[Complete] Before I Dreamed
Title: Before I Dreamed
Author:
lafeelivresque
Fandom:: Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is..., My Chemical Romance
Pairings: Pete/Patrick, Patrick/Vicky, Gabe/William, implied Pete/Gerard
Rating: PG
POV: 3rd, past tense, Patrick-centric
Word Count: 6,151
Summary: Based on William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Set before, and providing twisted justification for, the events of the play.
Disclaimer: Not real, never was, never will be. No profit in it for me, no intention to defame anyone’s character.
A/N: For ocelot_daemon, who wanted Pete as Evil Puck. This story is mainly her fault.
In the years after he lost Pete, Patrick often wandered the forest. He’d always appreciated the solitude, the quiet that was never totally silence, but rather filled with an undertone of the buzz of life. To him, it represented being connected, a constant alternative to loneliness. Not that he was lonely, not anymore. But he had been, once. Before.
The forest had been where he'd met Pete. It had seemed different then than it did now. Denser, quieter, dimmer. But at the same time... more electric. Luminous.
The first time Patrick had entered the deeper areas of the wood, choosing to follow a dirty side-path through thick, dank foliage, he'd felt the change in atmosphere. It was like walking through an invisible doorway. The air lay hot and heavy on his skin, crackling with unseen energy. The wood around him was dark and indistinct, the landscape swirling like smoke any more than a few feet from where he stood. Flashes of light played just on the edges of his vision like streaking fireflies, and to begin with he'd thought maybe he was having an epileptic fit or something. But the sensation continued, and Patrick slowly grew accustomed to, and then intoxicated by it.
For all that craziness, Patrick had thought it was incredible. Logically, he should have been freaking out, because he had never experienced the outlines of trees blurring when not under his direct gaze. The fact that they suddenly were was clearly an indication that something was off, but Patrick uncharacteristically took it in his stride. It just felt right.
He'd left the city that morning in total despondency. Nothing was going right in his life, it seemed, and he needed distance. He needed somewhere apart from the chaos, the clatter of voices and colour, to clear his head.
The forest just beyond the outskirts of the city was the stuff of legend. A million urban myths featuring goblins and axe-murderers, missing children and the ghosts of runaways who entered its depths, never to return, surrounded the place. Mothers frightened children into good behaviour with stories of its monsters, and playground scare-tactics played on its terrifying unknowns generation after generation.
None of these things scared Patrick. He figured that nothing that lay in wait in the wilderness could be any worse than his problems in the city. If they were, he'd still be willing to take his chances.
And then he found Pete. Or rather, Pete found him.
Patrick had been dawdling amazedly through the fog and lights for hours, trying to discern the origins of the weird and wonderful bird calls filling the air. Some didn't sound like birds at all to him. Others seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if the air itself, or the leaves or the stones, were clicking and whining, singing and sighing.
He stopped suddenly, picking up on a somewhat familiar sound through the dim cacophony; a boyish giggle from high to his left. He turned and craned his neck, and caught sight of a patch of movement between the lower branches of a nearby tree. A flash of textured brown, and then nothing. Seconds later, something small and hard struck the back of his head. He cried out, clasping a hand to the sore spot, looking high and low for his assailant. The same giggle chimed out again, louder and closer. It reminded Patrick of running his finger up the length of a piano's keys, bottom A to top C.
He turned to his left, turned to his right, turned back around and came face to face with a boy standing so close, their noses were inches apart. About his height, apparently about his age, the boy's dark, longish hair was unkempt and dishevelled, sporting broken twigs, blades of grass and tangled flowers. He was smiling at Patrick, both with his mouth and his eyes, and everything about his expression spoke of sunrises and golden warmth.
Patrick cried out again, this time in shock and fright at the boy's supernaturally stealthy appearance. He stumbled backwards, away from that startling grin, and caught his foot, tumbling to the ground.
The boy didn't move, but he let out yet another of those musical giggles, apparently at Patrick's expense, and much to his chagrin. Looking up at him from his embarrassing new vantage point, Patrick realised that the boy was shirtless and barefoot. His only garments were what appeared to be a pair of skin-tight, furry brown pants which frayed away around his shins. He stood, hands on hips, scrutinising Patrick with delighted interest, as if discovering an entirely new species.
'Hello,' he said.
Patrick stared in disbelief. He was utterly surprised that anyone else would be in the forest at all, let alone half-naked, freakishly fast-moving boys.
'?' he asked.
'I've been watching you,' the boy said matter-of-factly.
'!' said Patrick.
The boy moved then. He took a step towards Patrick and then folded his legs beneath him. He settled cross-legged, his soft knees brushing Patrick's as they lay still splayed on the forest floor.
'I've never seen anyone like you before,' he said, for all the world as if this was Patrick's fault. 'You're very slow. And noisy, too. I could've hit you with my eyes closed!'
A million questions jostled for position in Patrick's mind at that moment. He let them all begin to spill out at once.
'Who - where did - where are your - how did you - ?' He ended lamely with, 'My head...'
He pulled himself upright until he was sitting across from the odd boy, mirroring his pose, brushing knee to knee. As he swept the dirt and leaves from his clothes he was struck on the head again, though a little softer than before. A tiny acorn rebounded into his lap, and he looked up at the boy, who was still grinning with no hint of apology. Patrick found himself returning the smile, and his annoyance fading fast.
The boy cocked his head to the side and studied Patrick for a moment.
'Patrick,' he stated.
'Uh. Yeah,' said Patrick. 'How'd you know?'
'Oh that's an easy one. So what's upset you so much it's brought you here, Patrick?'
'Upset me?' Patrick asked, slightly taken aback.
'Yeah. You wouldn't be here if you weren't fed up about something.'
'Well... Where is here?'
'Oh, well it doesn't really have a name,' the boy said. 'It's just our world really. He'd say it was his domain or some such bullshit, but no one pays much attention to him anyway. So I wouldn't either if I were you.'
'Him?'
'Yeah, him. That pompous bully Gerard - "King of the Fairies"'
The way the boy sneered the title told Patrick that he wasn't full of respect for it, or its bearer.
Everything clicked into place in Patrick's head then, and rather than being confused or disbelieving of the situation, he was instead embarrassed that he hadn't pieced things together sooner. He smiled again, and an identical expression immediately blossomed on the fairy's face.
'So what's your name?' Patrick asked.
'I,' said the fairy, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest, 'am the legendary Puck - Pete Goodfellow!'
'Oh!' said Patrick. 'I've heard of you! You're not the Pete Goodfellow? From all the stories?'
'I have something of a reputation, yes,' said Pete, cracking his knuckles and grinning in lazy cockiness.
'Wow,' said Patrick. 'I thought you'd be smaller? And, like, where are your wings?'
Pete sighed theatrically.
'Pucks don't have wings. I'm not your average fairy, you know, I'm something a little more privileged and special.' That crocodile smirk again.
'But... If this is the Fairy King's kingdom...?'
'Well, in this case, 'fairy' is a loose term. Gerard claims rulership over pretty much anything magickal in these parts - fairies, sprites, unicorns, dryads - you name it. I'm a Puck - I guess you could think of me as a fairy with a sense of humour.'
'Oh,' said Patrick, a little crestfallen. 'I just thought...I dunno, I thought you'd be more than just a boy.'
