They Just Hug
Title: They Just Hug
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: High PG, low PG-13
Length: Just over 500 words (oneshot)
Summary: "The question’s words ring in Patrick’s ears. Marry me? “Fuck” happens to be the only word he’s capable of thinking right now.”
The restaurant stands still. Is Patrick in his own world or did it really just work like that? Did his surroundings just halt and it’s all just about he and Pete right then and there in this moment? He looks around and realizes, okay, maybe it’s not all about him, the maître d’ is still zooming by, a busboy is still clanking glasses together messily, he can still hear the chef yell something almost certainly odious at his kitchen staff on the other side of the heavy swinging door. The violinist plays on, the obese woman two tables over continues to nibble on her butter-soaked dinner roll. Things have not stopped altogether, yet Patrick cannot help but stare agape at the love of his life kneeling before him and the sparkling sliver peeking out of the half-eaten cake on his plate.
Pete returns his gaze, slightly nodding, and biting a hole through his lip. His black-rimmed eyes are stretched wide and search Patrick’s face for any sign of a reaction. Never has he seen someone so anxious for something, so nervous.
The question’s words ring in Patrick’s ears. Marry me? “Fuck” happens to be the only word he’s capable of thinking right now. Staring into Pete’s puppy-dog eyes is like staring into the barrel of a gun. It’s exhilarating as hell, but at the same time it’s chilling. Married? he thinks. He cannot picture himself with the white picket fence and Penny and Hemingway and Rigby nuzzling a child on the carpet in front of the decorated evergreen glistening gold and red as Pete, in a grotesque Christmas sweater, wraps his arms around his slightly soft body and holds him in front of the fireplace. That’s no life. My life is the one where I travel the world. I do stupid shenanigans with Pete in Japanese hotel rooms and do Pete backstage somewhere in fucking Germany. I have threesomes with a random kid from the label. I’m a slut, in a fairly open relationship. There’s no way in hell I can do this.
But then he looks at Pete one more time and his heart just melts. In between all those rocking buses, bites on the neck that stay tender for days, he fell in love. As hard as it is to picture family life (forever and ever and perfect) with Pete, for Patrick it is even harder to imagine it with anyone else. So as the cameras’ flashes through the huge window to the navy New York street, Patrick stutters upon his first word in ages.
"Y-Yeah. Pete. Yes."
Pete’s grin grows so wide he’s sure it will split his face. The paparazzi outside go crazy, and the flashes’ easy tempo of a hundred per second increase by a million. Patrick grabs Pete’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Pete smushes his face into his fiancé’s, clumsily striving for a kiss, and Patrick notices the salty wet from Pete’s cheeks on his. Neither of them seem to care about the now chocolate coated $3,000 ring embedded in the cake. They just hug, and it’s all okay in Patrick’s mind.
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: High PG, low PG-13
Length: Just over 500 words (oneshot)
Summary: "The question’s words ring in Patrick’s ears. Marry me? “Fuck” happens to be the only word he’s capable of thinking right now.”
The restaurant stands still. Is Patrick in his own world or did it really just work like that? Did his surroundings just halt and it’s all just about he and Pete right then and there in this moment? He looks around and realizes, okay, maybe it’s not all about him, the maître d’ is still zooming by, a busboy is still clanking glasses together messily, he can still hear the chef yell something almost certainly odious at his kitchen staff on the other side of the heavy swinging door. The violinist plays on, the obese woman two tables over continues to nibble on her butter-soaked dinner roll. Things have not stopped altogether, yet Patrick cannot help but stare agape at the love of his life kneeling before him and the sparkling sliver peeking out of the half-eaten cake on his plate.
Pete returns his gaze, slightly nodding, and biting a hole through his lip. His black-rimmed eyes are stretched wide and search Patrick’s face for any sign of a reaction. Never has he seen someone so anxious for something, so nervous.
The question’s words ring in Patrick’s ears. Marry me? “Fuck” happens to be the only word he’s capable of thinking right now. Staring into Pete’s puppy-dog eyes is like staring into the barrel of a gun. It’s exhilarating as hell, but at the same time it’s chilling. Married? he thinks. He cannot picture himself with the white picket fence and Penny and Hemingway and Rigby nuzzling a child on the carpet in front of the decorated evergreen glistening gold and red as Pete, in a grotesque Christmas sweater, wraps his arms around his slightly soft body and holds him in front of the fireplace. That’s no life. My life is the one where I travel the world. I do stupid shenanigans with Pete in Japanese hotel rooms and do Pete backstage somewhere in fucking Germany. I have threesomes with a random kid from the label. I’m a slut, in a fairly open relationship. There’s no way in hell I can do this.
But then he looks at Pete one more time and his heart just melts. In between all those rocking buses, bites on the neck that stay tender for days, he fell in love. As hard as it is to picture family life (forever and ever and perfect) with Pete, for Patrick it is even harder to imagine it with anyone else. So as the cameras’ flashes through the huge window to the navy New York street, Patrick stutters upon his first word in ages.
"Y-Yeah. Pete. Yes."
Pete’s grin grows so wide he’s sure it will split his face. The paparazzi outside go crazy, and the flashes’ easy tempo of a hundred per second increase by a million. Patrick grabs Pete’s shoulders and pulls him closer. Pete smushes his face into his fiancé’s, clumsily striving for a kiss, and Patrick notices the salty wet from Pete’s cheeks on his. Neither of them seem to care about the now chocolate coated $3,000 ring embedded in the cake. They just hug, and it’s all okay in Patrick’s mind.