Lets Not And Say We Did

Twenty Seven

Pete couldn't sleep. It was nothing new, but that didn't make it any less aggravating. This was the second night in a row he was having this problem. He glanced at the time beside his bed. 3:19am? Shit! That meant he'd been staring at the ceiling for over three hours thinking about Patrick.

What was it with that kid anyway? He looked like an angel but was nothing but trouble. And what was with that Andy guy? Bragging about being the one to take Patrick's virginity as if Pete would care. It wasn't like he was going to have sex with him.

But he did care. He groaned in frustration and slid out of the bed. Wearing nothing but his low riding sweats. He needed to relax. He needed to play that fucking piano.

He opened his closet and flicked on the light inside. Lifting up one of the few non-button up shirts he owned. A long sleeved, white crew neck. It was a little snug on him, but it'd have to do. No one would see him in it anyway. Unless Patrick woke up and fell asleep on his shoulder again.

He opened his room door and was met with silence and darkness. Two of his favorite things when he couldn't the. Neither of them was as soothing as a melody on the piano.

He headed down the grand stairs. Contemplating on which song his finger were in the mood to play. But all his thoughts paused when he heard the terrifying sound of a sniffle. He walked closer to the piano and saw the small man who'd been corrupting his thoughts all night.

"Patrick?"

He quickly stood up off the piano's bench. His hand coming up to wipe the wetness on his face. Shit. He was crying. Pete should have stayed in bed.

"I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry." Patrick managed to say through his sniffles.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything."

"F-For crying. I didn't think you'd come down here. And my room was making me claustrophobic. I'm sorry." He said again. His shoulders drooping in defeat as the tears fell harder. Pete hated tears.

Let him shed them without stones being casted at him.

Ryan's words rung in Pete's ears and his face softened. Patrick deserved to cry.

"It's okay. You can cry, Patrick."

"N-No. Ryan told me you hated that. P-Please don't hate me. I didn't mean to cry." But the tears kept coming.

"Are you crying because of Andy?"

Patrick nodded. Not wanting to have to say the words out loud. Pete felt a spark of jealousy. Some dark part of him hoped he'd be crying because he thought he disappointed Pete.

"That asshole doesn't deserve your tears!"

"I know."

And he looked so broken in that moment that it made Pete feel literally sick. No one should make anyone feel like that. He was going to get that bastard back if it was the last thing he did.

"Come."

He walked up to take Patrick's hand in his. He pulled him back down on the bench. This time Pete sat beside him. He laid his hands out to touch the keys and felt paper beneath his fingers. He leaned over and flicked on the small lamp beside the piano. It was Patrick's poem book. His eyes scanned the top of the page.

ANDY

The title was in a bold red. But there were black pen marks struck through it. Patrick reached over and grabbed the book before Pete could see it. His cried lowering to silent tears and unpatterned breathing hitches.

Pete reached for the book again.

"No." He said firmly. "You can't read that. It's private."

"Read it to me."