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damagereportA couple of months into the school year, Patrick was regularly spending lunchtimes in one of the music rooms, fiddling around with the instruments, trying to figure out how to play them. He was really into the drums. He liked battering the crap of something while he pretended he didn't care that the only person who ever talked to him was one dude in Biology who made lame jokes and tried to get him chatting when he really didn't have anything to say. He was actually just finding the guy annoying, now.
One afternoon he was sitting at the kit drumming along to tracks on his headphones, when two 12th graders walked in. He dropped the sticks in embarrassment and quickly gathered his things, apologising. Smartest thing: act humble, make a swift exit, not get head kicked in. He made for the door, but one of the older boys grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.
"What's the fucking rush, dude?"
"I have to – I have – " I'm going to die. Right now.
"You're pretty decent."
"I'm... hang on a second, what?"
"You been playing long?"
"...No."
"Seriously?"
"I don't even own a kit."
The other boy folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, staring at the guy whose hand was still wrapped around Patrick's arm.
"You ever been in a band?"
"I don't even – "
"Listen, man, we need a drummer – "
"Our other guy's kind of unreliable, we're kicking him out."
"You wanna try out?"
"Um. Not really..."
"'Not really'?"
"Well, I mean – I'd like to and everything, but I don't even... I just sit in here some lunchbreaks, y'know?"
"If you're that good from dicking around in the music room 'some lunchbreaks' you're pretty fucking cool, man."
Patrick blushed and shrugged.
"We'll see you tomorrow, after last period, okay? Right here."
Patrick really didn't have the balls to argue.
---
The day Cathie and Richard finally agreed to let Joseph try contact lenses, they took him to the optician after school as a surprise. He was such a beautiful boy but even as his mother, Cathie had to admit that the bottle-bottom glasses didn't flatter him at all. He'd gotten so quiet in the past couple of months, and they wanted to cheer him up; her hope was that getting rid of his glasses would boost his confidence and he'd start making friends.
The first thing he said, when the got back into the car, was, "Mom, can I borrow your cell to call Patrick?"
Baby steps.
Both she and Richard listened as subtly as they could as Joe spoke to his friend on the phone.
"Hey! Hey – dude, guess what, man! My parents let me get lenses!" There was a pause for Patrick's response. "...yeah. Well, do you want to like come over? We can probably pick you up – right mom? Huh? You're...? Oh." Another long pause. Richard gave her a sidelong look. "When will you be done? Oh... like... yeah. I guess. Sure. B... bye."
He didn't say another thing, he just switched off the phone and held it out over Cathie's shoulder for her to take.
"Is everything okay, honey?" she asked, tucking it back into her purse.
Joe just nodded and stared out of the window for the rest of the ride home.
---
Richard stood at the kitchen window, watching his son idle back and forth in the tyre swing, the toes of his sneakers dragging in the dirt. He was miserable. Very obviously so. And naturally, as a parent, Richard wanted to do something – to make his boy feel better; put things right – but his son was fourteen years old and he was fully aware that the only thing that would cheer him up was something he couldn't really provide.
Perhaps it was time for a talk. Father to son. Man to... fourteen year old.
He shook his head and made his way out into the yard, picking up one of the plastic garden chairs as he went and placing it down under the tree the rope swing hung from. Joe just lifted his head a little from where it had been resting on the arms he had wrapped around the swing, and turned to face him.
"Is dinner ready?"
"No, not quite," Richard replied, making himself comfortable. "I just thought I'd come out here and, well... hang down with my son for a while."
Joe almost smiled. "Hang out, dad."
"Don't mind if I do."
Joe just buried his face in his arms again.
"So. How's school?"
"Lame."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"Wh - "
"Because I have to go to this stupid place just because you did and I hate it. Everyone else sucks. I have nobody to talk to. My best friend is like, he has a band, now and he doesn't have time to hang out with me..."
"A band? Really?"
"Yes! And like, if he wanted to form a band, he could have asked me, dad. I've been helping him kind of learn guitar forever and now he's playing drums anyway..."
"Well, why don't you ask him?"
"But he's already in a band, now. And everyone else is like - they nearly finished school, so they're totally cooler than me and he's going to be really popular and totally forget about me!"
"Don't be silly, now. You've known Patrick twice as long as you didn't know him - "
"That's not the point!"
"Son, I don't believe a good kid like Patrick is going to abandon you just because he makes new friends."
"Do you see him right now?"
"No, but - "
"Exactly, dad. Exactly. I so knew this would happen." Joe got up from the swing and skulked into the house.
It hadn't entirely gone the way Richard had planned.
---
When Patrick emailed Joe and asked if he wanted to hang out at the weekend, Joe only hit two keys in response.
---
Patrick did something the next day that he'd never envisioned himself doing. He cut his last class and caught the bus to New Trier's Northfield campus.
Joe almost didn't see him sitting on the wall at the school gate and Patrick had to hop up and grab his arm as he walked out.
"Joe!"
Joe jerked back in surprise before he realised who had grabbed him, and yanked out his earphones. "What are you doing here?" he asked, looking around them as people gave Patrick curious double-takes.
"I... I don't really know."
"How did you even get here? You have class until ten minutes from now, man – "
"Yeah, I know. I know... and I have a best friend who's pissed with me and it's kind of shitty."
Joe sighed and looked off across the parking lot. His mother wouldn't be picking him up – the campus was too close to home – so he couldn't say he had to go.
"How's, like... how's the band?" Joe asked finally, and he sounded like he was trying not to sulk as he stuffed his headphones into his bag and shifted around awkwardly.
"Um. Okay, I guess. We've only had about four practises."
"Right..."
"How's, um. How's school?"
"Pretty lame, basically..."
"Me too."
"Seriously?" Joe actually seemed surprised and kind of sceptical, like he thought that because Patrick was assing around with some older kids he was suddenly Living The Dream.
