Rivals: The Killjoys vs. The Youngbloods

25. Loose Ends

Three Years Later 

Patrick sat in his usual bar, in his usual seat by the window, sipping from a glass of his usual drink.

He stared out the window, watching the Chicago skyline darken with the threat of impending snow.

While many people were at home spending the holidays with their families, Patrick was sitting on a bar stool drinking himself silly. 

"You're always welcome at our home." Ray offered every year for the past three. 

Our home being where he lived with Louisa and Artemis. They had tied the knot two years ago; one little happy family. 

It seemed that everyone had found a way to move on.

Everyone but Patrick. 

Andy and Joe had also moved to Chicago; but short of the one time they bumped into each other at the grocery store, they didn't see each other much. 

Patrick heard from Brendon a couple times. Apparently he and Spencer were enjoying the Vegas lights with their two friends Dallon and Kenny. 

The only person who seemed just as hung up on the events of three years ago as Patrick, was Pete. He'd stayed in Los Angeles, claiming that he owed it to Mikey to continue his work, and wouldn't stop until BL/ind was defeated. 

Patrick tipped the contents of the glass down his throat and winced at the burning feeling.

"Can I get you another one of those?" A feminine voice asked, gesturing to the empty glass.

Patrick nodded. "I'm drinking-"

"I know," she cut him off, "you've been in here pretty much every day for the past six months. You're a regular, of course I know what you drink."

Patrick chuckled sullenly and held his glass out to her. "Thanks um-"

"Samantha." She took the glass from him. "But my friends call me Sam."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Do I fall into that category?"

"Well," Sam poured amber liquid into the glass and slid it back to him. "I know your favorite drink and I've listened to most of your drunk stories. I'd think that qualifies us."

Patrick smiled, the first real smile in months. "Well, new friends are golden."

"I agree." Sam said, and leaned against the bar counter. "You look like you've got a lot on your mind." She looked at Patrick, her blue eyes seemed to scorch into his soul.

Patrick ran his fingers around the tip of the glass. "What makes you think that?"

"Call it bartender's intuition." Sam shrugged. "We're trained to see the misery and listen, it's how we get more tips," she smiled.

He grinned. "Yeah, it's been a rough six years. I've been through a lot and I've done a lot of things that I'm not  proud of."

"Wanna talk about it?" Sam quirked an eyebrow.

Patrick downed the entire glass in one go. "Is this a ploy to get more tips?"

"I don't know." Sam twisted a lock of her light brown hair around her finger. "Is it working?"

Patrick slid the glass back to her. "Get me drunk enough, and it just might."

>>>>>

Pete had a lot of things planned for his evening, most of which included sleeping and eating with the occasional binge watching of Jane the Virgin (Hey! Don't judge!)

But what he did not plan on, was finding his dead boyfriend lying in his bed.

Pete trudged up the stairs to his little apartment.

He had just had another busy day working with the Hustlers to free Los Angeles from the evil clutches of BL/ind. And he was dead ass tired to say the least.

His keys jingled as he pulled them from his pocket and unlocked the door.

"Home sweet home," Pete said bitterly as he shoved the door open.

Jesus Christ. Pete's apartment was sweltering hot.

"Damn air conditioning," he muttered.

He really needed to get that fixed.

Despite the fact that it was almost Christmas, the Los Angeles heat wave was not letting up.

Pete dropped his bags on the floor and kicked his shoes off.

Now he could get to the best part of his day, sleeping.

He shuffled into his room half asleep and plopped onto his bed.

In his sleep induced dazed, Pete barely noticed the arm that wrapped around him.

"What the fuck?!" Pete jumped to his feet. "Who the- Mikey!"

Michael James Way in all his previously dead glory, was sprawled out across Pete's bed.

"Miss me?" Mikey asked, a smirk plastered on his face. 

The end. For real this time.