Finder's Keepers 2/3 (Joe/Pete, NC-17)
Part One
---
The hike took longer than even Pete had anticipated. Several areas were still too snowy and icy to risk trekking across, so they had to stick to the walking trail rather than any of the several “shortcuts” Mark and Pete kept suggesting.
It was actually Joe who noticed a family of foxes watching them from a short distance away, and the girls of the group insisted on stopping to take pictures. Mark, by contrast, took photos of every species of owl or lizard that crossed their path. Some were fascinating, but it meant it took an extra hour just to reach the ecology center.
Gerard was waiting for them outside, finishing off a cigarette and keeping one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. He fished it out to wave a gloved hand at them when they approached, and it was actually Mark who took off at a sprint to tackle him into a bear-hug.
“Hey!” Gerard shouted, cigarette falling to the ground. As he desperately attempted to step on it, Mark kept hugging him, lifting his feet off the ground and spinning him around. “Put me down, you asshole!” He batted uselessly at Mark’s shoulders, but Mark just laughed.
“Professor Hoppus doesn’t act like this in class,” Pete overheard Elliot whisper to someone, and he was about to interrupt and tell them they clearly didn’t know him that well when Joe cut in.
“Did you take the same intro class I did?”
He had to bite back his smile, but it didn’t last long when Mark finally set Gerard down and Gerard made a mad dash for him. They hugged, less enthusiastically than Mark had, but squeezed each other’s shoulders all the same.
When they pulled back, Gerard began looking over the group of students, studying. “This is it, then? Today’s best and brightest?”
“Today’s current, at least,” Pete offered, and behind him, there were a few muffled protests.
Gerard beamed at the group anyway. “I’m Gerard! And you can call me Gerard. Um, yeah. You’re here for a tour of the Center for Aquatic Ecology, right?” He glanced at Pete, who nodded. “I’m not a great tour guide, but come on!”
They barely all fit into the center, even though it was possibly larger than the cabin they were all staying in. But there were rows and rows of aquariums lining the walls, some with exotic fish that clearly didn’t belong in the park, and others with local fauna and plant life. Others still housed catfish and bluegill, looking annoyed as they paced back and forth in their too-small enclosure. Pete’s favorite, though, was a cranky looking turtle, floating in the water of its tank underneath a sign that read I’m George. I DO bite.
What little space wasn’t taken up by the aquariums was covered in stacks of paper, open textbooks, a litany of computers and calendars, and a wall which seemed entirely devoted to post-it notes. There was even a small rowboat propped up against the back wall. It looked like a mad scientist’s office, and for a moment, Pete considered how much he would have preferred his own tiny basement office to resemble something more like this.
Joe casually stepped up beside Pete, and behind them, someone edged closer, forcing Joe to press against Pete’s side. Something stirred in his stomach, but he noticed that Joe kept his eyes carefully trained on Gerard and the row of aquariums.
“I don’t actually live here,” Gerard said, fidgeting a little under so much attention. “It just looks like I do. And actually, the mess isn’t all my fault. We have interns. In the summer.” He looked around the group, smiling hopefully. “And we’re always looking for more!”
“Tell them what you actually do, Gee,” Pete laughed, and watched as the other man nodded quickly.
“I’m the project director here. And, um, basically, we test the water levels to make sure nothing bad is getting into the water, we track the numbers of each species of fish. We stock certain species and take them out.” Pete gave a satisfied grin in Hayley’s general direction, but Joe edged closer and he quickly turned his attention back. “Which means we actually have to tag each fish, which can take awhile. And then every summer, this area serves as a fishing creel. You’re allowed to fish and angler here, so we rent rowboats and measure and scan the tags of the fish. You can’t take anything under 14 inches if it’s a bass, catfish or walleye, or 8 inches if’s a bluegill, because it’s not fully grown yet. We’re sort of trying a few other species out here that aren’t native, so if you catch those, you have to release them.”
“Like why we shouldn’t eat veal?” Hayley asked.
Gerard paused, considering, and Mark intervened.
“More like, why we don’t eat polar bears,” Mark explained, and Pete tried not to laugh at the face Joe made. Mostly because that would have been admitting he was watching Joe at all.
“So,” Gerard said quickly, moving over to the turtle’s tank. “Who wants to pet George before we practice how to measure bass?”
---
Gerard kept them busy most of the afternoon. Although the area around the dock was cleared of ice, it was still too cold for the fish to be so close to the shoreline. Instead, he took volunteers to suit up with him and wade into the icy water for water and plant samples. Pete and Mark attempted to show the rest of the students how the database at the center worked, but they mostly made it up as they went along.
When they got back to the camp around two, Mark got a grill going and proceeded to cook the hotdogs and hamburgers they’d brought along and stored in the small kitchen. Pete tried to help, once, but Mark slapped his hand with the spatula. “I’ve seen your kitchen,” he argued, and narrowed his eyes.
“I’ve seen yours,” Pete countered, but somehow ten minutes later, he still found himself sitting alone at a picnic table.
It wasn’t altogether surprising when Joe made his way over and took the seat across from him, looking off into the forest. “Hey,” he said, quietly, and it felt rude not to say anything back, so Pete nodded slowly and repeated the word. “I’ve never really been camping in the real wilderness before,” Joe admitted, stretching his arms out. “It’s kind of cool.”
“You know you’re completely in the wrong field, right?”
“You know you say that to me every time we talk, right?”
Pete pursed his lips together, but kept quiet. Across from him, Joe sighed. “Let me try again. I think this was a really cool idea. Even if it’s freezing.”
“It does work better in the fall semester,” Pete admitted, leaning back. A few of the students had a Frisbee out, and were chasing after it across the wide, open terrain of the camp area. It was amusing to watch them struggle to run under all of those layers of clothing.
Joe nodded thoughtfully. “But busier, like you said. This is like we’re really out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Except for the electricity and the hot dogs.”
He laughed, and Pete saw his teeth flash white under the afternoon sun. Joe didn’t smile like that nearly enough he thought once, before pushing the thought aside. “Except for those,” Joe agreed, and he was still smiling wide, watching Pete with an ease Pete wasn’t entirely certain he felt comfortable with. “You’re really going to Antarctica?”
