was a good idea. But another part, the part that was currently being more vocal, was too fixated on the way Pete’s hand felt on the back of his neck, lighting stroking skin.

“I like Joe,” Patrick said suddenly, and Pete nodded along, sighing into his shirt.

“Me too,” he said, and this time, the smile did reach his eyes. “He’s… He’s a lot like you, I guess. He’s funny. Not my sort of funny, which is half making fun of you at the same time, but like… a dog chasing its tail, or a squirrel in a bathtub. Maybe that doesn’t make sense.”

“He’s genuine,” Patrick offered.

“He’s perfect, in a lot of ways.” Pete didn’t look at him when he spoke, purposely leaving his eyes closed. Patrick imagined it was easier on both of them not to see the emotions crossing their faces, whether it was pain or jealousy or even sympathy. Whatever it was they were doing, it was too hard to put a name to it.

“He’s great,” Patrick said, and the hand that had stilled on his neck began moving again, cautious and slow. “But why aren’t you in Chile with him right now?”

That was the question, Patrick thought. It was the thing that had been hanging between them like a shadow for weeks, even before Joe had boarded his plane.

Pete took in a deep breath, laughing brokenly. “You ever been with someone who knows you so well it becomes… redundant to even talk? It’s like marriage, except I don’t remember giving him a ring. He knows all my secrets. And I love that, I love him, but it’s like… we became this old married couple who needed and depended so much on each other, but we never wanted that. We both felt so guilty for what happened in Chicago. And everything happened so fast after that. I miss feeling like a kid, or feeling anything at all. I promised him I’d never get bored, but maybe I did.”

Patrick shook his head. “You’re not bored.”

Pete considered this, tilting his head. “I used to practically vibrate when he’d just walk into a room. But now it’s just…”

“Life,” Patrick finished, and Pete nodded. He couldn’t be certain who moved first, only that a moment later lips that tasted like vodka and something cherry-flavored were brushing against his and a spark sent a shiver down his spine as Pete’s breath hitched against his lips.

The world didn’t move in slow motion, but the hand that tangled in his hair pulled with just the right amount of pressure and when they parted briefly for breath, all he could hear in his ears was Pete’s harsh breathing, eyes still closed and clinging to Patrick like he held the answer to life.

When Pete did open his eyes to look at him, his gaze was wide and nervous. It made Patrick wonder just how often Pete had done this despite his reputation, and more importantly, what he was thinking right now. Was he regretting this night already, or wondering what might happen if his hands slid just a few inches lower to settle at Patrick’s hips?

“Hey,” Patrick whispered, because it was the only thing he could think of to say. Pete gave him a hesitant smile and repeated the word back, a prayer.

Patrick could have done a number of things then, but all the options he weighed in his mind save one left him alone in bed that night with nothing but his thoughts and nightmares to talk to, so it was with a shaky resolve that he leaned closer to whisper in Pete’s ear, “Want to get out of here?”

Pete inhaled sharply, fingers reaching to grasp Patrick’s shoulders. “I had an actual date planned,” he explained, voice slow and languid now, matching the hazy smoke around them. “I was going to take you to the lighthouse or a movie…”

“I don’t care,” Patrick admitted, standing shakily. He was never this forward, and Pete seemed to realize this as he reached for Patrick’s hand, steadying him. “I just want to go to your place.”

---

They didn’t talk about it, but neither of them even considered going to Pete’s bedroom that he shared with Joe. Instead, after several failed attempts at unlocking the door and Patrick feeling lightheaded from the booze and the way Pete kept laughing against his ear, they stumbled in together and moved toward the guest bedroom.

Patrick had only seen the room a handful of times. Usually the door was kept closed, or used as a random storage area for odd things (he’d once seen canoes there, and the next time, a foosball table), but this time they were navigating their way past boxes and boxes of files. It would have been easier with a light on.

“Sorry about the mess,” Pete muttered. At least, Patrick assumed that’s what he said. It was difficult to tell when he wouldn’t remove his mouth from Patrick’s, one hand snaking its way under his shirt which he’d already managed to mostly unbutton on the front porch.

Pete was pressed tight against him, and when his hips jerked forward, Patrick’s legs hit the side of the bed and he was tumbling backwards, hoping he didn’t look too clumsy. Pete laughed at the sight, but only until Patrick was grabbing his arm and pulling him down beside him, whacking his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Patrick said.

“My pleasure,” Pete agreed.

Patrick’s body felt on autopilot as he sat up, hands sliding to lightly grasp at Pete’s sides. His skin felt warm to the touch, or maybe that was Patrick’s hands, and he could see Pete’s wide eyes staring at him in the darkness.

