Legal But Not Socially Acceptable (Peterick)

I've Reconsidered Your Notion and I'm Thinking...Maybe...Perhaps...Possibly...

Patrick eyed his monitor with wide eyes, chewing on the nail of his thumb with a pinch in his brow. It had been...a few days, give or take. No word received back from Pete - the days...they passed by achingly slow. First one, then two, then it had already been a week.

He couldn't help but feel concerned for the teen - what if his father had lost control? - what if Pete had gotten himself into trouble again? - what if he was in the hospital - what if - Patrick, stop, he told himself as he shook his head. He was overreacting - again.

He had already freaked out once, right after Pete had left his apartment. Patrick had comforted the boy for over half an hour. Ran his fingers gently through the other's rigid tufts of hair, chin hooked over his shoulder while listening to harsh breaths streaming from the younger man's mouth. Their goodbye was...awkward, stilled, and hushed.

Patrick had offered to drive the boy home, but Pete had declined - said he'd rather walk - had said "See you," in a hoarse whisper, like his throat was too dry, too frail to voice it. Patrick forced a smile in reply, nodded, and brought his hand in an odd gesture constituting as a petty wave.

Patrick was sure his eyes had given him away, squinted, and concern sparkling deep within them. Pete's stare was fixated on him for a stretched out moment before he bit his lip, hand clenched around the doorknob as he took his leave into the dimly lit hallway.

Patrick stood there - at his front door for a couple of seconds, minutes? He didn't know. His gaze had been locked on the slow swing of the wooden door gradually closing shut. The click had rung through his ears, vehemently and thundering - made him twitch, but only just.

He remembered the beat of his heart booming against his rib-cage, the intensity of it all making his head ache. Holding in a great intake of breath, he had calmly spun around. Waddled into his living room with inept steps, plopped down onto the plush seating of his couch and turned on his television, aiming to take his mind off things. The attempt was inefficient, but he's a stubborn man.

That's always been one of his immense flaws - besides the whole "too nice," quirk. From his own experience, them together is a dangerous duo. Never mind the fact that he hadn't ever let those thoughts put a stop to him and his "gracious deeds." Truth be told he used to think he was somewhat of an intelligent man, not so much after he offered and handed over his home on a silver platter to the teenager without a second thought.

With a gentle sigh, Patrick laid his head out, atop of his desk, backside huddled deep into his chair as he swung his feet back and forth. The sound of rubber drumming against concrete gathered his attention, carefully tugging out the earbuds buried well into his ears, he glanced up. "Gabe," he acknowledged with a nod. Gabe had cocked a hip, hand rested on the narrow of his waist as he raised an eyebrow. "Why so down in the dumps? You look like someone just punched your dog."

A dry snort left Patrick from the irony of it all. "It's shot, and just - my week has been shit." Gabe shrugged, crossing his arms. "Tomato, tomato," he muttered, fingertips tapping against the clear-cut bone of his elbow. "Y'know your week probably wouldn't of been so shitty...if you went out with us last night..."

Patrick's eyes were rolling before his brain could even register the action. "I was busy," he breathed, turning his view back to the glare of his desktop and his hands to mashing his keyboard. "Besides...it was a work day."