“I think so.” It wasn’t really any of Joe’s business, but he tried to remind himself that this was a perfectly normal conversation for a teacher to be having with his student. “The university is behind the effort, I just need a few more backers and some more volunteers and researchers. I don’t…” He laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve been talking about this for two years, but I still don’t feel like I have anything worked out. I don’t even know yet if I’d be gone for a year or six months or what.”
Joe wasn’t looking at him like he was crazy, the way Tom usually did. And he didn’t look like he was jealous at the idea of far off places, like sometimes he caught Jon doing. He just nodded, and offered a supportive, understanding smile. “I think it sounds awesome.”
“Yeah?”
Joe laughed, and that same brilliant smile returned. “You keep telling me I’m doing the wrong things, but that’s like, exactly what I want to be doing. Really working with animals, making a difference. And there’d be penguins.”
“What is with you and these damn penguins?”
Joe ducked his head, and for a moment, Pete wondered if he’d crossed that line into a territory that was somehow out of the teacher/student realm. They’d obviously crossed that line before, but was this different, in the daylight? Had Pete spooked him off?
“They don’t fit in,” Joe whispered, quiet and soft, before he squared his shoulders up and turned to face Pete again. “They’re these sort of misfits of the animal kingdom. But they’re so graceful under the water, and they’re fiercely loyal. Like, I don’t think they realize they don’t fit in. I just, I think they’re fascinating. A lot more so than some stupid fish, who mostly just want to mate and eat. Fish will bleed to swim upstream just for sex. Penguins will die for each other.” He crossed his arms and cleared his throat, smiling sheepishly. “I think they’re cool, that’s all.”
There were a thousand things running through Pete’s mind at that moment, but the one that came out didn’t encompass any of those feelings. “You’re very odd,” he said at length, but Joe just smiled harder.
“So I’ve been told.”
Pete shook his head. “No, I mean, you’re never what I think you are. You keep coming off as someone who’s really sure of himself, or arrogant.”
“So do you,” Joe said, and across the camp, Mark whistled loudly and motioned for everyone to come and get their lunch. Slowly, Joe pushed himself to his feet, glancing down once at Pete. “But I think we’re both wrong.”
More than anything, Pete hated that Joe was getting to him.
---
Since a few of the students were also in Mark’s Marine Habitats course, he offered them extra credit to fend for themselves for dinner while he enjoyed his own natural habitat - his bed.
DeMar organized a group fund, and called for a pizza. They had to pay extra to have it delivered so far out, but overall, even Pete was a little impressed by everyone’s complete lack of enthusiasm for the whole camping endeavor.
At least the pizza was good.
When the last box of pizza was tossed onto an evergrowing pile to be recycled, Pete fished out the large bags of marshmallows he’d brought along, and held them up, proud. A few students eyed him with vague interest, and the others were already ignoring him in favor of packing their bags for the morning when they could get the hell out of nature.
“Anyone want to roast marshmallows?”
A few scattered hands raised across the room, which was pretty typical whenever he did this in the winter. Few wanted to sit outside in the freezing weather, S’mores or not. And truthfully, Pete didn’t blame them.
“Anyone want to camp outside tonight and really experience the park?”
Hayley groaned. “We already saw the park. We walked across the entire thing this afternoon.”
“Anyone want to camp outside tonight if it means 50 bonus points?”
DeMar shot to his feet and Joe stood, but slower. Pete continued scanning the room, but most of his students were attempting to avoid eye contact, and Pete wasn’t that good at menacing anyway. He sighed and nodded to DeMar, pointedly ignoring Joe. “I’ve got two extra tents for you too. Anyone else who wants to come out and roast marshmallows for a bit is welcome to come, too.”
Only Mark and Elliott joined their little group as they began the slow trek toward the other campsite. The sky was clear so the moon lit the way when the trees didn’t obscure it. Still, no one got lost, and DeMar only complained once or twice about having to carry his tent all the way to the other site. He still dropped the bag as soon as Mark looked around and announced, “Well, this is it.”
“Thank God,” DeMar sighed, collapsing onto the ground near his tent. Even in the moonlight, Pete could see Joe shaking his head, amused.
Mark sent Elliott off to the nearby wooded area to gather some firewood, though he had to stare him down for a good minute before he did. “Kids,” Mark muttered, and Pete laughed, reaching over to punch his shoulder affectionately.
“You know you love them.”
Mark’s teeth flashed white in the night and it was all the answer he needed to give.
It took longer than it should have for Elliott to get back, and even longer for them to get a decent fire going. Pete had to empty his bag twice before he could find his matches, and even then, another 30 minutes for them to figure out how to build a fire. Mark had sat by, silent and amused, as Pete struggled with the whole ordeal until finally Joe intervened, nudging his hands out of the way and taking the matches from him.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he sighed, rearranging the pile of leaves and twigs.
“And you know a lot about camping, do you?” Pete sat back and crossed his arms, aware that he probably looked like a petulant child. But he had built a fire once or twice in his life. Maybe not much more than that, but still.
Joe ducked his head and murmured, “I took Backpack & Camping instead of a sport for my physical ed requirement.” Pete thought about making some sort of a comment about that, but when less than a minute later small flames were already beginning to rise from the firepit, Pete was thankful Joe didn’t look very athletic.
“Finally,” DeMar sighed, sliding closer to the fire. “It’s freezing out here.”
Mark nodded in agreement, fishing a few marshmallows out of the bag and passing them along. That’s why I’m going back to my nice, warm cabin.”
“That’s not camping,” Pete frowned. The fire cast everything with an orange glow, and as the flames started to grow a bit higher, he could see past their small circle to the forest behind. “Camping involves sleeping outdoors and going home with a million mosquito bites.”
“In February, Pete?” Mark was smiling, though, so Pete couldn’t take it too offensively. Instead, he just shrugged.
“Not my fault we live in Illinois.”
