Time Will Turn and Tell || Patrick/Mikey || NC-17
Time Will Turn and Tell
Patrick/Mikey || NC-17 || 26,653 words
Summary: After starting college six hours away from Mikey, Patrick finds maintaining a long-distance relationship more challenging than he expected. Things are complicated when Patrick has to compete with Gabe for Mikey’s attention. At least one of his classmates, Brendon, is there to keep him company.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Best Things Come From Nowhere, but can be read as a standalone. Written for the bandomrarepair challenge. Title from “A Day Late,” by Anberlin. Thanks to
artisticmuddle* for her endless encouragement, as always.
Patrick knelt on his bed as he held the poster up to the wall, carefully trying to gauge whether the top was parallel with the ceiling. As he unstuck his fingers from the sticky tack -- “No tape, no thumbtacks,” the dorm rules read - he smoothed his hands over the image of Elvis Costello and pressed it firmly against the wall. He scooted back slightly to assess his workmanship, careful not to move back too far and fall the six feet down to the floor. He and his roommate -- Adam Siska(although everyone but his parents were calling him Sisky) -- had opted to "loft" their beds so they could keep their desks underneath and have more space in their cramped dorm room.
"Lookin' good," Sisky said from behind Patrick where he had been busy unpacking his clothes into the built-in drawers that occupied the eastern wall of the room.
Patrick glanced back over his shoulder and gave him an embarrassed smile before twisting around so his legs were dangling from the bed. “Thanks,” he said with a nod, remembering the boxes of clothing, towels, videos, and books that were still stacked up underneath his bed. “Had to get the posters up first. Priorities.” He swung his legs out once and hopped down to the floor as Sisky went back to the business of moving in.
“Well, as a music major, you need to stake out your territory, right? Throw up some posters to broadcast to everyone who enters our room how awesome your taste in music is?” Sisky had his chin tucked against his chest, pinning the shirt he was folding before tossing it into the drawer. “What’s more important than that?”
Pulling open a small box that sat on top of the rest, Patrick pulled out a framed photo. “Just one thing,” he said quietly, setting it on his desk. He dropped into the chair and looked at it a long moment before beginning to unpack the rest of his belongings.
Sisky took the five steps to cross over to Patrick’s side of the room and ducked down to get a look at the photo. “Best friend?” he asked.
“Boyfriend,” Patrick replied quietly, his eyes still focused on the picture of Mikey, whose mouth in the picture was half quirked in a goofy smile like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Sisky leaned in closer to get a better look and after a minute, nodded his head approvingly. “Cool,” he said, turning to give Patrick a smile before returning to his unpacking.
***
The summer after graduating high school had been the best of Patrick’s life. He and Mikey had continued working at the grocery store, but since their hours were still part time and they didn’t have to attend school, they had plenty of time to spend with each other. With Patrick going to a small, private college with a reputable music composition program and Mikey attending college six hours away at a mid-sized state university, they needed to make the most of their time together.
Leaving had been difficult. Mikey didn’t have a car to take to college and being so far apart, their weekends together would be limited. They discussed the possibility of breaking things off before they left for school, but neither of them wanted that. Even if long distance relationships were difficult, they were both game to at least try. With email and phone and text contact, it didn’t seem that farfetched that they could make things work.
***
That night, Patrick had called Mikey at 9 p.m., as planned. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the phone listening to the electronic beep of a ring once, twice-
“Hey,” Mikey answered, and Patrick could hear him smiling. “Missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Patrick replied, his chest feeling hollow and aching at the sound of Mikey’s voice in his ear, so close and distant at the same time. “Did you get all moved in? What’s your roommate like?” He cast a glance down to the floor where Sisky sat in a beanbag, engrossed in a game of Grand Theft Auto.
“Eh, I’m like. Halfway unpacked. I’ve got the important stuff put away - my CDs and movies. And I’ve located a towel and the box with my underwear. I should be good.”
Patrick snorted. “Oh, so you’re going to go to class in nothing but underwear? That’s nice. I’m sure you’ll be very popular. Instead of the naked guy on campus you’ll be the boxer guy.”
“Hey, I don’t actually have to leave my dorm room until Monday morning,” Mikey replied, sounding amused. “Actually, more like late Monday morning. I didn’t schedule my first class until 11. I’ve got plenty of time to find my clothes.”
“Well, alright then,” Patrick sighed, smiling. “I just hope your roommate’s cool with you being half naked until then. What’s his name again? Adam?” At the sound of his name, Sisky turned his head to look up at Patrick who waved him off.
“Yeah, Adam. He’s a cool guy,” Mikey replied without hesitating. “He’s out right now, visiting some friend in another dorm. How about yours? Isn’t his name Adam, too?”
Patrick laughed, glancing back down at his roommate. “Yeah, but everyone calls him Sisky, so that’ll help us to not get confused about who we’re talking about.” With the mention of his name, Sisky turned again and grinned.
“Dude,” he interrupted. “Do you want me to leave the room so you can talk about me?” It was obvious by his tone he was joking, but he got up anyway, pausing his game.
“Hey, no-“ Patrick pushed himself up on his elbow mumbling, “Just a second,” to Mikey. “It’s cool, dude. You don’t have to leave or anything.”
Sisky flashed Patrick a wide smile as he headed out the door, holding up a hand and shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s good. I’ll let you have some alone time with your guy. I’m just gonna go check in on some of my buddies,” he explained, giving a wave of his hand as he headed out the door.
Lifting the phone from where he’d buried it against his chest, Patrick said, “Sorry ‘bout that. Sisky decided to go out and give us some ‘alone’ time. He’s cool, you’d like him. He brought an Xbox. He was playing Halo earlier.”
“Score,” Mikey answered. “He has good taste and he left us alone for a bit.” There was a brief pause before Mikey asked, “Are you going to touch yourself?”
“What?” Patrick sputtered, half laughing. “Wow, Mikey. You don’t waste any time. I see where your mind goes immediately.”
“Oh, come on. Like you haven’t thought about the logistics of trying to jerk off when you have a roommate? You’re used to having a room to yourself and now you don’t. Plus you won’t have me around to, uh, keep you company. So. You’re going to need to get acquainted with your hand again.”
Patrick blushed in spite of himself. He had given it some consideration, and given the communal nature of the showers and bathrooms in the dorm, there wasn’t a whole lot of room for privacy. “Well, you’re alone. Are you going to touch yourself?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of Mikey letting out a slow breath. “Who’s saying I’m not already?” he asked in a low, teasing voice.
“Jesus, you’re serious,” Patrick said in shock. His statement was met with a soft gasp on Mikey’s end and Patrick tucked his phone against his shoulder as he used both hands to undo his belt buckle and pop the fly of his jeans, already feeling a familiar ache in his stomach.
He had one hand shoved down his pants, the other clasping the phone to his ear as he strained to hear any noise Mikey might make when the door to the room flung open without warning. Patrick rolled onto his side so his back was facing the door, carefully pulling his hand from his pants as Sisky walked back into the room.
“Forgot my phone,” he said to the air as he walked over to his desk to retrieve it.
Patrick chanced a look over his shoulder and noticed his roommate wasn’t so much as glancing in his direction. “Uh, okay. Cool,” he stammered in reply before the door swung closed again.
“Fuck,” Patrick groaned, rolling onto his back again. “I almost got caught with my hand in my pants.” His heart was racing and his cheeks were flushed.
Mikey was laughing, soft and fond, through the speaker of the phone. “Maybe you should lock the door so next time you have some warning,” he suggested.
“Fuck. Yes,” Patrick agreed, pushing himself up and climbing down the ladder to their loft. He bounded the few steps to the door, twisted the lock, and then scurried back up the ladder to resume his position on the mattress. “Are you naked?” he asked, one thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans as he considered whether to take them off or not.
“No,” Mikey replied, his voice low again. “But my pants are pushed down, if that’s what you mean.”
Patrick could visualize him there, lying on a foreign bed with his cock in one hand, phone in the other. Without giving it a second thought, Patrick pushed his jeans and underwear down to match the visual. He was already hard just from the thought of Mikey jerking himself off over the phone, his cock resting flat and heavy against his belly.
“Mikey,” Patrick whispered as his thumb circled the head of his cock to spread the pre-come before pushing his fist over himself a moment later. He could hear Mikey on the other end, shaky uneven breaths and the soft slide of skin against skin. He thought of their last time together, Mikey’s cock in his hand as he pushed inside Mikey.
Patrick stroked himself hard and fast, not making an attempt to draw it out. Mikey didn’t either, if the sounds he was making were any indication. He heard Mikey say a strained, “fuck,” and Patrick felt the ache in his stomach settle deeper. A few more strokes and he was coming hot in his hand.
They laid in silence for a minute, breaths coming heavy. With a groan, Patrick reached back to find a box of tissues to clean himself up with. When he was finished, he pulled his pants up, buttoning them closed but leaving his belt undone.
“Well, that sure took away some of the stress from moving,” he tried to joke, but a wave of sadness washed over him as he came to the realization that this was the most intimate he’d be able to get with Mikey for the foreseeable future, save for breaks in school and an odd weekend back home. He pulled one of his pillows to his chest, wrapping one arm around it as a poor substitute for Mikey. “I miss you,” he said softly, the words dying out in his mouth.
“I miss you, too,” Mikey echoed, his voice quiet, and tired, and sad.
***
The dorm food that Patrick had been repeatedly warned against turned out to be much better than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t as good as a home-cooked meal, of course, but it was far superior to the lunches he’d endured at public school; it was a fact he was thankful for, given the high price he was paying for his boarding plan.
Still, he wasn’t too sad to skip out on an institutional meal in favor of a cookout the music department was having - a mixer for incoming freshman to meet each other and their professors. In spite of the hot August weather, Patrick pulled on a hoodie and donned a hat before setting out across campus to the music building.
As he reached the other side of campus, Patrick slowed down, seeing a crowd of kids his age huddled together on the lawn adjoining the music hall and auditorium. People were milling about, awkwardly shaking hands while trying to juggle Styrofoam plates and drinks. Some of the students were hanging on the outskirts, steadfastly avoiding eye contact while trying to eat their burger with one hand. Patrick felt that same reluctance at meeting new people, even ones who’d likely have a lot in common with him, having majored in the same field of study.
He stopped at a card table that served as a makeshift sign-in area, staffed by a perky blonde whose name tag announced, “Hello! My name is Summer!” Patrick gave her a weak smile and bent down to print his own name on one of the name tags before hastily slapping it on his chest. She pointed him over to the food line and he made his way over, grabbing a plate and napkin before shuffling along to get his choice of burger or bratworst, a bag of chips, and a chocolate chip cookie.
Bending over into a cooler, Patrick’s hand grabbed for the last can of grape soda at the same time as another, darker hand. He immediately let go, as did the other person, and stood up, blinking against the sunlight as he tried to make out the stranger across from him.
Standing on the other side of the cooler was a lean guy a bit taller than him, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was smiling wide at Patrick and Patrick was taken aback by the brightness of his smile.
“Um,” he managed.
“Looks like that’s the last one,” the guy, whose name tag read ‘Brendon,’ helpfully supplied. “Guess we’re going to have to duke it out for it.”