"Seriously! Dude... there's just that obnoxious kid in my science class and these guys way older than me who just care about hardcore and girls... probably not even in that order. It bites. Like, properly hardcore, man. And we so, so need to start thinking about how the hell we're getting into the same college, because four years of this is going to suck more balls than a Bangkok ladyboy."
Joe smiled a little and shrugged, "Maybe you'll be famous by then anyway. With this band thing."
"Okay, so we're called 'Public Display of Infection'. We're not going to get outside of Glenview, dude. No one is even gonna be signing us for weddings or Bar Mitzvah's."
"I dunno, dude... if the snippy part goes wrong I guess it'd be kind of suitable for the last one..."
"Oh man – that's totally gross!" Patrick laughed, and punched him in the arm. "So, so gross."
Grinning, Joe shoved him back lightly and asked, "So, like... now you're here and stuff, do you want to, like... hang out or something?"
"Yeah, so long as you're not going to make me bang like crazy in a room filled with pictures of half-naked women..."
Joe just looked at him. "That like... didn't come out right, did it?"
---
The problem they had was that there were not enough hours in the day for school, homework, chores, family, bands and hanging out. Something had to go. Which was why both of them started to skip classes. It started out just as an occasional thing; once or twice in a couple of weeks. Then maybe once or twice a week. Then whole days.
By Patrick's fifteenth birthday, they'd gotten pretty good at the excuses and covering themselves. Patrick's mom was always too busy to notice and Joe's own parents were pretty much convinced he was the most wonderful child in the universe and would never do anything so terrible as to skip class! Sometimes, he felt guilty for lying to them, but if they hadn't let his grandparents dictate where he went to school, he'd see Patrick every day anyway.
Plus, neither of them were dumb. They could get by with borrowed class notes from the kind-of-friends they'd eventually made and actually reading their text books – which was more than the rest of their classmates bothered to do anyway. Patrick actually got an A- for one test and he'd missed all the lessons on the topic.
The days they skipped were just spent hanging out. Making up for lost time. Playing computer games, watching films, playing guitar; ironically, they even spent a couple of afternoons doing homework. It wasn't like they were running around the city getting high or shoplifting. They just wanted to be together. That was all.
---
Patricia was surprised to find Joe already sitting on the floor in Patrick's bedroom when she got home from work. They – she and her ex-husband – were supposed to be taking the three boys out for Patrick's birthday dinner. Joe was sleeping over, but they were supposed to be picking him up on the way.
"Oh... hi, honey – I didn't know you were here..."
"Hi, Mrs Patty," Joe replied, waving vaguely and hammering at the keys on the computer controller. He's always called her that, ever since he was five. He'd never been able to pronounce 'Stumph', so she suggested he call her 'Patty'; he'd just become confused and she'd ended up as Mrs Patty ever since. She'd never met another child from whom such a ridiculous name had made as much sense.
Patrick had always called Joe's mother 'Cathie'. Cathie always treated him like a favourite nephew. After all, they were like extended family, now – ten years on.
"Joe, sweetheart, do you have your things for tonight, or do we need to take you home first?"
"I have my stuff, it's cool, thanks."
"Well, we need to be there for seven thirty, so you two get a move on, okay?"
The boys nodded in perfect synch and continued to play their game.
---
It was a long time since Patrick had last been in a locker room with Joe. Eight or nine months: from just turning fourteen to coming up fifteen. Usually, if they slept over each other's houses it was a case of dump jeans, get in sleeping bag; get up, shower and dress in bathroom. This time, they were going to a respectable establishment and there were things to be done, such as shaving. Patrick didn't really need to shave – his hair was so fair that even if it had been marginally hairier than a baby's butt (and it wasn't), it would barely have noticed.
Joe, on the other hand, despite being four months younger than Patrick, was busily sprouting what he self-consciously called his Jewfuzz. He already needed to shave at least every other day, and Patrick tried not to be jealous as he sat on the edge of the bath and watched him self-consciously scraping through the thick white creme on his face.
Patrick made a point of watching him shave, because if he didn't watch his hands as he talked to him, Patrick started noticing the way he wasn't entirely as gangly anymore. His shoulders were broader, slightly. He didn't look so much like a bushbaby lately, either – all huge eyes and soft, rounded features. He was actually, kind of, starting to look like a grown up. He even had pretty good skin, for a teenager – although that was something Patrick could definitely say was on his side. His own skin hadn't received the puberty memo any more than his facial hair had.
He kept finding his eyes drifting across to Joe's back, watching his shoulders and feeling suddenly under-developed and childlike. He couldn't stop staring.
"Dude, I am doing it right!" Joe told him edgily, jabbing him in the calf with his foot. "I don't need a supervisor..."
"Huh? Oh. Oh... um..." Patrick stood up, quickly, "Um. Sorry. I'll be in my room." He made a hasty escape, feeling slightly like a peeping tom. Which was kind of weird, because there were occasions in kindergarten when they'd been stuck in the same bath together...
Once in his room, Patrick started picking up stuff off his bed – he was half dressed already, just needed to put his shirt on over his t-shirt, really – and his hand fell on Joe's Slayer tee. He picked it up and was about to throw it onto his rucksack on the floor but somehow en route managed to get lost and wound up with it pressed against his nose. It smelled like Joe. Like the fabric softener his mom had been using for years, and weirdly like watermelon mixed in with deodorant. And Joe. Just Joe; just that weird smell that used to be a lot more like Crayola and cupcakes and a lot less like Lynx.
Halfway into a contented smile, Patrick realised he was sniffing his best friend's shirt and felt kind of creepy.
He felt even creepier after Joe had gone home on the Sunday night, and Patrick found himself curled on his side, the secretly squirreled away shirt fisted in one hand, the other hand inside his boxers.
---
Patrick was acting weird. He didn't know how to describe it, and he couldn't even really figure out how to define it, but Joe could feel it. Sometimes, Joe would be talking and Patrick seemed to take an extra half-second to react. Or, Joe would lean near him and he'd flinch.
