Lets Not And Say We Did

Twenty

"I-I like you, Pete."

It had taken every ounce of Patrick's pride to say it. The fear of rejection still fresh in his heart after Andy left. But Pete didn't look like rejecting him was even on his mind. He was smiling. And not that asshole Pete smile. But a genuinely happy smile.

"I think I like you too, Patrick."

"I-Really?"

"Yes. Now please, for the life of me, will you fucking kiss me already?"

A few flashes went off behind them.

"Pete, t-the cameras-"

"No. We're not going to let them stop us this time. This is going to happen."

Patrick smiled. His hands latched onto Pete's waist. Pulling him closer. Pete's arms snaked above Patrick's shoulders. He began slowly lowering them until they were moving Patrick's arms out of the way. Patrick grabbed Pete's face.

Flash!

Patrick was woken up by the bright flash of lightning outside of his window. Damn! He couldn't even get kissed in his sleep? He sat up quickly in his bed. Feeling the sweat covering his body. There was so much of it that his sheets were damp.

Did that classify as a wet dream? Andy made a joke about wet dreams before but never explained exactly what it was to Patrick.

Standing out of the bed, he stripped his shirt. The shorts were okay. He sighed when he looked down at them. They were a pair of Andy's black basketball shorts. He just needed to find another shirt. Actually, he needed a cold glass of water.

He didn't remember using the kitchen since he'd been here. Pete always ordered out or they went out. Once, one of the maids brought him something homemade but that didn't require him to go in the kitchen.

The sound of thunder snapped through the room causing Patrick to jump. He laughed at himself. Thunder storms were the worst.

Opening the door, he stepped outside into the silent darkness. Or not so silent darkness. Someone was playing music. Patrick didn't know much about music without words, but it sounded like a darker piece. All low keys. It was making him sad.

He followed the sound down the stairs. Stopping at the bottom when he saw a figure sitting at the antique, grand piano. The one in the lobby placed perfectly between the stairs. That thing actually worked? It looked old enough to have seen Bach's time.

And who the hell plays classical piano at this time in the morning? People are trying to sleep. It must be one of the helpers. Patrick walked up to them. About to warn them that they should stop before Pete woke up and got angry. He stopped beside the person.

"Pete?" He frowned.

But Pete didn't respond his eyes were closed. Who the hell plays piano with their eyes closed? Was he still wearing his suit? Did he sleep in that damn thing? Geeze!

Patrick stood there for a little while. Just staring at the man who'd ignored him. His face was scrunched up as if he was in pain. Patrick's heart twisted. He looked tense. Holy shit!

What if he was being possessed by the ghost of Beethoven? Patrick had seen a movie like that once. Only it wasn't the ghost of a famous classical composer. And also the possessed person killed people instead of playing sad songs on the piano. But other than that, it was the same thing!

"Pete?" He reached out and touched the man's shoulder. "Pete, you're scaring me."

Still Pete ignored him. Patrick sighed and sat down in the empty spot on the bench beside him. Pete's head turned in his direction slightly before facing straight ahead again.

It was like he couldn't stop playing. Patrick brushed his fingers gently over his clothed forearm. Feeling the hard muscle under it. Who knew Mr. Suitman worked out?

He slid himself closer to Pete. So close that their thighs were touching. His arm snaked itself around Pete's waist as he sat. He laid his head on his broad shoulder.

"Don't worry, Pete." He yawned. "I'm not just going to leave you here alone in the dark during a thunder storm. Not even if you are being possessed by the ghost of Beethoven."

He felt Pete shake a little beneath him. Probably laughing at how ridiculous he sounded. But he didn't care. Because when his possession did finally reach the killing stage, Patrick's life would be spared because he stayed.

He yawned again. As Pete continued to play, Patrick began to get sleepy again. His head being gently bounced up and down as Pete's fingers moved from key to key.

"Goodnight, Pete." He yawned.

He might have been imagining things. But he could have sworn he heard Pete whisper. "Goodnight, ghost buster."