The festivities have begun. Most of the gang had arrived at the Way's apartment except for Pete and Mikey. Everyone's favorite fuck ups aren't around with their poorly timed jokes yet good hearts. Patrick is getting anxious because Pete is never late to parties. Brendon is trying to catch crackers in his mouth from across the room as Ryan leisurely tosses them between his sentences with Lindsey. Frank is nearly asleep on the couch with Gerard who is eating cake from somewhere. Dallon is making some kind of drink in the kitchen and Brendon's missed crackers keep hitting him.
"Are you sure Pete's okay?" Patrick asks the sleepy couple on the couch.
Gerard sets his cake on Frank's chest because the boy's head is lying in Gerard's lap. "I bet him and Mikey are just chewing the fat."
When will he ever speak like a normal person Frank thinks. "Yeah don't worry," his closed eyes don't make Patrick feel any better.
The buzz in his pocket makes Patrick check his phone.
Pete❤️ sorry but me & mway are ✋ held up here at 🏫 school. wont be home 🏠 for a while 😓
Patrick looks at the text confused. Break started three days ago and Pete is lazier than a snail in cement. He knows it's obviously from Pete because of the use of obnoxious emojis. Feeling a little down, Patrick decides to head home. When everyone is wrapped up in conversation, he slinks out. He doesn't go home though. He ends up wandering around without a care in the world. He feels like whatever the hell Mikey is doing is more important than this group party. Patrick's anxiety gets the best of him. The walls are thin. Always had been and always will be. Patrick never minded them because he liked being able to hear Pete come in the door. But now, oh god now, did he wish the walls were six inches thick of solid cement. He walks into Pete's house deciding to sleep there for the night, he always feels safer there. He hears some rustling noises in his room so he assumed it's Pete. Slinking over he's about to knock when something stops him, the sound of squeaking. A bedframe? An old chair?
But Patrick stops. Something in his mind is yelling the same word over and over till it becomes a numbing noise. STOP STOP STOP STOP. So he stands here with one hand on the handle and the other in his pocket. A very quiet "Oh fuck," from inside the room breaks the poor boy's heart. It could have meant anything. It could have been a 'oh fuck I dropped my phone' or 'oh fuck I forgot it's already midnight'. But something about this particular set of sounds, strung together with a breathy tone, hurt Patrick. His little over analytical mind of course takes that to mean the worst. Pete's cheating. Right there. Right now. With his best friend. Patrick feels like an idiot. How could he have not connected the dots by now. Mikey has always been Pete's best friend; they'd known each other for years. Patrick has always been the replacement when Mikey wasn't doing so hot. But now that Mikey has 'miraculously recovered' Patrick is thrown to the curb. Slowly Patrick takes his hand off the brass handle; he wishes he could take his eyes off the door. All he hears is the squeaking and the casual "fucking christ," and its deafening.
Using the little strength Patrick has, he calls into the room but not before taking a few steps away from the door; he doesn't want to look Pete in the eye. "Pete?" He says weakly through the door.
The squeaking stops almost immediately. "What do you need, babe?" Pete replies.
The word 'babe' calms Patrick a bit.
"Some wine. Jesus, this is a lot of work," Mikey answers from inside the room.
That's when it happened. When the beautiful little world that Patrick has around him went up in flames. He wishes he hadn't heard, he wishes more that he wasn't so naïve. How could anyone love him? He's just the awkward French teacher with too many emotions for the wrong people, or maybe it wasn't the wrong person, maybe it was the wrong time. "Nevermind," Patrick can barely respond. The words come out broken up like a window that someone has decided didn't need to be whole anymore. He doesn't bother to confront Pete, he just runs out.
The cold December air fills his lungs making his throat sting but he doesn't feel it. All he can feel is the weight on his chest. The weight that makes him feel like he's being anchored to the nasty old house in the inner city. Patrick flips his collar up before digging his hands in his pockets. The light snow covers the streets in a sheet that makes it feel like any other street, in any other city, on any other Chirstmas Eve.
Patrick isn't sure how far he walks that day or how he ends up back up at Gerard's party. It's already three in the morning and everyone has left. Gerard buzzes him in and sits on the couch with him, not speaking, just sipping tea, and being in his presence. Finally, he asks the poor teary eyed man, "so," his voice is at normal volume despite asleep Frank's head being on his lap, "do you wanna tell me why you're nearly crying at my house at three in the morning on Christmas?"
Patrick doesn't look at him, "just some stuff happened."
Gerard subconsciously runs his fingertips cross Frank's chest lightly. "What kinda stuff?"
His gentle voice gives Patrick the courage to explain. "Pete.... he um... I found him... he cheated on... um me." Patrick doesn't have to look at Gerard to know that his heart sank.
It's quiet for a second before Gerard stretches out his arm. "Come here." Patrick scoots over and lets his weight fall onto him. Gerard's tight grip makes him feel better but the emptiness and ache is still there. He does manage to fall asleep though, being in someone's arms lets him fall asleep quickly. At this point Frank has shifted in his sleep so that his open drooling mouth is now breathing hot air onto Gerard's lower stomach. This keeps the exhausted Gerard from falling asleep, but he doesn't care enough to wake his two sleeping friends up.
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YOU ARE READING
Since When Did You Become a Romantic?
Fanfictionstarted as a crackfic but got too deticated. they're teachers, gerard is married... to a woman, uh oh.