Then Pete shifted his weight until he was straddling Patrick’s hips. There were unfamiliar angles and awkward heavy breathing until they became surer of themselves, until he reached to slowly remove Patrick’s glasses and set them gingerly on the table. There was an awkward moment where Patrick tried to stop him, to still be able to see, but then Pete was laughing against his ear again. “It’s dark in here,” he whispered, and it took a moment for the words to register. It was too dark to see details, and he kind of liked the way the world got softer without his glasses, especially when the only light coming in was from the one window behind them.

He could see Pete’s face, at least, staring at him with something of a cross between nerves and hope. The look fueled Patrick onward, making him lift his hips to meet Pete’s and tugging at the thin material of Pete’s shirt.

They kissed, fingertips moving across sweaty skin and fumbling with buttons, quiet gasps filling the silence. Their foreheads knocked briefly, and they parted, each clutching their head. Patrick began to giggle softly, and it was infectious, spreading across to Pete who visibly relaxed and reached for Patrick again.

“Why do you like me?” Patrick whispered as Pete pressed him down into the mattress, sprawled out on top of him and staring at him intensely, watching the way a blush crept up Patrick’s body. He traced its ascent with a finger, humming over Patrick’s quiet voice. “I mean… why me?”

Pete traced his finger back down Patrick’s bare chest, snatching Patrick’s wrist in his free hand when he felt it twitching restlessly at his side. “Because,” Pete sighed, leaning down to brush lips against pale skin. “You’re the one who makes me vibrate when you walk into a room now.”

Patrick kissed him, shaking hands trying to find purchase on Pete’s shoulders, but Pete helped to anchor them down to the sofa, breathing quiet promises or perhaps prayers along the bare skin of Patrick’s collarbone.

He barely noticed that Pete took his shirt off until he was leaning down to swirl his tongue around Patrick’s nipple, teeth scraping and pulling, while he pressed down against Patrick and skin slid against skin.

“These need to come off,” Pete hummed against his nipple, and Patrick blinked up at him for a moment until Pete began popping buttons on his jeans, sliding his hand under layers of clothing to wrap around his already-hard cock. Patrick inhaled sharply, his mouth falling open and arching up embarrassingly quickly. Pete was still smiling, though, Patrick could feel it more than he can see it.

“Better,” Pete murmured, and then they were both pushing against each other, fumbling, struggling out of the rest of their clothes. It took longer for Pete to get out of his skin-tight jeans, but thankfully, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The first time Pete thrust back down and their cocks bumped together, Patrick’s body jerked forward, trying to get even closer. Pete just kept grinning wickedly above him, doing it again while gripping one of Patrick’s arms above his head.

“That’s good,” Patrick hissed, using his free hand to pull Pete down for a rough kiss. “But not enough.” It would have been - Patrick could already feel his muscles going taut, the need to just keep thrusting up against Pete for that friction, but he wanted more than that. Pete seemed in agreement, as although there was an agonizing moment where suddenly all that pressure was gone, he could hear Pete fumbling around in a drawer for condoms.

“Lube’s in the other room,” Pete swore, and Patrick watched as Pete fumbled with the condom wrapper, sweaty fingers dropping it twice on the bed sheets before he finally tore it open.

Patrick wanted to say it wasn’t worth it, but he hadn’t done this since Frank, and that had been over a year ago. He groaned, covering his face and gritting out the word, “Hurry.”

A few moments later, Pete slid back into the room, cursing wood floors as he hit several of the boxes, sending papers across the ground. Patrick laughed, startled, especially when Pete jumped back onto the bed and they bounced for a moment under the weight.

“You’re an idiot,” Patrick said, but he was grinning. Pete shrugged and then nodded, but when he wrapped his hand back around Patrick’s cock, the humor was all gone.

“I want,” Pete breathed against his ear, pressed flush against him again, but he couldn’t seem to finish his thought.

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick echoed for him. Above him, Pete shuddered.

The lube was strawberry-scented, Patrick could smell it the second the lid was uncapped. It made him want to laugh again, but Pete cut off the noise with another kiss, pulling Patrick’s legs around his waist.

It had been entirely too long. The first finger burned at first, but their frantic movements from earlier tapered off and the world seemed to slow down again, back to normal. With every push of Pete’s finger, it got easier. After a few minutes, Patrick was even whining against Pete’s lips and arching his hips off the bed.

“You can’t even imagine how you look,” Pete whispered, and Patrick wanted to shush him or roll his eyes, but instead he thanked Pete by reaching out to wrap his hand around him and move in sure, quick motions.

They kept it up for several minutes, Pete testing the waters by adding a second, then a third finger - varying the pressure and teasing until Patrick gripped his cock at the base and tugged, making Pete shudder against him. “Now, Pete,” he begged, and then time shifted again.

Patrick had almost forgotten how intense this could be. Pete gripped one of his hands, bitten-down nails digging into his skin as their forehands brushed, breath mingling as Pete slid in completely.

“Perfect,” Pete sighed.

