Time Will Turn and Tell (Part 3) || Patrick/Mikey || NC-17

[runthegamut]

Part 2

Patrick didn’t hear from Mikey that night, or the next, or the next. He didn’t get a call or a text message or an email. He took it as a sign that things were really over and that Mikey was moving on.

He wished he felt the same way, but he couldn’t stop obsessing about it. He laid awake at night, reliving every awful moment of the weekend before; the way Gabe moved against Mikey, the cold chill that ran through him, the way Mikey looked at Patrick afterward. In any ordinary week, he would have been useless in class, but it was midterms. Patrick had tests and a performance and he couldn’t focus on anything.

He was pretty sure he failed his sociology test. It was multiple choice, so there was a chance he had guessed right on half the questions, but Patrick found he couldn’t even bring himself to care what letter he was filling in on the ScanTron sheet.

His history midterm was better. There was an extra credit section on music and art history for the time periods they had covered, and he figured he’d made up some points there, so he might have pulled out a C or even a B.

Biology was a wash. Some of the information he could recall from high school, a lot of it he guessed on. Patrick told himself it didn’t matter, that he just needed to pass the semester so he didn’t have to retake any of his credits.

His major courses were the only ones that he cared about. He needed to get a B average in his major to get his degree, but if he wanted to go on to graduate school, he needed to get the best possible grades. Patrick was lucky that even thought he hadn’t studied and felt half dead, he could breeze through the test without much effort because the test was over concepts that were pretty basic to him.

Brendon had noticed something was wrong with Patrick immediately, of course. He didn’t say anything, just bit his lip and looked at Patrick with concern. Patrick had forced a smile and asked Brendon how his set had gone the weekend before.

“Good,” Brendon said, more subdued than usual. “Everyone seemed to enjoy it. Too bad you couldn’t have been there,” he added after a pause.

Patrick pulled his hat down lower as he turned to face the front of the class. “I really wish I’d been there,” he said honestly.

“Next time,” Brendon said warmly, resting his hand on Patrick’s back for a moment, a comforting gesture. Patrick looked back and gave him the closest thing he’d managed to a real smile all week.

***

For his applied piano class, Patrick had to play a performance piece for his instructor and two other professors in the department. The piece had been assigned to him and it was more than challenging as he had been unaccustomed to playing classical piano. Given his lack of interest in anything, Patrick had neglected to rehearse as much as he should have that week. He found himself locked away in a piano room that Wednesday night, with a little over twelve hours before he was scheduled to play his piece.

As his fingers faltered on the keys once more, Patrick slammed his hands down, shutting the wooden cover over the keys. “Fuck!” he spat, before slumping down over the piano. After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts to find Brendon’s number.

When Brendon answered, Patrick didn’t even bother to identify himself. “I’m so screwed,” he moaned into the phone as he pulled his hat down to cover his face.

Brendon only asked, “What room are you in?” before assuring Patrick he’d be there in ten minutes. True to his word, Patrick heard the door to the practice room open behind him at the appointed time.

“That bad?” Brendon asked gently upon seeing Patrick sprawled over the top of the upright piano, resting his head on his folded arms.

“I hate my life,” Patrick groaned, meaning every word of it. He pushed himself up to a seated position again and looked back at Brendon through heavy eyelids.

“Aww, I bet it’s not that bad,” Brendon insisted, moving next to Patrick on the bench. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Patrick took a deep breath and then started in on the song at full speed, making it a mere eight bars before his fingers fumbled passage. He halted playing, lifting up his hat with one hand and running the fingers of his other hand through his hair, pulling at it as he drew in a slow, frustrated breath.

“Okay, okay,” Brendon nodded. “Uh, try it again, but slower.”

Patrick sighed and tapped his foot at three - fourths speed before starting in again. He made it farther, but not by much before he got caught up on a tricky run of notes.

Brendon slipped off the bench and moved behind Patrick. “That’s a tough one,” he said, patiently. “Try it like this.” He leaned against Patrick’s back, placing his hands on either side of Patrick and played through the run effortlessly. “See how I did that?”

Patrick frowned down at Brendon’s hands. “No, wait. Can you do that again?”

“Here,” Brendon said, leaning his head over Patrick’s right shoulder so his voice was in Patrick’s ear. “Like this.” His fingers passed over the keys once more, slower this time, and Patrick watched the way his hands stretched to hit the notes, strong and sure. “See?”

“Yeah,” Patrick replied. “I just don’t think… I’m not going to be able to do this, Brendon.” He slumped his shoulders, angry at himself for putting everything off until the last minute.

“Sure you will,” Brendon said confidently. “Now come on.” He moved his hands over Patrick’s and set them in place. “Follow my hands.”

Brendon moved his fingers slowly over the keys with Patrick’s hands beneath them, mirroring him. They went over the passage again and again, each time a little bit faster until Brendon pulled his hands away and let Patrick do it on his own. “Yes!” he exclaimed as Patrick got it right once and then again. “See! You can totally do this!” He was still pressed up against Patrick and his breath was hot against Patrick’s neck. It was distracting, and Patrick found himself focusing more on it than on what he was playing, but he continued to make the notes fit.

They worked together over each section Patrick struggled with, Brendon showing Patrick how to play it and then helping his hands find the proper formation on the keys until Patrick got the hang of it. Occasionally, when Patrick got the hang of a particularly difficult stanza, Brendon would give him a light squeeze around the chest. Patrick knew the back of his neck was hot and flushed, and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious to Brendon.