Joe stretched his legs out in front of them, one foot dangerously close to the fire. “Do you really go camping much?” he asked, and though he wasn’t looking at Pete, it was obvious who the question was directed towards. “I mean, you didn’t even know how to build a fire.”
Mark’s laughter was the only sound for a minute, beyond the crackling of the wood as it caught fire, until finally Pete started hitting his arm repeatedly. “Shut up! I just, usually someone else does that part.”
Jon or Tom usually did all of the manual labor, actually, as they didn’t trust him with matches or anything heavier than a log. “It’s for our own protection,” Tom would explain, but he always struggled with the fundamental aspects of those things - like putting the tent together, or figuring out how to roll his sleeping bag up. In the end, it was usually Jon who reluctantly did everything, all the while griping, “I just wanted to fish. I hate camping.”
“What he means,” Mark said, smile wider than before, “is that he likes the excuse not to shower.”
Pete shrugged. It was accurate enough, though he did appreciate nature like this - without glass and bars between himself and the world around him.
When Joe did look at Pete, he smiled lazily before taking a large bite out of his roasted marshmallow.
---
“What was that?”
Mark and Elliott had long since gone, as soon as Joe and Pete began putting together the tents while DeMar sat by the fire and roasted more marshmallows for them. They hadn’t gone to sleep yet, though - the fire was too nice and warm.
DeMar kept jumping at every noise, but even Pete had to admit whatever it was had sounded close.
“The fire’s attracting them,” Joe said, pulling his knees in closer even as he held his hands out toward the fire. “The light and the heat. We should probably put it out soon.”
DeMar looked skeptical. “And let whatever it is find us in the dark and eat us?”
Pete rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a bear, DeMar. We’ll be fine.”
Joe popped another marshmallow into his mouth and nodded. “Probably smells the food too. All the more reason to eat them now.” He grinned, bits of white goo stuck between his teeth, and Pete hated that it was oddly endearing. He really had to stop this.
He still didn’t look the least bit comforted, and DeMar turned on the flashlight, shining it around the area. Pete followed the movement, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. At least until DeMar screamed.
“What is that?” he hissed, but the raccoon had fled from the light, and Pete was starting to remember why some days he hated being a teacher.
Joe just grabbed one of the marshmallows and tossed it in the general direction the raccoon had gone. Pete frowned, leaning over to punch his arm, not even thinking about how familiar the action must have seemed. “You don’t feed them! I thought you said you took a class about this stuff? If you feed him, he’ll want more. And bring his friends.”
“He has friends?” DeMar paled, scanning the flashlight over the area again.
Joe just rolled his eyes. “It’s a raccoon, guys. He’s going to come over and poke through our stuff after we go to sleep, anyway. Let’s see if we can get him to come into the light.”
“They bite,” Pete warned, narrowing his eyes at Joe. “And have rabies.”
“So do dogs,” Joe pointed out, arching a brow at Pete.
“Leave nature alone.”
Joe laughed, shaking his head at Pete. “I’m not saying we take it home. But we’re already camping here, on their home. It’s already an interaction.”
“Um, guys?” DeMar asked, quietly, but Pete was still frowning.
“You don’t think they can’t find their own food? Please. They’re cute, but that doesn’t mean you get to interact with them directly.”
“Do you really think I’m the first person to give them food? I’m not trying to pet it, Pete.”
“That’s Professor Wentz to you.”
“Guys,” DeMar said again, louder, before standing up. He was pointing behind them, and when Pete finally turned to see what he was motioning to, the raccoon had returned, and was sitting on the plate of marshmallows, happily munching on them. Joe gave Pete a smug look, and all Pete really wanted to do was punch him.
Pete stood, backing away from the raccoon and the fire. “We’re going to bed,” he announced, but DeMar was still staring at the raccoon, panicked.
“Can I go back to the cabins?” he asked, looking at Pete hopefully.
Great.
Pete ran a hand through his hair, considering. He shouldn’t leave a student alone here, but he really didn’t want to sit another minute with Joe right now. “I’ll walk you back,” he said, and motioned Joe toward the tent. “Get in, don’t feed any more animals.”
Joe nodded and did as he was told for once.
It took almost an hour to get DeMar to the cabin and walk back again, but by the time he returned, the third tent was put away and the fire was out. Pete almost missed the campsite entirely without that light, but he spotted Joe sitting a few yards away from their tent by the waterside, his feet dangling off the pier though not quite touching the water. It was too cold for that, anyway.
Pete pulled his coat closer to himself and hesitated, but eventually he made his way onto the pier as well, kicking off his shoes in the grass, though he left his socks. “I thought I said to stay in the tent?” he called, but Joe shrugged.
“The raccoon left. I had to get out anyway to put out the fire, and the water looked nice.” He turned his head to look at Pete, eyes wide but bright in the dark. “Sorry about before.”
He shrugged, sitting down beside him. When he dangled his own legs off, they stopped an inch or two short of Joe’s feet, which was mildly annoying. “I probably over-reacted. Can’t exactly take you guys to stare at aquariums all day and then expect you to not treat the animals like pets.”
Joe huffed in annoyance, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That wasn’t… Whatever. You’re so frustrating sometimes.”
“I’m still your professor.”
That annoyance turned to nerves as his feet began to bounce and tap in the air, like they did in class when Pete was looking for volunteers to questions no one seemed to have the answer to. “You were my professor the other week, too.” He glanced at Pete, smiling nervously. “Didn’t stop us then.”
Pete sighed quietly. “That was a mistake,” he said slowly. “We agreed.”
“We agreed not to tell anyone, and I didn’t,” Joe argued, leaning his head closer. “Not that it was a mistake.”
He shifted away just enough that Joe’s thigh was no longer warm against his own, and even while his body ached for that heat again, he kept himself perfectly still. “What do you even want from me? I’m not giving you an A just because you’re good in bed.”