He moved one hand down to grip at Patrick’s thigh, and the pressure was oddly satisfying. It made Patrick push toward him and as most of the pain dulled away, they found their rhythm. Pete was back to the frantic pace of earlier, and it wasn’t going to last. Patrick scratched down Pete’s back experimentally, and was rewarded with a low groan and Pete’s hips stuttering forward.

Patrick clenched around Pete and was rewarded with another moan and Pete’s hand wrapping back around Patrick’s cock. It was a jerkier movement this time, but he gripped him tighter, and Patrick kept pushing up into that friction, trying to hold on.

“Patrick,” Pete grit out, and his other hand was digging deeper into Patrick’s thighs, enough to leave bruises. “I want to watch you.”

He couldn’t hold on after that. Patrick jerked up against Pete, into his fist, and came. It wasn’t until later that he noticed he’d gripped Pete’s shoulders so tightly it left faint marks. Pete choked out his name, slamming down into him a few more times before he was coming as well, almost losing his balance from the effort of holding himself upright through it.

Pete lay down beside him, eyes closed until their breathing evened out. Patrick started to giggle again.

Pete opened one eye to watch him, curious. “Usually I last longer?” he asked, hopeful.

Patrick laughed again, hitting his arm. “You were fine.”

“Fine. Is that like, a 5 on a scale of one to ten, or is that like, you’re so fine no one will ever top that, Pete Wentz?”

“Shut up, Pete.”

Pete hit his arm. “You shut up. Unless you’re going to tell me it was actually the second.”

Patrick rolled onto his side toward him. He could already tell he was going to be sore in the morning, and that the bed was sticky and smelled of strawberries, but for now, he couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m not telling you anything, except, I like you. A lot.”

Pete rubbed their noses together in the way small children did to show affection. It tickled, and warmed Patrick’s heart, all at the same time. “I like you too, Patrick Stump,” he agreed, leaning his head onto his chest. “And now I’m going to pass out, because we have a 7 AM crew call.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You couldn’t cancel that too?”

“I have to pay the bills, you know. To afford all the condoms we’re going to be using from now on.”

“Can I put in a request for non-fruit flavored lube?”

Pete shook his head. “It tastes better than it smells, you’ll see.”

Patrick laughed, curling into his side. “That’s what they all say.”

---

Patrick had almost given up on sleep entirely. The days were still spent on the boat, especially as the tours began to pick up again from the long winter lull. Their Sunday breaks vanished just as a pod of dolphins returned to the bay.

Once a week, they started offering kayaking lessons or trips to the cave, and although Patrick had gotten good enough to not tip the entire thing over, they still had to hire Travis out to work one of the canoes.

When they finally got off work, every night was spent either cooking dinner at Pete’s or having as many drinks at Scimeca’s as they could get away with before William started making cat calls at their making out, or Patrick warned they were going to be too drunk to drive the boat in the morning.

It had gotten so bad that Patrick finally forbid Pete from seeing him at all on Tuesdays, just so he could catch up with sleep and work. It was his only day off for the whole week now, and Patrick found himself mourning the fall. Which is why he had been so surprised when Pete told him they weren’t working on Sunday.

“It’s the first movie of the year!” he laughed, pressing his nose into Patrick’s bare neck. “It’s so cool. It’s like a drive-in, but picnic-style and without cars.”

“So it’s less a drive-in and more a sit down in the grass kind of thing.” He ran his fingers slowly through Pete’s hair, enjoying the way the other man hummed his approval.

At the foot of the bed, Hemmingway gave a loud snort, likely annoyed they weren’t asleep yet. Pete shrugged. “Kind of, yeah. But cooler.”

“So what movie are they showing?”

Pete shrugged again, resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder. He didn’t sleep much, Patrick found, but on the few occasions he did, he was usually mostly sprawled over Patrick. He rubbed Pete’s back lightly, not pushing him off.

“I don’t know. That’s not the important part.”

“Of course not.” Patrick brushed his lips against Pete’s forehead and joined in on the humming until Pete was going pliant in his arms, snoring lightly against Patrick’s skin. Outside, crickets were chirping, seeming to join in on the harmony, and Patrick felt at peace.

---

Jon was their usher, though that wasn’t really the right word. He greeted Pete and Patrick at the front entrance, not doing more than smiling at the way Pete clutched at Patrick’s hand, their fingers intertwining. He motioned to a vacant spot on the grass, facing toward one of the wide, stony walls where a large white bed sheet had been strung up. The projector broadcast a blue image against it since the film hadn’t started, and all around people were laying in the grass or sitting on blankets, chatting quietly.

Patrick vaguely recognized the area from Jon’s tour of the Abbey months ago, and remembered it as a graveyard, but when he whispered as much to Pete, he got laughter in return. “This isn’t Poltergeist,” Pete promised, spreading out in the grass. He kicked his shoes off, letting them fall somewhere to the side. “The dead don’t rise up to haunt us. Tonight, at least.”