'Just a boy?' said Pete, wide-eyed. 'I think not. You want gimmicks? How's this for you?' He reached up to part two sections of his thick hair, dislodging leaf litter and small creatures alike. Protruding slightly above the boy's temples was a pair of rounded horns.
Now that he was closer, Patrick saw that what he had mistaken for fitted pants was in fact a thick layer of matted, coarse hair, not unlike a goat's or a deer's.
'Cool,' breathed Patrick.
'I know,' said Pete. 'So back to my original question - why are you here?'
Patrick was unsure as to how much he should share with the fairy-boy. He got the sense that the question was deeper than it sounded, but he was unsure as to how. He knew how he had got there, but that didn't necessarily mean that his need for escapism was the real reason for his presence in an enchanted world of fairies. Besides, how much could an ethereal being understand his problems with a controlling father and a suffocating home life? He decided to simply play it vague.
'I just had to get away, you know? Relax, clear my head.'
'Have some fun?' said Pete. And his eyebrows skewed evilly. Patrick laughed at the sight.
'What did you have in mind?' he said.
‘Kid,’ said Pete, leaping fluidly to his feet. ‘I can take your problems away with a nod and a wave of my hand.’ He held out a hand to Patrick and pulled him to his feet again. ‘That’s just the kinda boy that I am’.
Patrick spent that first afternoon with Pete running and yelling and climbing like a child. All of his inhibitions abandoned him, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely unashamed in doing what he wanted to. The landscape of the forest welcomed his immaturity, didn't judge him or frown upon him. The two of them played hide and seek through the trees, swam in the warm river, and wrestled in the long grass as the sun dried them, laughing and wheezing.
Patrick didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually he became aware that it had been quite some time since he'd set off from home that morning. As much as he didn't want to go back, especially after the liberating day he'd shared with Pete, he had even less desire to incur his father's anger. He told Pete that he would have to go, and made ready to head home.
'You don't want to leave do you?' Pete asked.
'Well, no, not really,' said Patrick.
'Then don't. Stay here, forget about that place. If all it does is cause you problems, then it's not worth it. You said you wanted to relax, didn't you? Clear your head? Well you can here, all the time. You haven't thought about your dad the whole time you've been here have you?'
For a second Patrick registered that he'd never mentioned his father to Pete, but this thought was overtaken by the realisation that Pete had been right. He hadn't thought about his problems all day. His worries had fled him almost as soon as he'd crossed the invisible border into this place. His head had been filled with the lights and the fog, and the innocent recklessness he'd shared with his new friend. It had been exactly what he'd come in search of. And yet...
'No, but... I still have to go back. I can't just ignore it, it won't go away.'
Pete looked at him in perplexity, as if unsure whether Patrick was telling him the truth or not.
'Ok,' he said finally. 'Well I'm always here. And I know you'll be back. So see you later.'
With that, he darted forward and pressed a small, ferocious kiss to Patrick's lips. Patrick blinked in vague surprise, and by the time he'd re-opened them, Pete was gone.
Back home, Patrick's father was livid. Patrick was forcibly confined to the house for the next week. He spent every waking hour thinking about Pete.
The next time Patrick visited the forest, it seemed to him that he stumbled into the fizzy, dim world of the fairies much quicker than he had the first time. His anger and resentment at his father was burning through his blood, and he desperately wanted the childish, care-free Puck to wipe the troubles from his mind.
Like everything else about that place, the kiss Pete had planted on him as they'd parted ways last time had quickly been accepted as completely normal in Patrick's mind. It was just right. It fit, it gave him a thrill he'd never experienced or expected. Far from bothering him, it had soothed him, a sensation he already associated with Pete.
On his second visit, Pete was even more rambunctious than before. He launched himself onto Patrick's shoulders as if from nowhere, dragging them both to the ground and smothering him in and overly-zealous greeting.
Their antics that day reverberated through the whole forest. Pete was evidently keen to annoy every other inhabitant of the forest, and so they chased, stalked and harassed any being, magickal or otherwise, unfortunate enough to cross their paths.
Patrick reluctantly cut his stay much shorter than his previous one, unwilling to provide his father with an excuse to prevent him from returning.
And he did return, every day for weeks after that. He and Pete would divide their time between causing riotous havoc and occasionally, increasingly, lazing in the grass or by the water. Pete was a constant chatterer, unable to ever settle, and Patrick found himself always laughing at some anecdote or affectionate teasing. Their days were filled with action and energy; even when lounging on their backs in the eternal sun, Pete was never still. He'd tangle his limbs through Patrick's and play with his hair or caress his arm. He'd talk into Patrick's skin, the words vibrating through his body and Patrick thought it was the most intense thing he'd ever felt - so immediate, so close.
They would talk endlessly about nothing. The birds and the sky, clouds and the wind. The precise colour of Patrick's eyes. The best word to describe the texture of Pete's fur. And when the words ran out, their bodies spoke for them. Lips brushing skin, hands smoothing fur, flushed cheeks and ragged breath said all they needed to tell one another.
Patrick's thoughts were always totally with Pete during their time together. Always right there, in the moment, until inevitably something would force a shift; some trick of light or sound, and he'd begin to think of home. He hated having to leave his new fantasy world, but even when he and Pete were at their most intimate, there was a constant nagging in the back of his mind that he didn't truly belong there. As alluring and as the enchanted forest was, his mind wasn't really satisfied within its borders, only distracted. And he felt that the same was true of Pete.
One day, Patrick asked Pete about Gerard, the Fairy King. They were curled in the crook of a tree branch high above the ground, leaning against its trunk and intertwined with one another as much for security as for comfort. Pete was immediately still in Patrick's lap when he asked him about his ruler. His face turned up to Patrick's and his eyes were clouded over in a way Patrick had never seen before. As he often found with his magickal friend, he absorbed the raw emotions he gave off, feeling the sudden icy fear as if it was his own. His veins crawled with the intensity of it.
'He can't ever know about you Patrick,' Pete said, more serious than Patrick had ever seen him. 'He can't know you're here, and he can't know about us.'
'Why?' Patrick was confused. Everything had always been so simple with Pete, he'd never given any impression that his life was anything but a care-free dream. Then out of nowhere, a darker side had emerged, something influencing Patrick with fear and dread. Patrick was scared.
Pete pushed away from him then, moving up the length of the branch to crouch on his haunches, leaving them face to face. Patrick felt dizzy just watching him sway precariously, but the sensation was his own - Pete's ability to adapt to his natural surroundings was an incredible trait.
'Look Patrick, Gerard isn't what you'd call a benevolent ruler. He's in charge because he created this place. Anyone who finds themselves here is automatically, by definition his subject, and once he has you, he doesn't like to let you go. I'm his...' Pete paused and gave the barest hint of being uncomfortable for second. 'Sort of his right hand man, I guess. I keep everyone else in line for him, so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty, and so I can get away with a few more liberties. He doesn't keep too tight a leash on me, and no one who'd have seen us will be rushing to tell on me - they're more frightened of me than him. I pay my dues in...different ways.'
'What ways? What are you talking about?'
'You don't need to know specifics. In fact, the less you know the better. How I serve my King doesn't change what you and I have. I'm always going to be here, and for as long as you're here too, I want to spend time with you. But while you can still leave, he can't know, or you won't ever be able to again.'
