Of Hips and Hearts
Of Hips and Hearts
Fall Out Boy; Patrick/Peter; PG
Andy's looking at Joe who's looking at Patrick who's looking at Peter who's looking at the ground thinking alone is not the way to spend a Saturday. Typically someone would say something, except they wouldn't because, unless Pete initiates the conversation, it's fruitless. He'll say something obscure and maybe slightly insightful, but nothing important unless he says so.
"I just realized that 'parties' scrambled is 'pirates'," Pete states factually - not to break the silence because he never really cares. "Because you can't have parties without pirates."
"...or something like that," Patrick responds dully, never taking his eyes off the passing cars and street signs.
"People watching is always effective," Pete slides in next to Patrick - so close, in fact, that Patrick can feel Pete's breath on his neck. If it were anyone else, he would have nudged them away.
"Hardly," Patrick retorts. "Everything anyone could want to know about the human race has already been observed. Now we're just repeating ourselves."
Pete stares down at his hands - it's not that he's at a loss for words, it's just that the silence speaks volumes and Patrick said it better than he had ever felt it. And maybe there's enough room in his heart for a short man in a hat and maybe that spot has always been reserved. He thinks about his plans for the afternoon...or lack thereof and suddenly wishes that he had something to look forward to to make the time pass.
Patrick slowly nods off and Pete doesn't think to wake him because nothing would be any different even if his eyes were open and Pete likes watching him sleep. His eyelashes fluttering, silent snores escaping. Always one to think too much and speak too little, Pete hopes he gets away from that in dreams.
***
Pete's leaning over Patrick slightly now, watching cars whizz by. The only sounds are of the driver humming quietly to himself and the occassional sounds of sleep. Pete drums his fingers against the window and eventually begins to wave for reasons he doesn't understand. His whole life is like that - waving without knowing why and he thinks maybe there's some kind of profound truth in that or maybe it's the insomnia speaking. Either way, he waves and maybe it makes a certain driver happier after the rough road rage and they can continue on their way across the state to a job they wish they could quit and rest a little bit easier, knowing someone made the effort to wave to them.
Patrick's eyes slowly creep open. He never wakes up right away, so Pete doesn't even bother moving. He just continues to daydream of aeroplanes and big eyes and short men in hats.
"I'm up, ya know?" Patrick is slightly nudging Pete's arm with his head, but doesn't really mind it's presence nor would he care for Pete to move.
"Oh," and Pete understands it and doesn't move because it's something small and inconsequential that they share and it's a habit they refuse to break. "The clouds look like dinosaurs."
"They look like whatever you want them to look like," Patrick notes. "I could examine that same cloud and see Jesus."
"I guess you could find Jesus in anything."
***
"I read this book once," Patrick says, "and it had no plot" and it was Pete's turn to listen, but he didn't mind because he liked Patrick's voice and he never trusted anyone else with words. "It was about princesses who weren't pretty and princes who were never frogs and witches who weren't evil and endings that weren't happy."
Pete gently kisses him on the cheek, and it doesn't really mean anything because drunken friends have done worse and gone farther than Pete would care to admit he'd like to go. "Sounds like something I would dream."
"You probably have," Patrick says, knowingly, and he laces his fingers with Pete's.
Another sentiment that shouldn't have meant as much as it did.
***
"I never really liked the Catcher In the Rye," Pete says as he watches Patrick inhaling and exhaling like an expert at living.
"That's a lie," Patrick responds, not even looking at Pete, instead focusing on the way Pete flails his hands as he speaks and thinking that his hands are quite attractive.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I probably know you better than you know yourself," and he looks up and Pete's smiling and he sort of wishes he could live in the moment but he can't because suddenly Pete's (beautiful) fingers are threaded in his hair and his hat lies dank on the floor but he doesn't really care.
and alone is not the way to spend a saturday unless it works for you and, if so, then maybe it is. But it hardly matters as lips crash and hands meet hips and spines are tingling and Peter thinks maybe I could get used to this.