After Patrick was able to play through the piece at full speed without any errors, Brendon pulled back and swung around to sit next to Patrick on the bench again. “There! I told you that you could do it,” he said, proud.

Patrick ducked his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, well, only because you sat here with me forever, helping me,” he pointed out. “I totally should have called you earlier. I don’t know why I put it off until the last minute.” He sighed because he knew perfectly well why he had put off rehearsing, but he was in a pretty good mood for the first time since Saturday and he didn’t want to think about it.

Brendon reached behind Patrick to press his hand against the small of Patrick’s back. “Rough week?” he asked, giving Patrick a kind smile.

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, swallowing as he stared down at the piano and tried to will Mikey’s face out of his head. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Brendon ran his hand in a small circle over Patrick’s back and Patrick unwittingly pushed against it, his back aching.

He raised his head and turned halfway to face Brendon, which brought them closer together. Patrick shook his head, giving Brendon a sad smile. “It doesn’t really matter anymore,” he decided.

Brendon sucked his lower lip into his mouth and then quickly licked his upper lip, his eyes moving between Patrick’s eyes and his mouth. Patrick’s stomach fluttered as he slowly moved forward without thought. He felt Brendon’s hand more firmly against his back, bringing them closer together when Patrick’s phone began playing Prince.

“Shit,” Patrick gasped jumping in his seat as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. For his part, Brendon let go of Patrick and scurried to his feet.

“I should go,” he said, blushing furiously. “I, um. Good luck with your performance tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.” His eyes darted around the room for a second before he gave a quick wave, hurrying a “bye” before darting out the door.

Patrick’s heart was pounding like he’d run a race as he went to answer his phone, knowing it was Mikey on the other end. “Hello?” he managed, his voice cracking on the second syllable.

There was a pause before Mikey said, “Hey. I wasn’t sure if we were still talking to each other. I can let you go if you’re busy or-“

“No,” Patrick stammered. “No, I’m. I’m just finishing up my practice for my piano midterm. It’s fine. I’m not busy.” He clutched his phone to his ear as his eyes closed, listening for any sound Mikey made.

“Oh, right, that’s tomorrow. Good luck or break a leg or whatever you’re supposed to say,” Mikey said quietly.

There was a long silence and Patrick frowned, unsure what he was supposed to say or why Mikey was calling. He was both relieved and saddened to hear from Mikey, and part of him wanted to apologize to Mikey and part of him wanted Mikey to grovel and apologize to him.

“So, I guess that’s why I was calling,” Mikey said after a time. “I hadn’t heard from you and I didn’t know if we were just never going to speak again or…” His voice trailed off, but Patrick could hear him breathing heavy into the phone. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he finished.

Patrick frowned, wanting to ask, “Okay with what?” He wasn’t really okay at all or okay with anything that had happened. Instead, he answered with a curt, “Yep. I’m fine.”

“Oh.” After another awkward silence, Mikey added, “Well, sorry to bother you.”

“No, it was- It’s fine to call me,” Patrick said in a rush, unable to hold back. He wanted to tell Mikey that he missed him, that he loved him, but instead he said, “It’s good to know you’re still alive.”

That got a soft laugh in response, and Patrick wished that he’d felt at ease enough with Mikey to manage laughter. “Yep, still alive,” Mikey sighed. “The zombies haven’t eaten me. Yet.”

“Yeah, well, so you say,” Patrick replied, his voice getting gentler. “Maybe they have and you’re not so much alive as undead.”

Mikey made a stupid zombie noise in response and Patrick let a laugh slip out in spite of himself. He took a breath and laughed harder, hearing Mikey join him on the other end. He felt a hitch in his breath as the relief of hearing from Mikey and a longing from missing him washed over him. Patrick laughed as a few tears fell down his cheek.

***

Patrick stayed on the phone with Mikey long enough that things started to feel somewhat normal. They weren’t, he knew, but it was good to hear Mikey’s voice. When he returned to his room, Patrick pulled up the picture of Gabe and Mikey together and forced himself to stare at it, like rubbing salt into a wound. He wanted it to hurt as much as it possibly could so that he wouldn’t have to ever feel that much pain at once again.

After managing a few hours of sleep, Patrick stumbled out of bed and hurried off to the music building so he could run through his performance piece a few more times to see that he remembered it. As he played through the rough spots, he recalled the feel of Brendon’s breath on his neck and he suppressed a shiver, trying to push the memory from his mind.

The actual recital took place on the auditorium stage in front of the three professors, each armed with a clipboard and pen to make notes about his performance. Patrick studiously kept his eyes on the sheet music as he played, trying to ignore the furious movement of pens over the score sheets. When he was finished, Patrick stood and listened to the each professor give him a critique of his performance. It hadn’t been flawless, but his applied piano instructor had told him she’d seen him make remarkable progress during the first half of the semester. They shared their thoughts on how he could improve for his final and Patrick was on his way.

As soon as he was out of the room, Patrick pulled his phone out and typed out a text to Brendon:

Aced it.

It was less than two minutes later before “Don’t Stop Believing” rang on his phone and Patrick answered with a laugh.

“I fucking knew you could do it. Did I tell you that you could do it? I told you so. Who’s right? I’m right. I’m always right. And as a matter of record, I’m also an awesome piano tutor. Just so you know.”

“I knew that,” Patrick replied, smiling wide. “And I owe you, like, a billion times over by now.”

“Totally,” Brendon agreed. “And I’m going to make you pay up, but first: What are you doing to celebrate your smashing success?”

“Uh…” Patrick laughed and shrugged. “I don’t really have any plans, I guess. I’ll probably just go out with my roommate and the guys on my floor.”