After that exchange, Pete wouldn't discuss the King of the Fairies again. His discomfort whenever Patrick raised the subject grew and grew each time, until finally he stopped asking altogether, increasingly fearful of what the answer would be if it ever did come. The Pete he knew was never scared of anything. Patrick knew it would take something, or someone, truly awful to reduce him to such an avoidant, stuttering thing.
As if in compensation, Pete began to be ever more brash and loud when they were together. He'd laugh off all of his troubles, it seemed. Or try to drown them out, Patrick wasn't sure which. But Pete was true to his word - whatever was negatively affecting his life away from Patrick, when they were together, its sphere of influence died out and for the most part Patrick could make believe nothing was wrong at all. That what they had was perfect.
After months of spending every minute possible in the enchanted forest, Patrick began to notice a change in himself. He didn't know if this particular power belonged to Pete or if it was a more general attribute of the atmosphere around him, but within the borders of the forest, his every sensation was heightened. He'd experienced it before, that first wandering day, but had been unable to control it, appreciate it. But day by day he became aware of his newly acute sense of smell, sight, hearing. Everything around him that brushed his physical senses was a thousand times more vibrant than he'd ever experienced or even thought possible. It was hypnotizing, and he found himself becoming addicted to that heady state of being, lusting after it when he was away.
But as well as the physical, suddenly his emotional perceptions became ever more delicate. This, he realised, was the explanation for Pete's apparent mind-reading abilities during their first meetings. Now that he'd become acclimatised to the feeling, whenever Pete was near him, he could almost see certain feelings swimming beneath the surface of his skin, like ripples of water glancing off a pool of water far below.
They needed to talk less and less, but still did. Sometimes one would know what the other was about to say, and answer a question that had never been vocalised, or gently squeeze the other's hand in agreement with an unspoken sentiment. At other times their sixth sense made conversation quicker, more instinctive and rapid, sometimes bordering on animal gibberish.
What they had was messy and indefinable, but it was theirs. Patrick felt jarring and clumsy next to Pete, completely out of place and alien. But somehow Pete seduced away his misgivings. Even Pete himself sometimes seemed to pause and look at Patrick like he had the first time; completely surprised and curious, as if through the bars of a zoo cage. But they ignored those small niggling worries in favour of the bliss they could provide for one another.
And then Vicky had shown up.
It had been on a rare day that Patrick had been foiled in his attempts to sneak off to the forest to see Pete. His father had kept in the house until mid-afternoon with excessive chores, and by the time he'd finished, the day was too far gone to allow time for the journey.
So he'd skulked along the hot, dusty streets of Athens, more in rebellion against being housebound than a genuine wish to go anywhere.
It was walking past a small cafe that he'd seen her. She was seated at a small table on the patio, half in the shade of the striped awning, half illuminated by the late slanting sun. She glowed. Patrick had to stop, had to sit nearby with an (unwanted) coffee so he could watch her. Had to pretend to write in his notebook to disguise his adoring stares.
She was with two boys who Patrick assumed to be a couple. One was painfully beautiful, all soft angles and hair that spoke to Patrick of trailing his fingers though a stream. The other was taller, classically handsome, lean and tan. He dominated the conversation with his presence, spinning stories and gesturing grandly while the other two sat back and absorbed it. The smaller boy chuckled softly every now and again, but grinned softly all the time, occasionally reaching out to stroke a finger down the other boy's arm or thigh tenderly.
The girl captivated Patrick. He watched her casually drape one leg over the other, sip languidly at her drink and every now and again throw back her head to laugh throatily at whatever story the others were lingering over. In those moments, he was completely content, just having her in his line of sight, not doing anything in particular to impress or deceive anyone. He could have sat there and drank her in forever.
After an hour or two the group stood to leave, and Patrick found himself disappointed in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. Not a general, 'life sucks' disappointment, but one with direction and cause. That girl. He wanted more of her, needed more of her to stave off the panging loss in his chest.
The three of them passed by Patrick's table on their way down the street, the girl last. Up until that point he'd managed to avoid being spotted by any of them, and his reverie had attracted no suspicion. But as she glided by, hitching up the shoulder of the black dress that slid around her frame like leaves of smoke, Patrick was unable to look away. Whether through being utterly dumbfounded that she was about to be so close he could have reached out and touched her, or the sudden rising fear that he might never see her again, his gaze stayed locked onto her as she approached. Even when she glanced up and saw his staring. Even when she curled her lips into a polite smile, carried on walking after her friends and left nothing but a wisp of her perfume behind with him, Patrick kept on staring.
He went back to the same cafe the next day. And the day after that. All thoughts of Pete or the enchanted forest were put on hold, for the first time since Patrick had drifted away from his city. Now his desire was immediate and fervent. He had to see her again. Just to see her.
They weren't around for the next few days, and Patrick's disappointment grew as the ferocity of his longing dwindled. Less than a week after seeing Vicky for the first time, he had already gone back to the forest. He didn't mention the girl to Pete, and he did his best to disguise his subdued mood, but Pete knew that his friend was even more upset with his life than he had been of late. If anything, the Puck seemed glad of this fact. It gave him an excuse to be ever goofier, inventing ever more energetic adventures to drag Patrick further away from the city he'd left.
And Patrick let him. He wanted to blot out the bitterness roiling in his stomach, mixed in as it was with a new spark that had never been present before. Somewhere, deep down Patrick still hoped.
Maybe two weeks after the first time he'd seen Vicky, Gabe and William, Patrick saw them again, sitting in the same cafe, at a table by the window to escape the weak summer rain on the streets. He stepped inside without a second thought, as if his feet were dragging him towards her of their own accord.
He took a seat on the opposite side of the cafe, dug out his notebook, set it on the table and then ignored it completely for the next hour. She was... Patrick was lost. He forgot all pretence of hiding his stares. And so it should have come as no surprise when she caught him. She just looked over, saw him looking and smiled that same smile again, as if they were sharing some hidden joke across the room and everyone else was oblivious. Flustered, Patrick jammed his pencil down to his notebook, desperately attempting to hide his intentions, and managed to break the tip.
When he next looked up, she was still looking at him, though her eyes darted back to Gabe momentarily over the rim of her coffee cup. Then her gaze was back, curious and smiling. After a few moments, the other boys noticed her distracted attention, and peered round to see what had stolen her focus.
They grinned widely when they noticed him, hunched and alone over scribbled lyrics and chords, notes of music and prose stained with half-moons of coffee. His flushing cheeks bloomed with colour even more under the scrutiny of all three, and before he knew what was happening, they were talking and pointing, giggling and gesturing. And then she was standing up, moving towards him and slipping into the seat opposite him.
He felt like he was back under the electric glow of the forest trees, his skin buzzing and hair standing up on end while his vision blurred and his senses tingled. She was telling him her name, asking his, coyly mentioning that she'd seen him around. He must have made some reply, but he was unaware of moving his mouth. He was unaware of anything real besides the nervous knot in his gut and the delicate play of her smile.
Then he was following her back across the cafe, claiming a place at their table along with William and Gabe. They greeted him so warmly Patrick wondered what he'd done to deserve it. Within minutes he was fully absorbed in their conversation and the three of them seemed as genuinely interested in him as he had been with them.