Joe’s foot hit the dock this time, and he made a distressed noise. “See? Frustrating. I don’t care if you fail me.” He paused, shaking his head. “Well, I do, but I mean, whatever grade I get I’ll get because I earned it.” At Pete’s raised eyebrow, he quickly added, “By papers and tests and stuff. I just… I’m not asking you for… God!” He laughed, but cut the noise off abruptly as he leaned in to kiss Pete, light enough that Pete could have easily broken it off if he wanted to, but with enough pressure that it was clear what he wanted.
Pete should have pulled back, just as he should have done so at the club. But like that night, he leaned in more, closing his eyes.
“I like you,” Joe whispered, pressing their foreheads together.
For a moment, Joe had a panicked expression on his face as Pete climbed to his feet, but it eased as he held out his hand to help Joe to his feet. “Come on,” he said, motioning back toward the two tents. “It’s a lot warmer in there.”
“Seriously?”
Pete sighed, and motioned again. “Now, Joe. Before I change my mind.”
---
They weren’t naked in the morning, but they weren’t far off, either. Joe had on Pete’s hoodie - that he wanted back, right now, it was one of his favorites - because they’d both been freezing and Pete vaguely recalled Joe asking if could wear it, and Pete being crazy enough to say yes. He didn’t fare quite so well. His boxers were still on, though half-slid down over his ass from moving around in the night, and his feet weren’t freezing so he assumed he was still wearing his socks. Their backpacks are resting in the bottom of the tent, one of top of Pete’s foot which had since fallen asleep.
Joe was curled up into his side, drooling a little from where his head is pressed against the bottom of the sleeping bag and Pete’s side. It was an awkward angle, and Pete saw no possible way to get up without waking Joe up first.
Which is how he validated punching Joe’s arm.
“Ow!”
Joe frowned, blinking up at him in confusion. For a second, Pete almost felt bad, but then he pointed to the hoodie and squirmed to get up and free his foot from under the backpack. “You have to get up,” he said, stretching his arms. “Mark might come looking to help, and you kind of can’t be in my tent.”
“Professor Hoppus likes to sleep,” Joe argued, still groggy. His voice cracked a bit at the end, and he sat up too, fishing through his backpack for something. He removed a pair of black-framed glasses, sliding them on lopsidedly, and then adjusting them before looking back at Pete. “He’s not coming to help.”
“Bus call’s at ten,” Pete said. “We don’t know what time it is.”
Joe removed something else from the bag, and held up his phone to show Pete the dimly lit numbers. “It’s not even six in the morning.”
Pete crossed his arms, frowning. “Just give me my hoodie.”
He rolled his eyes, but unzipped it and slid it off, handing it in a crumpled ball to Pete. “There,” he snapped, before laying back down and closing his eyes.
Pete poked at him a moment later, but Joe just pretended to snore, and after a moment, Pete laid back down too to stare at the roof of the tent.
---
Pete had a moment of panic in which he thought Mark, or someone, was totally going to know what they’d done the night before. But when Joe and Pete came strolling in, looking exhausted, Mark just handed them each a PopTart. “Long night?” he asked, and Pete had never been so thankful that he wasn’t blushing.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, and rolled his shoulder to work out a kink, as proof. Of what, he wasn’t entirely certain.
Mark nodded. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe.”
Joe was already walking away from them, munching on his PopTart and going to tell DeMar something about their little raccoon friend. He strained to listen, but they were too far off, and then the bus was pulling up and this time Pete really did have to do role call.
---
A week later, when Pete arrived for his office hours, he paused in unraveling his scarf to take note of the neon lime flyer that he certainly hadn’t shoved under his office door. He picked it up, glancing at the name on the flyer (Fall Out Boy - and what the hell kind of a name for a band was that?) and was almost ready to throw it away when he noticed there was writing in the corner of the flyer, in familiar cramped letters.
You should come.
The show was almost an hour and a half away, in some bar in Milwaukee Pete almost recognized the name of as maybe one he and Jon had hit up years before. It definitely meant no one else he knew would be there.
He carefully placed the flyer on his desk, under the stack of papers he needed to grade. Just in case.
---
Once Pete was in the bar, he was more than certain he and Jon had played this bar. Or maybe they hadn’t, and it was just like every other of its kind in the Midwest. The acoustics were shit, and his drink had obviously been watered down, but it was cheap and there was a surprising number of locals gathered around the small stage set off to one side, waiting.
Pete claimed a booth toward the back, but he got restless by the second drink (even though he wasn’t even buzzed at all) and moved to stand with the crowd, just off to the side.
He was about to change his mind again, or at least kill the girl beside him who kept rattling on about how awesome Good Charlotte was, and how that Basketcase song was her favorite. But before he got to tell her she might want to look into learning anything whatsoever about music, the house lights were dimming and four mostly nervous teenagers were hurrying on stage to scattered applause.
Pete wasn’t standing directly in front of anyone’s direct eyeline, but he caught Joe’s eyes scanning the crowd once he was in front of his mic, and their eyes caught for the briefest of moments. Joe flashed him a smile, looking positively smug, and Pete might have left then and there, except he didn’t really want to.
The music wasn’t much better than it had been that first night in Schiller Park. But Joe still moved with precision and skill, sliding his fingers over the fretboard with ease as he simultaneously tried to get the kids there into the music. It might have worked better if their singer could carry a tune at all, but even Pete was nodding along despite his best efforts to remain unaffected.
When it was over, Pete wandered back over to the bar to wait. He didn’t really figure Joe would have invited him all the way out here without some sort of a plan, so he bided his time with another drink until sure enough, ten minutes later Joe came wandering over. He’d changed shirts, but his skin was still slick with sweat and he was beaming with that post-show glow Pete only sort of remembered.
“Hey,” he said, still smiling widely as he reached in for Pete’s drink and took it without asking, taking a large sip.
Pete arched a brow, but even he knew exactly where this was going. “Hey yourself.”
Joe grinned wider. “You can’t just say you were in the area. It’s an hour and a half away.”
“Maybe I have friends in Milwaukee I’m visiting.”