He kind of wanted to ask what was wrong, but he was afraid of finding out that he'd talked in his sleep or something – freaked him out. Because that was perfectly plausible, considering pretty much every dream he had lately featured Patrick and making out in some capacity. It was just because he was At That Age. Teachers kept reminding them of that in biology lessons. "During this phase some people may become confused about their sexuality, or find themselves attracted to a member of their own sex..."
Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever. He got the idea. And every time it was mentioned in class people just looked at each other a little more suspiciously and started panicking when they knocked some dude's hand on the way to the door. Every time it was mentioned, it also felt a whole lot like the entire room was staring directly at him, knowing that he was waking up with sticky sheets and thoughts of his best friend.
He started to stay awake as long as possible when they slept over, afraid that if Patrick wasn't being weird because of that, it was only a matter of time before he was being weird because of that. It got to the stage where, one night, as Patrick slept in Joe's bed, Joe climbed out of his sleeping bag and dragged the whole thing downstairs to sleep on the couch instead.
When his mother woke him up at 8am, he went back upstairs to find Patrick sitting on his pillows, hugging his knees and looking pale.
"Hey..." Joe tried, bundling the sleeping bag against his stomach. "Sleep okay?"
Patrick was suddenly nowhere near as pale as he had been. "Um... where did you go?"
"You were, um... kind of snoring or something, dude..."
"Sorry."
"No – no, it's cool..."
Patrick just nodded. Joe dumped his sleeping bag by the closet and went to sit next to his best friend.
"So, like... are you okay, dude?"
"I think I should go home or something."
"But it's like eight in the morning..."
There was a little huff of laughter and Patrick rubbed is face. "Yeah, I guess."
"I figured we'd be like, hanging out today."
"Yeah."
He was being weird again. But Joe knew, this time, that there was no way he'd been overheard talking in his sleep or anything like that at all... He just didn't get it.
"Are you okay, dude?" he tried, not looking at him, but tugging at the elasticated band around his sock. "Because I don't... I guess... I mean, this is getting kind of awkward..."
"Sorry..."
"You don't have to keep apologising, man... just tell me if something's wrong, okay? I mean, we've been best friends practically forever and stuff. If you can't tell me, kind of like... who can you tell?" Joe really hoped that for all his bravery, if the problem was anything like what he feared it was, he wouldn't have told anyone at all.
"Are you seriously telling me you don't know?"
"Um... yeah? If I knew I'd stop asking and do something about it."
Patrick gave another uncomfortable laugh and started to shift on to his knees so he could crawl off the bed.
And it was just getting ridiculous, now, so Joe grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Patrick – "
"Dude! Stop touching me all the time!"
Joe jerked his hand back and felt his face beginning to burn. "I... I'm sorry, man, I don't... I'm not doing it on purpose..."
Patrick's shoulders slumped heavily and he sat back on his heels. He so knew. He so knew that Joe had dreams about him and stuff. This was totally horrible.
"I can't just..." Patrick shrugged limply. "It makes things complicated."
Swallowing, Joe nodded and stood up, looking for yesterday's jeans. "Sorry."
"It's not even your fault..."
"It won't like... I won't do it any more, it's fine."
Patrick let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud and closed his eyes.
---
"I've been meaning to ask you, actually – did something happen when Patrick stayed at yours a couple of weeks ago? He's... he won't even talk about Joe."
Cathie sighed and shook her head against the receiver. "I don't know... I got up on the Saturday morning and Joe was sleeping on the couch. Patrick still in the bedroom... I assumed they had a fight."
"Oh..."
"Joe's being a little bit of a grouch about it, to tell you the truth. I think he misses Patrick, but doesn't want to be the first to apologise."
"Oh, well, Patrick's Taurean. Tell him not to expect an apology. He'll be waiting until the Sun burns out!"
Cathie laughed a little. "Could you have imagined us having this conversation, knowing the way we were ten years ago?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Maybe we should set them up, or something? You could bring Patrick over and we can just leave them to work things out by themselves."
"You can lead a horse to water, honey..."
"True."
---
For a month, Patrick got by just ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach when he checked his emails or the messages on the little chalkboard over the phone in the kitchen, and there was nothing from Joe. He shut himself in his room, when he could get out of doing things like band practice, and curled up with his stolen t-shirt or tried to write lame songs about how confused and miserable he felt. They were never very good.
Then, one day, he came home from school and walked into his room to find his laundry stacked on his bed. On the very top, with one of his mother's pale lilac note squares on it, was Joe's Slayer t-shirt.
'This needs to be returned to Joe.'
Patrick was horrified. What if she knew? What if Joe had told his mom and Cathie had told Patrick's? And to his dismay, she'd actually washed it. It smelled like his own clothes. Nothing like Joe at all – he was just the faintest trace on it, now. How could she?! He needed that shirt!
Clutching it in both hands, he sat down beside his laundry and started at it. He really missed Joe. Really missed him. The idea that Joe was weirded out by him, now, sort of made him want to break things. Or cry. Or maybe both. It wasn't as though he'd chosen this! He wanted his best friend back, and for it not to be awkward and weird or always wind up with Joe looking at him funny. It wasn't fair.
Especially because the only one who could change it was Patrick himself.
---
Joe was washing his dad's car in the drive on Saturday afternoon when he looked up to find Patrick fumbling in the side pocket of his shorts, by the mailbox. He couldn't see Joe from where he was – Joe was watching him through the windows on both sides of the car. His heart was racing. He wanted to rush over and say 'hi', hug him, maybe. Instead, he just peeked out from around the vehicle.
"Patrick?"
Patrick froze for a second, shoving something into the mailbox, and turned to look over at him.
"What're you doing?"
"Um. Just... just returning something. I'm leaving, don't worry."
"But - !" He couldn't just show up and then run off! They hadn't even spoken to each other in weeks and Joe just wanted to apologise for making him uncomfortable with all the touching stuff. They'd always been touchy-feely – always. He didn't realise anything had changed until Patrick got upset about it, and he really didn't want Patrick to stop being his best friend. It didn't even seem fair. Patrick couldn't just get mad at him without warning him that he was doing anything wrong. "Wait – don't go, yet!"