Sitting with them, slipping into the easy banter, Patrick felt like he belonged. Really, truly fit in. And the situation had been right under his nose the whole time, so close to the confinement if his home. But at the same time, still apart. The four of them weren't escaping from anything, but accepting their issues and coming together in spite of, or maybe because of them. In some off-centre, weird way, he felt at home.
He still visited Pete after that when he could. But the opportunities presented themselves less and less often as they used to. Spending time with William and Gabe, with Vicky... suddenly the days were speeding by so much quicker, bleeding into one another, fused with laughter and anticipation and... comfort, Patrick supposed.
Each time he saw Pete, he knew that the Puck could tell something was changing. He knew because Patrick knew, because he read him like a flimsy scrap of paper. But he never said anything. He didn't need to. Patrick was slowly breaking his heart, completely aware of what he was doing even as he was doing it. But he wasn't prepared to change his mind either.
His memory somehow began to fail him, too. It seemed to Patrick that finding his way to Pete's home began to take him longer, even though he was certain he was following the same route he always had. At one point, he was certain he should have been right in the heart of their old haunts, leaning against a tree he could have sworn he and Pete had sat in the shade of more than once. He'd become more and more aggravated, running in circles and doubling back, unable to find that familiar yet exotic shift in ambience that would signal that he'd finally found his way.
Eventually, he lost the forest altogether. No matter how hard and long he wandered, the tears of frustration he shed, the amount of times he stood in a clearing and screamed Pete's name until his throat was hoarse... the door was closed to him.
He went back to Athens for the last time, feeling a small piece of him crumble in on itself like a hollow shell crushed under a careless heel.
In the next few months, Vicky made him forget the forest. Forget Pete. They grew ever closer, spending as much time together as they could, even when Gabe and William weren't there. Just strolling the same old worn, cracked streets of the city, finding beauty and relevance in the littlest of things, things that until then Patrick had completely taken for granted.
For a while, just a short while, things seemed perfect.
It was his father, as usual. His father managed to ruin most things for Patrick, so attempting to shatter his blossoming relationship with Vicky was always going to be his intention. He'd forbidden their being together, the draconian old fool. There had been no viable reason, only prohibition and threats of disproportionately harsh punishments if Patrick was seen with the girl again. Reactionary, thought Patrick. Throwing up useless walls of ignorance in the face of unwanted developments. Stupid.
Then there was Gabe's contribution to the drama. He broke up with William. Not long after Patrick and Vicky became semi-official, he apparently decided that the threat of losing Vicky to someone like Patrick had forced him to recognise his 'true feelings'. Those were his own words. He'd been lying to himself, apparently. Fooling around with William - poor, devoted William, thought Patrick - had just been a way to pass the time, to keep his thoughts occupied until Vicky saw the error of her judgments and fell hopelessly in love with him.
He'd got aggressive. William had come to Vicky's house early one morning, crying and trembling and confused. Patrick had been there to hear the story first hand, and it shocked him to hear of such uncharacteristic behaviour from the usually laid back Gabe. He'd never even figured that he'd had any sort of feelings for Vicky beyond the unique friendship they obviously shared. Clearly neither had William. The poor boy was completely broken, his illusions had been destroyed, and even seeking solace from Vicky was hard for him, given that part of him wanted to blame her. Petty blame, but Patrick understood.
Patrick was close to becoming overwhelmed by all the furore surrounding their relationship. For the first time in his short life, he'd found something, someone, to accept and be accepted by. And seemingly the whole world was against it.
They would never be able to relax in Athens. There were too many to oppose them. All they wanted was somewhere safe. Somewhere to be to everything the other needed them to be, and never need anything else.
And so they ran.
Pete watched the two of them stumble through the undergrowth, right into the Fairy King's territory. They would easily slip through its borders now. Patrick's heart was in turmoil, desirous and restless, and in need of something to blind him to the truth of his situation. Somewhere to escape to. Pete had always been that place, that escape. He'd managed to bewitch the pain away from Patrick, covering it over with recklessness and magick. He'd never solved anything; he'd never offered to. All he ever offered was a chance to block everything else out. Fantasy. Illusion.
Then this girl had appeared. This girl and her friends and their clique. With their laughter and their solidarity and they'd made Patrick feel accepted. It made Pete sick.
Things had not been good for Pete since Patrick had lost his ability, his need, to find his way to the enchanted forest. Gerard had been through some... issues. The majority of which apparently demanded that he take his aggressions out on his faithful Puck. That troll-faced harpy he called his Queen had sauntered off into the proverbial sunset, although Pete would have much preferred if it had been some stagnant bog she'd wandered into.
He'd seen through the whole farcical arrangement from the beginning, which was the only reason he hadn't been worried or hurt when Gerard's attentions, overbearing and violent as they often were, had begun to wane. If anything, it had given him more time to be with Patrick, fewer bruises to hide, and more freedom through the forest while the King was otherwise distracted.
But as soon as the whole thing had come crashing down around him, Gerard had immediately rounded on Pete. Again, the Puck hadn't been surprised. He too had known when Gerard had stolen away from fairy land, and in the shape of some classic heartthrob sat all day, playing on pipes of corn and versing love to that scrawny Iero boy. A shepherd, of all things. How droll.
The Queen hadn't stuck around for explanations; just stormed off amongst a maelstrom of speculation and sniggered told-you-so's from a few of the less subtle elves. And Gerard, the man who had created this landscape of deception and cowardice, the King of Blissful Ignorance, had been raging with loss and anger once again. And Pete had been summoned to his bower to absorb the brunt of his ire.
And now Pete was angry and bitter and burning with the need for vengeance too. The vicious circle continued, the flames continually fanned by one grief after another. That was why he could never leave the forest. His longing to do so only entrapped him further. And Gerard made sure he was in constant misery over something in order to keep him there.
With Patrick he had been the closest he ever had to true happiness, and had almost begun to believe that he might have found a way to finally escape. He'd kept their entire affair secret from Gerard, and Patrick's comings and goings had gone unnoticed. The more time they spent together, the less the heartache had been able to drag Pete's spirits down. Even the nights Gerard had inflicted upon him held less anguish than they once had when Pete held the thought of Patrick in his mind. He'd believed. He'd trusted.
But now, out of nowhere, here was Patrick, stumbling through the undergrowth, perilously close to the frayed edges of the enchanted forest's atmosphere. Dragging the girl behind him at some speed. Running away? Pete's mind worked fiendishly, channeling all his blame and heartbreak at the boy before him. Patrick's heart was clearly troubling him again. Why else would he be heading this way? Why else would he be setting foot in the magickal depths of the forest, brushing through the haze of what was real and what was illusion to the place where that distinction presented itself little and mattered less?
He was back within Pete's grasp. And if that was where he evidently wished to be, then Pete was more than willing to do all that he could to keep him there. If he had no more intention to willingly lift the downtrodden Puck's spirits, provide him with an escape, then Pete's shrewd and knavish charms could easily stir up a little distracted fear to ensnare the boy forever. He wouldn't be leaving Pete alone after tonight.
'Shall we their fond pageant see?' the Puck mused, feeling the buzz of anticipation drip down his spine. 'Lord, what fools these mortals be!’