“Well, there’s a house party tomorrow night,” Brendon told him. “This girl in my music history class and her roommates are throwing it. It’ll be a lot of music majors, I suspect, but if you want to bring your friends, they’re more than welcome to come.” He cleared his throat before adding, “And I’d love to see you.”

Patrick figured that if he was blushing, at least Brendon didn’t know. “Oh, yeah?” he asked. “I’ll definitely mention it and, um, try to make it.”

“Well, I hope you do. I’ll email you the address and...” Brendon’s voice faded out, replaced with nervous laughter. “Yeah. So, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” Patrick closed his phone and dropped it in his pocket, his stomach twisting.

***

When Patrick got back to his dorm room, there was an email from Brendon with the address of the party and a short note, saying it should be fun and that Brendon hoped to see him there. There was also an email from Mikey. Unlike his usual emails which tended to ramble on and include links to videos and websites he found amusing, this email consisted of one line:

Hope your performance went well.

Patrick blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. He hit ‘reply’ and typed:

Yeah, it did.

Staring at the screen, he tried to figure out what the email meant. Mikey had remembered and must have cared enough to ask, but it was short and to the point and not at all what Patrick was accustomed to. Mikey had reached out to make the gesture, though, the first email he’s sent since Patrick’s visit. Patrick added:

I made a couple mistakes but they were minor, and my professor thinks I’ve improved a lot, so I feel good about it. Not much of a fan of performing alone in front of a small group like that, though. Unless you’re there, and then it feels easier.

He stopped and backspaced over the last line before continuing.

I guess performance isn’t for me. Hope you survived your midterms. And any zombie attacks.

He considered adding, “Miss you,” but settled on just signing his name and sending it, ignoring the dull ache in his chest.

***

The Friday at the end of midterms was a busy time for the strip near campus. The bars were overflowing with students, packed in to blow off steam from a week of cramming for tests. Patrick and his group made their way over to La Pizza House again, since not everyone was of age to get into a bar. They could all go to the restaurant, however, even though it still served alcohol.

Patrick had told them about the house party. Sisky had raised his eyebrows when Patrick mentioned it was Brendon who had invited them, but thankfully had not commented on that fact. Since not everyone could get into the bars, they’d all agreed a house party would be a good option.

By the time the group had finished their food and drinks and navigated their way through the dark streets near campus to find the house, the party was in full-swing. The house had overflowed and people were milling around outside on the wrap-around porch, despite of the cool weather.

They pushed their way in through the back door where someone was selling plastic cups for beer. Patrick separated from his group, slipping past the traffic jam of people pushing toward the keg for refills. He stepped into a larger room, where music was playing and people were pressed together dancing or hanging near the walls, engrossed in conversation. Pushing up on his toes, he tried to see over the sea of people, looking for a familiar head of dark hair.

Patrick stumbled through the room and into another, where people sat pressed together on couches and chairs, some sharing laps. Finding no sign of Brendon, he glanced up the stairs where people were loitering around seemed to be populating the upstairs rooms. He grimaced, trying to decide if he should make his way up there when Brendon rounded the banister at the top of the stairs, skipping down them, his eyes downcast as he watched his step. He wore a pair of dark, fitted jeans that showed the way the lean muscle of his legs flexed with each step and a red v-neck shirt that dipped low enough to reveal his collarbone.

Patrick watched Brendon descend, balling his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and feeling ridiculous in his messy outfit when halfway down the staircase, Brendon’s foot skidded and he slipped down two stairs, his hand reaching for the banister to catch himself. Patrick clamped his hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t suppress a laugh as Brendon looked up, eyes wide. Noticing Patrick standing there watching, his face reddened, but a wide smile came over it anyway.

“Patrick!” he exclaimed, bounding down the last few stairs and landing in front of Patrick. “You made it!”

Patrick reached up and dragged his fingers through the hair that hung out the back of his hat, nodding and smiling in return. “Yeah, we went out to eat first,” he said, looking toward the back of the house where he’d left his friends. “But, uh, yeah. It wasn’t too hard to find.”

Brendon just stood there a minute, looking at him and still smiling and Patrick laughed again, suddenly feeling nervous. “Want to go outside?” Brendon asked, breaking the tension. “It’s quieter. Easier to talk.”

Nodding, Patrick headed out the front door and onto the porch, which was darker and less crowded. The music that was blaring inside only sounded in a dull thump through the walls, barely discernable over the low murmurs and occasional laughter that marked the conversations outside. They walked to the far end of the porch, sitting on the low brick wall that lined the perimeter of the porch as they talked about their classes and how midterms had gone, watching people walk out of the house for a cigarette before returning inside to refill their beer.

“So,” Brendon began after a lull in their conversation. “I guess I’ve never asked you: Are you seeing anyone?” He was looking down at his legs, stretched out in front of him as he balanced on the edge of the porch.

Patrick opened his mouth to answer and then stopped, unsure what to say. “I was seeing someone when school started. But um. I guess that’s… I guess we agreed to see other people,” he replied. “He, uh. He goes to a different school, so.”

Brendon nodded, still looking down as he listened. “Yeah, that would be hard,” he said sympathetically. Glancing up at Patrick, Brendon offered a small smile.

“Um, how about you?” Patrick asked, feeling like he should. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Brendon laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. I’m definitely available.” Patrick felt like he should have a response to that, but he really didn’t, and they sat there in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. “And, wow, I really made things awkward, huh?” Brendon said after a time, laughing softly.