Patrick stopped, his bike hiked up on one wheel to turn it around. He just looked at him.
"Are you still mad at me?"
"Huh?"
"Is that a yes? Because this is like... really unfair."
"Mad at you?" Patrick echoed, looking confused. "I'm... why would I be mad at you? You're mad at me!"
"No, I'm not!"
"Yes, you are – you don't have to pretend, man, I totally get it... and I mean... it sucks, but I get it. I just want you to not be."
"Dude... I'm not mad at you. You just kind of ran out on me – I figured you like..." Joe looked around and lowered his voice. "You told me to stop touching you, dude."
"Because it's awkward! I didn't mean - "
"It was never awkward before."
"Because it didn't make me – " Patrick stopped abruptly and turned red. "Forget it."
"Why? What were you gonna say?"
"Nothing. I'm going home."
There was a soft splat as Joe threw the soaked sponge in his hand at Patrick's shoulder.
"You dick!" Patrick dropped his bike and stomped over to the bucket of grubby water.
"Don't!"
Patrick swung the bucket hard and drenched Joe all down one side.
"ASSHOLE!" Joe was already going for the hose.
---
Cathie looked out the window in alarm, when she heard the yelling from the front yard. She smiled when she saw the two teenage boys wrestling for the hose, each soaked to the skin.
"Thank God."
She had been beginning to give up hope.
---
"Thanks," Patrick mumbled, taking the towel from Joe's hands and dropping it on the side of the bath as he peeled off his t-shirt. It was clinging to the skin disgustingly. He hated the feel of wet material.
"You've got grass on the back of your neck," Joe told him, dropping his own shirt into the laundry basket and brushing at him. He stopped abruptly when Patrick blushed. "Um... sorry. I forgot about the not touching thing... sorry."
"It's fine," Patrick replied, rubbing at it himself.
"Y'know... my science teacher is always saying it's just a phase..."
"What is?"
"The like... the whole thing. I'll grow out of it. Then you don't have to feel weird about me any more..."
Patrick wasn't completely sure what he was talking about, but he was suddenly really regretting ever telling Joe not to touch him. He couldn't exactly retract that, now – it'd sound totally gay. He just shrugged. "I don't feel weird."
"You do. You like... you act weird, anyway."
"Well, it's just kind of embarrassing, dude. I mean... the whole growing up thing sucks."
"You're telling me?!"
Patrick smirked and tentatively started to dry himself off.
"I don't get why things that were okay in middle school aren't okay now. It's not like anything changed."
There was really no way to say, 'Except I didn't jerk off thinking about you, in middle school.' He shrugged again, and nodded. Joe's teacher was right. This was so a phase.
The next thing he knew, there was a hand resting gently on his shoulder and Joe was kissing him on the cheek.
"What are you doing?"
"Testing."
"Um..."
"Like, it used to be okay to hold your hand... and kind of... kiss you and stuff."
"You still want to do that?" Patrick asked, feeling his mouth go very dry.
Joe didn't say anything.
"Do you?" Patrick tried again. Because that would be so, so superweird... and also, so, so fucking awesome.
"I'm gonna get you a t-shirt," Joe muttered and walked out of the room. Patrick followed him.
"I would."
"What?"
"Y'know: it'd be weird. Really weird. But I would. And I mean, I know people are totally not going to get that it's, y'know: it's just us and whatever. But I would. If you wanted. Probably."
"Well, like... if you want."
Patrick tried to feign nonchalance and said, "If you were a chick, we'd be dating by now."
"If I was? Why can't you be the girl?"
"Because it was my analogy."
Joe just looked at him.
"I can negotiate."
There wasn't an actual response, but after an awkward, nose-bumping moment, there was a little kissing instead.
It was definitely going to take some practice.
---
If Joe were to blog his reaction to that afternoon, it would have been nothing but incoherent keymashing.
Apparently, kissing Patrick was okay, now (it was more than 'okay', as far as Joe was concerned: it was totally awesome). Patrick wasn't creeped out. He didn't think Joe was weird. They hadn't really drawn any parameters for when kissing Patrick was okay, but Joe hoped that the answer was Quite Often. He kept touching at his chest where he could remember what Patrick's felt like, all warm against him. He felt breathless, and like he wanted to run around in circles and jump on his bed at the same time.
They didn't make out – that would probably be taking it out of the realms of Really Special Friends to, Kind of Gay, Dude – it was just kissing. And seriously, they'd shared stuff and done things together all of their lives, pretty much, why should they stop now?
He went to sleep with a smile on his face for the first time in weeks.
---
That summer was probably the happiest of Patrick's life. No school, no paranoia about his friendship with Joe, minimal awkwardness about being so close. They'd come through the first year of high school relatively unscathed, so there wasn't much to worry about. They just got on with it. Joe met his band, and admitted that they seemed okay. He even came to a couple of tiny shows they played, although the other guys eyed him strangely and one asked if "that kid's on something". Other people just didn't get Joe the way Patrick did. So what if he was goofy and kind of shy? He was smart and interesting and Patrick wouldn't have wanted him to be any other way.
By the time they started sophomore year, Patrick thought there was nothing left for him to worry about – at least for a while. He hadn't banked on Joe returning to school and meeting some kid called Andrew in the year above, whose older brother was in a band. Or six. Suddenly, Joe was spending time with him after classes, in some kind of club, and he started mentioning him a lot. 'Andrew says...', 'Oh – Andrew and I were hanging out and...'
Patrick didn't like Andrew. And he was pretty sure that if he ever actually met him, he'd really hate him.
So when they were chatting on IM, one evening, and Joe posted an exchange from another conversation to show him, Patrick really started to get annoyed.
Trohoho84 (20:19:18): skulldoodle (20:15:01): Peter has a show tommorow
Trohoho84 (20:15:08): Cool
skulldoodle (20:15:37): Want 2 come?
skulldoodle (20:16:44): He says u soundc ool
skulldoodle (20:16:57): cool.