He laughed, tipping his head back. There was a vein visible there that Pete’s fingers were itching to reach out and touch, or to peel off that shirt, so it seemed fairly pointless to argue anymore. Not even when Joe downed the rest of Pete’s drink and rested his head on his shoulder for a few seconds, murmuring, “You’re driving me home. I already had them leave with our shit, so you kind of have to.”
Well then.
“But hey!” Joe laughed against his ear, and Pete didn’t even think he was drunk - he couldn’t have been, Pete had just watched that show. It was just the after-show high still coursing through his veins, making them all feel drunk. “This time, I kind of did stalk you. So you can be right for once.”
Pete gave him a light shove, but Joe just laughed louder.
---
Joe started to come back down to earth somewhere between the parking lot and the highway. His foot started to tap anxiously against Pete’s floorboard and he started glancing back at his guitar case, nestled firmly between Pete’s chair and the backseat.
“It’s fine,” Pete snapped after the sixth glance back in two minutes, and Joe rolled his eyes, but he did look straight ahead after that.
“Did you like the show?” he asked suddenly, fidgeting in his seat to look at Pete. He didn’t seem able to sit still. It was a pretty sharp contrast from class, when he looked half-asleep and comatose most of the time. Like every other student.
“It wasn’t bad.”
Joe made a soft noise of displeasure and flipped on the radio, finding the nearest local station and lowering the volume for background noise. “That means no.”
“I told you the first time I met you that you’re better than all those guys.”
He seemed to pause at that, and Pete thought maybe the conversation was over - was about to turn on one of his CDs instead of the radio when Joe spoke up again. “They’re what I have.”
“There’s always other guys in bands.”
Joe shrugged and started to lean back and prop one foot up on the dashboard, but it took one stern look from Pete before he quickly lowered both feet to plant them firmly on the floorboards again. “I don’t mind. It’s just a shitty college band, it’s not a career. I just like that I get to play guitar at all, you know?”
“You really like it?”
Joe smiled and closed his eyes, moving his fingers to air guitar some rift floating through his brain. “It’s like getting high, only better.”
“It’s like you’re overloading your senses,” Pete offered, and this time, it was Joe’s turn to look at him, curious.
“You play?”
Pete shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Long, long time ago. And not guitar.”
“Drums?” Joe asked, grinning. “I bet you’d like to bang shit.”
He didn’t even bother to make the obvious joke. It was too obvious. “Shut the fuck up. I played bass. Well, I tried.”
“Bass is a poor man’s guitar,” Joe said, but it was more teasing than rude, and Pete just reached over to poke his side. “So why’d you stop?”
“Just a shitty college band not going anywhere, right?”
Joe nodded, thoughtful. “I bet you had good stage presence. Is it like teaching?”
“I think teaching’s less personal,” Pete found himself saying. “Like, you might trust a teacher with a lot of things, but when you’re all in that moment with the music, everyone’s a lot more vulnerable and open.”
And so maybe Pete had never really thought about it like that, but it made sense. Joe just smiled, leaning his head back against the seat to stare ahead at the dark road ahead of them. Lights from the other cars occasionally danced into their field of vision, but the highway was mostly empty, just them and the radio playing under the sound of their voices.
Pete never even bothered to ask where Joe’s place was, and he never offered up the information. Instead, Pete just pulled into an open spot on his street and motioned for Joe to follow. Together, they walked side by side up to his apartment, where Joe kissed him before he even had the door open.
And just like that, they were dating.
---
They weren’t boyfriends. Pete made it perfectly clear that he hated that word, and the responsibilities that came with it. Joe agreed to go along with it - mostly to keep him happy, Pete suspected, but he was okay with that.
But once Pete stopped fighting the rest, they fell into an easy pattern. Joe started spending every night at Pete’s, and their time was filled fairly evenly between food, studying/grading, and really great sex. Pete was definitely a fan of the sex. They still talked about school, as without it they wouldn’t have had much to say at all, but they both automatically steered clear of any talk of the consequences of their little sleepovers.
And it all felt pretty nice. Pete hadn’t had anyone around for longer than a week since Ashlee, and he’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone to make him coffee before he even woke up (even if that someone insisted on drinking more than half the pot), and how much he loved stupid evenings on his sofa, spent watching TV and arguing over trivial things that didn’t matter.
Like now. Joe was going to get his way, but Pete wasn’t giving in without a fight.
“Chinese,” Joe said, for probably the tenth time in a minute.
“Pizza.”
Joe narrowed his eyes, holding the pile of take-out menus like he was ready to strike out with them at any moment. Happy Panda, nestled on top, looked particularly menacing. “We’ve had pizza twice this week,” he said slowly, holding up the offending Chinese menu. “I want egg rolls.”
Pete snickered, and he could see the corners of Joe’s lips itching to do the same, but this was apparently more serious than possible euphemisms.
“Chinese,” Joe said again, and Pete reached in to carefully take the pile of menus from Joe.
“Okay,” he said slowly when Joe made grabbing motions. “But we’re ordering from that Wa-Ha-Ha place that opened down the street.”
“You just like the name.”
“Like you don’t? Maybe they bring us napkins that say Wa-Ha-Ha on them, man. Think about it.”
When Joe took home some of the napkins the next morning, Pete kept suspiciously quiet, but he was grinning the whole time.
---
They were both incredibly careful, except where they weren’t at all. Joe always took the red line back to campus in the mornings, sometimes while Pete was finally sneaking in a few scattered but deserved hours of sleep. And Joe always introduced himself as just Joe - no last name (“Like Madonna,” Pete laughed, and Joe balked. “What generation are you from, man? Weren’t they using that joke in the 70’s?” And then Pete had thrown a pillow at his head, and ignored him for the rest of the night, pretending to grade papers and ignore Joe’s reenactment of a one-man play of Star Wars, meant to make him smile again). Just in case.
But Joe had a big test during midterms, and there was just no way to finish studying, take the subway ride out to Pete’s apartment, leave in time for his test, and still get any sleep. So Pete had decided to cut an hour out of Joe’s traveling time, and just come to him, instead.
“You’ll get more studying done at the dorms! And your roommate’s gone,” Pete said, and it must have taken every ounce of self control Joe had not to roll his eyes at him. He could practically feel how much Joe wanted to roll his eyes.