“Um,” Patrick started again. “No, it’s okay. You can-“
“Aw, man! Don’t tell me you’re just going to surrender the last grape soda over like that. Come on!” He was still smiling wide and it made Patrick feel uncomfortable. “A can of grape soda is something to be fought over! I’m Brendon, by the way.” Brendon leaned forward, studying Patrick’s name tag. “And you’re Patrick,” he continued, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Patrick stared down at Brendon’s hand for a moment before registering that he was supposed to shake it. He wiped his right hand, wet from the ice in the cooler, on the back of his jeans and took Brendon’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you,” he replied before his eyes darted down to the cooler once more in an attempt to avoid Brendon’s unceasing smile. “So, how did you want to do this?” he asked, nodding to the soda. “Like, thumb war? Or rock, paper, scissor?”
“I was thinking dance off,” Brendon replied, bending down to snatch up the grape soda and then moving out of the way of another student who’d ambled up to get a drink. Noticing the blank look on Patrick’s face, he laughed loud and then handed the soda over. “Nah, I’m kidding. I already had one and was just coming back for a second. It’s all yours, man.”
Patrick’s mouth quirked up as he took the soda over from Brendon, giving a quick nod. “Thanks.” He could feel his face go warm under the hot afternoon sun and he raised the hand that held the can over his head, pushing the bill of his cap down with his forearm. Brendon bent down to grab himself a can of Coke and Patrick watched, uncertain as to whether he should walk away or stay. “Uh, so you’re a music major, too, I guess?” he asked, unable to come up with a better conversation starter.
If Brendon picked up on Patrick’s awkwardness, he didn’t let on. “Yep,” he said happily as he stood up and rejoined Patrick, turning so they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the rest of the students gathered. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to declare as a major yet, though. I don’t know if I want to specialize in performance or theory and composition or just keep it general, you know?” He shrugged, cracking open his soda and taking a long drink.
Patrick looked at his can in one hand and his plate in the other before sliding his unopened drink under his arm and using his free hand to pick up his burger. “What instrument do you play?” he asked before taking a bite.
“Piano,” Brendon replied, turning in toward Patrick slightly. “Well, I can play a few instruments, but if I got a degree in performance, it would be in piano. Unless I went with voice.” He turned his head to the side and raised his shoulder slightly, like he was still considering. “I have no idea what I want to do, really,” he added with a laugh. “How about you?”
Patrick swallowed his second bite of food as he nodded to show he’d been listening attentively. “Oh, uh, I’m going to major in composition and theory. I play drums and a little guitar and stuff, but yeah. I’m not really too interested in performing myself.”
“A drummer, huh? That’s cool. You play with other people, even if you don’t want to do performance, right?” Brendon raised his eyebrows in question as he tilted up his chin to take a quick drink of his Coke.
Patrick gave a quick shrug and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I like to throw ideas off other people and stuff.”
“Well, we’ll have to do that sometime,” Brendon suggested. “You know, since you owe me and all for giving you the last grape soda.”
Patrick laughed as he took his last bite of his burger, stepping over to the garbage to rid himself of the cumbersome Styrofoam plate as he pocketed his cookie and opened his bag of chips. Since Brendon mentioned the soda, he dislodged it from its place under his arm and cracked it open, taking a drink to wash down the remains of his burger. “You said you’d already had one,” Patrick reminded him as he gestured with the can.
“Yeah,” Brendon sighed. “But I could have had two. Lucky for you, I’m a sucker. You owe me a jam session so I can pick your drummer brain. I just hope your taste in music is as stellar as your taste in carbonated beverages.”
“Sucker for what?” Patrick wondered. Before Brendon could answer, the department head stepped into the middle of the gathering, calling everyone around to hear his remarks and welcome them to the school. When he was finished, Patrick had an empty bag of chips and was draining the last drink from his soda.
“It was nice to meet you, Patrick,” Brendon said as they turned to part ways. “I’m sure I’ll see you around the music building if we don’t have classes together.”
Patrick nodded, adjusting his cap. “You, too, Brendon. I’ll look for you.”
As he walked back to his dorm alone, Patrick ate his cookie one small bite at a time, walking slowly as he admired the various sculptures and buildings on campus. He sat at the edge of a fountain and watched the spray of water in the center cause ripples in the calm water at the ends. He dipped his finger in the water, drawing a slow line through it as he tried to remember everything that he’d seen and heard that day so he could share it with Mikey.
***
Patrick was hunched over his desk, staring at the pages of his history text and not focusing on a word. His eyes had glazed over about twenty minutes earlier when he was just halfway through the chapter. Now they darted from the jumble of words on the page to his clock every few minutes, watching the minutes tick away until it was 9 o’clock.
The familiar strains of Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” chimed on his phone at the designated time, and Patrick didn’t even glance at the display before answering.
“Hey,” he said, unable to help but grin as he answered the call. “How was your first official day of classes?”
Mikey made a tired sound in reply. “Exhausting,” he sighed. “Did you know I’m actually expected to drag myself out of bed every morning to get to class by 11 a.m.? For math, of all things. It’s madness. Who the hell made this schedule, anyway?”
“You?” Patrick ventured, chuckling under his breath.
“Oh, right,” Mikey replied, smiling by the sound of his voice.
“Also?” Patrick chimed in. “11 isn’t early. At all. I have class at 8, so I have no idea what you’re complaining about.”
Mikey made a sympathetic noise. “Gerard told me not to schedule any of my classes before 10. Now I’m wondering how the hell I ever managed to drag my ass out of bed so early for four years of high school. Or the eight years before that.”
Patrick bit down on his lip, smiling as he looked at Mikey’s picture grinning back at him. “Uh, probably because your mother got you out of bed every morning? No offense, man, but your mom can be kind of scary. She has, like, talons instead of fingernails.”
“Donna does know how to get it done,” Mikey replied. “How about you? How are your classes?”
Patrick shrugged even though Mikey couldn’t see him, tossing a pen onto his book as he leaned back in his chair. “Eh, I didn’t have anything too exciting today. Just history and sociology and a biology class. Tomorrow I have two music classes, so hopefully that’ll be awesome. Did you have any classes in your major or just your gen ed stuff?”
“Nope. Just gen ed. And those classes are so big, I don’t think anyone would notice or care if I didn’t show up. It’s not much incentive to get up when my alarm clock is beeping at 10:30.”
“Dude, seriously? You get up thirty minutes before class starts? Your campus is kind of huge. Doesn’t it take you like twenty minutes to get to some of those buildings?”
Mikey snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not dressing to impress or anything. I just pulled on a sweatshirt and made sure my hair wasn’t sticking up completely and brushed my teeth. It doesn’t take long.”
“That pretty much sounds like your hairstyle, yeah,” Patrick teased. “Which I, personally, find hot.” He dropped his voice at the end of the sentence, glancing back to see Sisky flipping through pages of a textbook.
“Oh, really…” Mikey paused for a moment. “You alone?”
“No,” Patrick sighed, thinking about their last phone conversation. “Also, you’re a pervert.”
“And you love me,” Mikey supplied. “It’s cool. I’m not alone either. I was going to talk you through it if you were, but we can do that some other time.”
Patrick felt himself flushing at the idea. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely take a rain check on that. Although it would be better if you were…” He paused, not wanting to say “jerking off, too” with his roommate around. Instead, he waived his hand and added, “You know.”
“It would be better if I were there,” Mikey said, which wasn’t what Patrick was thinking, but was equally true. “Or if you were here. It sucks not being able to see you.”
Patrick felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard against it as he touched a finger against the picture frame before him. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep it light, but his voice coming out strained. “I’m looking at you right now. Your hair is a mess and you have a goofy smile on your face. And you look amazing.”
Mikey laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Yeah, I see you, too. You’ve got a David Bowie shirt on and you’re wearing a hat and standing in front of my house in what has to be the most forced pose, ever. You also look amazing,” Mikey replied, his voice affectionate, but sad. After a moment, he added, “It’s still not the same.”
“It’s really not,” Patrick said sadly. “But hey, you’re going to get your business degree and go get some awesome job so you can support me while I work through my Ph.D. and we’ll buy a small cottage house with a couple cats and in ten years, this will all be a distant memory.”
“Only twelve weeks ‘til Thanksgiving break,” Mikey answered. “And then semester break is only a few weeks after that. It won’t be that bad, right? It’ll get easier.”
“Sure,” Patrick said, even though he wasn’t convinced. “We’ll get into our classes and make some friends and talk on the phone every night and before you know it, we’ll be home with our families having turkey and playing Halo.”
“Among other things,” Mikey murmured.
“Pervert,” Patrick answered with a grin. “And yes, I most definitely do love you.”
***
In order to get a degree in music theory and composition, Patrick was required to take two semesters of applied piano. He knew how to play piano -- well enough to pass out of the introductory group piano classes. He’d taught himself, mainly for the purpose of trying out different melodies and harmonies, but his abilities weren’t as strong as his instructor would have liked and she told him he’d need to make an extra effort to catch up.
His other class in his major was Music Theory I; it was pretty basic stuff, the scales and intervals and chord formation. They were going to progress into some music analysis later in the semester, before moving on to writing diatonic harmonies. Patrick felt like he should have been annoyed about having to review the things he already knew, but the truth was, he was ecstatic to finally be in a music theory course, seeing as how his high school had nothing of the sort.
Patrick was also relieved to see one familiar face in the class, finding Brendon seated at a table in the front of the class when he walked in. Brendon must have been relieved as well, lighting up when he noticed Patrick.
“Hey! Patrick!” he grinned. “So we do have a class together.”
Patrick slid into the seat beside Brendon, pulling his textbook from his bag. “Yeah, hey. Good seeing you again.” He pulled his chair up closer to lean over the desk, twisting his body to face Brendon. “Actually, it’s kind of funny cuz I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh?” Brendon’s eyebrows went up, his eyes wider as he cocked his head slightly.
Nodding, Patrick licked his lips quickly, trying to ignore the dry feeling in his mouth. He hated asking people for favors, especially people he barely knew. “Uh, yeah. You said you were considering majoring in performance? As a pianist?” He felt a warm flush on the back of his neck.
Brendon nodded in return. “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I still haven’t decided anything, yet.”
“Oh, okay, well. The reason I was wondering was, I have to take applied piano? And I’m mostly… well, I’m self taught, I guess, so I need some work on my technique and I strungle sometimes with sight reading. I was just thinking, you know, if there was anyone I could ask for help if I needed it and I figured you’d obviously be pretty good, if you were considering a major in piano performance.”
Brendon smiled in return, his eyes downcast as he nodded. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I could probably help you out if you need it,” he replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Just let me know. Pretty easy to do, since we’re in class together, right?” Brendon raised his eyes to meet Patrick’s. “Or did you want my number?”
“Oh.” Patrick paused a second before rummaging through his backpack for a pen and his notebook. “Yeah, I guess I could write down your number. Knowing me, I’ll probably realize I need help at, like, ten o’clock the night before my lesson or something.” Flipping open to the inside cover of the notebook, he scribbled down Brendon’s name. “Uh, what is it?”
“My room number is 1-4872, but I better give you my cell phone, too, because at ten o’clock, I’m likely to still be down here in one of the practice rooms, trying to learn oboe.”
Patrick looked up and smiled, nodding because he was likely to be the same way. “Yeah, well, I could probably just track you down in the building, following the squeak of a two - reed instrument. But you can give me your number just in case.”
“What? You don’t like oboe?” Brendon asked, looking mock horrified.
“No, no!” Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that. I’m just talking about my own experience in playing around with them. Didn’t go so well,” he admitted.
