Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

46. Company

It's still hot as hell where I am even though it's September and I am thirsty for cold weather so uhhh here we go. It turned out longer than I intended. Smut. SRAR era.

"Please please please please please don't do this to me this is the last thing I need right now!" Patrick searches through his work bag one more time, but comes up empty.

No keys.

"Fuck." He leans against the door to his apartment and takes a deep breath, willing himself not to cry. His girlfriend of a year broke up with him Monday, and the wound is still fresh. Being locked out of his own home feels like pure salt.

Not to mention it's fucking cold in the hallway. Chicago seems to being going through a cold snap early, and Patrick swears he saw flurries during his lunch break.

Could he have left his keys at the bar at that restaurant?

Maybe they fell out on the train.

God, he hopes not. If they did they're as good as lost. And even if they weren't, he's seen enough to know he probably doesn't want them back.

"Patrick?"

Patrick straightens up and smooths down his sweater out of habit. He looks to his left and is met with Pete, leaning out of his own apartment. He's wrapped up in a loose sweatshirt that looks a little too long on him, hair askew and a concerned look on his face. Patrick's heart skips a beat.

"Hey Pete," he says awkwardly. They've been neighbors for six months, damn it, he shouldn't still be awkward around him, no matter how cute he is.

Pete grins, and Patrick sees the pieces come together in his head. "Locked out?"

"Yeah." Patrick rubs the back of his neck. "Must've left my keys at work."

"That's rough." Pete says helpfully.

Patrick shrugs with a small smile. "What can you do, right?" Patrick shivers and he would bet money the temperature dropped at least five degrees.

"You look cold. Do you want to come inside? Have a drink while you come up with a plan?" Pete asks, stepping further into the hallway.

"Oh, I shouldn't," Patrick says, thinking about how warm Pete looks and how nice it would be to feel that warmth against him.

"It's really not a problem. I was just about to take a break from writing and put on a pot of coffee." Pete smiles. "I'd love some company."

Fuck.

"Well...if you're sure I'm not going to bother you," Patrick relents, stepping closer.

Pete's grin widens. He steps back into his apartment, holding the door open for Patrick.

Pete's apartment isn't quite what Patrick expected. It's fairly clean if you ignore the coffee mugs scattered around, plus the pens and notebooks lying on the ground, but it fits considering Pete makes his living as a freelance writer. There are a lot of movie posters, too, something Patrick thought would be too nerdy for Pete.

"Make yourself at home," Pete says, going to the kitchen. Patrick sits down on the couch, taking a moment to feel the softness of the blanket next to him.

"Cream or sugar?" Pete calls.

"Both, please," Patrick says, folding his hands in his lap. He then takes his bag off and placed it on the floor next to him, since the strap is starting to dig into his shoulder.

"Sorry about the mess, I've been writing like crazy the past couple of days. Cleaning isn't exactly a priority when I'm in the throes of my passion."