Author:
lafeelivresque
Fandom:: Fall Out Boy, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is..., My Chemical Romance
Pairings: Pete/Patrick, Patrick/Vicky, Gabe/William, implied Pete/Gerard
Rating: PG
POV: 3rd, past tense, Patrick-centric
Word Count: 6,151
Summary: Based on William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Set before, and providing twisted justification for, the events of the play.
Disclaimer: Not real, never was, never will be. No profit in it for me, no intention to defame anyone’s character.
A/N: For ocelot_daemon, who wanted Pete as Evil Puck. This story is mainly her fault.
In the years after he lost Pete, Patrick often wandered the forest. He’d always appreciated the solitude, the quiet that was never totally silence, but rather filled with an undertone of the buzz of life. To him, it represented being connected, a constant alternative to loneliness. Not that he was lonely, not anymore. But he had been, once. Before.
The forest had been where he'd met Pete. It had seemed different then than it did now. Denser, quieter, dimmer. But at the same time... more electric. Luminous.
The first time Patrick had entered the deeper areas of the wood, choosing to follow a dirty side-path through thick, dank foliage, he'd felt the change in atmosphere. It was like walking through an invisible doorway. The air lay hot and heavy on his skin, crackling with unseen energy. The wood around him was dark and indistinct, the landscape swirling like smoke any more than a few feet from where he stood. Flashes of light played just on the edges of his vision like streaking fireflies, and to begin with he'd thought maybe he was having an epileptic fit or something. But the sensation continued, and Patrick slowly grew accustomed to, and then intoxicated by it.
For all that craziness, Patrick had thought it was incredible. Logically, he should have been freaking out, because he had never experienced the outlines of trees blurring when not under his direct gaze. The fact that they suddenly were was clearly an indication that something was off, but Patrick uncharacteristically took it in his stride. It just felt right.
He'd left the city that morning in total despondency. Nothing was going right in his life, it seemed, and he needed distance. He needed somewhere apart from the chaos, the clatter of voices and colour, to clear his head.
The forest just beyond the outskirts of the city was the stuff of legend. A million urban myths featuring goblins and axe-murderers, missing children and the ghosts of runaways who entered its depths, never to return, surrounded the place. Mothers frightened children into good behaviour with stories of its monsters, and playground scare-tactics played on its terrifying unknowns generation after generation.
None of these things scared Patrick. He figured that nothing that lay in wait in the wilderness could be any worse than his problems in the city. If they were, he'd still be willing to take his chances.
And then he found Pete. Or rather, Pete found him.
Patrick had been dawdling amazedly through the fog and lights for hours, trying to discern the origins of the weird and wonderful bird calls filling the air. Some didn't sound like birds at all to him. Others seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if the air itself, or the leaves or the stones, were clicking and whining, singing and sighing.
He stopped suddenly, picking up on a somewhat familiar sound through the dim cacophony; a boyish giggle from high to his left. He turned and craned his neck, and caught sight of a patch of movement between the lower branches of a nearby tree. A flash of textured brown, and then nothing. Seconds later, something small and hard struck the back of his head. He cried out, clasping a hand to the sore spot, looking high and low for his assailant. The same giggle chimed out again, louder and closer. It reminded Patrick of running his finger up the length of a piano's keys, bottom A to top C.
He turned to his left, turned to his right, turned back around and came face to face with a boy standing so close, their noses were inches apart. About his height, apparently about his age, the boy's dark, longish hair was unkempt and dishevelled, sporting broken twigs, blades of grass and tangled flowers. He was smiling at Patrick, both with his mouth and his eyes, and everything about his expression spoke of sunrises and golden warmth.
Patrick cried out again, this time in shock and fright at the boy's supernaturally stealthy appearance. He stumbled backwards, away from that startling grin, and caught his foot, tumbling to the ground.
The boy didn't move, but he let out yet another of those musical giggles, apparently at Patrick's expense, and much to his chagrin. Looking up at him from his embarrassing new vantage point, Patrick realised that the boy was shirtless and barefoot. His only garments were what appeared to be a pair of skin-tight, furry brown pants which frayed away around his shins. He stood, hands on hips, scrutinising Patrick with delighted interest, as if discovering an entirely new species.
'Hello,' he said.
Patrick stared in disbelief. He was utterly surprised that anyone else would be in the forest at all, let alone half-naked, freakishly fast-moving boys.
'?' he asked.
'I've been watching you,' the boy said matter-of-factly.
'!' said Patrick.
The boy moved then. He took a step towards Patrick and then folded his legs beneath him. He settled cross-legged, his soft knees brushing Patrick's as they lay still splayed on the forest floor.
'I've never seen anyone like you before,' he said, for all the world as if this was Patrick's fault. 'You're very slow. And noisy, too. I could've hit you with my eyes closed!'
A million questions jostled for position in Patrick's mind at that moment. He let them all begin to spill out at once.
'Who - where did - where are your - how did you - ?' He ended lamely with, 'My head...'
He pulled himself upright until he was sitting across from the odd boy, mirroring his pose, brushing knee to knee. As he swept the dirt and leaves from his clothes he was struck on the head again, though a little softer than before. A tiny acorn rebounded into his lap, and he looked up at the boy, who was still grinning with no hint of apology. Patrick found himself returning the smile, and his annoyance fading fast.
The boy cocked his head to the side and studied Patrick for a moment.
'Patrick,' he stated.
'Uh. Yeah,' said Patrick. 'How'd you know?'
'Oh that's an easy one. So what's upset you so much it's brought you here, Patrick?'
'Upset me?' Patrick asked, slightly taken aback.
'Yeah. You wouldn't be here if you weren't fed up about something.'
'Well... Where is here?'
'Oh, well it doesn't really have a name,' the boy said. 'It's just our world really. He'd say it was his domain or some such bullshit, but no one pays much attention to him anyway. So I wouldn't either if I were you.'
'Him?'
'Yeah, him. That pompous bully Gerard - "King of the Fairies"'
The way the boy sneered the title told Patrick that he wasn't full of respect for it, or its bearer.
Everything clicked into place in Patrick's head then, and rather than being confused or disbelieving of the situation, he was instead embarrassed that he hadn't pieced things together sooner. He smiled again, and an identical expression immediately blossomed on the fairy's face.
'So what's your name?' Patrick asked.
'I,' said the fairy, drawing himself up and puffing out his chest, 'am the legendary Puck - Pete Goodfellow!'
'Oh!' said Patrick. 'I've heard of you! You're not the Pete Goodfellow? From all the stories?'
'I have something of a reputation, yes,' said Pete, cracking his knuckles and grinning in lazy cockiness.
'Wow,' said Patrick. 'I thought you'd be smaller? And, like, where are your wings?'
Pete sighed theatrically.
'Pucks don't have wings. I'm not your average fairy, you know, I'm something a little more privileged and special.' That crocodile smirk again.
'But... If this is the Fairy King's kingdom...?'
'Well, in this case, 'fairy' is a loose term. Gerard claims rulership over pretty much anything magickal in these parts - fairies, sprites, unicorns, dryads - you name it. I'm a Puck - I guess you could think of me as a fairy with a sense of humour.'
'Oh,' said Patrick, a little crestfallen. 'I just thought...I dunno, I thought you'd be more than just a boy.'
