I'm the Secret You'll Swear to Keep

/Twenty-Four/

Patrick looks through Pete's drawers, smiling at the Polaroids. When did Pete take these? They're adorable.

Lots look like they were taken at parties, feather boas and comedic signs in the frame. Some are yellowed and bent, probably dating back to his teenage years. He looked so handsome then too.

There are some taken at the agency, some with his dad, some with Brendon or the guys. One even has Joe in it, or who Patrick assumes is Joe.

Patrick spots a few toward the back under a spare pistol. The first one is of Brendon, raisng a red solo cup to the sky. They're partying it seems. The next is of Brendon with his arm around Ryan. With a shirtless Andy is in the back, Patrick starts piecing together that they're at a pool.

One more flip, and his eyes widen. It's of Brendon and Pete, both shirtless and tanning on the chairs. Patrick spends an absurd amount of time staring at Pete's body. He wouldn't have spent all that time if he had just flipped to the next one.

It's of Pete, shirtless again, and fresh out of the pool. His trunks are weighed down with water and rest low and crooked on his hips. He's not smiling, but he's not frowning either. He looks relaxed; lips parted slightly and eyes squinted from the sun in his eyes. Water causes his formerly black hair to slump over his forehead.

Goddamn.

Patrick shifts uncomfortably, fingers running over the photo. Did his jeans just get tighter? Is he really contemplating stealing this photo for himself?

Yes and yes.

Patrick races back off to his room, shutting the door and tugging off his belt. He stares at the photo, eyes glancing greedily at every part of the tan skin. The photo of Pete and Patrick's imagination take him on a pleasurable journey.

He's only a couple moans in when the raid alarm sounds. For a moment, Patrick wants to ignore it. It's fake. A part of him genuinely wants to hide under the sheets and finish up. Can't a guy just masturbate in peace?

No.

The alarms kill his boner, which he's actually thankful for. As he dresses, he can hear some pops from downstairs. His heart sinks, and he starts to panick. Is this real? Is he ready?

Patrick arms himself up, grabbing the Polaroid and stuffing it in his suit. He flings open his door and hurries down the hallway.

Laura was fucking right.

He scrambles down the hall, heart pounding and head on a swivel. He was braver when he wasn't prepared, full of confidence and independence. Now that he has proper training, he knows it's like a landmine out here, and one wrong move could easily kill him.

When he peeks into the stairwell, there's lots of pops and noise from downstairs. The fighting must be on the main and lower levels for the most part. That doesn't stop anyone from coming up to his floor, and Patrick becomes paranoid once more.

He walks quietly down the main hall, looking into the little ones. He keeps his gun in his hand, the metal becoming slippery as his palms sweat.

Patrick bites his lip when he spots a Bloodhound, looking from door to door. This is the hallway his room is on. What if they're looking for him?

Everyone's right, it's too risky for him to be out here. They tried to kill him before, what would stop them from trying again? Maybe he should hide. Pete would want him to hide.

"No way. They still want you."

"I can fend for myself. I've been doing so good."

"Great. You're still not coming."