“Oh, well, if you were an oboe-hater, I’d have to shun you. But since you’re not, my number’s 988-4437.”
Patrick jotted it down in his notebook before giving Brendon an appreciative smile. “Thanks, I’ll owe you twice, now.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Brendon remembered. “You do owe me twice. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be collecting from you. I’ll have to come up with something good.”
Patrick cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Brendon and the front of the class where the instructor was setting up. “Uh, did you want my number in case you realize… I don’t know. That you desperately need to know…” He gestured ineffectually as he tried to think of something. “…the extended bass range Charles Mingus played on Miles Davis’s ‘Blue Moods.’”
“Oh my god, if I only had a dollar for every time that came up,” Brendon joked before taking down Patrick’s information.
***
Overall, Patrick’s general education classes weren’t as bad as he had anticipated. His history professor turned out to be a bit of a Beethoven freak and in addition to learning the events of history, they also studied the art and music for each period of history. Patrick was surprised by how much more interested he was in history than in high school, now that he could relate a timeline to musical compositions, seeing how composers were influenced by the events of their day.
Sociology wasn’t bad, but it was his first class of the day and without enough caffeine coursing through his veins to keep him fully awake, Patrick realized he was probably not getting the most out of it. He promised himself he’d to go to sleep earlier each night, but it was a hollow promise.
Biology was by far Patrick’s most crowded class. The lecture hall was expansive with seating going up in the back, almost like an auditorium. It seemed that most of the students took biology to meet the science requirement for their liberal arts degrees, probably figuring it was less complicated than chemistry or physics. Patrick actually found biology pretty interesting in high school, and would have even been inclined to study marine biology if he wasn’t so interested in music. As it was, the class was so large it precluded much interaction between the professor and students and made it easy for Patrick to zone out, tapping out beats against his desktop or scribbling chord progressions in the margins of his notebook.
Of all his classes, music theory was the one he looked forward to the most. He wished it met more often than an hour and a half every Tuesday and Thursday, and Patrick often got to class early and loitered around afterward, asking his professor questions about subjects they hadn’t yet reached. He may have had to force himself to get through his sociology text, but he would lose time with his music theory book, reading ahead into chapters they wouldn’t be reaching for weeks.
He also spent a lot of time talking to Brendon about different discoveries they’d made in their own music collections that related to what they were doing in class. It became a regular occurrence for them to trade burned CDs, excitedly proclaiming, “You have to hear the way Taylor utilizes an atonal progression here” or to email a file with the note “Check out what he does with the percussion in the bridge.”
Patrick was explaining how awesome it was to finally be able to talk about that stuff with one of his peers when Mikey replied, “No,” firmly.
Patrick’s face fell, the excitement he’d felt instantly vanishing. “No?” he asked.
“Sorry, not you,” Mikey said, his voice louder in the phone now. “Gabe wandered into my room and is making sad faces at me. He’s trying to get me to go with him to some club tonight,” he added, exasperated.
It wasn’t the first time Patrick had heard Gabe’s name. This Gabe guy apparently lived just down the hall from Mikey and was often hanging around when Patrick called. “He wants you go to out to a club tonight? It’s a Wednesday,” Patrick pointed out, his brow furrowing.
“Yeah, I know,” Mikey sighed. “I told him that.”
In the distance, Patrick heard a male voice singing, “Mikey.” And then again, closer: “Miiiiiikey.”
Mikey made a small giggling noise and Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “Go away,” Mikey said, sounding amused. “I’m talking to my boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re on the phone with Paaaaatrick?” the voice sang. “Let me talk to him! Patrick! Patrick!” the voice called, and Patrick sat rigid at his desk as he listened to the two of them cracking up on the other end of the line.
“No!” Mikey yelled through his laughter, and then the sounds of a distant struggle before Patrick could hear Mikey yelling again, farther away now.
“Is this Patrick?” a voice that presumably belonged to Gabe asked.
Patrick waited a beat, glaring at the wall. “Yes?” he replied, trying not to make his voice sound as hostile as he felt.
“Dude. You need to tell your man to stop being such a brooding homebody and go out with me. I’ve got, like, business to attend to and I need his, uh, assistance.”
Patrick’s grip tightened on the phone. “Mikey can do what he wants. I don’t order him around,” Patrick replied, his voice tight. “So if he doesn’t want to go out tonight? You should probably just take his word for it and leave him alone.” It took all his control not to add an, “Or else,” at the end, although there wasn’t much Patrick could do from 400 miles away.
For his part, Gabe seemed completely unfazed. “Yeah, but like, this is important. Mikey’s like my wingman, mi amigo, my homie. You know? It’s not like you’re here right now and sitting in his room missing you isn’t going to do him any good and it’s certainly not going to do me any good, so he should just come along and help me out, right?”
Patrick was pretty proud of himself for not replying with, “I hate you.” “May I please speak to my boyfriend again?” he asked, as coldly as possible.
“Oh, yeah! Sure! No problem, dude. If you can convince him to come out with me, I’ll be forever in your debt.” Gabe cackled and then Mikey’s voice came over the line.
“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding resigned. “Gabe wrestled the phone away from me. He’s really good at being obnoxious when he wants to be if he thinks it’ll get him what he wants.”
“You know you love me, baby,” Patrick heard Gabe say in the background, causing Patrick to clench his jaw involuntarily.
Mikey sighed again, probably for effect, but Patrick could envision him smiling back at Gabe as he did. “So are you going to go out?” Patrick asked, glancing at the clock, which read 9:50.
“I don’t know,” Mikey mumbled, and Patrick felt his chest flare. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t,” Patrick said simply. “It’s a Wednesday, you have class in the morning, you don’t want to…”
“I guess,” Mikey said, but he sounded uncertain. After a brief pause, he added, “I should let you go so you can get back to studying. I know you have music theory tomorrow so you probably want to read ahead five more chapters. I know how you are, Mr. Stump.”
Patrick would have normally smiled at that, but he was feeling an uneasiness that made it difficult to manage any kind of levity. “Yeah,” he managed before falling silent again.
“I love you,” Mikey offered. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“Yeah,” Patrick repeated. He swallowed hard. “I love you, too.”
He hung up the phone and set it on his desk, staring at the wall for a moment while he tried to assess what had just happened. He could feel heat radiating from his face and his heart was thumping in his chest. When he turned his head, he saw Sisky looking up from his book.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Patrick looked back at the wall and blinked. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I just… it’s hard, being apart. You know? I wish he was here.”
Sisky chewed his lip for a moment and then offered Patrick a weak smile. “Yeah, long-distance relationships suck. Not that I’ve ever been in one before, so. I have no idea what I’m talking about. But I can imagine.”
Patrick looked back over at his roommate, giving him the same weak smile. “Thanks,” he said, pushing back from his desk and standing up. His body felt tense and his back hurt from hunching over his desk. He felt like he had too much energy now and he needed to walk around the room a bit to get it out.
“There’s this guy who keeps hanging around Mikey,” Patrick grumbled, snatching up some of the dirty clothes he’d left lying on the floor. “Gabe. He’s fucking obnoxious and tonight he’s trying to get Mikey to go out to some club with him. What the fuck is that about?” He hurled each item of clothing into a laundry basket, one at a time, as he spoke.
“You know what you need?” Sisky asked when Patrick was finished. He flipped his book closed and got up from his desk, flipping the television on. “You need to kill some stuff.” He held out one of the video game controllers to Patrick. “Come on, let’s kick some ass,” he offered.
Patrick gave Sisky a grateful smile as he took the controller from him, dropping to the floor. “Thanks,” he said softly before setting his jaw and preparing to destroy the entire alien race. If he envisioned every alien he encountered in the game to be Gabe, Patrick didn’t think anyone could blame him.
***
It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Patrick knew that. He had no reason to feel threatened by Gabe. Jealous, maybe, because Gabe got to spend time with Mikey when Patrick didn’t. But Mikey had never given Patrick reason not to trust him. That didn’t keep Patrick from spending the night tossing and turning.
When he stumbled into Music Theory, dark circles lining his bleary eyes, Brendon took note.
“Don’t tell me you struggled with last night’s reading,” he asked, feigning shock. “Nah, you’ve already read like half the book, so that can’t be it. Is it your applied piano class? Did you lock yourself in a practice room last night, unwilling to emerge until you’d mastered the Moonlight Sonata?” He gently poked Patrick in the arm. “You can still call me for help if you need it, you know,” he said gently.
Patrick gave Brendon a soft smile and shook his head. “No, no late night practices for me. I just couldn’t get settled in bed last night.”
“Ah,” Brendon said, raising his head in an exaggerated nod. Patrick waited for him to say something else, but his just bit his lip, looking down at his hands.
“Hey, are you alright?” Patrick asked, giving Brendon a squeeze on the shoulder.
It seemed to shock him out of wherever he’d gone in his head, because when he turned back to Patrick again, his smile was wide, as always. “Yep! Just got lost in thought. I’m good. Sorry,” he added with a light laugh.
After digging through his bag a moment, Brendon procured a slim CD case and passed it over to Patrick. “Here. I put this together for you last night. It’s not really related to anything we’re studying right now. Just some tracks I like that maybe you haven’t heard before.” He gave a slight shrug and ducked his head, laughing to himself.
Patrick raised the case, his eyes skimming over the track listing. “Oh, cool,” he replied happily. “Yeah, there’s definitely artists on here I don’t know well or at all.” After having exchanged music over the past few weeks, they’d gotten fairly familiar with each other’s taste and Brendon seemed to have a knack for figuring out what music Patrick hadn’t heard. Waiving the CD at Brendon, Patrick added, “Thank you,” before dropping it into his backpack.
“No problem,” Brendon replied. His eyes shifted to where Patrick was stretching out his fingers, sore from practicing. “And seriously, call me anytime if you want to run through some stuff on the piano with me. Or, you know, for whatever.”
“Yeah, definitely will do.” Patrick cracked his knuckles before picking up his pen, leaning over the table to take notes as his professor stepped up to the podium to start class.
***
“Hey,” Mikey said when he called that night. He sounded tired and Patrick stiffened.
“Late night?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Mikey yawned into the receiver. “No, not really. Once I shooed Gabe out of the room I started reading this assignment for my economics class and it put me to sleep in, like, no time,” he admitted with a laugh. At the news Mikey hadn’t gone out to the club the night before, Patrick uncurled a fist he hadn’t even realized he’d been making. “It’s just been a long week, you know?”
Patrick did know, and he nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he answered. “Classes are starting to pick up now and between trying to keep up on my reading and locking myself away at the music building to practice piano, it’s tiring. Plus, I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great in you classes,” Mikey said affectionately. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you stressed out about your piano class?”
Patrick hesitated, not sure if he should mention how irrationally upset he’d been over Gabe. “Just couldn’t get comfortable, I guess. The piano thing… I don’t know. I know I’ve improved a ton already, but I’ve still got a way to go before my midterm performance. I’ll get it down, I’m sure.”
“Maybe you could ask that guy Brendon for help,” Mikey suggested. “He’s good at piano, right? Didn’t he offer to help you?”
Patrick shifted his weight back and forth on his chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Yeah, he did. I don’t know. I don’t like to bother people or whatever. I’m sure he was just being nice in offering. What was he going to do when I asked? Say no?” Patrick let out a nervous laugh.
“I’m sure it was a genuine offer. He sounds like a nice guy, so I don’t know why he’d tell you he’d help if he didn’t mean it.”