“No, no, no,” Patrick rushed to say, waiving his hand for emphasis. He paused for a moment before amending his answer. “Kinda,” he admitted, making Brendon laugh again, this time louder.

They looked at each other, smiling, and Patrick felt like it was a moment where they should kiss. At least, if they were in a movie, Patrick thought this would be the scene where he - the protagonist - would lean in and kiss the handsome romantic interest. But something was keeping him grounded in his seat. Or not something so much as someone. Patrick reminded himself that he and Mikey were over; the only problem was, he didn’t want them to be.

His face must have fallen as he thought about Mikey, because when Patrick’s attention snapped back to the present, Brendon was frowning at him. “You alright?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Patrick said with a sigh as he stood up, stretching his legs and creating some more space between Brendon and himself. “I just think too much sometimes.”

Turning back around, Patrick noticed Brendon was rubbing his hands over his bare arms and rocking slightly back and forth. “Hey, you’re cold,” he noticed belatedly. “We should go back inside before you get sick or something.” He bit his lip and offered a hand to Brendon, who looked at it for a second before taking it, a smile spreading over his face once more.

Patrick led Brendon back inside, where the house was hot and noisy. He kept a hold of Brendon’s hand as he weaved between the crowds of people and when he shifted his palm against Brendon’s to adjust his grip, Brendon slid his fingers through Patrick’s. The gesture short-circuited Patrick’s brain and he realized he had no idea where he was leading them. He looked around for anyone he knew, but finding no one, turned back toward Brendon as they stood in the middle of the crowded room.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Patrick yelled, trying to be heard above the din.

“You’re having fun!” Brendon replied, leaning in close to Patrick’s ear to be heard. Their fingers still entwined together as they stood with their clasped hands between them.

“No, I mean-“ Patrick started to clarify when Brendon squeezed Patrick’s hand, bouncing a little.

“Dance with me?” he interrupted, looking at Patrick like he was something special.

Patrick was ready to explain to Brendon that he didn’t dance when he noticed the soft look in Brendon’s eyes, hopeful and nervous. “Okay,” he relented, and was rewarded with another wide smile.

Patrick had a little experience slow dancing, but the music was too fast for that and most of the people in the room were dancing apart from each other, bouncing in time to the music. He watched Brendon begin to sway from side to side in time with the beat, stepping back a little to swing their hands between them. He raised his eyebrows as if to question if Patrick was going to join him.

With a shrug, Patrick followed suit, rolling his eyes in embarrassment as he moved slightly along with the music. It seemed to encourage Brendon, though, as he bounced more, moving his hips back and forth and biting his lower lip as he smiled at Patrick. He was obviously more confident in his moves than Patrick, who laughed and blushed and made faces in return.

As the song progressed, Patrick grew less self conscious and began making grander movements, half mocking the ritual and half enjoying it. Brendon laughed as Patrick did a little strut before making his face serious and imitating the move. Patrick found himself forgetting that other people were around and enjoying the freedom of moving to the music, the feeling he got from making Brendon laugh.

After a few songs, the music slowed and Brendon gave a small shrug, as if to ask Patrick if he wanted to dance to it. Swallowing, Patrick stepped forward into Brendon’s space and put his hands on Brendon’s waist, while Brendon placed his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. Brendon grinned down at his feet for the first few measures as they swayed back and forth, before looking up and flashing Patrick another wide smile.

Patrick’s heart was thumping against his ribs as a counter rhythm to the beat of the music. His stomach twisted as Brendon slid his hands up higher, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick slid his hands down from Brendon’s waist, his hands settling on the defined jut of Brendon’s hips, his fingers scratching light over the denim of Brendon’s jeans as they pulled each other closer.

He turned his head away as they moved back and forth, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor. He felt the heat of Brendon’s breath near his neck and the hair on his arms rose in response. Brendon tipped his head to the side, leaning it against Patrick’s.

It occurred to Patrick that Brendon was roughly the same height as Mikey, and the dull ache in his chest returned. He remembered seeing Mikey dancing with Gabe, seeing Gabe lean in close to his ear and whisper to him, the way Mikey had let him, hadn’t tried to move away. Patrick wondered what Mikey would think if he saw him, not only letting Brendon dance with him, but pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick managed to choke out before releasing his grip on Brendon and stepping back. He stared at Brendon with sad eyes and shook his head. “I can’t,” he mouthed, before turning and battling his way through the crowd of people toward the front door.

The heat of the house felt like it was swallowing him up and it was hard to breathe. Once he’d made it outside, Patrick grasped one of the pillars that lined the porch, steadying himself as he tried to catch his breath. Reaching into his pocket with a shaking hand, Patrick procured his phone, flipping it open and dialing Mikey’s number.

As it began to ring, he made his way down the front steps and began to head back to the dorm. He just needed to hear Mikey’s voice. He wanted to tell him he was an idiot, that he didn’t want Mikey to see anyone else, that he wanted Mikey to be his alone.

The phone continued to beep in his ear without answer and Patrick cursed under his breath, lowering it to check the time. It was after midnight, and Patrick felt a panic run through him as he imagined where Mikey could be, who he could be with, and what he could be doing.

Mikey’s voicemail picked up and Patrick hung up, not knowing what to say. He tried to tell himself that Mikey was probably just out at a club, unable to hear his phone over the noise. He hit redial, hoping that Mikey would have set his phone to vibrate and that maybe he’d notice. Again, it rang without answer until the voice message picked up.

“Shit,” he hissed as he kept walking at a quick pace, rubbing his forehead with his free hand as he tried to think. He decided to send Mikey a text message, figuring that even if he couldn’t hear his phone ring or a voicemail message, he would be able to see a text whenever he checked his phone next.