'Just a boy?' said Pete, wide-eyed. 'I think not. You want gimmicks? How's this for you?' He reached up to part two sections of his thick hair, dislodging leaf litter and small creatures alike. Protruding slightly above the boy's temples was a pair of rounded horns.
Now that he was closer, Patrick saw that what he had mistaken for fitted pants was in fact a thick layer of matted, coarse hair, not unlike a goat's or a deer's.
'Cool,' breathed Patrick.
'I know,' said Pete. 'So back to my original question - why are you here?'
Patrick was unsure as to how much he should share with the fairy-boy. He got the sense that the question was deeper than it sounded, but he was unsure as to how. He knew how he had got there, but that didn't necessarily mean that his need for escapism was the real reason for his presence in an enchanted world of fairies. Besides, how much could an ethereal being understand his problems with a controlling father and a suffocating home life? He decided to simply play it vague.
'I just had to get away, you know? Relax, clear my head.'
'Have some fun?' said Pete. And his eyebrows skewed evilly. Patrick laughed at the sight.
'What did you have in mind?' he said.
‘Kid,’ said Pete, leaping fluidly to his feet. ‘I can take your problems away with a nod and a wave of my hand.’ He held out a hand to Patrick and pulled him to his feet again. ‘That’s just the kinda boy that I am’.
Patrick spent that first afternoon with Pete running and yelling and climbing like a child. All of his inhibitions abandoned him, and for the first time in his life, he felt completely unashamed in doing what he wanted to. The landscape of the forest welcomed his immaturity, didn't judge him or frown upon him. The two of them played hide and seek through the trees, swam in the warm river, and wrestled in the long grass as the sun dried them, laughing and wheezing.
Patrick didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually he became aware that it had been quite some time since he'd set off from home that morning. As much as he didn't want to go back, especially after the liberating day he'd shared with Pete, he had even less desire to incur his father's anger. He told Pete that he would have to go, and made ready to head home.
'You don't want to leave do you?' Pete asked.
'Well, no, not really,' said Patrick.
'Then don't. Stay here, forget about that place. If all it does is cause you problems, then it's not worth it. You said you wanted to relax, didn't you? Clear your head? Well you can here, all the time. You haven't thought about your dad the whole time you've been here have you?'
For a second Patrick registered that he'd never mentioned his father to Pete, but this thought was overtaken by the realisation that Pete had been right. He hadn't thought about his problems all day. His worries had fled him almost as soon as he'd crossed the invisible border into this place. His head had been filled with the lights and the fog, and the innocent recklessness he'd shared with his new friend. It had been exactly what he'd come in search of. And yet...
'No, but... I still have to go back. I can't just ignore it, it won't go away.'
Pete looked at him in perplexity, as if unsure whether Patrick was telling him the truth or not.
'Ok,' he said finally. 'Well I'm always here. And I know you'll be back. So see you later.'
With that, he darted forward and pressed a small, ferocious kiss to Patrick's lips. Patrick blinked in vague surprise, and by the time he'd re-opened them, Pete was gone.
Back home, Patrick's father was livid. Patrick was forcibly confined to the house for the next week. He spent every waking hour thinking about Pete.
The next time Patrick visited the forest, it seemed to him that he stumbled into the fizzy, dim world of the fairies much quicker than he had the first time. His anger and resentment at his father was burning through his blood, and he desperately wanted the childish, care-free Puck to wipe the troubles from his mind.
Like everything else about that place, the kiss Pete had planted on him as they'd parted ways last time had quickly been accepted as completely normal in Patrick's mind. It was just right. It fit, it gave him a thrill he'd never experienced or expected. Far from bothering him, it had soothed him, a sensation he already associated with Pete.
On his second visit, Pete was even more rambunctious than before. He launched himself onto Patrick's shoulders as if from nowhere, dragging them both to the ground and smothering him in and overly-zealous greeting.
Their antics that day reverberated through the whole forest. Pete was evidently keen to annoy every other inhabitant of the forest, and so they chased, stalked and harassed any being, magickal or otherwise, unfortunate enough to cross their paths.
Patrick reluctantly cut his stay much shorter than his previous one, unwilling to provide his father with an excuse to prevent him from returning.
And he did return, every day for weeks after that. He and Pete would divide their time between causing riotous havoc and occasionally, increasingly, lazing in the grass or by the water. Pete was a constant chatterer, unable to ever settle, and Patrick found himself always laughing at some anecdote or affectionate teasing. Their days were filled with action and energy; even when lounging on their backs in the eternal sun, Pete was never still. He'd tangle his limbs through Patrick's and play with his hair or caress his arm. He'd talk into Patrick's skin, the words vibrating through his body and Patrick thought it was the most intense thing he'd ever felt - so immediate, so close.
They would talk endlessly about nothing. The birds and the sky, clouds and the wind. The precise colour of Patrick's eyes. The best word to describe the texture of Pete's fur. And when the words ran out, their bodies spoke for them. Lips brushing skin, hands smoothing fur, flushed cheeks and ragged breath said all they needed to tell one another.
Patrick's thoughts were always totally with Pete during their time together. Always right there, in the moment, until inevitably something would force a shift; some trick of light or sound, and he'd begin to think of home. He hated having to leave his new fantasy world, but even when he and Pete were at their most intimate, there was a constant nagging in the back of his mind that he didn't truly belong there. As alluring and as the enchanted forest was, his mind wasn't really satisfied within its borders, only distracted. And he felt that the same was true of Pete.
One day, Patrick asked Pete about Gerard, the Fairy King. They were curled in the crook of a tree branch high above the ground, leaning against its trunk and intertwined with one another as much for security as for comfort. Pete was immediately still in Patrick's lap when he asked him about his ruler. His face turned up to Patrick's and his eyes were clouded over in a way Patrick had never seen before. As he often found with his magickal friend, he absorbed the raw emotions he gave off, feeling the sudden icy fear as if it was his own. His veins crawled with the intensity of it.
'He can't ever know about you Patrick,' Pete said, more serious than Patrick had ever seen him. 'He can't know you're here, and he can't know about us.'
'Why?' Patrick was confused. Everything had always been so simple with Pete, he'd never given any impression that his life was anything but a care-free dream. Then out of nowhere, a darker side had emerged, something influencing Patrick with fear and dread. Patrick was scared.
Pete pushed away from him then, moving up the length of the branch to crouch on his haunches, leaving them face to face. Patrick felt dizzy just watching him sway precariously, but the sensation was his own - Pete's ability to adapt to his natural surroundings was an incredible trait.
'Look Patrick, Gerard isn't what you'd call a benevolent ruler. He's in charge because he created this place. Anyone who finds themselves here is automatically, by definition his subject, and once he has you, he doesn't like to let you go. I'm his...' Pete paused and gave the barest hint of being uncomfortable for second. 'Sort of his right hand man, I guess. I keep everyone else in line for him, so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty, and so I can get away with a few more liberties. He doesn't keep too tight a leash on me, and no one who'd have seen us will be rushing to tell on me - they're more frightened of me than him. I pay my dues in...different ways.'
'What ways? What are you talking about?'
'You don't need to know specifics. In fact, the less you know the better. How I serve my King doesn't change what you and I have. I'm always going to be here, and for as long as you're here too, I want to spend time with you. But while you can still leave, he can't know, or you won't ever be able to again.'