Trohoho84 (20:17:41): am I old enuogh?
skulldoodle (20:18:01): yes but ur with me neway
Trohoho84 (20:20:03): do u think i should go?
XstumpyX (20:23:57): up 2 u.
Trohoho84 (20:24:34): pETE is way cool
XstumpyX (20:25:02): lucky Pete.
Trohoho84 (20:25:34): i think im g
Trohoho84 (20:25:48): onna go
XstumpyX signed off at 20:26:13.
---
Patricia lifted her eyes from her magazine and looked toward the ceiling as a door slammed violently. She sighed heavily and shook her head.
"Here we go again..."
---
The room was dark and slightly smoky when Joe walked in behind Andrew, feeling like he probably shouldn't be there. Like he was going to be caught and thrown out. But in the main hall where the stage stood, already set up and waiting, there were other kids. Most of them looked older than Joe, but he felt a little bit – just a little – like maybe he was in the right place, after all.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, self-conscious of the large black Xes recently scrawled on them. They made him feel really young – at least until he saw a dude of about 25 with large, ornate Xes tattooed just above his wristbones.
Suddenly, Andrew had jerked back and was making alarmed gurgling noises with a dude's arm hooked around his neck as he rubbed his knuckles into his scalp.
"PETE GET THE FUCK OFF!" he yelled, punching the guy in the arm a few times until he was released, and suddenly looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"Pussy," Pete snorted, pinching his cheek roughly, instead.
Andrew just elbowed him and said, "Pete. This is Joe. Joe, this is my asshole brother, Peter."
"Hi," Joe nodded self-consciously, because Pete was clearly much older than him and he was good looking and radiated cool like some kind of beacon.
Pete just looked at him with a half-smile on his face for a while, and then tilted his head. "First gig?"
"No," Joe told him, rolling his eyes like it was the stupidest idea ever. It wasn't his first gig – Patrick's first show had been his first gig; this just happened to be about four times the size of the only venues he'd ever been to. With a lot more college age kids around.
"So, who are you into or whatever?"
Joe blushed, thinking that any band he could possibly mention would probably be uncool and make him look like an idiot. "Pretty much everything," he shrugged, looking away. "I'm pretty into old skool metal and stuff..."
"Seriously?"
"Um... yeah?"
"You don't look the type, kind of."
"Sorry."
Pete gazed at him for a minute and then broke into a huge grin that exposed a large number of disturbingly white teeth.
"Come with me. I want to introduce you to someone."
---
Patrick did not enjoy being woken up early on Saturday mornings, so when he was jumped on by an irrationally excited best friend at ten in the morning, he started the day in a bad mood.
"Dude! Dude, wake up!" Joe was grinning, ruffling his hair wildly.
"Get bent," Patrick complained, pulling his pillow over his head and trying to go back to sleep. He'd have to bitch at him mom for letting Joe in, later.
"Oh – my shirt!" Joe said suddenly, sitting back and picking it up. "This is the one I gave you when we had the water fight, right?"
Patrick lifted his pillow and looked at the shirt in his hands apprehensively. "Oh. Yeah." How the fuck did he explain that it was under his pillow?
"Cool. You can keep it if you want. I think you pretty much like, won it..."
Patrick didn't respond.
"But dude – you're not gonna believe this – "
"We have to go back to 1955?"
"Hah. No. Yesterday! It was totally fucking awesome!"
Patrick's pillow went back over his head and he mumbled, "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, man! Pete is so, so cool – and he has this friend called Hurley who plays drums and he's like insanely smart and you'd so love them, man!"
"Good to know."
"You would! You have to meet them or something. Pete's like... he's like an asshole, but it's just to be funny and Andy – that's Hurley's other name – Andy's like... he's vegetarian and he's an anarchist and he has some totally amazing tattoos. They're like... man! He showed me this one on his chest for his mom and it's like huge."
"Smart."
"And it was so cool, because after they played they took me and Andrew into the backstage room – which was basically just like this one room with graffiti and stuff on the walls and everybody's kit in there – and I kind of jammed with them and stuff. Andy thinks I'm pretty good, and he says I should come to more shows! How amazing is this, dude?"
"Amazing. Right. Can you go away and let me sleep?" Patrick snapped, even though Joe would have cycled all the way to his house first thing on a Saturday morning to tell him this, and was obviously really excited.
"Huh?"
Patrick lifted his pillow and scowled up at him. "It's Saturday. I'm tired. I want to sleep. Go."
Joe blinked down at him and climbed off the bed. "Sorry. I just... I wish you'd been there, dude – it was amazing. You have to come next time."
Next time. Already 'next time'. Fuck them all.
"Seriously. I want you to come. You'll like it, I know you will. And I mean, if they like me, they'll definitely like you!"
"Don't count on it."
"They will! You're pretty much cooler than any of them anyway, because I mean – you're only fifteen and you're in a band. They're all like, way older."
Patrick just looked at him from half under his pillow, trying to figure out if Joe was just saying that, because it made his stomach all twisty to hear it.
Joe crawled back onto the bed again and elbowed him until he moved over, laying down on the blankets next to him.
"One day, if you ever stop being in PDI, we should like, do a band together... it'd be awesome."
---
"So, when do we get to meet this little buddy of yours, or whatever?" Pete asked around a mouthful of pizza, the day before New Year's Eve.
"He's kind of shy," Joe shrugged, reaching for a slice while Andy grimaced and peeled the cheese from his own, muttering about 'fucking animal products, man'.
"I'm not that fucking scary!" Pete laughed, kicking Andy when he looked at him dubiously.
"I just... like, don't take this the wrong way, dude, but I don't think he wants to. You're my friends, you know, and... he's kind of weird about it. I don't really know his friends, either."
Pete just looked at him curiously, chewing.
"How long have you known this guy again?" Andy asked, carefully putting pieces of vegetable back on the pizza base.
