[PETERICK] i'm sorry lover (these days i tend to lie)

cinq + epilogue

Patrick hates fighting crime at night. It's harder than day fighting, because it's dark and Patrick can't see a damn thing most of the time. He also has to sneak out, which makes him feel dirty. Sneaking around and leaving Pete to sleep alone made him feel even more like a liar than he already is.

He's already changed back into his civilian clothes, and the walk home is somber. It's always like this after fights, after the adrenaline's died down and he's left alone with his thoughts.

They're mostly the same every time. Shame and guilt mixing together to form thoughts that leave Patrick feeling like shit.

The apartment building looms in front of him, and he shuffles into it, shoulders drooping from exhaustion. The ache in his ribs was starting to come back and all he wanted to do was curl up to Pete and sleep. The thought of his bed practically leaves him salivating.

When Patrick opens the front door, however, something's off. The atmosphere is cold, and it rubs Patrick the wrong way. The door shuts behind him with a click and that's when he notices Pete sitting at the kitchen table.

"Pete?" Patrick tilted his head, "Shouldn't you be asleep? You have work tomorrow."

"Patrick," Pete's voice is cold and his words are clipped. He sounds angry, "I could say the same to you."

"What?" He walks forward a bit, and Pete's shoulders tense up, "Pete, what's wrong?"

"Oh nothing! I just wake up and find my lovely boyfriend missing. I, naturally, am very worried," Pete spits, and his sarcastic, fake-cheerfulness is biting, "My first instinct is to call the nursing home his grandma stays in. Something must've happened with her."

Patrick feels his blood chill, freezing into solid ice.

"So I call up the nursing home, and guess what I find out, Patrick? Can you fucking guess?" Pete stands up abruptly, his knuckles white where he's gripping the table, "Your grandma isn't there. She's not there because she's fucking dead, and has been for over five years."

"Pete--" Patrick begins, ready to spill everything right then, right there, but Pete interrupts.

"Don't, Patrick. Just don't," Pete closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. When he opens them again, they're watery.

"I would've understood if you wanted to break it off, but cheating? Really?" Pete's voice is obviously on the edge of breaking and Patrick feels his heart jump into his throat, and he's choking on it, unable to get any words out, "I-I /loved/ you Patrick! You-You can't lead a person on like that and then--then pull something like this!" Pete wipes angrily at his tears, which have begun to run down his face. When Pete begins again, his voice is quiet and utterly wrecked,

"I thought you loved me, Patrick."

"I do!" The words ripped from Patrick's throat, desperate and loud. Tears were threatening to spill onto his face, but he didn't care at this point. All he cared about was getting Pete to understand, because he had it so, so wrong.

"No, I really don't think you do," Pete said quietly, and he grabbed a duffel bag off the couch, "I'm gonna be at my mom's...please don't try to come over. I need to think about some things." Tears were streaming down both of their faces at this point, and Patrick was desperately racking his mind, trying to come up with a way he could get Pete to understand.

Pete pushed past him to open to door, and Patrick tried to catch him before he went out, but he was too late. Pete was already out the door and Patrick was too fucking late.

Patrick stumbled over to the couch to try and get his bearings, to try and make some sense of what just happened. His thoughts were a dull buzz and he wasn't processing anything except Pete's gone and it's all my fault.