Please call me. I need to talk to you. Its important.

“Please, please, please,” he whispered as he walked past the crowds of students gathered on the strip and spilling on to the streets. His thoughts were singularly focused on Mikey, and he didn’t notice as his shoulder crashed into people, too busy staring down at his phone and willing it to ring.

When he felt the vibration of his phone that proceeded a ring, Patrick didn’t hesitate before answering the call.

“Hello?” he asked, desperate and out of breath.

“Where did you go?” Sisky asked, the noise of the party audible in the background. “Brendon said you ran out of here a little bit ago.”

Patrick’s eyes fell closed in disappointment at hearing his roommate’s voice. He let out a breath, his hope crushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just needed to go. I just…” He shook his head as his words died out in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Sisky asked, alarmed. “Dude, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” Patrick lied. “I just need to be alone for a bit to figure something out, okay? I’m on my way back to the room. I’ll explain later.”

“Alright,” Sisky answered, sounding dubious. “If you need anything, you know how to find me.”

“Yeah, will do,” Patrick replied before ending the call. He looked at his phone one more time to make sure he hadn’t missed a text message before slipping his phone in his pocket again.

When Patrick returned to the room, he felt like a caged animal, and he paced the length of the room as he tried to figure out what to do. He needed to tell Mikey that he didn’t mean it when he said they should see other people. If Mikey still wanted to, Patrick would beg him for another chance. He just needed to remind Mikey how great they were together, how happy Patrick could make him. He could be a better boyfriend, he decided. He’d write letters and visit more. He’d remind Mikey how much he loved him.

Patrick checked his watch. It had been twenty-five minutes since his last call. “Fuck it,” he decided, pressing the send button to call once more. The phone rang over and over again and Patrick slumped his shoulders, feeling deflated.

There was a click on the line, followed by the sound of laughter. “Mikey?” Patrick asked, his heart pounding in his chest once more.

“Hello?” the voice slurred, followed by giggling.

“Who is this?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Is Mikey there?”

“Who is this?” the voice asked, and Patrick was struck by the sickening recognition that it was Gabe answering Mikey’s phone.

“This is Patrick. Where’s Mikey?” he demanded

“Who?” Gabe laughed.

“Patrick,” he shouted into the phone. “Where is Mikey?”

There was more laughter on the other end and then Gabe said in a customer-service voice, “I’m sorry. Mikey is unavailable at the moment.” Patrick could hear giggling in the background before the call ended.

Feeling the energy drain from his body, Patrick crossed over to his desk and sunk down to his chair. He dropped his head into his trembling hands, his chest feeling constricted as he tried to take deep breaths. He was too late.

As he sat, immobile, he lost track of time. He zoned out, remembering when he met Mikey at the grocery store, the hours they’d spent in Mikey’s room playing video games, their first kiss. It was over now, and it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

Patrick was suddenly seized with an idea. He glanced at his clock, which read just after 1:00 a.m. He snatched his keys and phone and wallet before pulling the bag he still hadn’t unpacked from the back of his closet. He stopped long enough to scrawl out a messy note to Sisky, dropping it on his desk:

Have to see Mikey. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Without another thought, he left.

***

Patrick should have been exhausted, he knew. He’d been awake for a full twenty-four hours and had spent one fourth of that time behind the wheel of a car. The only thing that was keeping him going was adrenaline and some coffee he’d mainlined at a rest area on the way.

By the time he’d gotten to Mikey’s school, he felt completely disconnected from himself, having experienced every possible emotion on the drive. He’d had plenty of time to think on the trip, but he still had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. As he climbed the stairs of Mikey’s dorm, his heart was still pounding steadily and his stomach hurt from a combination of stress and caffeine and worry.

His hand was still shaking as he raised it to knock on Mikey’s door, but he managed to rap his knuckles firmly. He steadied himself against the doorframe with one hand, head bowed as he waited for an answer. After a minute, he knocked again.

He could make out movement inside and then the sound of a deadbolt being turned. Patrick stepped back as the door opened and Adam came into view, his hair a mess and his eyes half opened. He blinked at Patrick in confusion and then looked back to the clock on the wall to confirm that it wasn’t yet 8 a.m.

“What’s going on?” he asked groggily.

“I need to see Mikey,” Patrick replied shifting his weight from side to side as he restrained his instinct to march into the room.

“Oh,” Adam said, looking down the hall and scratching his head. “I, uh. I think he stayed the night in Gabe’s room.” He looked back to Patrick, giving him an apologetic smile.

Patrick felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs and he managed a soft, “Oh,” before turning to head back the way he’d just came. “Sorry for waking you up,” he said dumbly, blinking furiously. He heard Adam closing the door behind him as he started down the hall back to the stairs.

He made it four steps and then slowed to a stop, rocking back and forth on his feet as he debated what to do. Whirling around, Patrick marched down the hall to the door he remembered was Gabe’s.

He didn’t pause before knocking, louder than he had on Mikey’s door. He bounced in place, clenching his jaw as he waited for an answer. The emotions of the past eight hours had built to the point Patrick felt like he was vibrating. After thirty seconds without an answer, he pounded his fist on the door four times, his lips pressed together in concentration, ready to hit Gabe when he answered the door.

When the door handle turned, Patrick was startled enough that he jumped back slightly. The door didn’t open, however, and a second later, Patrick heard the lock flip open. Slowly, the door swung open, and Patrick found Mikey standing before him, a blanket wrapped around himself as he stared at Patrick from behind his glasses with bleary eyes.