"Forever, basically."
For some reason, Pete always grinned when Joe said things with prominent 's' sounds in them. It was kind of annoying.
"Since kindergarten. Our moms are like best friends, too."
"Do you still actually have anything in common, kind of? 'Cause I don't think I'd even fucking know what to say to someone I knew in kindergarten."
"He's my best friend," Joe shrugged. "I know him like, better than anyone else on the planet, pretty much. It's like, my whole life that I can remember, he's been there. And we're just into the same stuff. He's... pretty awesome, I guess." He didn't mention the part about the kissing and holding hands.
"Are you like, in love with this dude or something, man?" Pete teased. "You fucking talk about him all the time."
Joe flipped him off, but he knew he was blushing. It may have been a stupid question, but he could still remember the days when people called them fags in Elementary school and he didn't want to go back there. They weren't fags – they just didn't see the point of girls, that was all.
"So, if you like, started dating some chick he wouldn't get pissy?"
"Patrick gets pissy when I hang out with anyone that isn't Patrick."
"Oooh, possessive, huh?"
"Fuck off, dude."
Pete just laughed, but now Joe was thinking about it and that wasn't cool.
---
Kevin was getting ready to pick up some girl for a New Year's Eve party when Patrick bumped into him, half-dressed, ironing his shirt in the kitchen.
"Woah, dude, she must be special if you're actually ironing shit."
"Not that you'd know anything about girls or anything," Kevin retorted, squirting him with the water in the spray bottle.
"Dick. And seriously, man, girls are way too much trouble. I have better things to do with my time."
"Like Joe?"
"Yes, actually – he thinks they're as much as a waste of time as I do. Because they are."
"I meant Joe is one of the things you have to do with your time, stooopid."
"That's not even funny."
"True, though."
"Whatever."
"Okay, so – who do you spend all your time with?"
"Joe. Obviously."
"And who is the first person you tell when something cool happens."
"Joe. Because he's my best friend."
"Who do you take to the movies when something comes out that you wanna see?"
"Generally speaking, Joe wants to see them too, so..."
"If me and Joe are hanging off a cliff, who do you save first."
"Joe. He's lighter than you and he can help pull you up. That's a fucking dumb question."
"I hate to break this to you, little brother, but you're one game of tonsil hockey from Joe being your girlfriend."
Patrick picked up his soda and flipped him off as he left the room. They'd already done the tonsil hockey. Normally, when they kissed it was just vague little pecks. Occasionally there'd be a little, tiny bit of tongue, but nothing intense. And then, one afternoon it'd had just gone a little further. Gotten a little more intense. It wasn't supposed to happen and Patrick had put it down to the vast quantities of sugar they'd consumed; they didn't talk about it afterward and they sure as hell didn't label it 'Making Out'. It was just a pretty steep learning curve.
But what if... what if Kevin was right and what they were doing wasn't exactly within the realms of Really Close Friends, anymore? What then? Should they stop? Should Patrick just be really careful about not letting it go too far? Did Joe think that Patrick was pushing for more than he should have been? Shit.
How could he ask about something they didn't even talk about? 'Oh, by the way, Joe, am I, y'know, making you feel weird when I stick my tongue down your throat? And anyway, can we stop doing this thing we never talk about because I'm scared it's kind of making us gay?'
That wouldn't sound at all stupid, would it? No, he'd just have to back off. And back off carefully, because the last thing he needed was the whole No Touching thing to rear its head again. He wished he'd never said a word to Kevin, now.
---
Cathie was sitting in the kitchen, writing out her husband's Valentine's card at the table, when Joe walked in looking for a snack. He wandered over and looked at the card, opening a packet of chips.
"You still send each other those?" he asked, sounding like he thought it was totally inappropriate for people of their age to be at all romantic.
"Yes, believe it or not, we do."
"Oh."
"You know," she began, smiling as she remembered, "this would be ten years since you got into trouble at kindergarten for sending a certain little boy a card."
Joseph blushed and put down his chips on the top of the fridge while he poured himself some juice.
"I hope you've bought him something," she teased.
"Yeah, mom, I got him like, a dozen roses and like, super expensive chocolates," Joe told her, completely deadpan. "But I ate them. And the chocolates melted."
"Gosh, Patty's going to have a heartbroken young man on her hands tomorrow!"
"Oh, in that case, get me the paste and I'll make him a card," he replied, smirking at her over his glass.
"I will."
"Funny."
"I'll bet Patrick would think so!" Cathie laughed, standing up and kissing his forehead as she edged past.
Twenty minutes later, Joe wandered into the living room and nonchalantly asked, "Hey, mom? Where do you like, keep Sammy's art stuff?"
---
It seemed kind of dumb to be nervous about giving Patrick the card, because it was just a joke. Patrick would totally get it.
Except, when they got upstairs to his room, and Joe pulled it out of his bag – there was no envelope because it was handmade and didn't fit into them even if he'd had one – Patrick turned a really weird colour and laughed nervously.
"Mom made me do it," Joe told him, trying not to make it sound like he was making excuses.
"Thanks." Patrick turned around and put it on his chest of drawers without even reading the inside, and sat against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest.
"It was supposed to be funny."
"Yeah. It is, dude," Patrick said, and he clearly didn't think so.
It was then that Joe noticed the other card – sitting on top of his TV. It was shop bought and scattered with pastel hearts of assorted sizes and colours. Only a girl would buy a card like that. Obviously. Because dudes didn't send Valentine's cards to other dudes, did they?
"Someone beat me to it, huh?" he asked, trying not to sound disappointed, because why should he? His was only a joke. If he felt a little sick it was because he'd over eaten at dinner.
"Yeah. Girl from school."
Joe nodded and picked his own card back up, opening it and re-reading the message inside. He put it back down and thought about maybe saying he felt sick and going home. It wasn't even a lie.
"You get any?" Patrick asked.
"Nope."
"Oh."
Not even a joke one.
"You know what? I'm feeling kind of crappy... I think I'm gonna head home."