Bowing his head, Patrick gave a half-hearted shrug. “I guess,” he said quietly. There was silence for a minute before Patrick asked how Gerard was doing, effectively changing the subject.
***
One month into his college career, Patrick had established a pretty comfortable routine. He got along well with Sisky and had made easy friendships with a few of the guys on his floor. Most of his socializing was confined to mealtimes and talking to classmates before or after lectures. He didn’t go out much, preferring to stay in and study or work in the practice rooms of the music building.
“You sure you don’t want to come with?” Sisky asked him for the tenth time that night as he slipped his jacket on, the evening weather having taken on a chill in late September. “You’re seriously in danger of becoming a hermit, you know that?”
Patrick gave a roll of his eyes, chuckling lightly. “Nah, it’s alright. I should probably go back over my sociology text and fill in some of the gaps in my notes.” He turned to grab his backpack when the door to the room opened and Andy, who everyone called Butcher - Patrick would never understand college nicknames - stuck his head in.
“You ready?” he asked, looking at Sisky. “How about you, Stump? You coming?”
Patrick shook his head and started to answer when Sisky interrupted. “Dude, he wants to study. Can you believe that shit? He’d rather spend a Saturday snight with his sociology book than hang out with us.”
Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking at Sisky like he had to by lying. He turned his focus to Patrick before looking back to Sisky and then back to Patrick, the same expression in place. “No,” he said at last, walking into the room.
“No?” Patrick laughed. “What do you mean ‘no’?” Instead of answering, Butcher walked over to Patrick and grabbed his arm, tugging him from the chair. For a skinny guy, he was surprisingly strong.
“Come on, help me,” he told Sisky, as the two of them wrestled Patrick to the door. “Stop fighting! Socialization is good for you! It’s not normal to study on a Saturday night!”
“Fine, fine, fine!” Patrick relented, laughing as he pulled away from them. “I’ll go out, okay? Just. Let me get my coat and stuff. I’ll be right out.”
Butcher and Sisky gave each other a satisfied look before walking out of the room. “You’ve got two minutes,” Sisky called, looking at his watch.
Patrick snatched his jacket off the handle of his closet door and pulled it on before grabbing his phone off his desk. It was only 7, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be out so he flipped it open and tapped out a quick message to Mikey.
Going out for coffee w/ some ppl. Might be back later than 9. Call you then.
Slipping the phone in his pocket, Patrick grabbed his keys and locked the room before joining Sisky and Butcher and a few of the other guys who lived on the floor in the hall. The coffee shop was within walking distance of campus, embedded among the bars and clubs and a pizza joint that was popular with the students. As they trudged across campus, Patrick received a message back from Mikey.
Cool. Im going out late too so Ill just call you tomorrow afternoon. Have fun. Love you.
He frowned down at the message, but brushed off the anxious feeling that crowded his chest. It seemed hypocritical to be bothered by Mikey going out when he was going out himself. Of course, no one in his group of friends was like Gabe, either. He sent back Love you 2 and pushed the bad thoughts from his head.
The Daily Grind was a locally owned coffee shop that featured spacious couches and arm chairs interspersed among the tables and chairs. Everything was clustered together in groupings that made it easy for larger groups to gather together and talk or hold study groups, which accounted for its popularity. It frequently featured acoustic music acts in the evenings as well, and a small stage in the corner held a couple stools and microphones for such occasions.
After placing their orders at the counter, Patrick and his group retired to a couch and some armchairs off to the side of the coffee shop. The Daily Grind had a limited menu of vegetarian sandwiches along with the usual pastries and baked goods, and Patrick decided to indulge in a cinnamon roll to accompany his latte. He was slowly peeling off pieces of it, engrossed in conversation with his friends about their classes and professors when music began to filter through the room coming from the stage behind the couch he was seated on.
Patrick turned and looked over his shoulder to see who was playing and pause with his cup of coffee raised to his lips. His eyes settled on the figure of Brendon Urie, who was playing a small keyboard, his eyes downcast. “Oh my god,” Patrick mumbled, not even aware that the words were passing his lips as Brendon raised his head and leaned in toward the microphone, singing with his eyes closed.
“What’s the matter?” Sisky asked, turning around to see what Patrick was looking at.
“Nothing!” Patrick replied, startled. “I mean, it’s Brendon. He’s in my music theory class. I didn’t know he was going to be playing tonight. Or that he played here at all.” He furrowed his brow, wondering why Brendon had never mentioned it before.
Sisky watched Brendon for a moment and then turned toward Patrick with a lopsided smile. “Is he playing Journey?” he asked.
Patrick nodded slightly, his mug still poised beneath his lips and eyes still focused on Brendon. “Yes,” he replied, confused and amused at the same time. “Yes, he is.” The rest of the room was slowly beginning to take notice as well, conversation dying down as people turned their attention to the stage and Patrick felt a weird fluttering in his stomach.
“He’s good,” Sisky added before taking a sip of his drink.
He was good. Patrick agreed, but only managed a small nod, still overcome with shock. As Brendon reached the bridge, people began to sway slightly in their seats, singing along softly. Patrick found himself mouthing the words along with them.
“Okay, imagine a guitar solo here,” Brendon said into the mic during an instrumental section, glancing up at the room with a bashful smile before ducking his head again. “Alright, now everyone!” he encouraged as he reached the chorus, and to Patrick’s surprise, the room sang, “Don’t stop believing,” enthusiastically, if off-key.
As Brendon concluded the song, Patrick turned around and set his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him before shifting on the couch to turn himself around completely, tucking his arms on to the back of the couch. The audience began clapping with a few people adding whistles and Brendon grinned in response.
“Thank you,” he said as he adjusted the height of the mic in front of him. “I figured that would get everyone’s attention.” His eyes scanned the room as he spoke, making contact with the people sitting closer to the stage. “I’m Brendon Urie and I’m your entertainment for the evening. Or I hope so, anyway. I hope you’re entertained.” Brendon raised his head and looked up toward the back of the room, his eyes passing over Patrick before doing what Patrick would characterize as a smoother version of a double take. His smile grew wider and Patrick smiled back reflexively. “This one is a newer old one,” he announced before starting in on “Tonight, Tonight.”
Patrick sat riveted throughout Brendon’s hour - long set, his eyes moving between Brendon’s hands and his face. He’d never heard Brendon sing before and his voice, when he could make it out above the chorus of audience members joining in, was good. He vaguely recalled that Brendon had mentioned possibly majoring in vocal performance, but beyond his ability to sing, Brendon had a natural charisma. There was something both easygoing and confident about him on stage, and when he smiled, it was impossible not to smile back. Patrick was both jealous and riveted at the same time.
At the end of his set, Brendon moved the stand holding the keyboard out of the way and excused himself as he got up and fussed with a guitar case that sat behind him. After a moment, he resumed his perch on the stool, an acoustic guitar balanced on his leg. He plucked the strings and adjusted the pegs before looking back up at the room and smiling. “Okay, so it’s not a sing along unless we play some Beatles, right? This is one of my favorites.”
His face went more serious as be strummed the opening bars of “Blackbird.” Brendon kept his eyes closed as his fingers expertly slid over the neck of his guitar. When he sang, his voice was gentle and lilting like he was singing a lullaby. The crowd was quieter than it had been during other songs, but no less captivated.
When he’d finished, the applause was strong and Brendon mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” into the microphone as he got up from the stool, giving a quick bow before bending down to return his guitar to the case. As conversation began to resume in the coffee shop, Patrick excused himself from his group, making his way across the room to where Brendon was gathering up his things.
“Hey,” Patrick greeted him as he approached the stage. “I had no idea you played here.”
Brendon looked up from where he was crouched on the ground, winding up a cord. “I didn’t know I was going to,” he explained as he stood, smiling down at Patrick. “The act they had scheduled cancelled at the last minute and since my roommate is one of the baristas, he recommended me to fill in.” He hopped down from the stage, giving a helpless shrug. “I thought about calling you to tell you but…” Brendon ducked his head and gave another shrug. “It was kind of last minute.”
“You should have!” Patrick insisted. “That was awesome. You were awesome. I’m glad I was here to catch it. You’re like a natural up there.” Nodding his head in the direction of the counter, he asked, “Can I buy you a drink or something?”
Brendon grinned wider at the question but shook his head. “Drinks are on the house,” he explained. “Perk of the job. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Oh. Oh, right, Right.” Patrick laughed, shaking his head. “Well, do you want to get a drink and join me? I’m here sitting with some friends over there,” he added, gesturing to the couch.
Brendon pressed his lips together and nodded as he looked between the counter and the couch where Patrick’s friends were sitting. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he agreed. “I’ll uh. Just let me get this stuff packed up and I’ll be over.”
Everyone adjusted their position to make room for Brendon as Patrick introduced him around. Brendon nodded to everyone before taking a seat between Patrick and Sisky, leaving Patrick by the arm of the couch. They talked more about the set, with Brendon explaining he’d played similar shows back home when he was in high school.
“How about playing some of your own material?” Patrick wondered. “You must write if you’re considering a major in composition and theory.”
Brendon wrinkled his nose and gave a quick shrug. “I figured it’s my first time playing here so I should play stuff that the audience could get into and enjoy. If they invite me back a few times, then maybe I’d try out some of my stuff. I’m not sure how that would sound with me performing by myself, anyway. At least when I play songs everyone knows, they can fill in the parts I’m not playing with their mind because they know how it’s supposed to sound. If I played some of my songs with only one instrument and my voice, they might just think they suck.” He gave a soft laugh. “Maybe they do suck, I don’t know.”
Patrick couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “I have a hard time believing that. You’re really talented,” he said sincerely. “You’re great in front of an audience, too. I’m jealous.” Patrick lowered his eyes for a moment as he felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyway, you should play some of your stuff for me sometime. I’ll let you know if I think it sucks.”
“Yeah? When are you going to play me some of your music, huh?” Brendon elbowed Patrick in the ribs as he leaned against his side. “I see you writing in your notebooks, Patrick. You should share.”
Patrick could feel his blush spreading as Brendon pressed up against him and he looked away to hide it. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he replied before his brain could register how it would sound. “I mean-“ He dropped his head in his hand and laughed weakly.
“Wow,” Brendon laughed. “Just. Wow.” When Patrick glanced up at Brendon from behind his fingers, he found Brendon’s mouth was pressed in a tight smile, his dark eyes focused on Patrick.
Easing back in against the couch, Patrick rolled his head toward Brendon and tried again. “I mean, if you play some of your songs for me, I’ll let you hear some of mine.”
Brendon found the hem of Patrick’s shirt and gave it a light tug. He looked down his nose at Patrick, still crowded into Patrick’s space. “It’s a deal,” Brendon replied and the strange fluttering feeling Patrick had felt earlier returned. Just then, Sisky leaned forward to see around Brendon and give Patrick a curious look.
“Hey!” Patrick exclaimed, taking the opportunity to change the topic of conversation. “You thought Brendon did a good job, right?” He leaned forward over his knees, his arms folded across his lap as he looked at Sisky.
Sisky raised his eyebrows and then looked over to Brendon. “Yeah, man. That was awesome,” he said, offering Brendon his hand. “You have a great voice.”
Brendon pulled back from Patrick as he turned to take Sisky’s hand. “Thank you so much.” As the two spoke, Patrick fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Seeing no new messages, his heart sank slightly.