He recognized a few familiar faces in the crowd, as the area was so small it was impossible not to. Brendon was leaning against one of the headstones, looking lonely. Patrick almost invited him over, but Pete took his hand again and leaned half against Patrick until he forced his gaze down at him.

This was one of the first times they’d gone out to anywhere other than Scimeca’s or Pete’s place. He felt like everyone was watching them, wondering why he wasn’t Joe, but Pete smiled lazily up at him and Patrick thought maybe it didn’t matter what they thought.

---

“Welcome,” Jon grinned when Spencer stepped up. He paused, glancing past Spencer in the moonlight, trying to find anyone else. “Where’s Ryan?”

“Happy to see you too, Jon.” He was, really, but he didn’t want to give that away just yet. Ryan hadn’t wanted to come, insisting that Casablanca was much too cliché, and Spencer had practically run out the door as soon as he realized that meant a night alone with Jon. Well, a night with Jon and everyone else on the island.

Jon scrunched his face up at him in that way that Spencer never knew how he managed to make such silly expressions, but then he was smiling. “Does that mean…?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He paused, and then his face betrayed him and he switched, muscles spasming into a smile. “Unless you mean that we’re alone, in which case, yes.”

“Let me lead you to your seat, then.”

Spencer let himself be led to the back room, where the art was often hung in the space that doubled as a gallery. Now, without the usual lights set up, it was unusually dark, though some moonlight did pool in from cracks in the stone. One stone was missing entirely, and it was there that the projector rested.

“You always take me to creepy places,” Spencer muttered. There was no clear view of the screen from here, at least he thought, until Jon pulled him onto a bench pressed against the back wall. Through the front door, they could see the blue screen, the people all gathered around outside.

“It’s part of my charm,” Jon said, pressing his nose into Spencer’s neck and inhaling. “It’s been awhile.”

Spencer mentally began ticking off the days it had been since he’d seen Jon alone, but he stopped when he got to ten. It was just as depressing as counting the days until his student visa ran out, and there was nowhere left to go but home. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in the dark.

Jon was always quick to forgive. He settled peacefully against Spencer and they didn’t talk much until he disappeared outside, announcing the start of the movie and then running back inside to press play. There were a few brief moments of malfunction with the audio, while Spencer leaned back and laughed at Jon’s curses, but eventually they wound back up in the same position as before.

“So why didn’t Ryan come?” Jon asked, trailing his fingers down Spencer’s arm.

“Not his kind of movie. If we were showing The Bicycle Thief, he’d be here and I’d be asleep already.” He leaned his head onto Jon’s shoulder, trying to match their breathing.

“What’s your kind of movie?”

“I’m supposed to say something like Citizen Kane, right?” Jon smiled into his hair and his breathing shifted a little. Spencer had to try again to match it, but he fell into the rhythm easy enough. “But really it’s like, popcorn movies where I don’t have to think. Pirates, X-Men.”

“You think too much as it is,” Jon murmured, and Spencer would have laughed if it didn’t feel like too much effort. His eyes drifted closed, even as he tried to keep them open. He actually liked Casablanca. “So do I.”

“What do you think about?” Spencer was going to fall asleep if Jon kept stroking his arm like that, breathing evenly into his hair. It felt safe here.

“You, mostly.” At that, Spencer did laugh - reaching to grasp Jon’s hand and stop its slow stroking. His fingers were warm and a little sweaty, but they felt nice in his grasp. “I can’t think of anything else lately.”

If Spencer were honest with himself, he thought about Jon far more than he should have. Every night he made a mental list of things he couldn’t wait to say to him the next time he saw him, and stupid little mundane tasks like his job were getting to be almost impossible to focus on. Part of him wanted to blame Jon. The other wanted to beg the world to stop spinning and just let Spencer stay in moments like these forever. It scared him.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Jon continued on, and his hand gripped Spencer’s tighter. “But I love you.”

His heart started beating faster in his chest, and there was no way his quick breaths could slow to Jon’s constantly steady pace now. He pressed his nose into Jon’s neck, feeling his insides twist and churn with dread, and a glimmer of hope. Jon Walker loved him.

He took in a shaky breath as Jon held him, and nodded slowly. “I love you too.”

---

“Rick’s a total coward.”

Patrick glanced up from the movie to Pete, amused. The atmosphere was casual enough that no one seemed to mind talking - he’d already heard more about Victoria Asher’s love life with Gabe than he ever wanted. “As suggested by the gun running, the blackmailing the police… or?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “None of those are brave things. It’s way easier to like, blackmail someone than it is to just go home.”

“The point of this movie is so not that Humphrey Bogart needs to go back to America!” He laughed, pulling Pete closer when he gave Patrick a sour look.

“Maybe it should be.”

Patrick usually wasn’t that attuned to Pete’s random habit of just blurting out random things that might occasionally mean something, but this time, he felt far too aware. “We’re not talking about the movie, are we?”