After that exchange, Pete wouldn't discuss the King of the Fairies again. His discomfort whenever Patrick raised the subject grew and grew each time, until finally he stopped asking altogether, increasingly fearful of what the answer would be if it ever did come. The Pete he knew was never scared of anything. Patrick knew it would take something, or someone, truly awful to reduce him to such an avoidant, stuttering thing.
As if in compensation, Pete began to be ever more brash and loud when they were together. He'd laugh off all of his troubles, it seemed. Or try to drown them out, Patrick wasn't sure which. But Pete was true to his word - whatever was negatively affecting his life away from Patrick, when they were together, its sphere of influence died out and for the most part Patrick could make believe nothing was wrong at all. That what they had was perfect.
After months of spending every minute possible in the enchanted forest, Patrick began to notice a change in himself. He didn't know if this particular power belonged to Pete or if it was a more general attribute of the atmosphere around him, but within the borders of the forest, his every sensation was heightened. He'd experienced it before, that first wandering day, but had been unable to control it, appreciate it. But day by day he became aware of his newly acute sense of smell, sight, hearing. Everything around him that brushed his physical senses was a thousand times more vibrant than he'd ever experienced or even thought possible. It was hypnotizing, and he found himself becoming addicted to that heady state of being, lusting after it when he was away.
But as well as the physical, suddenly his emotional perceptions became ever more delicate. This, he realised, was the explanation for Pete's apparent mind-reading abilities during their first meetings. Now that he'd become acclimatised to the feeling, whenever Pete was near him, he could almost see certain feelings swimming beneath the surface of his skin, like ripples of water glancing off a pool of water far below.
They needed to talk less and less, but still did. Sometimes one would know what the other was about to say, and answer a question that had never been vocalised, or gently squeeze the other's hand in agreement with an unspoken sentiment. At other times their sixth sense made conversation quicker, more instinctive and rapid, sometimes bordering on animal gibberish.
What they had was messy and indefinable, but it was theirs. Patrick felt jarring and clumsy next to Pete, completely out of place and alien. But somehow Pete seduced away his misgivings. Even Pete himself sometimes seemed to pause and look at Patrick like he had the first time; completely surprised and curious, as if through the bars of a zoo cage. But they ignored those small niggling worries in favour of the bliss they could provide for one another.
And then Vicky had shown up.
It had been on a rare day that Patrick had been foiled in his attempts to sneak off to the forest to see Pete. His father had kept in the house until mid-afternoon with excessive chores, and by the time he'd finished, the day was too far gone to allow time for the journey.
So he'd skulked along the hot, dusty streets of Athens, more in rebellion against being housebound than a genuine wish to go anywhere.
It was walking past a small cafe that he'd seen her. She was seated at a small table on the patio, half in the shade of the striped awning, half illuminated by the late slanting sun. She glowed. Patrick had to stop, had to sit nearby with an (unwanted) coffee so he could watch her. Had to pretend to write in his notebook to disguise his adoring stares.
She was with two boys who Patrick assumed to be a couple. One was painfully beautiful, all soft angles and hair that spoke to Patrick of trailing his fingers though a stream. The other was taller, classically handsome, lean and tan. He dominated the conversation with his presence, spinning stories and gesturing grandly while the other two sat back and absorbed it. The smaller boy chuckled softly every now and again, but grinned softly all the time, occasionally reaching out to stroke a finger down the other boy's arm or thigh tenderly.
The girl captivated Patrick. He watched her casually drape one leg over the other, sip languidly at her drink and every now and again throw back her head to laugh throatily at whatever story the others were lingering over. In those moments, he was completely content, just having her in his line of sight, not doing anything in particular to impress or deceive anyone. He could have sat there and drank her in forever.
After an hour or two the group stood to leave, and Patrick found himself disappointed in a way he hadn't felt for a long time. Not a general, 'life sucks' disappointment, but one with direction and cause. That girl. He wanted more of her, needed more of her to stave off the panging loss in his chest.
The three of them passed by Patrick's table on their way down the street, the girl last. Up until that point he'd managed to avoid being spotted by any of them, and his reverie had attracted no suspicion. But as she glided by, hitching up the shoulder of the black dress that slid around her frame like leaves of smoke, Patrick was unable to look away. Whether through being utterly dumbfounded that she was about to be so close he could have reached out and touched her, or the sudden rising fear that he might never see her again, his gaze stayed locked onto her as she approached. Even when she glanced up and saw his staring. Even when she curled her lips into a polite smile, carried on walking after her friends and left nothing but a wisp of her perfume behind with him, Patrick kept on staring.
He went back to the same cafe the next day. And the day after that. All thoughts of Pete or the enchanted forest were put on hold, for the first time since Patrick had drifted away from his city. Now his desire was immediate and fervent. He had to see her again. Just to see her.
They weren't around for the next few days, and Patrick's disappointment grew as the ferocity of his longing dwindled. Less than a week after seeing Vicky for the first time, he had already gone back to the forest. He didn't mention the girl to Pete, and he did his best to disguise his subdued mood, but Pete knew that his friend was even more upset with his life than he had been of late. If anything, the Puck seemed glad of this fact. It gave him an excuse to be ever goofier, inventing ever more energetic adventures to drag Patrick further away from the city he'd left.
And Patrick let him. He wanted to blot out the bitterness roiling in his stomach, mixed in as it was with a new spark that had never been present before. Somewhere, deep down Patrick still hoped.
Maybe two weeks after the first time he'd seen Vicky, Gabe and William, Patrick saw them again, sitting in the same cafe, at a table by the window to escape the weak summer rain on the streets. He stepped inside without a second thought, as if his feet were dragging him towards her of their own accord.
He took a seat on the opposite side of the cafe, dug out his notebook, set it on the table and then ignored it completely for the next hour. She was... Patrick was lost. He forgot all pretence of hiding his stares. And so it should have come as no surprise when she caught him. She just looked over, saw him looking and smiled that same smile again, as if they were sharing some hidden joke across the room and everyone else was oblivious. Flustered, Patrick jammed his pencil down to his notebook, desperately attempting to hide his intentions, and managed to break the tip.
When he next looked up, she was still looking at him, though her eyes darted back to Gabe momentarily over the rim of her coffee cup. Then her gaze was back, curious and smiling. After a few moments, the other boys noticed her distracted attention, and peered round to see what had stolen her focus.
They grinned widely when they noticed him, hunched and alone over scribbled lyrics and chords, notes of music and prose stained with half-moons of coffee. His flushing cheeks bloomed with colour even more under the scrutiny of all three, and before he knew what was happening, they were talking and pointing, giggling and gesturing. And then she was standing up, moving towards him and slipping into the seat opposite him.
He felt like he was back under the electric glow of the forest trees, his skin buzzing and hair standing up on end while his vision blurred and his senses tingled. She was telling him her name, asking his, coyly mentioning that she'd seen him around. He must have made some reply, but he was unaware of moving his mouth. He was unaware of anything real besides the nervous knot in his gut and the delicate play of her smile.
Then he was following her back across the cafe, claiming a place at their table along with William and Gabe. They greeted him so warmly Patrick wondered what he'd done to deserve it. Within minutes he was fully absorbed in their conversation and the three of them seemed as genuinely interested in him as he had been with them.