“Patrick?” Mikey asked as he blinked slowly.

Looking past Mikey, Patrick could see the outline of Gabe lying in his bed, nothing but a sheet covering him as he slept. It was evident he wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. He felt his heart hiccup in chest as he reeled back.

“Oh god,” he whispered, turning helplessly from side to side as he tried to make out which exit was closest.

“Patrick, what are you doing here?” Mikey asked, stepping into the hall after Patrick and pulling the door closed behind him. Patrick covered his head with his hands, unable to look at Mikey and unable to speak. “Patrick?” Mikey asked again, moving closer until his hands were encircling Patrick’s wrists, tugging on him gently to get his attention.

Mikey looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot and dark circles hung beneath them. His nose was red and his lips were chapped. Patrick still wanted to kiss him.

“I missed you,” Patrick said, his voice cracking. “I wanted- I need to talk to you.” He swallowed and swayed a bit, feeling dizzy. He leaned back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, not having the energy to move. “I called you. I called a few times, actually, but…”

Mikey slowly lowered himself to the floor next to Patrick, staring at him in confusion. “You did?” he asked. He turned to look away, blinking. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything.” He sat quietly, the consternation evident in his face.

Patrick managed a bitter laugh. “Gabe answered,” he supplied. “So, yeah. I guess what I wanted to say won’t matter to you. You’re… You guys…” His words were strangled as his throat tightened, not wanting to think about Mikey and Gabe together.

“We what?” Mikey leaned forward to get a better look at Patrick’s face.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious,” Patrick spat back, shooting Mikey a look.

“Wait,” Mikey said at last. “You don’t think… Patrick.” Mikey slumped forward, tucking his knees up to his chest as he dropped his chin to rest on them. “I got drunk,” he explained. “I was upset about… I was upset and I drank and I don’t remember much after that. Gabe must have carried me back here or something. I don’t even know.”

Patrick furrowed his brow as he listened to Mikey. He didn’t appear to be lying, and the knot in Patrick’s stomach began to unravel. “But he answered your phone. There were definitely two voices laughing.”

Mikey raised his head, rubbing his head as he thought. His eyes closed after a moment. “Victoria,” he said, turning his head to look at Patrick. “I think Victoria was over. You remember, the waitress I introduced you to?”

Patrick thought a moment and then nodded. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Gabe’s been chasing her since the beginning of the year,” Mikey explained. “I think they finally hooked up last night.” He let out a humorless laugh. “While I was passed out in the same room, which is kinda gross.”

Patrick’s eyes widened as he tried to process the informatino. “I-- I thought you and he-“

Mikey snorted a laugh and then scowled, bringing his hand to his head like it hurt. “You thought me and Gabe? No.” He shook his head and then made an exaggerated shiver. “Oh, god, no.”

“But he’s always all over you,” Patrick protested. “And the way he danced with you.”

“I told you Gabe has no boundaries,” Mikey replied, giving Patrick a hurt look. “And he does that shit to get attention. He was trying to get Victoria’s attention,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Patrick said quietly. “So you and he never-“

“Never,” Mikey answered firmly, shaking his head. “I don’t want him, Patrick. There’s only one person I want.” The corners of his mouth tugged down as he looked at Patrick with tired eyes. “I can’t believe you thought I’d do that to you,” he added.

Patrick’s felt his heart sink in his chest as he realized what a dick he’d been, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. “Mikey, I’m so sorry,” he said, barely able to get the words out as he let his head fall back against the wall. “I thought he was after you. I thought you wanted to be with other people.”

Mikey shook his head, staring down at his knees. “I thought you wanted to. You brought it up,” he reminded Patrick.

“Yeah, only because it seemed like... like...” He blinked as he tried to remember what he had been thinking, feeling foolish now that he looked back. “I was jealous,” he said simply. “I wasn’t here and he is. I just thought you’d want him.”

“Why?” Mikey asked, his voice raising slightly in frustration.

“Because,” Patrick mumbled. “He’s... he’s hot. He’s the center of attention. He...” Patrick’s voice began to shrink. “He’s taller than you,” he tried.

Mikey wearily raised one arm and gave Patrick a weak punch on the shoulder. “Shut up,” he sighed. “You’re hot. You make me the center of attention. And I dig short guys, okay?” Mikey shook his head again, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Haven’t we gone over all of this before? I thought you understood.”

“We did go over it,” Patrick groaned. “I did understand.” He let out a breath, beginning to feel tired for the first time. “It’s just… I’m an idiot.”

Mikey scooted closer, huddling against Patrick as he leaned his head on Patrick’s shoulder. “You’re not an idiot,” he replied. “You should have just asked me. And trusted me.”

With the mention of trust, Patrick’s face reddened, remembering the night before with Brendon. “Mikey,” he began, his voice tentative. “I should tell you. I think Brendon’s interested in me. I mean, I’m pretty sure.”

Mikey was silent, still leaned against Patrick as he listened. Patrick swallowed and continued. “I get along with him really well and we like the same stuff, and if I wasn’t with you, I’d probably ask him out.” He looked over to Mikey, who remained still, his face not betraying any emotion.

“I didn’t do anything with him. I could have, I guess, this past week. I mean, I thought about it. But I didn’t. I just thought of you, and how much I love you.” He held his breath, waiting for Mikey to say something.

Finally, Mikey pushed himself upright again and turned to study Patrick. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to be with me, knowing that this is how it’s going to be? We’ll see each other a couple weekends a semester and during breaks and the rest of the time-“

“Yes,” Patrick interrupted. “Yes, I want that. I want you, even if I can’t be with you every day. It’s still better than being with anyone else. I got in my car and drove all night to tell you that.”