Pete made another face at him, and Patrick wanted to laugh, but he smiled instead. “So who’s Rick in this scenario?” In his mind, it was Joe, for running off to let he and Pete have some time together, but Pete seemed more concerned with not going home. He sighed. “It’s you, right?” When Pete wouldn’t meet his eyes, he nodded again.

“Maybe I just meant I get not wanting to go home.”

They’d talked about why Pete left - the school board hearing after it was determined Pete was sleeping with a student, the flashy story in the newspaper after he was fired. But this felt different somehow. “Do you mean you’ll never go back?”

“Well, I’ve already been back.”

Patrick looked at him quickly, surprised. “You have? When?”

Pete waved his hand, looking just as startled. “We go back every year, to California. Take a few tourists and overcharge them to see the different whales, usually do some of the eco-stuff.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’ve never mentioned it.”

Pete smiled sheepishly. “We were thinking about going to San Diego this July.”

That was exactly when Patrick’s student visa ran out. He felt his chest tighten at the idea that Pete was already planning to take him home, but at the same time, couldn’t help but find it oddly sweet.

“It’s not because of you,” Pete said quickly, but Patrick didn’t quite believe him. He kissed him instead, ignoring the cat calls coming from Gabe behind them.

---

“He loves me,” Spencer said, once he finally had Patrick cornered. It had taken some maneuvering to get him away from Pete, but no one else seemed to know about them. At least, Spencer hoped no one else knew.

Patrick blinked at him for a moment before it registered on his face. “That’s fantastic!”

“I don’t know,” Spencer sighed, leaning his head back. “Is it? I feel sick.”

“Don’t fall over.”

“I’m not a girl.” Spencer straightened, running a hand through his hair. “What do I do? What if he expects me to spend more time with him now? I don’t have any more time. I can’t hurt Ryan.”

Patrick rubbed his back lightly. “Just breathe, Spencer. I’ll talk to him.”

---

Patrick’s idea of talking to Jon mostly involved him poking his head into the projector room, where Jon sat alone smoking a cigarette, and saying, “You know, if Ryan were busier with something like a boyfriend, Spencer might have more free time.” He paused, nodding to the projector. “That’s really cool, by the way.”

And then Pete was pulling him along, one hand on his thigh and whispering the filthy things he was going to do to him once they were alone on the boat.

---

“There are actual llamas roaming wild! Like, you don’t understand, Pete, they tried to eat my shoelaces yesterday.” Joe couldn’t stand still, he kept pacing the length of his tiny hotel room. It made him feel claustrophobic and psychotic, all at once. Especially when all he could see outside was the wide, open terrain.

In his mind’s eye, he could see Pete standing in their bathroom, trying to shave even while gripping the cell phone, but he’d put the razor down each time Joe said something particularly funny and lean his head against the mirror, shaking with silent laughter. At home, he always tried to come up with something witty to say, because he loved when Pete did that - it made him feel cooler, or funnier than he really was.

“Did you provoke these wild llamas?”

Joe humphed indignantly. “I am a conversationalist. I leave the wild life alone!”

“Is that like the time you brought that puffin back to our apartment to nurse it back to health? And you kept bringing it out to watch Simpsons marathons because it looked lonely? Or when our bathtub was otherwise occupied for two weeks by turtles?”

“That,” Joe said slowly, “is totally different.” He grinned into the receiver, wishing he could see Pete’s face.

“You haven’t even mentioned penguins once! This is a record for you.”

“Oh!” That got Joe going again, propelling him back into his frantic pace around the length of his room. It was three steps to any corner, and even though he wasn’t tall by any stretch of the imagination, his bed was barely big enough for him. He felt bad for the taller members of their research team. “There’s this one girl, I named her Padme, and you shut up about that, but she broke her left wing. I’ve been helping them keep track of her progress, and we have her in our facility right now just until it heals. I think she likes me, because she’s always coming to stand on my shoes when I go in.”

“You’re crazy,” Pete laughed, but Joe didn’t care. He got to spend his days with penguins. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. Actually, he could - but Chicago felt a long ways away from the isolated hills of Chile, with only the crackle of Pete’s voice across a phone line.

“Maybe,” Joe said, and finally sunk down into the uncomfortable mattress of his too-small bed. “How’s things in Ireland?”

“Wet.”

“Isn’t it done raining yet?”

Pete clicked his teeth together. “Have you forgotten already? It never stops raining here, it’s the Atlantic Ocean.”

Joe closed his eyes, imagining the green, spotted islands laying out before Roaring Water Bay. The memory wasn’t as clear as it had been when he’d arrived a few weeks ago. “Mmm. I remember.” The weather really wasn’t much better here. It was still cold, even if the sun seemed to shine more. Maybe it was just Joe’s mood that made it all seem better. “How’s Patrick?”

Pete paused on the other end for the first time. “He’s okay.”

