*Press play on the vid and it'll play while ya read Pete's POV
It's been about two months since the diner date with Patrick.
We've been hanging out more and more, and no matter how happy I am and how happy Patrick seems, I can't stop thinking about him not telling me something. Whenever I'm not talking to him, he's constantly sad, so I know his depression is affecting him horribly.
I landed a job at the guitar shop. I basically just stand around and help people try out new instruments. It's much more entertaining than checking out people's groceries.
To Pete: hey can you come over to the café please?
To Patrick: yeah of course ! i'll be over asap
To Pete: please hurry . . . my lunch break is starting soon and i need to talk to you
To Patrick: don't worry i'm coming
I quickly slide my phone into my pocket, shoving my feet into my shoes and grabbing my jacket. I go five over the speed limit to get to the café, 'cause I know that if I go ten over I'll get pulled over and I can't risk it.
The café is a small building on the corner with the owner's house on top. It has vintage windows, orange lamps, and smells of coffee and muffins. The usual cliché.
I do a crappy job of parallel parking but don't care, as I know how bad Patrick's depression is and he ran out of medication around one and a half months ago. I'm amazed at how strong he is.
Once I'm inside, I see him walk into the back room, not having noticed me. The cashier smiles sadly at me and I smile back, probably looking extremely worried. I practically run into the back room and find him sitting against the back wall, holding his face in his hands.
" 'Trick?" I say quietly, sitting down beside him and wrapping my arms around him.
He looks up, smiling through the tears running down his face, "H-Hi Pete."
I wipe the tears off, "Hey."
"I'm so weak, sorry," Patrick laughs an empty laugh filled with nothing but air. He throws his hands up, "I don't even know why I texted you. I'm just making everything worse."
I narrow my eyebrows at him, holding his face and making him look at me, "Patrick Stump. You are not weak, you are not making everything worse."
"You don't understand, Pete," He shakes his head, loosening my hands and burying his head in his knees. I notice he isn't wearing his glasses again.
"I know I don't, but I'll stop at nothing to make you feel better, 'kay? What about your medicine? You need to order more," I rub his shoulder, feeling like crap 'cause I can't do anything to help him. This is why depression sucks. You want to help but you just can't. You think you can, but you can't.
"Forget the stupid medicine, it didn't help anyways," Patrick mumbles into his knees, sniffling.
"What about your glasses, huh?" I frown, trying to coax him out of his little shell.
He doesn't respond, just picks them out of his pocket and tosses them at me. I fumble to catch them and notice they're cracked something awful.
"Aw . . . 'Trick, who did this?" I ask quietly, setting the glasses down on the ground gently.
"It's not a big deal, anyways. I never wear them, unless I'm with you. It doesn't matter. I'm what? 19 years old and crying about glasses," Patrick says frustratingly, lifting his face up and running his hands through his hair.
"Who broke them?" I repeat, anger starting to churn inside me. Whoever could be mean to someone who's this polite needs to be set straight.
"Me, okay? I was mad. I threw them on the ground. I stomped on them. I broke them. And now they're ruined. Now I can't wear them for you," He covers his mouth after the last part, tears streaming down his face, "I didn't mean to say that."
My face heats up, I swear it's probably as red as a tomato, "Oh, 'Trick." I whisper, smiling sadly. My eyes tear up a bit but I don't start crying. Instead I lean down, pressing my lips to his. I hold his face, then wrap my arms around him in a hug. He kisses me back, closing his eyes, then breaks away. Tears stream down his face. He starts to cry, and I pull him in for a hug, burying my head against his which he's buried in my shoulder. He holds me so tight it kind of hurts.
"You're fine, you're fine," I repeat, trying to make him feel better.
During the few minutes he's crying, Patrick's manager walks into the room. He doesn't notice the manager, but I do. I sort of make a look with my face, hoping it says 'Please give him a moment.' I think she understands and nods, smiling a bit. She walks out and relief washes over me. At least there's some decent people in the world.
It takes Patrick around fifteen minutes to calm down. He ends up lying on my shoulder, me leaning against the wall. Every now and then he sniffles but I'm pretty sure he's okay for now.
I unwrap my arms from around him and he sits up shakily, wiping his eyes and running his hands through his hair again. He bites his lip, looking at the ground, "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry about," I say, looking at him directly in the eyes. They're light blue and filled with depression. I sigh, knowing he'll never be able to get rid of it.
Patrick looks around, "What time is it?"
I shrug, "I've been here for about a half hour now, that's all I know. Do you think you can go back to work?"
"I don't have a choice, do I?" He shakily stands up, offering me his hand like he did that one night we first met.
I take it, standing up, "Well let's go see. Here." I pick up his glasses and hand them to him, even if they're useless.
"Thanks," Patrick smiles a bit, shoving them into his pocket again. He looks so cute in his outfit- a white dress shirt, black bow tie, and black pants. Sadly no fedora.
As we walk out into the café, it hits me. I just kissed Patrick Stump.
- hi guys don't worry i still plan on making you suffer more if that's suffering-worthy <33
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