The Art Of Reputation (Patrick Verona X Reader) [COMPLETED]

the vulnerable chapter

Trigger warning: mention of r@pe - it's only once but if you want to skip go ahead ❤️

It's New Years Eve, only an hour til the first moment of the next year, and still all these thoughts are whirling about your head. It perhaps doesn't help that you and Patrick have extended your stay from the day after Boxing Day to the day after New Years Day - you hate that his happy family is making you doubt your own, but at the same time you can't help but watch everyone laughing and running about using their presents and eating leftover cake.

Your friend interrupts your daydreaming staring out into the distance by asking, "You wanna go outside for New Years?"
"Why would I wanna do dat?" you ask, and Patrick laughs - it's so obvious to him that you're from the city and never lived in the country, like him.
"So we can watch the stars as we count down to the next year."

"Mm, what a gread ding next year will be for me: examss, more work, looking for good sspeech therapists, applying to dozenss of performance companies. Whoopie," you finish with a deadpan tone and expression, and Patty frowns briefly at the thought of his friend-slash-possible-crush being overwhelmed in areas where he couldn't help you. But only for a quick moment, as immediately afterwards he finds an old tattered blanket he always stargazes on. Shaking it out, he grins at you, and you raise an eyebrow.

"How iss ssat gonna warm us? It'ss freezing here."
He flashes the charming smile again. "Just trust me."
Yes, you think as you follow your friend to the field behind the small house - the whole reason behind never letting anyone see your vulnerable side is so you can trust people, clearly.

A little ways into the field, just far enough to see the lights from the house where the adults are slowly getting drunk off of wine and are making noises loud enough to hear all the way over here, Patrick lays out the blanket. He gestures in a gentlemanly way for you to sit down first and you give a perfect impersonation of a girl who cares about chivalry before lying down on the blanket on your back.

Patrick chuckles at you just straight-up plonking yourself down and follow suit, lying next to you and looking at the clusters of stars you're surveying.

Neither of you know how long you lie there together, silent, staring at the night sky, but at some point you hear the ten-second countdown being shouted from the house.
You don't move a muscle, opting instead to close your eyes and whisper along, and Patrick decides to do what you're doing and whispers with you.

"Four, three, two, one... Happy New Year y/n."
"Happy new year, Paddy Cakes."
He snorts half-heartedly at his affectionate nickname, and the two of you go back to watching the sky. You can hear in the distance the popping of bottles and indignant shouts from children who are doubtless being accosted with drunk sloppy kisses on the cheeks.

You tear you eyes away from the night to glance at Patrick. He doesn't make any attempt to ask if you can join up with the adults now, or try to kiss you as is tradition. He doesn't do anything; he just pays attention to the sky.

Perhaps that's what you need, you think - perhaps you just need someone who will pay attention to you, care about you, help you decide what kind of person to be going on into life.

You take a deep breath, and remind yourself that the first step to getting over anything is to talk about it.

"It'ss not really me," you confess as you look back up at the night sky, not wanting to see his reaction. Patrick looks to you in silent curiosity, but you continue to stare at the stars that are so far away but seem so close. Or maybe that's just you.

"I mean, it is me now, I've done everytthing people ssay, and I don't act like someone I'm not - but it'ss only sso people can leave me alone. After I... I got raped ad 14 by the guy who left the sschool, Thomas Milbourne, and I don't want anyone finding out thad part. So I made de persson everyone ssees in the corridors actually genuinely me - sso people won't try and find out about de past me and try to make me feel bad about myself."

"Oh, y/n, I'm so sorry," Patrick murmurs. He hesitates before stroking your hair gently, pushing strands out of your face with his slender fingers that feel so soft on your skin.

You shift so your entire body is facing him, curled up into a foetus position as if nothing more could hurt you if you're wound up in a ball, and survey him.
"You're differend than everyone else. You don't make fun of my accent or lissp, unlesss we're in a fighd; you have my back and I have yours. I really like you; you're an amazing friend. Id's like... you're my besst friend, but if you wanted do go out with me I wouldn'd mind, but if you didn'd I'd be fine with that too, cuz I jusst want do be around you all de time, just be one of your favourite people. Does dat make ssense?"

He looks into your eyes, his own glinting in the starlight, and he smiles softly. "I feel the same, Y/n, though it's hard to explain. It's like... I don't actively want to be your boyfriend, but if you asked I wouldn't say no. I just want to be with you, I guess. Any way would be good. I bet there's a name for it - I'll look it up when we get home."

"Dere's a word for everyding dese days," you mumble a little incoherently, still looking into his warm eyes and trying to figure out what you two are.

He chuckles softly, trying to carefully lean away from your confession to stop you looking so scared at your vulnerability, and takes out a hand and delicately traces your jawline. Despite what you just talked about, about Thomas, you feel completely at ease with Patrick being so close to you, stroking your hair, touching you...

Kissing you...

When you eventually part lips, both of you barely breathing, the first thing you do is smile at each other breathlessly.
He takes your hand and places it over his outsize knitted Christmas jumper, over his heart, and whispers, "No matter what we are together, what we do, what happens to us and where we go, we will always be connected somehow."

His eyes catch the starlight again, making them almost glow, and you nod silently with a sweet smile on your face.

As you go upstairs into his bedroom, lock the door with a chair wedged against it just in case, and connect tenderly in more ways than one, you thought to yourself how wonderful it is to have a person whom you can be completely yourself around.