“I’ll get more studying done if you just stay here.” Joe was giving him that look that Pete didn’t quite know how to read, the one that sometimes Pete interpreted as, maybe you should stop following me around and just admit I’m your boyfriend. Or, maybe that was the voice in Pete’s head. Regardless, he ignored it.
“But then there’s no sex. And I’ll bring you dinner! From that Greek place.”
Joe hesitated, but Pete knew he’d won at ‘sex’. The Greek food was just as much for himself as it was for Joe.
However, when Pete showed up to the dorms at 11 o’clock on a Tuesday night, he was starting to understand the fundamental problem here. He’d dressed as much like a student as he could - a large oversize hoodie, which he’d pulled the hood up to before he even got out of his car. But that just made him look more conspicuous, especially amount the Chicago freshmen and sophomores who already considered the first sign of the sun a reason to ditch jackets altogether and don flip-flops. He kept his eyes glued to the fading university carpet, listening to the swishing sound the bag of food made as he carried it up the seven flights of stairs, narrowly dodging several students, until he got to Joe’s floor.
“I feel like a ninja,” he hissed as he dropped the food onto Joe’s bed, closing the door behind himself quickly. Joe looked up from his large textbook, blinking sleepily at him. Pete knew that look - he used to become comatose after too much studying too.
“A ninja?” Joe asked, speaking slowly, as if the word might change its meaning if he focused hard enough. It didn’t.
“Yeah.” Pete waved his hand, making sure the door was securely locked. “There are students all over the place.”
Joe looked around his dorm room, and then back at Pete. “I assumed you knew that dorms had students?”
Pete sighed and flopped down onto the bed. It was smaller than even he remembered, and no cleaner than it had been in his own days as a student. Actually, it looked a lot like the contents of Joe’s backpack - there were bits of paper, everywhere. Some with drawings and sketches on them, some with sheet music. His guitar case was laid carefully in the corner, near a stack of DVDs and old CD cases.
“You draw?” Pete asked, leaning over to pick up one of the drawings. Joe snatched it back, just as quickly.
“Sometimes, but it’s not for looking.”
Pete snorted. “Then maybe you should have cleaned your room before I came over.”
He actually thought Joe might throw him back into the hall, with all of those students, but Pete kissed him before he could do something so cruel. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the real need for a study break, but Joe seemed to melt against him more than usual, one arm wrapping lazily around his waist.
“Pete,” he sighed a few minutes later, bumping their noses together. Pete’s lips were pleasantly swollen and his hands were tangled in the material of Joe’s shirt, but he liked them like that. “Pete,” Joe said again, and Pete tried to focus. Really. “I actually have to study…”
“Alright,” Pete said, and leaned back against the headboard. “You study. I’ll just sit here. Now that I’ve come all this way to see you.”
Pete really didn’t think he deserved to have a book quite that heavy thrown at him.
Somewhere between listening to Joe talk about loss tangents in relation in electromagnetism, Pete fell asleep. The angle wasn’t great, as his neck hurt like hell a few hours later when he started to come to, aware of someone taking off his shoes.
“What are you doing?” he asked, tired, and looking down at Joe. The room was still dark - the sun definitely wasn’t up, but Joe had turned off all the lights. He could only make out his basic outline, fiddling around with Pete’s left shoelaces.
“What do you think, moron?” Joe sighed. He sounded particularly tired as he crawled onto the bed as well, and Pete went to reach for him, but he stopped short, fingers moving toward the zipper of his jeans instead.
“What time is it? Did you get any sleep?”
He didn’t have to see Joe to know he was smiling. “That’s really what you want to think about right now?”
“You didn’t,” Pete pointed out, even as his hips rolled up instinctively toward Joe’s hands. The zipper was already down, and Joe was sliding the material slowly down his hips. “You should sleep before your big test.”
“I can sleep after,” Joe whispered, which struck Pete as odd, as there was no one else around to disturb. But then Joe was sliding up enough to kiss him, even as his hands kept pushing the material of the denim further down his legs, until Pete had to do the rest and kick them to the bottom of the bed.
They didn’t usually do it like this. Pete was always the one to top, and the first to get on his knees. “You like to be in control,” Joe muttered one night, when he was sure Pete was too tired to argue. Occasionally, though, this was a pleasant surprise. Especially as Joe scratched his fingers down Pete’s chest with just the right amount of pressure before sliding down - and oh, Pete hadn’t even noticed he’d taken his shirt off, but he could certainly feel it now.
“You came all this way for me,” Joe mimicked Pete’s earlier words, but he was laughing quietly into his skin, and Pete only pushed at his shoulders a little. He was too tired for any sort of witty comeback.
“Shut it,” he murmured, and Joe made sure his mouth was busy doing other things. When he got low enough, he nipped at the inside of Pete’s thigh, and Pete jumped a little, surprised. He could still feel Joe shaking with silent laughter, and he thought to comment about cruelty to others, when Joe wrapped his fingers slowly around his cock and started to take the head into his mouth, with just the right amount of suction.
Pete leaned his head back, groaning quietly. The walls weren’t paper thin, but even he knew better than to make a ruckus. He hissed instead, sliding his fingers down to grasp at the pale blue sheets there, gripping tightly. Joe just took him further into his mouth, letting his fingers dig into Pete’s thighs to try and still their movements as Pete tried, somewhat frantically, to thrust up into his mouth.
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop, just,” Pete gasped, and couldn’t even finish the thought. Joe hesitated, but he slid his fingers across skin that felt like it was on fire, but relief washed over him when they wrapped around the base of his cock, moving in slow, steady tandem to his mouth as he continued to move over Pete.
It took longer than it normally would have as Pete’s body fought to wake up fully, but Joe kept at it, reaching up once to grip at Pete’s hand and intertwine their fingers. He’d never done that before, but it made Pete shiver, like they were connected in that moment, and then he was coming in Joe’s mouth.