***
Part 2
Patrick/Mikey || NC-17 || 26,653 words
Summary: After starting college six hours away from Mikey, Patrick finds maintaining a long-distance relationship more challenging than he expected. Things are complicated when Patrick has to compete with Gabe for Mikey’s attention. At least one of his classmates, Brendon, is there to keep him company.
A/N: This is a sequel to The Best Things Come From Nowhere, but can be read as a standalone. Written for the bandomrarepair challenge. Title from “A Day Late,” by Anberlin. Thanks to
artisticmuddle* for her endless encouragement, as always.
Patrick knelt on his bed as he held the poster up to the wall, carefully trying to gauge whether the top was parallel with the ceiling. As he unstuck his fingers from the sticky tack -- “No tape, no thumbtacks,” the dorm rules read - he smoothed his hands over the image of Elvis Costello and pressed it firmly against the wall. He scooted back slightly to assess his workmanship, careful not to move back too far and fall the six feet down to the floor. He and his roommate -- Adam Siska(although everyone but his parents were calling him Sisky) -- had opted to "loft" their beds so they could keep their desks underneath and have more space in their cramped dorm room.
"Lookin' good," Sisky said from behind Patrick where he had been busy unpacking his clothes into the built-in drawers that occupied the eastern wall of the room.
Patrick glanced back over his shoulder and gave him an embarrassed smile before twisting around so his legs were dangling from the bed. “Thanks,” he said with a nod, remembering the boxes of clothing, towels, videos, and books that were still stacked up underneath his bed. “Had to get the posters up first. Priorities.” He swung his legs out once and hopped down to the floor as Sisky went back to the business of moving in.
“Well, as a music major, you need to stake out your territory, right? Throw up some posters to broadcast to everyone who enters our room how awesome your taste in music is?” Sisky had his chin tucked against his chest, pinning the shirt he was folding before tossing it into the drawer. “What’s more important than that?”
Pulling open a small box that sat on top of the rest, Patrick pulled out a framed photo. “Just one thing,” he said quietly, setting it on his desk. He dropped into the chair and looked at it a long moment before beginning to unpack the rest of his belongings.
Sisky took the five steps to cross over to Patrick’s side of the room and ducked down to get a look at the photo. “Best friend?” he asked.
“Boyfriend,” Patrick replied quietly, his eyes still focused on the picture of Mikey, whose mouth in the picture was half quirked in a goofy smile like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Sisky leaned in closer to get a better look and after a minute, nodded his head approvingly. “Cool,” he said, turning to give Patrick a smile before returning to his unpacking.
***
The summer after graduating high school had been the best of Patrick’s life. He and Mikey had continued working at the grocery store, but since their hours were still part time and they didn’t have to attend school, they had plenty of time to spend with each other. With Patrick going to a small, private college with a reputable music composition program and Mikey attending college six hours away at a mid-sized state university, they needed to make the most of their time together.
Leaving had been difficult. Mikey didn’t have a car to take to college and being so far apart, their weekends together would be limited. They discussed the possibility of breaking things off before they left for school, but neither of them wanted that. Even if long distance relationships were difficult, they were both game to at least try. With email and phone and text contact, it didn’t seem that farfetched that they could make things work.
***
That night, Patrick had called Mikey at 9 p.m., as planned. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the phone listening to the electronic beep of a ring once, twice-
“Hey,” Mikey answered, and Patrick could hear him smiling. “Missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Patrick replied, his chest feeling hollow and aching at the sound of Mikey’s voice in his ear, so close and distant at the same time. “Did you get all moved in? What’s your roommate like?” He cast a glance down to the floor where Sisky sat in a beanbag, engrossed in a game of Grand Theft Auto.
“Eh, I’m like. Halfway unpacked. I’ve got the important stuff put away - my CDs and movies. And I’ve located a towel and the box with my underwear. I should be good.”
Patrick snorted. “Oh, so you’re going to go to class in nothing but underwear? That’s nice. I’m sure you’ll be very popular. Instead of the naked guy on campus you’ll be the boxer guy.”
“Hey, I don’t actually have to leave my dorm room until Monday morning,” Mikey replied, sounding amused. “Actually, more like late Monday morning. I didn’t schedule my first class until 11. I’ve got plenty of time to find my clothes.”
“Well, alright then,” Patrick sighed, smiling. “I just hope your roommate’s cool with you being half naked until then. What’s his name again? Adam?” At the sound of his name, Sisky turned his head to look up at Patrick who waved him off.
“Yeah, Adam. He’s a cool guy,” Mikey replied without hesitating. “He’s out right now, visiting some friend in another dorm. How about yours? Isn’t his name Adam, too?”
Patrick laughed, glancing back down at his roommate. “Yeah, but everyone calls him Sisky, so that’ll help us to not get confused about who we’re talking about.” With the mention of his name, Sisky turned again and grinned.
“Dude,” he interrupted. “Do you want me to leave the room so you can talk about me?” It was obvious by his tone he was joking, but he got up anyway, pausing his game.
“Hey, no-“ Patrick pushed himself up on his elbow mumbling, “Just a second,” to Mikey. “It’s cool, dude. You don’t have to leave or anything.”
Sisky flashed Patrick a wide smile as he headed out the door, holding up a hand and shaking his head. “Nah, man. It’s good. I’ll let you have some alone time with your guy. I’m just gonna go check in on some of my buddies,” he explained, giving a wave of his hand as he headed out the door.
Lifting the phone from where he’d buried it against his chest, Patrick said, “Sorry ‘bout that. Sisky decided to go out and give us some ‘alone’ time. He’s cool, you’d like him. He brought an Xbox. He was playing Halo earlier.”
“Score,” Mikey answered. “He has good taste and he left us alone for a bit.” There was a brief pause before Mikey asked, “Are you going to touch yourself?”
“What?” Patrick sputtered, half laughing. “Wow, Mikey. You don’t waste any time. I see where your mind goes immediately.”
“Oh, come on. Like you haven’t thought about the logistics of trying to jerk off when you have a roommate? You’re used to having a room to yourself and now you don’t. Plus you won’t have me around to, uh, keep you company. So. You’re going to need to get acquainted with your hand again.”
Patrick blushed in spite of himself. He had given it some consideration, and given the communal nature of the showers and bathrooms in the dorm, there wasn’t a whole lot of room for privacy. “Well, you’re alone. Are you going to touch yourself?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of Mikey letting out a slow breath. “Who’s saying I’m not already?” he asked in a low, teasing voice.
“Jesus, you’re serious,” Patrick said in shock. His statement was met with a soft gasp on Mikey’s end and Patrick tucked his phone against his shoulder as he used both hands to undo his belt buckle and pop the fly of his jeans, already feeling a familiar ache in his stomach.
He had one hand shoved down his pants, the other clasping the phone to his ear as he strained to hear any noise Mikey might make when the door to the room flung open without warning. Patrick rolled onto his side so his back was facing the door, carefully pulling his hand from his pants as Sisky walked back into the room.
“Forgot my phone,” he said to the air as he walked over to his desk to retrieve it.
Patrick chanced a look over his shoulder and noticed his roommate wasn’t so much as glancing in his direction. “Uh, okay. Cool,” he stammered in reply before the door swung closed again.
“Fuck,” Patrick groaned, rolling onto his back again. “I almost got caught with my hand in my pants.” His heart was racing and his cheeks were flushed.
Mikey was laughing, soft and fond, through the speaker of the phone. “Maybe you should lock the door so next time you have some warning,” he suggested.
“Fuck. Yes,” Patrick agreed, pushing himself up and climbing down the ladder to their loft. He bounded the few steps to the door, twisted the lock, and then scurried back up the ladder to resume his position on the mattress. “Are you naked?” he asked, one thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans as he considered whether to take them off or not.
“No,” Mikey replied, his voice low again. “But my pants are pushed down, if that’s what you mean.”
Patrick could visualize him there, lying on a foreign bed with his cock in one hand, phone in the other. Without giving it a second thought, Patrick pushed his jeans and underwear down to match the visual. He was already hard just from the thought of Mikey jerking himself off over the phone, his cock resting flat and heavy against his belly.
“Mikey,” Patrick whispered as his thumb circled the head of his cock to spread the pre-come before pushing his fist over himself a moment later. He could hear Mikey on the other end, shaky uneven breaths and the soft slide of skin against skin. He thought of their last time together, Mikey’s cock in his hand as he pushed inside Mikey.
Patrick stroked himself hard and fast, not making an attempt to draw it out. Mikey didn’t either, if the sounds he was making were any indication. He heard Mikey say a strained, “fuck,” and Patrick felt the ache in his stomach settle deeper. A few more strokes and he was coming hot in his hand.
They laid in silence for a minute, breaths coming heavy. With a groan, Patrick reached back to find a box of tissues to clean himself up with. When he was finished, he pulled his pants up, buttoning them closed but leaving his belt undone.
“Well, that sure took away some of the stress from moving,” he tried to joke, but a wave of sadness washed over him as he came to the realization that this was the most intimate he’d be able to get with Mikey for the foreseeable future, save for breaks in school and an odd weekend back home. He pulled one of his pillows to his chest, wrapping one arm around it as a poor substitute for Mikey. “I miss you,” he said softly, the words dying out in his mouth.
“I miss you, too,” Mikey echoed, his voice quiet, and tired, and sad.
***
The dorm food that Patrick had been repeatedly warned against turned out to be much better than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t as good as a home-cooked meal, of course, but it was far superior to the lunches he’d endured at public school; it was a fact he was thankful for, given the high price he was paying for his boarding plan.
Still, he wasn’t too sad to skip out on an institutional meal in favor of a cookout the music department was having - a mixer for incoming freshman to meet each other and their professors. In spite of the hot August weather, Patrick pulled on a hoodie and donned a hat before setting out across campus to the music building.
As he reached the other side of campus, Patrick slowed down, seeing a crowd of kids his age huddled together on the lawn adjoining the music hall and auditorium. People were milling about, awkwardly shaking hands while trying to juggle Styrofoam plates and drinks. Some of the students were hanging on the outskirts, steadfastly avoiding eye contact while trying to eat their burger with one hand. Patrick felt that same reluctance at meeting new people, even ones who’d likely have a lot in common with him, having majored in the same field of study.
He stopped at a card table that served as a makeshift sign-in area, staffed by a perky blonde whose name tag announced, “Hello! My name is Summer!” Patrick gave her a weak smile and bent down to print his own name on one of the name tags before hastily slapping it on his chest. She pointed him over to the food line and he made his way over, grabbing a plate and napkin before shuffling along to get his choice of burger or bratworst, a bag of chips, and a chocolate chip cookie.
Bending over into a cooler, Patrick’s hand grabbed for the last can of grape soda at the same time as another, darker hand. He immediately let go, as did the other person, and stood up, blinking against the sunlight as he tried to make out the stranger across from him.
Standing on the other side of the cooler was a lean guy a bit taller than him, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was smiling wide at Patrick and Patrick was taken aback by the brightness of his smile.
“Um,” he managed.
“Looks like that’s the last one,” the guy, whose name tag read ‘Brendon,’ helpfully supplied. “Guess we’re going to have to duke it out for it.”
