You're a Hot Mess (Peterick)

Chapter Thirteen - The Aftermath is Good Revenge and Hatred

*I cannot get over all of your nice comments. You bunch are so sweet! A lot of you seem to like Brendon. Maybe someday I'll write a fic with him as the main character. I also might make a playlist for this. I like to listen to those to get to sleep..*

Brendon never really specified exactly what he planned to do.

And now that I'm sitting in the garden with Patrick with absolutely nothing to talk about, I'm seriously wishing he had.

I keep glancing at my phone every few seconds, hoping to see a text from him. Although several minutes have already gone by, sitting in this awkward atmosphere, and I'm pretty sure that he isn't going to text.

I've got nothing to worry about though, he knows where we are. He'll bring Elisa and everything will be good.

Or at least when the plan fails this time it won't be my fault.

That'll all be down to the mastermind himself.

Speaking of the biggest idiot this side of Chicago, why hasn't he texted me?

I guess I should be working on Patrick right now instead of getting a hold of Brendon. I mean, working on the whole 'kissing' thing. Although the other thing would probably work too, it'd just be a little traumatizing for them. Especially Brendon. That poor innocent Mormon kid.

Wait, is he Mormon anymore-

I'm getting distracted again.

Patrick and I have fully 'made up'. Although you know how some fights go, even when you both say it's done it isn't really. Sometimes it leaves the tension between you a little awkward.

'A little' is an understatement.

The trees that surround the garden are kind of difficult to see in the dark, even with the light by the door, but the leaves have already taken flight and now litter the ground. Although, a lot still decorate the trees, even a week before Halloween.

The nine o'clock air whistles as it passes by us with a bitter chill to it. Patrick shivers and he rubs his hands together before setting them by his thighs again, one of them a little closer to mine this time. Probably unintentionally, knowing Patrick.

My own hand moves over to his and our fingers intertwine effortlessly. Patrick looks at our hands and then at me, a small smile appearing on his face. "It's cold out here tonight." He says quitely, his eyes landing back on our hands. "It is." I agree, letting my hand grip tighter around his and rubbing his finger with my thumb.

"Remember the last time we were out here?" Patrick asks, sliding closer to me so he can rest his head on my shoulder. I sigh and chuckle at the memory, "Unfortunately, I do."

"Was that why you were so nervous? You liked me?"

I nod my head shamefully, even blushing slightly, "It was when I realised I did I started to freak out." I confess, which makes Patrick laugh softly against my shoulder. I let my mind replay that night and I say, "I never really answered you properly."

He lifts his head and looks at me with an eyebrow raised questioningly. "Answered what?"

"You asked me what I was scared of, remember?"

He nods slowly when he remembers and goes back to leaning against me, adjusting his hand slightly so our fingers are closer. "Me neither."

I take a deep breath, not sure if I'm overstepping an invisible line with the following question or not, "What are you afraid of then?"

I feel Patrick tense slightly against me and he exhales shakily before admitting, "Being alone."

He lets the words linger in the air long enough for me to revive the guilt that seems to be almost constant recently.