Really, Joe didn’t know if he wanted to hear about how great things were or weren’t. Whatever they were, they didn’t involve him right now - and that had been his decision. Some nights when he couldn’t sleep, the stupid alpacas at the farm next door bleating into the night and his back protesting from the hard mattress, he wondered what he’d been thinking at all. He missed curling into Pete’s side and knowing he’d still be there when he woke up.

“Just okay? Are you happy?”

There was another long pause. “Happy,” he said at length. “Not happier, but happy.”

Somehow, that made Joe feel better on all counts. “Did I tell you about the two Rockhopper males that keep fighting? I named one of them Lars Ulrich, and the other Mustaine.”

Pete was laughing again. “Oh my God.”

“Shut up! Maybe he looked like a Lars.”

He couldn’t see it, but Joe heard Pete’s forehead hitting the mirror, his laughter echoing throughout their tiny bathroom. “I miss you.”

Joe couldn’t help but grin, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest and imagining it was something, someone, else. “Good. I miss you too.”

---

"Where are we going?" Patrick asked, laughing as Pete bundled him into the truck and ran around to the driver's side.

"You'll see," Pete said and gave Patrick an over-exaggerated wink.

Patrick shook his head, still laughing, and allowed Pete to take his hand as he started the truck and set off toward the dock. The sun was shining in through the window, and Patrick wished he didn’t look so bad in sunglasses. When Pete put his pair on beside him, he looked cool. Patrick stuck to squinting.

"Can you tell me what we're doing?"

Pete grinned and shook his head, squeezing Patrick's hand and placing it on his thigh as he changed gears. "It's a surprise."

"Should I be scared?" Patrick began to stroke Pete's thigh absently, lightly scratching.

"I don't think so."

Patrick watched Pete and the way he was looking at the road a little too determinedly, a smile playing at his lips. He was obviously pleased with himself, Patrick thought, but he allowed Pete to play things his way. Whatever this was, Patrick was sure it couldn’t be worse than a date spent watching seals give birth.

They stopped at the dock and Pete reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a wicker basket, complete with a blue ribbon wrapped around it.

"A picnic?" Patrick said, incredulous. “Did you make it?”

Pete winked again. "Come on." He closed the car door and paused. “But no, I didn’t,” he said, motioning to the ribbon. “You can thank Greta.”

They walked down to the jetty and Patrick saw Gabe sitting on his deck-chair, sunglasses firmly in place, smiling up at the sun.

"What is he doing here?" Patrick hissed, suddenly afraid. There was something about Gabe that always struck him as off - perhaps it was the way he tried to grab Patrick’s ass every time he saw him.

Pete laughed again, ignoring him. "Dude," he called out to Gabe, "is everything ready?"

"It's ready man," Gabe answered without even looking up or removing his sunglasses. "I'll be here in case of emergency. You two have fun."

Patrick began to protest but Pete pulled him onto the boat and pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "He's just back up, that's all. Just in case."

“In case of what?” Patrick asked slowly, but he was promptly ignored.

He pushed the basket into Patrick's arms and shooed him to the back of the ferry. "Store that properly. That's for after."

Patrick wanted to ask more questions, but they wouldn’t have been answered anyway and Pete turned away, whistling as he started up the ferry and headed out to sea.

Patrick sat, watching the coastline spread out before him and as always, his breath caught. He couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than this. No matter where he went for the rest of his life, he imagined there would always be a little piece of his soul here.

Pete stopped the boat after twenty minutes and lowered the anchor. He walked slowly towards Patrick, smiling in that excited way Patrick loved so much.

"This is either a really good thing, or a really bad thing," Patrick said, remembering why he’d been so nervous before. Pete was rarely able to keep secrets, especially when they were of good things. "You didn't bring me here to kill me and dump my body did you?"

Pete laughed. "Hey, there's an idea." He sat down next to Patrick and kissed him softly, their chapped lips brushing for a moment until he pulled away, pointing down at the water. "Look over there."

Patrick had to twist his whole body to face the direction Pete was pointing, but when he did, his breath caught in his throat. "Oh my God," he whispered reverently. "Dolphins." He’d seen them possibly hundreds of times from the boat, but they were much lower to the water in the ferry, and he rarely got to stop and look like this without some tourist pestering him for questions about the breed or their eating habits.

"Yeah," Pete murmured, his lips brushing against Patrick's ear. "Which is why the picnic had to be eaten after. You can't swim on a full stomach you know? Did your mother never tell you that?"

Patrick dragged his eyes away from the dolphins to stare at Pete. "Swim...?"

"With the dolphins, yeah. Just like you wanted."

He looked so smug that Patrick almost wanted to hit him, but even when Gabe wandered down with two wet suits, offering to help them put them on so long as he got to take them off again later, all Patrick could do was keep grinning.