“Um,” Patrick started again. “No, it’s okay. You can-“
“Aw, man! Don’t tell me you’re just going to surrender the last grape soda over like that. Come on!” He was still smiling wide and it made Patrick feel uncomfortable. “A can of grape soda is something to be fought over! I’m Brendon, by the way.” Brendon leaned forward, studying Patrick’s name tag. “And you’re Patrick,” he continued, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Patrick stared down at Brendon’s hand for a moment before registering that he was supposed to shake it. He wiped his right hand, wet from the ice in the cooler, on the back of his jeans and took Brendon’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you,” he replied before his eyes darted down to the cooler once more in an attempt to avoid Brendon’s unceasing smile. “So, how did you want to do this?” he asked, nodding to the soda. “Like, thumb war? Or rock, paper, scissor?”
“I was thinking dance off,” Brendon replied, bending down to snatch up the grape soda and then moving out of the way of another student who’d ambled up to get a drink. Noticing the blank look on Patrick’s face, he laughed loud and then handed the soda over. “Nah, I’m kidding. I already had one and was just coming back for a second. It’s all yours, man.”
Patrick’s mouth quirked up as he took the soda over from Brendon, giving a quick nod. “Thanks.” He could feel his face go warm under the hot afternoon sun and he raised the hand that held the can over his head, pushing the bill of his cap down with his forearm. Brendon bent down to grab himself a can of Coke and Patrick watched, uncertain as to whether he should walk away or stay. “Uh, so you’re a music major, too, I guess?” he asked, unable to come up with a better conversation starter.
If Brendon picked up on Patrick’s awkwardness, he didn’t let on. “Yep,” he said happily as he stood up and rejoined Patrick, turning so they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the rest of the students gathered. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to declare as a major yet, though. I don’t know if I want to specialize in performance or theory and composition or just keep it general, you know?” He shrugged, cracking open his soda and taking a long drink.
Patrick looked at his can in one hand and his plate in the other before sliding his unopened drink under his arm and using his free hand to pick up his burger. “What instrument do you play?” he asked before taking a bite.
“Piano,” Brendon replied, turning in toward Patrick slightly. “Well, I can play a few instruments, but if I got a degree in performance, it would be in piano. Unless I went with voice.” He turned his head to the side and raised his shoulder slightly, like he was still considering. “I have no idea what I want to do, really,” he added with a laugh. “How about you?”
Patrick swallowed his second bite of food as he nodded to show he’d been listening attentively. “Oh, uh, I’m going to major in composition and theory. I play drums and a little guitar and stuff, but yeah. I’m not really too interested in performing myself.”
“A drummer, huh? That’s cool. You play with other people, even if you don’t want to do performance, right?” Brendon raised his eyebrows in question as he tilted up his chin to take a quick drink of his Coke.
Patrick gave a quick shrug and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I like to throw ideas off other people and stuff.”
“Well, we’ll have to do that sometime,” Brendon suggested. “You know, since you owe me and all for giving you the last grape soda.”
Patrick laughed as he took his last bite of his burger, stepping over to the garbage to rid himself of the cumbersome Styrofoam plate as he pocketed his cookie and opened his bag of chips. Since Brendon mentioned the soda, he dislodged it from its place under his arm and cracked it open, taking a drink to wash down the remains of his burger. “You said you’d already had one,” Patrick reminded him as he gestured with the can.
“Yeah,” Brendon sighed. “But I could have had two. Lucky for you, I’m a sucker. You owe me a jam session so I can pick your drummer brain. I just hope your taste in music is as stellar as your taste in carbonated beverages.”
“Sucker for what?” Patrick wondered. Before Brendon could answer, the department head stepped into the middle of the gathering, calling everyone around to hear his remarks and welcome them to the school. When he was finished, Patrick had an empty bag of chips and was draining the last drink from his soda.
“It was nice to meet you, Patrick,” Brendon said as they turned to part ways. “I’m sure I’ll see you around the music building if we don’t have classes together.”
Patrick nodded, adjusting his cap. “You, too, Brendon. I’ll look for you.”
As he walked back to his dorm alone, Patrick ate his cookie one small bite at a time, walking slowly as he admired the various sculptures and buildings on campus. He sat at the edge of a fountain and watched the spray of water in the center cause ripples in the calm water at the ends. He dipped his finger in the water, drawing a slow line through it as he tried to remember everything that he’d seen and heard that day so he could share it with Mikey.
***
Patrick was hunched over his desk, staring at the pages of his history text and not focusing on a word. His eyes had glazed over about twenty minutes earlier when he was just halfway through the chapter. Now they darted from the jumble of words on the page to his clock every few minutes, watching the minutes tick away until it was 9 o’clock.
The familiar strains of Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover,” chimed on his phone at the designated time, and Patrick didn’t even glance at the display before answering.
“Hey,” he said, unable to help but grin as he answered the call. “How was your first official day of classes?”
Mikey made a tired sound in reply. “Exhausting,” he sighed. “Did you know I’m actually expected to drag myself out of bed every morning to get to class by 11 a.m.? For math, of all things. It’s madness. Who the hell made this schedule, anyway?”
“You?” Patrick ventured, chuckling under his breath.
“Oh, right,” Mikey replied, smiling by the sound of his voice.
“Also?” Patrick chimed in. “11 isn’t early. At all. I have class at 8, so I have no idea what you’re complaining about.”
Mikey made a sympathetic noise. “Gerard told me not to schedule any of my classes before 10. Now I’m wondering how the hell I ever managed to drag my ass out of bed so early for four years of high school. Or the eight years before that.”
Patrick bit down on his lip, smiling as he looked at Mikey’s picture grinning back at him. “Uh, probably because your mother got you out of bed every morning? No offense, man, but your mom can be kind of scary. She has, like, talons instead of fingernails.”
“Donna does know how to get it done,” Mikey replied. “How about you? How are your classes?”
Patrick shrugged even though Mikey couldn’t see him, tossing a pen onto his book as he leaned back in his chair. “Eh, I didn’t have anything too exciting today. Just history and sociology and a biology class. Tomorrow I have two music classes, so hopefully that’ll be awesome. Did you have any classes in your major or just your gen ed stuff?”
“Nope. Just gen ed. And those classes are so big, I don’t think anyone would notice or care if I didn’t show up. It’s not much incentive to get up when my alarm clock is beeping at 10:30.”
“Dude, seriously? You get up thirty minutes before class starts? Your campus is kind of huge. Doesn’t it take you like twenty minutes to get to some of those buildings?”
Mikey snorted. “Yeah, well, I’m not dressing to impress or anything. I just pulled on a sweatshirt and made sure my hair wasn’t sticking up completely and brushed my teeth. It doesn’t take long.”
“That pretty much sounds like your hairstyle, yeah,” Patrick teased. “Which I, personally, find hot.” He dropped his voice at the end of the sentence, glancing back to see Sisky flipping through pages of a textbook.
“Oh, really…” Mikey paused for a moment. “You alone?”
“No,” Patrick sighed, thinking about their last phone conversation. “Also, you’re a pervert.”
“And you love me,” Mikey supplied. “It’s cool. I’m not alone either. I was going to talk you through it if you were, but we can do that some other time.”
Patrick felt himself flushing at the idea. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely take a rain check on that. Although it would be better if you were…” He paused, not wanting to say “jerking off, too” with his roommate around. Instead, he waived his hand and added, “You know.”
“It would be better if I were there,” Mikey said, which wasn’t what Patrick was thinking, but was equally true. “Or if you were here. It sucks not being able to see you.”
Patrick felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed hard against it as he touched a finger against the picture frame before him. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep it light, but his voice coming out strained. “I’m looking at you right now. Your hair is a mess and you have a goofy smile on your face. And you look amazing.”
Mikey laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Yeah, I see you, too. You’ve got a David Bowie shirt on and you’re wearing a hat and standing in front of my house in what has to be the most forced pose, ever. You also look amazing,” Mikey replied, his voice affectionate, but sad. After a moment, he added, “It’s still not the same.”
“It’s really not,” Patrick said sadly. “But hey, you’re going to get your business degree and go get some awesome job so you can support me while I work through my Ph.D. and we’ll buy a small cottage house with a couple cats and in ten years, this will all be a distant memory.”
“Only twelve weeks ‘til Thanksgiving break,” Mikey answered. “And then semester break is only a few weeks after that. It won’t be that bad, right? It’ll get easier.”
“Sure,” Patrick said, even though he wasn’t convinced. “We’ll get into our classes and make some friends and talk on the phone every night and before you know it, we’ll be home with our families having turkey and playing Halo.”
“Among other things,” Mikey murmured.
“Pervert,” Patrick answered with a grin. “And yes, I most definitely do love you.”
***
In order to get a degree in music theory and composition, Patrick was required to take two semesters of applied piano. He knew how to play piano -- well enough to pass out of the introductory group piano classes. He’d taught himself, mainly for the purpose of trying out different melodies and harmonies, but his abilities weren’t as strong as his instructor would have liked and she told him he’d need to make an extra effort to catch up.
His other class in his major was Music Theory I; it was pretty basic stuff, the scales and intervals and chord formation. They were going to progress into some music analysis later in the semester, before moving on to writing diatonic harmonies. Patrick felt like he should have been annoyed about having to review the things he already knew, but the truth was, he was ecstatic to finally be in a music theory course, seeing as how his high school had nothing of the sort.
Patrick was also relieved to see one familiar face in the class, finding Brendon seated at a table in the front of the class when he walked in. Brendon must have been relieved as well, lighting up when he noticed Patrick.
“Hey! Patrick!” he grinned. “So we do have a class together.”
Patrick slid into the seat beside Brendon, pulling his textbook from his bag. “Yeah, hey. Good seeing you again.” He pulled his chair up closer to lean over the desk, twisting his body to face Brendon. “Actually, it’s kind of funny cuz I was just thinking about you.”
“Oh?” Brendon’s eyebrows went up, his eyes wider as he cocked his head slightly.
Nodding, Patrick licked his lips quickly, trying to ignore the dry feeling in his mouth. He hated asking people for favors, especially people he barely knew. “Uh, yeah. You said you were considering majoring in performance? As a pianist?” He felt a warm flush on the back of his neck.
Brendon nodded in return. “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I still haven’t decided anything, yet.”
“Oh, okay, well. The reason I was wondering was, I have to take applied piano? And I’m mostly… well, I’m self taught, I guess, so I need some work on my technique and I strungle sometimes with sight reading. I was just thinking, you know, if there was anyone I could ask for help if I needed it and I figured you’d obviously be pretty good, if you were considering a major in piano performance.”
Brendon smiled in return, his eyes downcast as he nodded. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I could probably help you out if you need it,” he replied, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “Just let me know. Pretty easy to do, since we’re in class together, right?” Brendon raised his eyes to meet Patrick’s. “Or did you want my number?”
“Oh.” Patrick paused a second before rummaging through his backpack for a pen and his notebook. “Yeah, I guess I could write down your number. Knowing me, I’ll probably realize I need help at, like, ten o’clock the night before my lesson or something.” Flipping open to the inside cover of the notebook, he scribbled down Brendon’s name. “Uh, what is it?”
“My room number is 1-4872, but I better give you my cell phone, too, because at ten o’clock, I’m likely to still be down here in one of the practice rooms, trying to learn oboe.”
Patrick looked up and smiled, nodding because he was likely to be the same way. “Yeah, well, I could probably just track you down in the building, following the squeak of a two - reed instrument. But you can give me your number just in case.”
“What? You don’t like oboe?” Brendon asked, looking mock horrified.
“No, no!” Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that. I’m just talking about my own experience in playing around with them. Didn’t go so well,” he admitted.
“Oh, well, if you were an oboe-hater, I’d have to shun you. But since you’re not, my number’s 988-4437.”