Joe pulled back after a moment and slid up to his length, curling around him like he did back at Pete’s place. He was taller (though not by much), but Pete moved around too much for them both to sleep the other way, and Joe seemed to like having a human pillow, at least for a few hours.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Pete said, pressing his lips against Joe’s forehead. He could hear his breathing evening out, but knew he wasn’t asleep. He couldn’t - it was almost six, and Joe’s test was in an hour.
“I know,” Joe sighed, and reached for his hand again. Pete let him, amused at Joe’s sleepy movements, the way he seemed to play with Pete’s fingers without even realizing what he was doing. “I’m glad you came. Over. Here, not the other. Shut up.” He yawned around his smile, and Pete would have been too tired to make the joke anyway.
“Are you ready for your test?”
Joe yawned again, and shrugged. “I hope so. I fucking hate gen ed, man.”
“What’s the equation for circular motion?”
“Centripetal acceleration? Velocity squared over radius, right?”
Pete snorted, pulling Joe closer. “Fuck if I know.”
---
Pete sent Joe out the door, stumbling and bleary-eyed, and waited five minutes before making his own escape. Unfortunately, he must not have been in full-on ninja mode (he knew he was more in zombie mode - he hadn’t even bothered to pull his hood up this time, as he knew no lazy student of his would ever be awake at such an ungodly hour), as two steps from the glorious exit that led to his freedom, a girl looked up from the bench by the door and gave him a puzzled look.
“Professor Wentz?” she asked, surprised. “What are you doing here so late? Or early, I guess.”
“Uhhh.” He looked around the mostly empty corridor. There was no real reason to be here, at all, at any hour. “I was looking for coffee?” He only vaguely recognized her, and knew she hadn’t been one of his own. It was possible she was in Mark’s intro class, and had seen him the day he came to talk about the exhibition. He was still trying to put the pieces together when she fixed him with a blinding smile, very unbefitting for the hour, and stood.
“That’s in the other tower. I can take you.’
He was actually getting coffee out of this? Pete texted Joe to tell him on the subway ride back home, but they agreed from now on, they’d stick to his part of town. It just seemed safer.
---
“You haven’t been to poker night in three weeks,” Jon said, eyeing Pete from the other side of the sofa. “In fact, I think the only reason we’re seeing you now is because you’re hosting it.”
Pete waved him off, adding the finishing touches to their h'orderves plate. If it mostly consisted of Doritos and iced animal crackers, well. They’d live. “I’ve been busy,” he said, bringing the plate over and setting it down on the coffee table.
The others weren’t set to get there for another half hour, but Jon usually came over early to help Pete get ready. If he didn’t, it would never get done in time - and Jon sort of had a curfew, as Cassie liked to see him before she had to go to bed.
Jon didn’t look like he was buying this story at all, though. “You haven’t even called. Ashlee said you’ve stopped doing lunch dates with her.”
“Is Ashlee your girlfriend now? Whatever must Cassie think?”
Jon’s cheeks flushed, and Pete stopped dead in his tracks. “She’s not your girlfriend, right?”
Jon rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Pete. No!”
He shrugged and went to fetch them each a beer. Joe kept making steady work of the ones he bought in the gas station, but he kept some good stuff - German import - hidden for just such occasions. “Well, I apparently haven’t seen you in three weeks, and the world ended. So, you never know.”
“Maybe I had stuff to talk to you about.” Jon crossed his arms, but only until Pete offered him the beer. He looked decidedly more friendly after that.
“Maybe a telephone works two ways?”
Jon sighed and took a long sip of the beer, looking away. “I’m not dating Ashlee.”
Pete nodded. “Good. It would never last.”
“I’m not dating Cassie either, though, Pete.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but once the words had processed through his brain, he closed it again, slowly.
“We broke up two weeks ago.” Jon was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable. “She didn’t like how much time I was spending at the gallery with Tom. And… I couldn’t really blame her. I was spending too much time with Tom at the gallery. With Tom.”
Pete wasn’t great at verbal cues, but this one, he thought maybe he had down. He narrowed his eyes a little. “So. Tom?”
Jon nodded again, slower. “Tom.”
“That’s going to make me kicking his ass at poker a little more awkward, isn’t it? When he’s fucking my best friend?”
Jon choked on his beer, but he smiled for the first time since he’d walked into the apartment. Pete actually felt a little proud of himself. Usually, he sucked at diffusing awkward situations. Maybe it was just because it was Jon.
“So where the hell have you been, man? Ashlee thinks you’ve got some new girlfriend you don’t want us to know about. And Sean thinks you’re fucking that Mark guy, but I think that’s just because Sean wants to be fucking him.”
“I’ve just been busy, Jon,” Pete laughed, popping a handful of Doritos into his mouth. The crumbs spilled over from his hand, falling down onto his shirt. He just shrugged and wiped them off onto the floor - not like the maid wasn’t coming in the morning.
“You know I don’t buy that for a second, right?”
Pete flashed him a smile, but then the doorbell rang, and he was running off to answer it. Ashlee was also suspiciously early, but she gave him a friendly hug, launching into some story about the latest university gossip he’d missed out on, and he promised her they’d do lunch the next day.
---
Pete was pleasantly surprised that Ashlee held off until the lunch to bring up his recent absence. In fact, she made it through half her salad before leaning closer and making sure at least her cleavage held his attention before narrowing her eyes and asking, “So, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, slowly lifting his eyes to her face. He’d have felt guilty, but, well. She knew what he was like.
“You’ve been avoiding everyone lately. And lying about where you’ve been.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. “Like hell you were grading papers when you canceled on me last week. I paid one of your students to give me your syllabus. You don’t even have papers due for another month.”
“That’s an invasion of my privacy!”
She arched a brow, staring him down. “I got the idea from you when you paid one of my TAs to give you my monthly calendar.”
He smiled sheepishly, but leaned back, only a little more subdued.
“That still doesn’t explain where you’ve been.”
“No. I guess it doesn’t.” He really had to get better at lying if he wanted to keep this up. Ashlee narrowed her eyes, and he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m seeing someone,” he admitted after a moment, because it just seemed easier than trying to throw her off the trail she was clearly already on. “But I’m just not ready to introduce you guys, alright?”
