That Yale Thing: A Patrick Bateman x Luis Carruthers Story

The Restaurant 3: New York's Most Wanted (1/?)

Note: I'll try to get back on track. Or not. Words with dashes are meant to censor offensive/rude language. 

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 "Thanks for telling me, Luis," Patrick muttered as he slid back into his seat. He sighed as he looked into Luis' eyes, upset with how the dinner date was going. He didn't hate Luis but Sans ruined the mood for the night.

"What were you doing in the lobby anyway?" Luis asked as he tucked his napkin into his shirt. "Your hair is still as soft as ever but it's been messed up."

Shocked, Patrick ran his hands through his hair. He did not spend a large amount of money to have an obese skeleton ruin his cut.

"Patrick? What happened in the lobby?" Luis asked again.

"Nothing, Luis," Patrick murmured. He began touching his face, hoping that he didn't have any cuts or bruises from the lasers.

Luis sighed. He may have known Patrick for many years but he didn't know him too well. Still, he couldn't help but be fascinated by him.

"Here's your Santa Fe Sizzlin' Skillet, sir," the waitress said as she placed the dish in front of Luis. "Sorry for the delay, sir. We had a lot of dust in the lobby."

Patrick started sweating, patting the napkin on his forehead. "Why was there a lot of dust in the lobby?"

The waitress shrugged. "Well, my friend here thinks it was the short white man." Patrick gulped. "However, I think it's just 'cause we haven't cleaned in a while."

Patrick sighed, "Yes, yes. That's probably why. Haven't cleaned in a while."

The waitress and Luis exchanged glances, confused by Patrick's reaction. It was just dust in the lobby. A lot of dust in the lobby, granted, but it was just dust.

"Well, I'll leave you two for now," the waitress said. "Enjoy your food here at D—"

"Dorsia! Food here... at... Dorsia," Patrick interrupted, hitting his palm on the table with each pause. He glared at the waitress. "Right... what's your name?"

"Anne, sir."

"Anne! Okay. This is Dorsia, right, Anne?" His right hand gripped tightly to the butter knife he used earlier while his left hand was on his face, his fingers partially covering his mouth.

"Whatever you say, sir," Anne muttered. "I need to go to the kitchen. Have a good dinner." She rushed away from the table, wiping away a bead of sweat from her forehead.

Luis and Patrick looked at the waitress. When she disappeared from their sights, the two looked at each other. The awkwardness from earlier melted away, Luis completely taken in by Patrick's dreamy eyes. He leaned in a bit closer, loving every second he got to look into his hazel eyes. Though Luis couldn't tell how his own eyes looked, he noticed Patrick's cold gaze melting slightly. Patrick's pupils dilated as a faint blush appeared before he shut his eyes and turned his head.

Patrick cleared his throat before opening his eyes, which were still dilated. "Hey," he said, "is that Bruno Mars? I swear that it's him." He looked in the direction of a couple's table.

"Hmm, I don't think that's Bruno Mars," Luis said, somewhat amused.

"N-no, no. I'm very sure that it's him. See, he looks so short, and his hair—" Patrick lifted his right hand above his head, motioning as if he had a perm. "—is curled."

Luis leaned to get a better look at "Bruno Mars." "Patrick, that's a woman."

"Luis, I know that he's short and that he dresses somewhat effeminately but there is no reason to call him a woman."

"No, I mean that it really is a woman." On closer inspection, it was a woman, not Bruno Mars. Aside from the hair looking similar, there was no way that she looked like him.

"...oh, I see that now. Do you think she's a –---?" Patrick motioned to his hair again. "I mean, her hair's all short. She could be a –---."

"She could be but, Patrick, how should I know?

"Because you're a –--?"

"Patrick, you're the one who asked me to dinner. Wouldn't that make you, you know—?" Luis made a gesture with his right hand before giving a small smile.

Patrick leaned back into his chair. He covered his face with his right hand, embarrassed. "... Let's just start eating."

In the background, a pudgy teenager walked over to the jukebox that was connected to the speakers in the restaurant. He pulled out a dollar and slipped it in. As he scrolled through the song selection, he was able to find a song that was not altered.

Luis clasped his hands together when the song started up. "Oh," he exclaimed, "I love this track! It was on the top of the Billboard charts."

Patrick was lost in thought before Luis brought him back to reality. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I love this one, too.  I heard that, uh, Hall called this one an 'anti-love song'. So many other things are just as great as a kiss." 

Luis' eyes brightened. "Well, what other things could be as great as a kiss?"

"A lot of things."

"Aren't you going to list off any?"

Patrick glanced at Luis before looking down at his plate. The faint blushing became more visible as he looked at Luis' lips. "No. There are just... lots of great things out there. Too many to list off."

Luis sighed before looking at the jukebox. "I want to know why they only have sped-up versions of songs here."

Patrick, still looking down at his plate, said, "People are busy. You get to hear the whole song in less time."

"I wonder if they have Bruno Mars here." 

Patrick clenched his jaw as he sucked in air. Breathing out, he unclenched his jaw and rolled his shoulder back. "Never bring up Bruno Mars again."

Chuckling slightly at Patrick's reaction, Luis began to dip a slice of toast into an egg that sunny-side up, using his fork to scoop on crumbled chorizo and seasoned red-skinned potato wedges. He was slowly getting soberer as he ate. Nonetheless, he was still convinced that this was Dorsia. Much like Patrick, Luis has never had luck in getting a reservation there; they had no idea what it looked like.

At the same time, Patrick sipped on the strawberry milkshake. He didn't know why he felt so... off... at that moment. If Paul had corrected him, Patrick would've killed him all over again. If Paul had implied that he was a homosexual, closeted or otherwise, he'd repeat it for the third time. It was Luis who corrected and accused him, though, and Patrick thought that it wouldn't be worth it. He had already tried to kill Luis and look at where that brought him.

Still, an odd feeling persisted in his chest. Why was he so embarrassed by that? Patrick convinced himself that this was just a normal feeling. Luis was just a friend, possibly a bit closer than his other co-workers. He felt ashamed when he thought about how he treated Timothy or his fiancee, Evelyn: neither brought him that odd feeling. It wasn't the superficially-friendly feeling he got from spending time with Timothy nor was it the cold feeling he got from reluctantly talking with Evelyn. It was... warmer. It felt real.