Patrick jotted it down in his notebook before giving Brendon an appreciative smile. “Thanks, I’ll owe you twice, now.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Brendon remembered. “You do owe me twice. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be collecting from you. I’ll have to come up with something good.”
Patrick cleared his throat, his eyes darting between Brendon and the front of the class where the instructor was setting up. “Uh, did you want my number in case you realize… I don’t know. That you desperately need to know…” He gestured ineffectually as he tried to think of something. “…the extended bass range Charles Mingus played on Miles Davis’s ‘Blue Moods.’”
“Oh my god, if I only had a dollar for every time that came up,” Brendon joked before taking down Patrick’s information.
***
Overall, Patrick’s general education classes weren’t as bad as he had anticipated. His history professor turned out to be a bit of a Beethoven freak and in addition to learning the events of history, they also studied the art and music for each period of history. Patrick was surprised by how much more interested he was in history than in high school, now that he could relate a timeline to musical compositions, seeing how composers were influenced by the events of their day.
Sociology wasn’t bad, but it was his first class of the day and without enough caffeine coursing through his veins to keep him fully awake, Patrick realized he was probably not getting the most out of it. He promised himself he’d to go to sleep earlier each night, but it was a hollow promise.
Biology was by far Patrick’s most crowded class. The lecture hall was expansive with seating going up in the back, almost like an auditorium. It seemed that most of the students took biology to meet the science requirement for their liberal arts degrees, probably figuring it was less complicated than chemistry or physics. Patrick actually found biology pretty interesting in high school, and would have even been inclined to study marine biology if he wasn’t so interested in music. As it was, the class was so large it precluded much interaction between the professor and students and made it easy for Patrick to zone out, tapping out beats against his desktop or scribbling chord progressions in the margins of his notebook.
Of all his classes, music theory was the one he looked forward to the most. He wished it met more often than an hour and a half every Tuesday and Thursday, and Patrick often got to class early and loitered around afterward, asking his professor questions about subjects they hadn’t yet reached. He may have had to force himself to get through his sociology text, but he would lose time with his music theory book, reading ahead into chapters they wouldn’t be reaching for weeks.
He also spent a lot of time talking to Brendon about different discoveries they’d made in their own music collections that related to what they were doing in class. It became a regular occurrence for them to trade burned CDs, excitedly proclaiming, “You have to hear the way Taylor utilizes an atonal progression here” or to email a file with the note “Check out what he does with the percussion in the bridge.”
Patrick was explaining how awesome it was to finally be able to talk about that stuff with one of his peers when Mikey replied, “No,” firmly.
Patrick’s face fell, the excitement he’d felt instantly vanishing. “No?” he asked.
“Sorry, not you,” Mikey said, his voice louder in the phone now. “Gabe wandered into my room and is making sad faces at me. He’s trying to get me to go with him to some club tonight,” he added, exasperated.
It wasn’t the first time Patrick had heard Gabe’s name. This Gabe guy apparently lived just down the hall from Mikey and was often hanging around when Patrick called. “He wants you go to out to a club tonight? It’s a Wednesday,” Patrick pointed out, his brow furrowing.
“Yeah, I know,” Mikey sighed. “I told him that.”
In the distance, Patrick heard a male voice singing, “Mikey.” And then again, closer: “Miiiiiikey.”
Mikey made a small giggling noise and Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “Go away,” Mikey said, sounding amused. “I’m talking to my boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re on the phone with Paaaaatrick?” the voice sang. “Let me talk to him! Patrick! Patrick!” the voice called, and Patrick sat rigid at his desk as he listened to the two of them cracking up on the other end of the line.
“No!” Mikey yelled through his laughter, and then the sounds of a distant struggle before Patrick could hear Mikey yelling again, farther away now.
“Is this Patrick?” a voice that presumably belonged to Gabe asked.
Patrick waited a beat, glaring at the wall. “Yes?” he replied, trying not to make his voice sound as hostile as he felt.
“Dude. You need to tell your man to stop being such a brooding homebody and go out with me. I’ve got, like, business to attend to and I need his, uh, assistance.”
Patrick’s grip tightened on the phone. “Mikey can do what he wants. I don’t order him around,” Patrick replied, his voice tight. “So if he doesn’t want to go out tonight? You should probably just take his word for it and leave him alone.” It took all his control not to add an, “Or else,” at the end, although there wasn’t much Patrick could do from 400 miles away.
For his part, Gabe seemed completely unfazed. “Yeah, but like, this is important. Mikey’s like my wingman, mi amigo, my homie. You know? It’s not like you’re here right now and sitting in his room missing you isn’t going to do him any good and it’s certainly not going to do me any good, so he should just come along and help me out, right?”
Patrick was pretty proud of himself for not replying with, “I hate you.” “May I please speak to my boyfriend again?” he asked, as coldly as possible.
“Oh, yeah! Sure! No problem, dude. If you can convince him to come out with me, I’ll be forever in your debt.” Gabe cackled and then Mikey’s voice came over the line.
“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding resigned. “Gabe wrestled the phone away from me. He’s really good at being obnoxious when he wants to be if he thinks it’ll get him what he wants.”
“You know you love me, baby,” Patrick heard Gabe say in the background, causing Patrick to clench his jaw involuntarily.
Mikey sighed again, probably for effect, but Patrick could envision him smiling back at Gabe as he did. “So are you going to go out?” Patrick asked, glancing at the clock, which read 9:50.
“I don’t know,” Mikey mumbled, and Patrick felt his chest flare. “I probably shouldn’t.”
“Then don’t,” Patrick said simply. “It’s a Wednesday, you have class in the morning, you don’t want to…”
“I guess,” Mikey said, but he sounded uncertain. After a brief pause, he added, “I should let you go so you can get back to studying. I know you have music theory tomorrow so you probably want to read ahead five more chapters. I know how you are, Mr. Stump.”
Patrick would have normally smiled at that, but he was feeling an uneasiness that made it difficult to manage any kind of levity. “Yeah,” he managed before falling silent again.
“I love you,” Mikey offered. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“Yeah,” Patrick repeated. He swallowed hard. “I love you, too.”
He hung up the phone and set it on his desk, staring at the wall for a moment while he tried to assess what had just happened. He could feel heat radiating from his face and his heart was thumping in his chest. When he turned his head, he saw Sisky looking up from his book.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.
Patrick looked back at the wall and blinked. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I just… it’s hard, being apart. You know? I wish he was here.”
Sisky chewed his lip for a moment and then offered Patrick a weak smile. “Yeah, long-distance relationships suck. Not that I’ve ever been in one before, so. I have no idea what I’m talking about. But I can imagine.”
Patrick looked back over at his roommate, giving him the same weak smile. “Thanks,” he said, pushing back from his desk and standing up. His body felt tense and his back hurt from hunching over his desk. He felt like he had too much energy now and he needed to walk around the room a bit to get it out.
“There’s this guy who keeps hanging around Mikey,” Patrick grumbled, snatching up some of the dirty clothes he’d left lying on the floor. “Gabe. He’s fucking obnoxious and tonight he’s trying to get Mikey to go out to some club with him. What the fuck is that about?” He hurled each item of clothing into a laundry basket, one at a time, as he spoke.
“You know what you need?” Sisky asked when Patrick was finished. He flipped his book closed and got up from his desk, flipping the television on. “You need to kill some stuff.” He held out one of the video game controllers to Patrick. “Come on, let’s kick some ass,” he offered.
Patrick gave Sisky a grateful smile as he took the controller from him, dropping to the floor. “Thanks,” he said softly before setting his jaw and preparing to destroy the entire alien race. If he envisioned every alien he encountered in the game to be Gabe, Patrick didn’t think anyone could blame him.
***
It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. Patrick knew that. He had no reason to feel threatened by Gabe. Jealous, maybe, because Gabe got to spend time with Mikey when Patrick didn’t. But Mikey had never given Patrick reason not to trust him. That didn’t keep Patrick from spending the night tossing and turning.
When he stumbled into Music Theory, dark circles lining his bleary eyes, Brendon took note.
“Don’t tell me you struggled with last night’s reading,” he asked, feigning shock. “Nah, you’ve already read like half the book, so that can’t be it. Is it your applied piano class? Did you lock yourself in a practice room last night, unwilling to emerge until you’d mastered the Moonlight Sonata?” He gently poked Patrick in the arm. “You can still call me for help if you need it, you know,” he said gently.
Patrick gave Brendon a soft smile and shook his head. “No, no late night practices for me. I just couldn’t get settled in bed last night.”
“Ah,” Brendon said, raising his head in an exaggerated nod. Patrick waited for him to say something else, but his just bit his lip, looking down at his hands.
“Hey, are you alright?” Patrick asked, giving Brendon a squeeze on the shoulder.
It seemed to shock him out of wherever he’d gone in his head, because when he turned back to Patrick again, his smile was wide, as always. “Yep! Just got lost in thought. I’m good. Sorry,” he added with a light laugh.
After digging through his bag a moment, Brendon procured a slim CD case and passed it over to Patrick. “Here. I put this together for you last night. It’s not really related to anything we’re studying right now. Just some tracks I like that maybe you haven’t heard before.” He gave a slight shrug and ducked his head, laughing to himself.
Patrick raised the case, his eyes skimming over the track listing. “Oh, cool,” he replied happily. “Yeah, there’s definitely artists on here I don’t know well or at all.” After having exchanged music over the past few weeks, they’d gotten fairly familiar with each other’s taste and Brendon seemed to have a knack for figuring out what music Patrick hadn’t heard. Waiving the CD at Brendon, Patrick added, “Thank you,” before dropping it into his backpack.
“No problem,” Brendon replied. His eyes shifted to where Patrick was stretching out his fingers, sore from practicing. “And seriously, call me anytime if you want to run through some stuff on the piano with me. Or, you know, for whatever.”
“Yeah, definitely will do.” Patrick cracked his knuckles before picking up his pen, leaning over the table to take notes as his professor stepped up to the podium to start class.
***
“Hey,” Mikey said when he called that night. He sounded tired and Patrick stiffened.
“Late night?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Mikey yawned into the receiver. “No, not really. Once I shooed Gabe out of the room I started reading this assignment for my economics class and it put me to sleep in, like, no time,” he admitted with a laugh. At the news Mikey hadn’t gone out to the club the night before, Patrick uncurled a fist he hadn’t even realized he’d been making. “It’s just been a long week, you know?”
Patrick did know, and he nodded to himself. “Yeah,” he answered. “Classes are starting to pick up now and between trying to keep up on my reading and locking myself away at the music building to practice piano, it’s tiring. Plus, I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great in you classes,” Mikey said affectionately. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Are you stressed out about your piano class?”
Patrick hesitated, not sure if he should mention how irrationally upset he’d been over Gabe. “Just couldn’t get comfortable, I guess. The piano thing… I don’t know. I know I’ve improved a ton already, but I’ve still got a way to go before my midterm performance. I’ll get it down, I’m sure.”
“Maybe you could ask that guy Brendon for help,” Mikey suggested. “He’s good at piano, right? Didn’t he offer to help you?”
Patrick shifted his weight back and forth on his chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Yeah, he did. I don’t know. I don’t like to bother people or whatever. I’m sure he was just being nice in offering. What was he going to do when I asked? Say no?” Patrick let out a nervous laugh.
“I’m sure it was a genuine offer. He sounds like a nice guy, so I don’t know why he’d tell you he’d help if he didn’t mean it.”