---

Jon usually just seemed to appear out of thin air, and seeing him was like seeing a dandelion in May. Pleasant, and exciting, but nothing out of the ordinary - no one had gone of their way to make the meeting happen. So when he actually invited them to come to the gallery opening, Ryan was a bit startled. Jon Walker was not the make plans kind of guy.

“Stop making it a big deal,” Spencer sighed, changing his shirt for the third time. “He’s just being nice. It’s not like we know that many people here. He probably just wants some friendly faces.”

Spencer had a point, but Ryan had no intention of telling him that.

The gallery opening, when they finally got there, was nothing like gallery openings back home in Vegas. Ryan had snuck his way into a few, to critique paintings and photographers until people asked what art school he went to, and he mumbled anything other than that he was just in high school.

But here, there were no over-the-top cocktails or wine on silver platters, there was no fancy attire. Ryan kind of liked this better. Everyone wandered around the grassy knoll of the abbey in jeans and t-shirts, where the paintings were being showcased for one day, in the sun, before they’d be moved inside.

“Hey,” Jon said, suddenly beside them, though Ryan didn’t remember how exactly he’d gotten there. Ryan nodded in greeting. “Did you see my stuff yet?”

Spencer rolled his eyes beside him, and Ryan fought the urge to elbow him. “We can’t.”

“You… can’t?”

“No. We have to go, piece by piece. Or we lose the atmosphere. Apparently.”

“The tone,” Ryan corrected. “They were put up in this order for a reason.”

“Oh.” Jon paused, scratching at the back of his neck. “If it makes you feel any better, they were just put up in the order of who brought their stuff first.”

Spencer snorted, and this time, Ryan did elbow him. But only a little.

“I kind of wanted to show you something. It’s not in order, but it won’t ruin the tone. I promise.”

Ryan glanced at Jon and his hopeful smile, and sighed. “Fine.”

Jon motioned for Spencer to stay, which seemed odd, but Spencer made a mad dash away from the abstract paintings Ryan had been hovering by, so he wasn’t too worried. “Right over here,” Jon said, and led him away from the photographs, where he had assumed they were going.

“Jon,” he started to protest as soon as he realized.

“This won’t take long,” Jon promised.

Ryan stiffened as they stopped directly in front of Brendon’s booth, dozens and dozens of clay pots and mugs and bowls spread out before them. Brendon himself was standing behind the display, wringing his hands, and holding several wild flowers.

He held them out to Ryan, hands shaking. “I missed you,” he said, quietly. Ryan took in a sharp breath. “I’m really, really sorry. Whatever I did.”

Ryan wanted to bolt, but his feet wouldn’t move. Even if they had, Jon continued to stand there, blocking his exit. He hesitated for a moment longer, then took the flowers. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered back, just as quiet. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

When they hugged, Ryan did think it was odd that Jon looked even happier than either Brendon or himself, but he focused instead on the way Brendon felt that close again.

---

“Do you like them?” Jon asked, stopping beside Spencer.

Spencer only glanced once to make sure Ryan wasn’t there. He’d already seen most of these photographs and had even helped Jon pick out a few for the exhibit, but he hadn’t seen one. It was of their hands, gripped loosely, while he assumed he slept, as he didn’t remember the picture being taken. “Stalker,” he murmured, and Jon laughed loudly.

He paused, looking around again. “What did you do with Ryan, anyway?”

“He’s busy,” Jon swore, pressing closer. “Like we could be, if we go out back and make out.”

Spencer sighed, mostly for dramatic effect, and let himself be pulled toward the exit. “I want to see the rest of the photographs.”

“You will,” Jon promised. “But later.”

---

“Why did you stop being my friend?”

They were seated now out front, in the damp grass and watching as a few more people trickled into the entrance, their shoes leaving tracks in the mud. Ryan leaned his head back against the stone, watching the blue sky overhead. Beside him, Brendon fidgeted.

“I was an idiot.”

Brendon drew in a sharp breath. “I need a better answer.”

Ryan smiled sadly. “I know you do. You deserve that.”

They continued to sit in silence, watching the clouds sailing along above them. There was no answer that was going to be good enough. Ryan liked Brendon - he didn’t know when it started, but it seemed as though maybe he always had. But there had been no one in so long, and relationships made things complicated. They were leaving soon…

“Stop thinking,” Brendon whispered.

“I was scared,” Ryan said, so sudden that it made his head spin to finally have the words out there. He hated admitting his own fears more than almost anything else in the world, but the way Brendon was looking at him twisted at something else in his chest, something that had nothing to do with fear or admitting vulnerability.

Brendon didn’t look hopeful, or angry. For once, he was a stoic image of patience. Whatever he was thinking, Ryan couldn’t tell. The only clue he got was Brendon’s calmly-asked, “Are you still scared?”

Ryan considered this for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not. I’m happy.”

