Pete lay in Patrick's arms, head resting on his chest.
The two lay on the couch, legs tangled in each other as Patrick absentmindedly played with Pete's pastel purple hair. Pete still had the dandelion Patrick had picked for him. He twisted it's stem in his fingers, a smile creeping on his face.
"Trick," Pete tilted his head upward, gazing at Patrick's iridescent eyes.
"What is it, sweetie?" Patrick nuzzled his nose into Pete's hair, and Pete could feel his smile on his scalp.
He reached for one of Patrick's wrists, contemplating the ink. A clock wrapped around his bicep, chains laced into roses as it swirled to his wrists.
"How did you get these? Like, why, I mean." Pete watched as Patrick threw his head back, laughing.
"Well, I can tell you it hurt like hell." His laughter faltered a bit, pierced brow contorted in a small frown. "I don't really know why I got them. None of them have extreme value."
Patrick's voice fell into a brief melancholy as he spoke. "I normally drank while getting those, actually."
Pete dropped his smile. He sat up, placing his hands on Patrick's body as he sat on his legs.
"Patrick," he placed the flower on his blue sparked hair, tucking it under his fedora. Patrick looked up, a vulnerable expression on his face.
"I know what you're gonna say, and it's not important, anyway." He squirmed his legs, signaling Pete to get off.
After getting settled, they sat on the couch. Patrick picked at his lip ring, a tendency Pete caught him doing a lot. Silence hung in the air as Pete tried to get his thoughts sorted out.
"It is important, Pat. It isn't something you just shrug off—you know, unless...?" Pete let his words trail off there, waiting for Patrick's response.
He sighed, shifting his fedora so that it wasn't crooked. He faced Pete, with sad eyes.
It was only now that Pete could smell the stench of liquor on his lips, with the hazed gleam in his eye.
"I'm working on it, if that's what you're wondering. Ever since we... ya know, became this."
Patrick motioned to their bodies with his hands. He then stuffed his fists into his leather jacket, staring at the wall.
The two oddities sat, not saying a word. It was strange—a short, heavy voiced addict and a small, pastel cladded poet. But they worked, like matches on a flame.
After a while, Pete murmured a bit, sitting closer to Patrick. "I'm glad you're trying. That's great, Trick," he took an arm, hooking it over the man's shoulder. Patrick looked at him hesitantly.
Pete then pulled him into a small kiss, lips touching lightly. They then pulled away, leaving Patrick in a blush and Pete in a grin.
"Thanks, Pete."
-
This was fun to make yay
also I'm sTiLl sCreaMing BecAuse iTs cUte so I might make this a full length fanfic in the future ;))
anyway, have a gr8 day m8s okay ily
xx kyra
