“We don’t have to,” Pete continues softly, his expression morphing into something more like a comforting smile than a mask. His thumb rubs circles on the inside of Patrick’s knee. “We can watch a movie, or write— whatever you want.”
Patrick looks into Pete’s eyes, black when the bus is between streetlights and flashing amber when under one. There’s no need to do this if their other tactics will work, and there’s nothing saying they won’t at the moment.
And yet, his head is full of Pete, of the siren’s call of stripped down to our skeletons.
Patrick says, “I want you… I want you to.”
Patrick can’t sleep- Pete’s lyrics are keeping him up. Pete helps him by taking a page out of Patrick’s book.
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Happy holidays everyone! This is not a holiday fic, but. I had to get it out of my drafts sometime, and now it’s finally ready :)
tourfilm