"But you only just got here..."
"I know... I just... I thought it'd be okay, but it's kind of not, so..."
"You want my mom to give you a ride home? You can pick your bike up tomorrow, or something."
"No. No, it's cool." He zipped up his rucksack and headed for the door without bothering to say goodbye. He could hear the creak of the bed and Patrick trotting after him, but he waited until they got to the front door before he said anything.
"Joe?"
"Yeah?"
He took a deep breath and looked up at him, then just shook his head. "Take care getting home, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure."
---
Pete was kind of busy when his mom yelled up the stairs that he had a visitor. What kind of dick showed up at 8.30pm on Valentine's Day, anyway? He left his girlfriend with the movie they were supposed to be watching (and pretty much hadn't been) and slouched down the stairs to find his mother trying to feed Joe brownies.
"Dude. What're you doing here?" he asked, seeing straight away that whatever it was, it was pretty serious. "You okay, kind of?"
Joe cast Pete's mom a look and shrugged.
"C'mon, man, come down to Momma Pete's Den of Fixing Shit."
He carefully dodged the smack his mother aimed at the back of his head, and guided the kid down to the basement.
"I'm like, really sorry, Pete – I'm not interrupting or anything, am I?"
"Seriously? Yeah. I have a girl in my bed right now, but you look like you're gonna jump off something if we don't have a talk right now, so I think she can handle a little waiting time."
"Oh – no, sorry... I should go. I'm sorry."
"Dude. Sit down and chillax or whatever. What the hell's up, anyway?"
"I was, like... I wasn't going to come here, I was going to kind of like, just go home and stuff. But I just... I was riding home and I like, I don't even know how to explain anything, dude..."
"So, where did you come from?"
"Patrick's."
Suddenly, a whole lot became clear. "Patrick's, huh? On Valentine's day."
"Yeah... but like, that's not the point of anything. We were just hanging out anyway, and... There's... I mean like, a girl."
"He had a girl over?"
"No! No, he had like... a card. From a girl."
"Bummer. Is he dating her, or what? 'Cause if he's dating her, kind of, she'd probably be there."
"No. I don't know... I don't like, think so. But I just like... there's like a huge story and stuff but I left and I was going home and I just, like..."
Pete sat down beside him, perched on the arm of the couch, his feet on the cushions partially under Joe's leg. "You can start from the beginning, dude."
"What, like ten years ago?"
"Ten years?"
"In kindergarten, man... we made these cards for each other and like, freaked everyone out. They stopped us playing together and stuff..."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah..."
"That's fucked up."
"Yeah... but like... we both got pissy until they let us start again. And so my mom thought it'd be funny if I made him a card again because it was ten years or whatever, and like... I gave it to him, and he didn't get it."
"You didn't explain, kind of? I mean, he was what, six? He could've forgotten, dude, I don't think it's gonna ruin your friendship, or whatever. It's just a card."
"No, but... coming here, I was thinking and I just... I don't. I mean, if he starts dating this girl, or something, dude..."
Joe looked up at him so desperately, that Pete didn't think it needed much more elaboration.
"You figure some shit out on the way, kind of?"
He really looked like he was going to cry. "He's my best friend, Pete."
"Look, you never let me meet the kid or whatever, but he's way possessive about you and shit. Don't you think that like, he might, y'know... be cool with it if you figured stuff out or something?"
Joe swallowed and shook his head, rubbing his eye with his wrist.
"No?"
"He freaked out about me touching him, before."
Pete had to take a moment to figure out whether he was just some kind of pervert that that didn't sound right to him. "Er, what?"
"I don't know, dude... I don't even want to like, try to explain it or anything. It sounds weird... and like, it wasn't weird, but it feels like it is, now..."
"Fair...enough. But are we kind of like talking about slap on the shoulder 'touching' or what, man?"
Joe sniffed and nodded. "I guess. Any touching. He said it made things awkward and stuff, but then he was the one who started the whole kissing thing..."
"Kissing thing?" Pete echoed, raising his eyebrows. "Kissing. Dude, how is this not obvious?"
"Because we've just always been like this!"
"Like what?"
"Close, dude. We've always been really close. We always figured people would find it weird and stuff, but like, it never used to be, for us... and now... It wasn't weird before, because it was just because we were friends, and now, today, I'm like... I'm thinking that like all this time I've been into this because of other things and it makes the whole thing weird!"
"So, wait – how long has this been going on? How long have you and the dude been kind of... whatever?"
Joe swallowed and seemed to take a minute to think about this. "Always, I guess. We got busted for holding hands in Elementary school... he punched out a girl for kissing me as well, actually."
"When?!"
"When I was eight."
Pete couldn't suppress a laugh at that mental image. "Hands off his man, bitch."
"Fuck off, Pete."
"I'm sorry, dude, it's just kind of funny or whatever."
"For you, maybe."
"Sorry, man. Carry on."
"We had to go to different high schools and stuff – senior, I mean; we went to the same junior high – and right before, my dad took us camping with his brother, and we like... we were both pretty cut up about not going to the same place and shit, and we were like... just talking about it and we kissed a little bit. Not like... I mean, nothing kind of like hot or anything because I was like thirteen, but... yeah."
Pete raised his eyebrows. "And like... you've been doing it ever since?"
"No, man – no, we kind of just... we agreed that it was okay when we started talking again after we stopped for like a month or something, when he got upset about me touching him."
"So, wait. He got upset about you touching him, and then you made up, and started making out and – "
"It's not making out!" Joe corrected indignantly. "It's – okay... maybe one time it was a little bit like... yeah. But not mostly. Mostly it's just kissing. Like, 'hey, you're my best friend and you're awesome'."
"Dude. Okay. That doesn't happen. You don't kiss someone for being your best friend."
"I've seen you kiss Chris."
"Dude. That's different. Trust me on that, kind of."
Joe gave a despairing sigh and shook his head, cupping it in his hands. "This can't happen, Pete. It can't."