Bowing his head, Patrick gave a half-hearted shrug. “I guess,” he said quietly. There was silence for a minute before Patrick asked how Gerard was doing, effectively changing the subject.
***
One month into his college career, Patrick had established a pretty comfortable routine. He got along well with Sisky and had made easy friendships with a few of the guys on his floor. Most of his socializing was confined to mealtimes and talking to classmates before or after lectures. He didn’t go out much, preferring to stay in and study or work in the practice rooms of the music building.
“You sure you don’t want to come with?” Sisky asked him for the tenth time that night as he slipped his jacket on, the evening weather having taken on a chill in late September. “You’re seriously in danger of becoming a hermit, you know that?”
Patrick gave a roll of his eyes, chuckling lightly. “Nah, it’s alright. I should probably go back over my sociology text and fill in some of the gaps in my notes.” He turned to grab his backpack when the door to the room opened and Andy, who everyone called Butcher - Patrick would never understand college nicknames - stuck his head in.
“You ready?” he asked, looking at Sisky. “How about you, Stump? You coming?”
Patrick shook his head and started to answer when Sisky interrupted. “Dude, he wants to study. Can you believe that shit? He’d rather spend a Saturday snight with his sociology book than hang out with us.”
Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking at Sisky like he had to by lying. He turned his focus to Patrick before looking back to Sisky and then back to Patrick, the same expression in place. “No,” he said at last, walking into the room.
“No?” Patrick laughed. “What do you mean ‘no’?” Instead of answering, Butcher walked over to Patrick and grabbed his arm, tugging him from the chair. For a skinny guy, he was surprisingly strong.
“Come on, help me,” he told Sisky, as the two of them wrestled Patrick to the door. “Stop fighting! Socialization is good for you! It’s not normal to study on a Saturday night!”
“Fine, fine, fine!” Patrick relented, laughing as he pulled away from them. “I’ll go out, okay? Just. Let me get my coat and stuff. I’ll be right out.”
Butcher and Sisky gave each other a satisfied look before walking out of the room. “You’ve got two minutes,” Sisky called, looking at his watch.
Patrick snatched his jacket off the handle of his closet door and pulled it on before grabbing his phone off his desk. It was only 7, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be out so he flipped it open and tapped out a quick message to Mikey.
Going out for coffee w/ some ppl. Might be back later than 9. Call you then.
Slipping the phone in his pocket, Patrick grabbed his keys and locked the room before joining Sisky and Butcher and a few of the other guys who lived on the floor in the hall. The coffee shop was within walking distance of campus, embedded among the bars and clubs and a pizza joint that was popular with the students. As they trudged across campus, Patrick received a message back from Mikey.
Cool. Im going out late too so Ill just call you tomorrow afternoon. Have fun. Love you.
He frowned down at the message, but brushed off the anxious feeling that crowded his chest. It seemed hypocritical to be bothered by Mikey going out when he was going out himself. Of course, no one in his group of friends was like Gabe, either. He sent back Love you 2 and pushed the bad thoughts from his head.
The Daily Grind was a locally owned coffee shop that featured spacious couches and arm chairs interspersed among the tables and chairs. Everything was clustered together in groupings that made it easy for larger groups to gather together and talk or hold study groups, which accounted for its popularity. It frequently featured acoustic music acts in the evenings as well, and a small stage in the corner held a couple stools and microphones for such occasions.
After placing their orders at the counter, Patrick and his group retired to a couch and some armchairs off to the side of the coffee shop. The Daily Grind had a limited menu of vegetarian sandwiches along with the usual pastries and baked goods, and Patrick decided to indulge in a cinnamon roll to accompany his latte. He was slowly peeling off pieces of it, engrossed in conversation with his friends about their classes and professors when music began to filter through the room coming from the stage behind the couch he was seated on.
Patrick turned and looked over his shoulder to see who was playing and pause with his cup of coffee raised to his lips. His eyes settled on the figure of Brendon Urie, who was playing a small keyboard, his eyes downcast. “Oh my god,” Patrick mumbled, not even aware that the words were passing his lips as Brendon raised his head and leaned in toward the microphone, singing with his eyes closed.
“What’s the matter?” Sisky asked, turning around to see what Patrick was looking at.
“Nothing!” Patrick replied, startled. “I mean, it’s Brendon. He’s in my music theory class. I didn’t know he was going to be playing tonight. Or that he played here at all.” He furrowed his brow, wondering why Brendon had never mentioned it before.
Sisky watched Brendon for a moment and then turned toward Patrick with a lopsided smile. “Is he playing Journey?” he asked.
Patrick nodded slightly, his mug still poised beneath his lips and eyes still focused on Brendon. “Yes,” he replied, confused and amused at the same time. “Yes, he is.” The rest of the room was slowly beginning to take notice as well, conversation dying down as people turned their attention to the stage and Patrick felt a weird fluttering in his stomach.
“He’s good,” Sisky added before taking a sip of his drink.
He was good. Patrick agreed, but only managed a small nod, still overcome with shock. As Brendon reached the bridge, people began to sway slightly in their seats, singing along softly. Patrick found himself mouthing the words along with them.
“Okay, imagine a guitar solo here,” Brendon said into the mic during an instrumental section, glancing up at the room with a bashful smile before ducking his head again. “Alright, now everyone!” he encouraged as he reached the chorus, and to Patrick’s surprise, the room sang, “Don’t stop believing,” enthusiastically, if off-key.
As Brendon concluded the song, Patrick turned around and set his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him before shifting on the couch to turn himself around completely, tucking his arms on to the back of the couch. The audience began clapping with a few people adding whistles and Brendon grinned in response.
“Thank you,” he said as he adjusted the height of the mic in front of him. “I figured that would get everyone’s attention.” His eyes scanned the room as he spoke, making contact with the people sitting closer to the stage. “I’m Brendon Urie and I’m your entertainment for the evening. Or I hope so, anyway. I hope you’re entertained.” Brendon raised his head and looked up toward the back of the room, his eyes passing over Patrick before doing what Patrick would characterize as a smoother version of a double take. His smile grew wider and Patrick smiled back reflexively. “This one is a newer old one,” he announced before starting in on “Tonight, Tonight.”
Patrick sat riveted throughout Brendon’s hour - long set, his eyes moving between Brendon’s hands and his face. He’d never heard Brendon sing before and his voice, when he could make it out above the chorus of audience members joining in, was good. He vaguely recalled that Brendon had mentioned possibly majoring in vocal performance, but beyond his ability to sing, Brendon had a natural charisma. There was something both easygoing and confident about him on stage, and when he smiled, it was impossible not to smile back. Patrick was both jealous and riveted at the same time.
At the end of his set, Brendon moved the stand holding the keyboard out of the way and excused himself as he got up and fussed with a guitar case that sat behind him. After a moment, he resumed his perch on the stool, an acoustic guitar balanced on his leg. He plucked the strings and adjusted the pegs before looking back up at the room and smiling. “Okay, so it’s not a sing along unless we play some Beatles, right? This is one of my favorites.”
His face went more serious as be strummed the opening bars of “Blackbird.” Brendon kept his eyes closed as his fingers expertly slid over the neck of his guitar. When he sang, his voice was gentle and lilting like he was singing a lullaby. The crowd was quieter than it had been during other songs, but no less captivated.
When he’d finished, the applause was strong and Brendon mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” into the microphone as he got up from the stool, giving a quick bow before bending down to return his guitar to the case. As conversation began to resume in the coffee shop, Patrick excused himself from his group, making his way across the room to where Brendon was gathering up his things.
“Hey,” Patrick greeted him as he approached the stage. “I had no idea you played here.”
Brendon looked up from where he was crouched on the ground, winding up a cord. “I didn’t know I was going to,” he explained as he stood, smiling down at Patrick. “The act they had scheduled cancelled at the last minute and since my roommate is one of the baristas, he recommended me to fill in.” He hopped down from the stage, giving a helpless shrug. “I thought about calling you to tell you but…” Brendon ducked his head and gave another shrug. “It was kind of last minute.”
“You should have!” Patrick insisted. “That was awesome. You were awesome. I’m glad I was here to catch it. You’re like a natural up there.” Nodding his head in the direction of the counter, he asked, “Can I buy you a drink or something?”
Brendon grinned wider at the question but shook his head. “Drinks are on the house,” he explained. “Perk of the job. Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Oh. Oh, right, Right.” Patrick laughed, shaking his head. “Well, do you want to get a drink and join me? I’m here sitting with some friends over there,” he added, gesturing to the couch.
Brendon pressed his lips together and nodded as he looked between the counter and the couch where Patrick’s friends were sitting. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he agreed. “I’ll uh. Just let me get this stuff packed up and I’ll be over.”
Everyone adjusted their position to make room for Brendon as Patrick introduced him around. Brendon nodded to everyone before taking a seat between Patrick and Sisky, leaving Patrick by the arm of the couch. They talked more about the set, with Brendon explaining he’d played similar shows back home when he was in high school.
“How about playing some of your own material?” Patrick wondered. “You must write if you’re considering a major in composition and theory.”
Brendon wrinkled his nose and gave a quick shrug. “I figured it’s my first time playing here so I should play stuff that the audience could get into and enjoy. If they invite me back a few times, then maybe I’d try out some of my stuff. I’m not sure how that would sound with me performing by myself, anyway. At least when I play songs everyone knows, they can fill in the parts I’m not playing with their mind because they know how it’s supposed to sound. If I played some of my songs with only one instrument and my voice, they might just think they suck.” He gave a soft laugh. “Maybe they do suck, I don’t know.”
Patrick couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “I have a hard time believing that. You’re really talented,” he said sincerely. “You’re great in front of an audience, too. I’m jealous.” Patrick lowered his eyes for a moment as he felt a blush spread across his cheeks. “Anyway, you should play some of your stuff for me sometime. I’ll let you know if I think it sucks.”
“Yeah? When are you going to play me some of your music, huh?” Brendon elbowed Patrick in the ribs as he leaned against his side. “I see you writing in your notebooks, Patrick. You should share.”
Patrick could feel his blush spreading as Brendon pressed up against him and he looked away to hide it. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he replied before his brain could register how it would sound. “I mean-“ He dropped his head in his hand and laughed weakly.
“Wow,” Brendon laughed. “Just. Wow.” When Patrick glanced up at Brendon from behind his fingers, he found Brendon’s mouth was pressed in a tight smile, his dark eyes focused on Patrick.
Easing back in against the couch, Patrick rolled his head toward Brendon and tried again. “I mean, if you play some of your songs for me, I’ll let you hear some of mine.”
Brendon found the hem of Patrick’s shirt and gave it a light tug. He looked down his nose at Patrick, still crowded into Patrick’s space. “It’s a deal,” Brendon replied and the strange fluttering feeling Patrick had felt earlier returned. Just then, Sisky leaned forward to see around Brendon and give Patrick a curious look.
“Hey!” Patrick exclaimed, taking the opportunity to change the topic of conversation. “You thought Brendon did a good job, right?” He leaned forward over his knees, his arms folded across his lap as he looked at Sisky.
Sisky raised his eyebrows and then looked over to Brendon. “Yeah, man. That was awesome,” he said, offering Brendon his hand. “You have a great voice.”
Brendon pulled back from Patrick as he turned to take Sisky’s hand. “Thank you so much.” As the two spoke, Patrick fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Seeing no new messages, his heart sank slightly.
***
Part 2