Archaic ||Peterick||

Mouse on a Linoleum Floor

Pete, like everything else he did, woke up with a bang.

The scent surrounding him wasn't familiar. It smelt of drugs, affairs and cheap cleaning products. There was also the scent that could rival first place on his 'vile smells' chart; money.

Unsurprisingly, he had woken so abruptly due to another nightmare. He tried to remember what his therapist had taught him years back. He shut his eyes and took five deep breaths before slowly letting his eyes flutter open again.

Although he didn't need to breathe anymore, the action was still calming to him. He remembered reading that taking a deep breath really does calm you down by triggering neurons in your brain which tell the body it's time to relax in a science class.

Though Pete didn't know what a neutron was, he understood 'deep breath' and 'relax'.

He tried to recall his nightmare, though it was difficult now that he was fully awake. He did remember a loud lively club, a knife and a hell of a lot of stairs he couldn't run up fast enough. What he was running from, he couldn't remember.

He then noticed an arm lazily draped over his waist, hand resting over his Bartskull tattoo and a light tickle on his neck. He slowly turned around and leapt out of the bed.

There was someone in his bed! Why hadn't he killed them already? Was this person the one that smelt like money and drugs?

Then it came back to him, the shitty club, the pop music, the mind blowing (if he says so himself) sex, the double-edged knife, the car, the motel and smack bang in the middle of it all, Patrick.

Patrick. The Patrick that had threatened to kill him only near hours ago, or so he assumed it was only hours ago. The same Patrick that was soundly sleeping on the ratty bed and would probably continue to sleep if Pete left.

Pete sat on the cold, hard floor just staring at the younger boy for a moment. His ears suddenly perked as he heard an obnoxious ticking.

It was loud in the dead silence of the room. He looked around at the peeling walls and the stained floor on which he sat before pin-pointing the sound as Patrick's extremely old fashioned watch.

He gently crawled over Patricks supposedly unconscious body and checked the time on his annoying watch.

It was barely past midnight. Pete recalled that it had taken them about an hour to drive here, Pete estimated it would hardly take him two to sprint home. He took track in high school.

He, as quietly as he could, which was an equivalent to a hippo walking on a spring mattress, collected his things and shoved them into his old dingy bag. He contemplated looking through Patrick's things before coming to the conclusion it would only end in him hurting himself more.

He glanced at Patrick once more before stealing his orange hoodie. What? It was cold outside. He pulled it on, pulling the hood over his messy, bird nest hair and slung his bag over his shoulder.

He could only imagine what he looked like. His fringe felt fluffy on his forehead, not having straightened it, and he assumed his eyeliner made him look like a panda. Then he remembered something else about his appearance.

He gently touched the scar Patrick had cut into his collarbone with his calloused fingertips and winced. But as much as he hated to admit it, his looks weren't important right now.

Pete pulled himself from his thoughts and tiptoed quiet as a mouse, wearing heels on a linoleum floor, over to the door and turned the squeaky handle.

Pete never had someone to show him how to hunt or feed properly so he used the tactic that had gotten him most things he wanted in life and afterlife. He always hunted through sex.

The only downfall of it was that it lead him to be horrible at sneaking around and the word 'subtle' to not even register in his mind.

Pete grinned and silently cheered, he had one foot in the bedroom and one foot out the door and was yet to be stopped. His euphoria was short lived as he heard a rustling behind him and spun on his heel.

Patrick was standing right behind him, hair messy but, in Petes eyes, extremely hot. Pete froze in place, staring at Patrick and waiting for him to lash out maybe even end his existence on the spot.

The time never came. Patrick crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow.

"Where are you off to this early in the morning?" He asked in a monotone.

Pete puffed out his cheeks and chose his words carefully. "Breakfast...?" He gave Patrick a nervous grin.

"Where were you planning on taking your breakfast?" He cocked his hip to the side, looking like an angry mother.

Petes eyes darted around as if he would spot a huge flashing sign that held the perfect answer.

Said sign didn't exist.

He looked down "um... okay fine! I was going home! This is kidnap, you know! I'm a kid and you've napped me!" He poked Patrick's chest angrily as if it would prove his point.

Patrick barked out an unamused laugh and caught Petes hand.

"First of all, touch me again and see what happens." He growled menacingly, making Pete cower back.

"Secondly, you're only a kid mentally-" he cut off Petes whine with a sharp glare "- and if I might add. You planned to kill me first."

Pete shut his mouth at that. Yes, that's what he'd planned but it wasn't his fault he had to survive. He thought of voicing those thoughts to Patrick but he knew better by now.

He couldn't escape Patrick, he could barely even stay on his good side. He bowed his head and shuffled back into the room, allowing Patrick to click the door shut behind him.

"I still don't see what the purpose of me being here is," he looked down at the floor and shuffled his boots. Said boots made Patrick wonder if Pete had pulled two dead cats over his feet, it was definitely no question they were women's shoes. Come to think of it, they were also women's pants.

"If you know, it won't be any fun. Now do I have to bound and gag you or can I trust you to stay with me and be quiet?"

Pete rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his unhealed chest.

"I'm into some kinky shit but that last part was just rude."

Patrick face palmed. "I swear, you're louder than a pig in purgatory."

It was now Patrick's turn to pack away his things. He did so a lot quicker and quieter than Pete.

"Is that my hoodie?" He turned to glare at Pete, who for some reason looked embarrassed and guilty.

"Maaaybee" he shifted from his tip toes to his heels awkwardly.

Patrick looked him and up and down before giving a curt nod. He hated to admit it but Pete looked cute in his clothes.

"Alright. Come on." He held the door open for the taller boy.