Peterick Oneshots :)

miseducation II

TW: Homophobia. They're in a conversion therapy center.

Patrick flips through the pages of a book before setting it down and walking to the next bookshelf. The library is one of his favorite places in the center. If he ignores the crosses and quotes on the walls, it's essentially a normal library.

The librarian is the nicest, always offering a smile to whoever walks in. Whenever Patrick checks out a book, she speaks highly about the novel and hopes he enjoys each page.

The cross around her neck signifies her devotion to Christianity, but Patrick knows she's not oppressive. She shouldn't work here, but Patrick's glad she does because she's the only sane staff member in the building.

Patrick squats down to examine the lowest shelf of books on the row. He brushes his hair out of his face and grabs a hardcover novel. The words have nearly faded off the back, through years of wear and tear. He opens the first page.

Fake it until you make it

Patrick's fingers ghost the pen marks. Someone wrote in the book. Someone who was here before him. Someone who was rejected by society and forced into therapy. Someone who now leads a life of heterosexuality when they desire not to.

It's not a life to live. Patrick's stomach sinks and he slides the book back into the shelf. He stands, moving far away from the book as if the painful words carved into the page will disappear from his mind.

They don't.

The idea that once sounded good enough to Patrick is the last thing he wants to do. He's not going to fake it, it's not fair to him. Pete's right, he needs to live his life as who he wants to be.

He needs to be happy.

~~~

"I'll do it," Patrick states, plopping in the seat next to Pete. "When can we go?"

Pete grins, stabbing a piece of pineapple with his fork. "I knew you'd come around."

"I saw writing in a book," Patrick pushes his glasses up his nose, turning to his tray. "It was advice. Advice to just fake it."

"And you realize how stupid that is?"

Patrick nods, poking the baked ziti on his plate with his fork.

"The easy way out isn't always the best," Pete whispers, his fingers twitching against his own thigh. He wants to reach out to Patrick. He can't.

"What's the plan then?" Patrick lifts a piece of pasta to his lips. "How are we going to ditch this place?"

"Tomorrow night," Pete's eyes jump to a therapist walking around the tables. "Tom always watches TV in the group room. You know how much trouble it is to get him out of there on Thursday's."

"The group room is right next to the exit door. Even with a key, there's no way we won't get caught leaving."

"That's why we hide before we do," Pete whispers, moving away and shoving pineapple in his mouth a second later.

"Enjoying dinner?" A therapist asks, leaning over Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick nods, offering a sweet smile. "Absolutely delicious, ma'am."

She knows something is up, but with Patrick's innocent beam staring her in the face, she walks away. Patrick and Pete don't dare speak until they're sure her eyes are focused elsewhere.

"Hide where?" Patrick mumbles, covering the movement of his mouth with his bread roll.

"I'll show you later," Pete says quickly, shoving another piece of food in his mouth to avoid suspicion.