Mikey looked away, his eyes searching the wall as he mulled it over. “Okay,” he agreed at last. “Then let’s be together.” He let his hand slip out of the blanket and reached over to take Patrick’s.

***

Their first order of business was to eat. After having been up all night with only coffee in his stomach, once the fear he’d been experiencing subsided, Patrick found his stomach growling with hunger. Mikey was nursing a pretty serious hangover, so they drove off campus to a diner and wolfed down as much greasy breakfast food as their stomachs could hold.

Next on the agenda was sleep. Patrick insisted that he could stay up, that he wanted to make the most of his time with Mikey, but one stern look from his boyfriend shut him up. After eating, it was late enough in the morning that Adam was awake and heading out for breakfast. They climbed into Mikey’s bed and fell asleep, wrapped in a tight embrace.

By the time they woke up in late afternoon, Mikey was feeling more human. They talked about eating out at a nice restaurant, but settled on ordering in. Crowded together on the couch, they ate out of each other’s Chinese takeout container, laughing as they watched comedies they’d seen numerous times together already.

When Gabe barged into their room and draped himself over Mikey, snatching a bite of his eggroll, Patrick felt Mikey tense and turn to say something when Patrick reached over and squeezed his knee to stop him.

“Gabe,” Patrick said loudly, cutting into Gabe’s rambling. He wiped his hand on his jeans before reaching across Mikey to extend it to Gabe. “Thanks for taking care of Mikey last night. I think I was kind of a dick last weekend, and I just wanted to apologize.”

Gabe accepted Patrick’s hand, but instead of giving it a shake, started performing some sort of secret handshake that Patrick faked and went along with. “It’s all good, bro. Everyone gets jealous, you’re not the first.” He bumped his fist against Patrick’s before sliding off the futon and crawling over to the other side. Gabe snaked his way over to Patrick and pressed up against him. “You don’t have to be jealous of Mikey, though. Next time I’ll dance with you. I give all the hot guys equal attention.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick groaned, leaning into Mikey and burrowing his head into his shirt as Gabe cackled behind him. “How do you put up with this all the time?” he asked Mikey.

“He wears you down,” Mikey answered, patting him on the head. “After he’s humped your leg a few times, it actually starts to seem normal.”

“Speaking of humping,” Gabe chimed in. “I told Lazarra he should spend the night at my place tonight so you two can, you know, get your freak on.” He gave them an over-exaggerated wink before untangling himself from Patrick and leaping up.

“You’re a good man, Gabe,” Patrick told him with a serious nod. “I appreciate you.”

After finishing dinner, they watched movies until late in the evening. By the end of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Mikey was curled around Patrick, his head leaning on Patrick’s shoulder as his hand drifted gently up and down Patrick’s stomach.

“Tired?” Patrick asked.

Mikey shook his head as he pushed himself up. Once standing, he turned to offer Patrick his hands. “Ready for bed,” he clarified, a small smile at play on his lips.

“Oh” was all Patrick could manage as he took Mikey’s hands and let his boyfriend pull him up. “Oh, I see.”

Releasing his hands, Mikey slid his arms around Patrick’s neck, pulling him forward into a kiss as Patrick held Mikey with one hand on his hip, the other cupping the side of his face. Mikey’s mouth was warm and familiar under his, and Patrick let out a content sigh.

They turned slowly and Patrick carefully walked Mikey back to his bed as he their mouths worked together, the room silent except for the wet slide of their lips and tongues against each other. Mikey dropped his hands to Patrick’s shoulders, his fingers curling into Patrick’s shirt, twisting and turning the fabric like he wanted it out of the way, so Patrick pulled back and tossed his hat aside, tugging his shirt off his head and dropping it to the floor.

Before he could get his glasses off, Mikey was flush against him, his mouth against Patrick’s neck, sucking hard at his skin to leave a mark as his hands ran up and down Patrick’s chest, soothingly. “What about you?” Patrick asked, pulling up on the hem of Mikey’s shirt, but Mikey batted his hand away.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmured, his lips still against Patrick’s throat. He sucked on the same spot, his hands trailing upward to cling to Patrick’s shoulders, holding him still. When he pulled off a moment later, his teeth dragged over the mark, and Patrick gasped at how sensitive his bruise was.

Mikey admired his mark for a moment before smiling. “There,” he said. “That should last at least a week.” He took his glasses off and set them on his desk before pulling his shirt off, revealing his wiry frame. “Your turn,” he said as he laid back on the bed.

“My turn?” Patrick wondered, climbing onto the bed after Mikey.

“Mmm,” Mikey nodded, turning his head to the side. “Go ahead, leave a mark. That way everyone will know I’m taken.”

Patrick laid down next to Mikey, his arm draped over Mikey’s stomach as he buried his head against Mikey’s neck and began to suck gently.

“Harder,” Mikey urged, his voice coming out breathy as he arched up against Patrick’s mouth.

Patrick did as instructed and Mikey panted and writhed next to him. Letting his arm drop down lower, he felt Mikey’s cock pressed hard against the front of his pants and with one hand, Patrick began undoing his fly to free him. He wrapped his hand around Mikey’s cock and gave it a few loose strokes.

“Fuck, Patrick,” Mikey hisses, his hips pushing up against Patrick’s fist. Biting down, Patrick repeated what Mikey had done to him, pulling offer to see the red bloom against Mikey’s throat.

