Sick (Peterick AU)

Best Friends Means Friends Forever

Ugh bless

~~~

"Hey 'Trick," Pete calls as he walks towards our table.

"Again with nicknames?" I look to Pete, and then Ryan. Ryan obviously thinks it's cute. I stick my tongue out at him and wrinkle my nose.

"Hey, I like this one," Pete replies as he sits down.

"I think it's nice," Ryan interjects.

"Of course you do," I try to sneer, but my smile gets the best of me. Ryan chuckles, and Pete grins next to me.

The strawberries Ryan got for us were probably some of the most amazing I've ever tasted. Of course, when Ryan buys fruit, it's always the best. Apparently there's a farmers market somewhere downtown, owned by one of Ryan's friends, so he gets "only the foremost of the harvest," as his friend likes to say.

Either way, I love this food. And so far, Ryan has never disappointed me.
Pete tugs on the back of my shirt, thus pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Hmm," I hum in question of his action. He points in front of us, to the cafeteria doors, staying silent as he does so. To the right of them, stands a man. He looks very familiar, but I can't remember from where exactly I've seen him before.

"He's been staring at you for like, ten minutes now," Pete suddenly whispers in my ear. "It's getting really creepy." I stare back at him; he's locked his gaze onto me, and I keep mine on him. Where have I seen him before?

Ryan suddenly goes wide-eyed. He turns to see the man, and holds his breath when he spots him. Ryan twists back sharply and motions for me to stay where I am. I do so, alongside Pete, who is now frozen in place. Ryan calmly rises and goes to speak with the mystery man.

"What's going on," Pete questions cautiously. "Do you know him?"

"I think so," I say, equally spooked. Watching Ryan talk to the man sort of bothers me. My heart begins to palpitate. I feel like I might have an attack. "I'm not sure, though."

Ryan makes his way back to the table, with the man trailing behind him. As they get closer, and the details of this man become clearer, a realization washes over me, and I'm more terrified than ever. My throat begins to close up, and it becomes harder and harder to exhale, but I force it open. I will not let this disease get the best of me; no freaking way.

"Hello..." the man begins. My chest hurts. "Son."

I cough. I cough for the first time in four days. It's not terrible. It doesn't necessarily suggest the beginning of an attack, but it's loud and long enough to take the man aback.

I don't believe this. I don't believe him. He's not my father, he can't be. He looks nothing like my father. My father is clean-shaven, he always wears a freshly primped suit, nothing less. His words are clipped and clear.
This man is dressed in sweats with a five o'clock shadow, and a slur in his voice.

"Patrick," his flat, gruff voice breaks me from my haze. I look up at him. His deep brown eyes are all too well known for me. I freeze. I can't deny it anymore. Its definitely him. There is a tense silence between him and I, his pointed leer daring me to speak.

He sighs. "I might as well just tell you why I'm here, since you're not going to react." I feel like I'm being stabbed as he says the second part of this sentence. He holds up his left hand to my face. At first I don't understand, but after a second, I see.

My world shatters. Tears fill my eyes. My throat closes completely, now. But I don't cough, I don't speak. I don't do anything. Neither does he, or Pete, or Ryan.