“Why?”
That was the question.
“He’s not out,” Pete said quickly, and Ashlee didn’t look entirely convinced, but she wasn’t giving him death glares anymore.
“Bring him to poker one night,” Ashlee said, sliding the last of her croissant toward him in a peace offering. “You don’t have to introduce him as anything other than… What’s his name?”
“Joe,” he said, around a mouth full of croissant.
There was no way in hell he was bringing Joe to poker, but she didn’t need to know that.
---
April really was the cruelest month. At least that’s the way it felt after a day driving to every university and marine bio-lab in area, in search of volunteers and funding, followed by an extra long staff meeting. By the time he stumbled up the stairwell of his apartment, he was half dead on his feet, only just able to support the weight of his backpack and the bag of takeout in his hand.
He paused briefly at the sight of Joe sitting on the floor in his hall, head leaned back against the door. When he spotted Pete, he scrambled to his feet.
“Hey,” Pete greeted, a small frown of confusion forming as Joe moved quickly out of his way so he could unlock the door. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a thing with your friends.”
“It got canceled,” Joe told him and held up a bag of, now cold, Chinese food. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Pete kissed him absently and opened the door, yawning again. “I am surprised.” He held the door for Joe, dropped his backpack and kicked off his shoes - mostly amazed that he even still had the motor functions to do any of that. “How long were you waiting?”
“A while,” Joe said with a shrug. “I thought you’d be home.”
They both headed immediately for the kitchen. Pete made quick work of the wrapper on his meatball sub and took a large bite while Joe put the plastic containers of Chinese in the microwave.
“I had to go recruiting, remember?” Pete said, mouth still full and watching the microwave, hopeful. “Is there enough for me?”
Joe nodded and opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer and sliding one in front of Pete before the microwave beeped and he began to sort out the food. Pete made grabby hands, but Joe just slapped him away as he dished out the contents onto two plates.
“Did you even eat at all today?” Joe asked, clearly amused, as he ushered Pete into the living room and onto the sofa.
“I was busy,” Pete said, as though that were an explanation. The truth was, he’d been offered a free lunch at Illinois State, but it had somehow looked even less appetizing than DePaul’s usual fare. “But I found some more donors and a few more contacts.”
“That’s good,” Joe said, giving him an easy smile. Pete nodded in agreement and finished the sub before gratefully accepting the plate of food from Joe.
“This is totally why you’re awesome sometimes,” Pete said around another mouthful of food, but Joe just snorted into his beer.
“Awesome enough to be spared America’s Next Top Model?” Joe asked hopefully as he curled his legs under him. When Pete really looked, Joe looked almost as tired as he felt, so he chose to ignore the way Joe leaned into him, more focused on his beer than the TV anyway.
“Never,” Pete said, snatching the remote from the coffee table. “You know you like it just as much as I do.”
“You don’t even like it! You just want to mock.”
Pete stared at him blankly before a moment before changing the channel. “That’s the whole point, you know that, right?”
“I see you practicing your smizing in the mirror,” Joe muttered around the beer bottle, but they just pushed at each other playfully and let the comment slide once the show started. Pete barely even made it through the opening credits before Pete’s yawning became more frequent, until eventually Joe had to rescue Pete’s plate before it destroyed both the Chinese and the sofa.
It didn’t take much coaxing to convince Pete that bed was the best solution, and even less coaxing to get him out of his clothes. He made a halfhearted effort at getting Joe in the mood, but he kept breaking the kisses to yawn until finally Joe was in hysterics on his side of the bed, shoving a pillow in Pete’s face and telling him, “This is pathetic, just sleep.”
“The honeymoon is over,” Pete mumbled, but shifted the pillow around and curled up into it. Sleep sounded so good. But Joe was still talking. Why the hell was Joe still talking?
“The honeymoon never started. I never even got a key,” Joe argued, and then leaned closer. “You know, if I had a key, I wouldn’t have to sit in the hall.”
“Nice try, Trohman,” Pete yawned, and he felt more than heard Joe sigh beside him, but then he was blissfully asleep and hogging all the blankets.
---
Two days later when Pete returned to find Joe sitting in a similar situation in his hallway, his head bent forward toward his knees, he laughed. “You really want that key, don’t you?” he asked, already reaching for his own, before he noticed Joe wasn’t smiling at all.
Joe wiped his eyes quickly and made a distinct sniffling noise. Pete frowned, hand poised over the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled sadly, and Pete could tell now that his eyes were red. He didn’t know exactly how long Joe had been sitting here, or how long he’d been crying, but it was obvious even now he was trying to stop. “Matt’s an idiot,” he sighed, and Pete nodded slowly, all for general agreement on that count. He hadn’t actually met the kid yet, but what he’d heard, Matt sounded very much like an idiot.
Joe took in a deep breath and wiped at his eyes again. “He was picking me up from practice, and he ran over my fucking guitar.”
“Ouch.”
Joe laughed, miserable, and nodded. “And I know you think it’s just some guitar, I can buy a new one, but I’m so broke and my dad bought me that guitar for graduation and... It’s a sign, Pete. A sign that I shouldn’t be in a band.” He sighed, wiping angrily at his eyes again. “I didn’t know where else to go, but I was so mad at him and I didn’t want to go back to the room with him. But you weren’t here and…”
Pete frowned and bent to take Joe’s arm, carefully helping him to his feet. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s get you inside.”
Joe leaned against him, pressing his nose into Pete’s neck and inhaling. It tickled, but Pete just maneuvered them to the bedroom, where he made sure they both had their shoes off before letting Joe curl around him in the bed, wrapping one arm protectively over him. He could feel the way Joe’s breathing was still uneven as he calmed himself down, until eventually their chests rose and fell against each other in exact opposition.
“You should have a key,” Pete whispered into the darkness, and he felt Joe tense against him, but only for a moment. Then he was pressing his face into Pete’s shirt, and whispering something back, but it was too soft for Pete to make out.
---
Part Three