“Shit,” he said, staring at his handiwork. He was soon distracted by Mikey’s hands pulling at the waist of his jeans, trying to yank them down. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded, releasing Mikey from his grasp so he could undo his belt and fly and shove them clear down.

As he kicked his pants and boxers to the floor, Mikey hooked his thumbs in his own tight jeans and wiggled out of them, pulling one leg out at a time. When he was finished, Mikey looked up at Patrick with glazed eyes, still breathing heavy. Patrick focused on his face for a moment before taking off his glasses and setting them on the floor next to the bed.

When Patrick moved up to the bed again, Mikey was thrusting lube into this hand. “Please,” he begged. “I want to feel close to you, please.”

Nodding, Patrick coated his fingers and reached between Mikey’s legs. He slid two fingers inside, easing in gently as he let Mikey adjust to the sensation. Mikey’s eyes fell closed and he took in a deep breath as he relaxed, Patrick’s fingers pushing in farther.

“Good?” Patrick asked as he withdrew them before pushing in once again.

Mikey nodded. “Good,” he answered in a steady voice, his eyes still closed.

Patrick added a third finger, twisting his wrist as he pushed them deep. He kept his eyes focused on Mikey’s face, pausing with any twitch until Mikey assured him he was okay. They’d done this countless times, but every time Patrick was amazed Mikey let him. He knew Mikey enjoyed it; Patrick wouldn’t do it if he didn’t. But he couldn’t believe Mikey loved him enough to want to be that intimate with him.

“Patrick, please,” Mikey begged again, drawing his leg up. “I’m ready.”

Patrick stroked himself a few times with his lubed hand as he settled himself between Mikey’s legs, his other arm propping him up. Carefully, he guided himself as he pressed inside, feeling Mikey stretch around him. Once he was deep inside, he paused to let them both adjust to the sensation.

Mikey was breathing heavy underneath him, making desperate noises as he pulled at Patrick’s arms tugging him down closer. “Come here,” he pleaded.

Dropping to his forearm, Patrick lowered his mouth to Mikey’s, kissing him softly. Mikey’s mouth opened up beneath his, Mikey’s leg wrapping over Patrick’s to hold him close. His tongue brushed across Patrick’s lips as he dug his fingers into Patrick’s biceps. Mikey squeezed Patrick’s arms and released them alternately as he pulled Patrick toward him with his leg, causing Patrick to rock back and forth slightly.

Patrick picked up on the cue and began moving in and out of Mikey in slight increments, staying connected at the mouth. Even with the small movements, feeling Mikey around him tight and hot and hearing the soft moans he was making into Patrick’s mouth caused a heavy weight to settle into Patrick’s stomach.

Mikey responded to the movement by pulling his leg tighter against Patrick’s, spurring him to move more. Patrick pulled back farther, breaking apart their kiss, and Mikey made a soft cry at the loss of contact. Reaching between them, Patrick took Mikey’s cock in his hand as he pushed himself up higher, pulling his knees forward. From that angle, he could move faster, farther. Mikey pulled his knees up, swinging his legs over Patrick’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he hissed, arching back against the mattress. “Right there, right there.” His eyes were closed and his jaw slack as he moaned out Patrick’s name, causing the tension in Patrick’s stomach to ratchet higher.

“Mikey,” Patrick whispered. “Mikey, I love you,” he repeated louder and he felt Mikey’s cock twitch in his hand before Mikey was spilling over it. As Mikey clenched around Patrick, he whimpered and came, his hips snapping in quick, short movements.

When he was finished, Patrick lowered himself down on top of his boyfriend, still inside him as they laid together, catching their breaths. Mikey wrapped his arms around Patrick, his hands running through Patrick’s hair. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Patrick promised, nuzzling against Mikey’s neck. “Ever.”

***

The four weeks leading up to Thanksgiving went by easier than the eight weeks before that. It helped that Patrick was no longer paranoid about Gabe’s intentions and that he knew he’d be seeing Mikey soon. They also made a point of setting up a “date night” once a week, where they’d stay on the phone together while watching tv or a movie. Sometimes there wasn’t much conversation besides laughing or the off-hand comment, but it helped them to feel more connected.

The only unfortunate part of working things out with Mikey was telling Brendon. When he’d returned to school, Patrick had called and asked him out for coffee. Over sips of lattes, Patrick explained that he’d gotten back together with his boyfriend. Brendon looked disappointed, but managed a smile when he told Patrick he hoped everything worked out for them. Once they’d changed topics to writing music though, everything seemed to get back to normal between them.

Semester break meant four weeks home together, and Patrick and Mikey made the most of their time. They did their last minute Christmas shopping for family together and split Christmas celebrations between their families’ homes. They caught a half-dozen movies together and caught up on playing video games together. They also managed to spend a good amount of time hanging out with their high school friends, even double dating with Pete and Ashlee a few times.

“So everything worked out,” Pete observed when they found themselves alone together.

Patrick nodded, looking in the direction Mikey had gone with Ashlee to get buy drinks at the theater. “Yeah, it wasn’t too good for a while, but we worked it out.” Pete sat there giving Patrick his shit-eating grin for so long that Patrick rolled his eyes and asked, “What?”

“Did you pee on him?” Pete asked, grinning wider.

Patrick was in a good enough mood that he only half-heartedly punched Pete in the arm when he didn’t move out of the way fast enough.

“Is everything okay?” Mikey asked as he and Ashlee rejoined them, Pete still cracking up.

Patrick gave Mikey a long look before smiling and nodding. “Yeah,” he replied. “It is now.”