With that, it was as if Brendon had been set free. He launched himself at Ryan, laughing as they tumbled into the dirt. They tickled each other for a moment until they wound up laying together, Brendon’s head on Ryan’s chest, feeling him breath in and out.

“That looks like a rabbit,” Ryan said, pointing up at a cloud.

“Or a bike helmet,” Brendon offered.

They both burst into laughter, and it felt right. For the first time in weeks, Ryan really did feel happy and relaxed.

---

Jon had Spencer pressed up against the hard stone of the Abbey, and it felt uncomfortable, but a little discomfort was worth whatever he was doing with his hand. “Fuck,” Spencer whispered, pressing into his fist. There were people nearby, but no one could see what they were doing the way Jon had them angled - at least, that’s what Spencer kept trying to tell himself. He didn’t want to know if he was putting on a free show.

“You like that?” Jon was grinning, twisting his hand around Spencer’s cock and looking entirely too delighted at the noise Spencer made. Usually quiet and laidback Jon always seemed to come more alive when they were doing this. Spencer nipped at his neck, his own fingers digging roughly into Jon’s thigh.

“You know I do.”

“Tell me how much.” He kissed Spencer, which made it increasingly more difficult to talk, but he tried to show his appreciation by arching against Jon’s body, struggling for even more contact.

Jon pumped his hand over him one, two more times, and then it was over, still embarrassingly fast for Spencer’s taste. “I love you,” Jon whispered as Spencer leaned back again into the wall, grunting in agreement. He could do little more than gawk as Jon licked his fingers slowly before wiping them against the wall.

“So nasty.” Spencer made a face, and Jon laughed, pulling him into a hug.

“Can you come over later and return the favor?”

Spencer paused, but then smiled and nodded. Ryan would ask questions, but it was opening day for the gallery again. He figured it might be nice to celebrate, and he’d seen the bottle of wine Jon had bought a few weeks earlier. They’d been saving it, for something just like this. “I can, yeah.”

Jon beamed at him, tugging on his hand to lead him back inside. But something caught Spencer’s eye as they turned the corner and he pulled Jon back, peering around more slowly and trying not to be seen.

“What?” Jon whispered. “Are Gabe and Vicky having sex outside again?”

Spencer shook his head and took another look. But sure enough, there, laying in the grass, were Ryan and Brendon. Who seemed very much on friendly terms, if the way Ryan had his tongue shoved down Brendon’s throat was any indication. “I guess they made up.”

Jon poked his head around the corner as well before pulling Spencer back entirely. He smiled proudly, pointing at himself. “That’s my doing.”

The words hung in the air, but not at all the way Spencer imagined Jon had hoped they would. He tried to grasp at them, to wrap his mind around their full meaning, but couldn’t. “You… made them make out?”

“Well.” He paused when Spencer clearly wasn’t reacting the way he’d hoped, shoving his hands into his pockets instead. “I made them talk. I was only kind of hoping they’d make out.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Why would you hope they’d make out?”

This time, Jon’s proud look was turning to one of confusion and guilt. Spencer stepped closer, eyes still narrowed. It didn’t make any sense. “Um,” Jon said.

Spencer crossed his arms. “Why, Jon?”

“I thought… if he had a boyfriend, maybe we could hang out more…”

He started to laugh, harshly. “Oh, did you?”

Jon was frowning now, definitely confused. “You’re always saying that you can’t come over or do anything because Ryan will suspect. Or be mad you have a boyfriend. I thought maybe if he had one too, he’d see it didn’t mean you two weren’t friends or whatever.”

“And who the hell gave you the right to decide that Ryan needs a boyfriend? Or what Ryan and I both need?” Spencer was shaking with anger now, every muscle having gone tense. He wanted to hit something, especially if that something was Jon.

He still looked confused, which was only fueling Spencer’s resentment and anger. “I was trying to help,” Jon said, quietly, tilting his head to look at Spencer with the same look he’d seen Jon give small children in town, or Pete, when their logic didn’t make any sense.

Spencer shoved him.

Jon stumbled back, startled. “I don’t want your help,” Spencer hissed. “Ryan and I got along just fine before you, Jon Walker.”

Jon did his best to look cute and innocent again, the playful smile that always got Spencer to stay an extra hour or two making another appearance. “Are we using full names now, Spencer Smith?”

“Fuck you.”

The smile was gone again, and Jon reached out for his arm, but Spencer pulled it back quickly. “We don’t need you,” Spencer said again, more firm. No one had the right to tell him what he or his best friend needed. Jon didn’t understand how they functioned, why was he trying to meddle? Spencer had thought Jon was different.

“Why is this such a big deal?”

“It just is!” Spencer shouted, and some people were turning to look at them now. He grit his teeth, lowering his voice. “Get the hell away from me, Jon. I mean it.”

Jon tried to touch his arm again, but this time, Spencer slapped him. They stood staring at each other for a moment, silent, until Spencer stalked away.

---

Part Five