Sitting with them, slipping into the easy banter, Patrick felt like he belonged. Really, truly fit in. And the situation had been right under his nose the whole time, so close to the confinement if his home. But at the same time, still apart. The four of them weren't escaping from anything, but accepting their issues and coming together in spite of, or maybe because of them. In some off-centre, weird way, he felt at home.
He still visited Pete after that when he could. But the opportunities presented themselves less and less often as they used to. Spending time with William and Gabe, with Vicky... suddenly the days were speeding by so much quicker, bleeding into one another, fused with laughter and anticipation and... comfort, Patrick supposed.
Each time he saw Pete, he knew that the Puck could tell something was changing. He knew because Patrick knew, because he read him like a flimsy scrap of paper. But he never said anything. He didn't need to. Patrick was slowly breaking his heart, completely aware of what he was doing even as he was doing it. But he wasn't prepared to change his mind either.
His memory somehow began to fail him, too. It seemed to Patrick that finding his way to Pete's home began to take him longer, even though he was certain he was following the same route he always had. At one point, he was certain he should have been right in the heart of their old haunts, leaning against a tree he could have sworn he and Pete had sat in the shade of more than once. He'd become more and more aggravated, running in circles and doubling back, unable to find that familiar yet exotic shift in ambience that would signal that he'd finally found his way.
Eventually, he lost the forest altogether. No matter how hard and long he wandered, the tears of frustration he shed, the amount of times he stood in a clearing and screamed Pete's name until his throat was hoarse... the door was closed to him.
He went back to Athens for the last time, feeling a small piece of him crumble in on itself like a hollow shell crushed under a careless heel.
In the next few months, Vicky made him forget the forest. Forget Pete. They grew ever closer, spending as much time together as they could, even when Gabe and William weren't there. Just strolling the same old worn, cracked streets of the city, finding beauty and relevance in the littlest of things, things that until then Patrick had completely taken for granted.
For a while, just a short while, things seemed perfect.
It was his father, as usual. His father managed to ruin most things for Patrick, so attempting to shatter his blossoming relationship with Vicky was always going to be his intention. He'd forbidden their being together, the draconian old fool. There had been no viable reason, only prohibition and threats of disproportionately harsh punishments if Patrick was seen with the girl again. Reactionary, thought Patrick. Throwing up useless walls of ignorance in the face of unwanted developments. Stupid.
Then there was Gabe's contribution to the drama. He broke up with William. Not long after Patrick and Vicky became semi-official, he apparently decided that the threat of losing Vicky to someone like Patrick had forced him to recognise his 'true feelings'. Those were his own words. He'd been lying to himself, apparently. Fooling around with William - poor, devoted William, thought Patrick - had just been a way to pass the time, to keep his thoughts occupied until Vicky saw the error of her judgments and fell hopelessly in love with him.
He'd got aggressive. William had come to Vicky's house early one morning, crying and trembling and confused. Patrick had been there to hear the story first hand, and it shocked him to hear of such uncharacteristic behaviour from the usually laid back Gabe. He'd never even figured that he'd had any sort of feelings for Vicky beyond the unique friendship they obviously shared. Clearly neither had William. The poor boy was completely broken, his illusions had been destroyed, and even seeking solace from Vicky was hard for him, given that part of him wanted to blame her. Petty blame, but Patrick understood.
Patrick was close to becoming overwhelmed by all the furore surrounding their relationship. For the first time in his short life, he'd found something, someone, to accept and be accepted by. And seemingly the whole world was against it.
They would never be able to relax in Athens. There were too many to oppose them. All they wanted was somewhere safe. Somewhere to be to everything the other needed them to be, and never need anything else.
And so they ran.
Pete watched the two of them stumble through the undergrowth, right into the Fairy King's territory. They would easily slip through its borders now. Patrick's heart was in turmoil, desirous and restless, and in need of something to blind him to the truth of his situation. Somewhere to escape to. Pete had always been that place, that escape. He'd managed to bewitch the pain away from Patrick, covering it over with recklessness and magick. He'd never solved anything; he'd never offered to. All he ever offered was a chance to block everything else out. Fantasy. Illusion.
Then this girl had appeared. This girl and her friends and their clique. With their laughter and their solidarity and they'd made Patrick feel accepted. It made Pete sick.
Things had not been good for Pete since Patrick had lost his ability, his need, to find his way to the enchanted forest. Gerard had been through some... issues. The majority of which apparently demanded that he take his aggressions out on his faithful Puck. That troll-faced harpy he called his Queen had sauntered off into the proverbial sunset, although Pete would have much preferred if it had been some stagnant bog she'd wandered into.
He'd seen through the whole farcical arrangement from the beginning, which was the only reason he hadn't been worried or hurt when Gerard's attentions, overbearing and violent as they often were, had begun to wane. If anything, it had given him more time to be with Patrick, fewer bruises to hide, and more freedom through the forest while the King was otherwise distracted.
But as soon as the whole thing had come crashing down around him, Gerard had immediately rounded on Pete. Again, the Puck hadn't been surprised. He too had known when Gerard had stolen away from fairy land, and in the shape of some classic heartthrob sat all day, playing on pipes of corn and versing love to that scrawny Iero boy. A shepherd, of all things. How droll.
The Queen hadn't stuck around for explanations; just stormed off amongst a maelstrom of speculation and sniggered told-you-so's from a few of the less subtle elves. And Gerard, the man who had created this landscape of deception and cowardice, the King of Blissful Ignorance, had been raging with loss and anger once again. And Pete had been summoned to his bower to absorb the brunt of his ire.
And now Pete was angry and bitter and burning with the need for vengeance too. The vicious circle continued, the flames continually fanned by one grief after another. That was why he could never leave the forest. His longing to do so only entrapped him further. And Gerard made sure he was in constant misery over something in order to keep him there.
With Patrick he had been the closest he ever had to true happiness, and had almost begun to believe that he might have found a way to finally escape. He'd kept their entire affair secret from Gerard, and Patrick's comings and goings had gone unnoticed. The more time they spent together, the less the heartache had been able to drag Pete's spirits down. Even the nights Gerard had inflicted upon him held less anguish than they once had when Pete held the thought of Patrick in his mind. He'd believed. He'd trusted.
But now, out of nowhere, here was Patrick, stumbling through the undergrowth, perilously close to the frayed edges of the enchanted forest's atmosphere. Dragging the girl behind him at some speed. Running away? Pete's mind worked fiendishly, channeling all his blame and heartbreak at the boy before him. Patrick's heart was clearly troubling him again. Why else would he be heading this way? Why else would he be setting foot in the magickal depths of the forest, brushing through the haze of what was real and what was illusion to the place where that distinction presented itself little and mattered less?
He was back within Pete's grasp. And if that was where he evidently wished to be, then Pete was more than willing to do all that he could to keep him there. If he had no more intention to willingly lift the downtrodden Puck's spirits, provide him with an escape, then Pete's shrewd and knavish charms could easily stir up a little distracted fear to ensnare the boy forever. He wouldn't be leaving Pete alone after tonight.
'Shall we their fond pageant see?' the Puck mused, feeling the buzz of anticipation drip down his spine. 'Lord, what fools these mortals be!’