"You're not the first guy in the world to have a crush on a friend, man. Not even the first for it to be a crush on another dude."
"Whatever..."
"Hey. Don't beat yourself up. Go home, get some sleep and if you think you're still kind of like, into him in the morning, or whatever, let me know. We'll figure shit out. Promise, bro."
He made sure the kid was capable of balancing on two wheels and waved him off before heading back upstairs. His girlfriend had fallen asleep.
---
XstumpyX (22:07:40): Where did u go?
Trohoho84 (22:08:03): home
XstumpyX (22:09:17): that's not what ur mom siad
XstumpyX (22:12:13): Joe?
Trohoho84 (22:12:32): doesnt matter
XstumpyX (22:13:41): What's wrong
XstumpyX (22:13:43): ?
Trohoho84 (22:18:24): NOTHIN.G
XstumpyX (22:18:41): lies.
Trohoho84 (22:22:48): yu'll just hate me so leaev it alone ok.
XstumpyX (22:25:41): not OK, no.
Trohoho84 (22:26:49): oh well.
XstumpyX (22:27:20): don't b an asshole
Trohoho84 went idle at 22:34:13.
XstumpyX (22:35:06): OK fine 4get it. hAve a nice life.
Trohoho84 (22:35:12): aiwt
Trohoho84 (22:35:27): wait
XstumpyX (22:36:30): why bother??
XstumpyX (22:37:51): speak or i'm loggin goff
Trohoho84 (22:38:29): I went 2 c Pete
XstumpyX (22:39:00): so?
Trohoho84 (22:40:13): ru dating that gilr?
Trohoho84 (22:40:18): irl
Trohoho84 (22:40:27): GIRL fuck it
XstumpyX (22:41:22): wtf? no.
Trohoho84 (22:41:54): do u want 2?
XstumpyX (22:42:26): why?
Trohoho84 (22:46:10): I do.
XstumpyX (22:47:03): u dont even kno wher
XstumpyX (22:49:44): joE?
XstumpyX (22:51:13): ?
XstumpyX (22:53:21): hey
XstumpyX (22:54:07): wtf dude?
Trohoho84 (22:58:34): gtg
Trohoho84 (22:58:47): sorry
XstumpyX (22:59:02): why?
Trohoho84 signed off at 22:59:17.
---
Joe put Patrick on 'block' so it looked like he'd signed off, and went over to bury his face in his pillow. This sucked so much.
What was he even supposed to say? 'Hey, Patrick – turns out Mrs Watson was right all along!' or 'Hey, Patrick, next time we kiss can it not be because we're best friends?'
How could he say anything to him at all? They were best friends. What if it ruined everything? What if Patrick had re-read the conversation and - ?
"Joe, honey? Phonecall," his mother's voice said softly through the closed door.
"Tell him I'm asleep."
"It's Patrick."
"I know. Tell him I'm asleep or something. Anything."
"Are you - ?"
"MOM!"
"Okay, okay..." He could hear her voice through the door, because she obviously had the portable phone, which meant Patrick probably heard everything. "Honey... no, honey, he's sleeping. Well. Well, I think he means he's trying to sleep." There was a long pause. "Okay."
Joe looked up as the door opened and prayed his mother didn't look at his computer.
"What?"
"He says he wants to speak to you, honey, he says it's important."
Joe took the phone out of her hand, hung up, and handed it back to her. "I'm asleep."
His mother just looked down at him in dismay, and then sat herself down beside him, uninvited. "Sweetheart?"
"Mom..."
"It's because of the card, isn't it?"
"Forget it, mom, I'm sick – I want to sleep."
"With the light on? Don't lie to me, Joey, what's wrong?"
Joe just buried his face in his pillow and refused to look up again until she rubbed his back and stood up.
"Do you want me to switch out the light?"
"Whatever."
"Honey?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry if it was because of the card. I didn't mean to upset anyone, I just thought it would be cute after everything..."
"I know. It doesn't matter."
A few minutes after she closed the door, his email pinged. He couldn't bring himself to read it.
---
Patrick sat up until after 1am, refreshing his Yahoo! Mail over and over, waiting for a response. His mom came down for some water and made him go to bed by switching the whole machine off at the wall and threatening to ban him from it on weeknights, but that was the only reason he left at all.
He couldn't sleep. He felt like he'd been drinking beakers of acid from chemistry or something and his heart was thudding so hard in his chest it actually hurt. He didn't know what he'd done. He didn't understand what he'd done to make Joe lie to him and then not want to talk to him. Again. They were supposed to be close, and yeah, maybe Joe was a little bit jealous that someone liked Patrick, but that wasn't Patrick's fault. He said himself that he didn't get any cards, and if Patrick had thought about it, it would have done something for a joke himself – but even that wasn't the same. He knew that. He just wanted girls to like him, and Patrick didn't understand why they didn't, because Joe was... well. If Joe was a girl...
But he wasn't, so that was kind of a moot point.
The worst part, for Patrick, was that after that, instead of hanging out with Patrick – with the one person who should have been able to make him feel better – he went to that jerk from the band. Perhaps Patrick just wasn't good enough for him, any more. If he went to Pete fucking Wentz when he felt bad about something, now, where did that leave him?
Underneath it all, though, was the slightly terrifying feeling that maybe there was something else going on that Patrick didn't want to consider. Joe was – as Kevin had proved already – the most important person in the world for him. He was happy the way they were – with everything about the way they were – he didn't want it to change. He didn't want to complicate things, so he wrote off anything else. Joe was jealous of him, and he'd found better people to spend time with, so Patrick just focused on being mad and hurt by that, instead.
The next day, he was going to see Joe, and they were going to figure this bullshit out for the last time.
---
Joe didn't want to stay in the house when Patrick showed up. He made him put his bike in the garage and they took a walk down to the playground a couple of blocks away, sitting on abandoned swings. He had a pretty good idea that they were going to have to talk about things he didn't want his mom to overhear, even if he was pretty sure she knew already. She'd given him such a sympathetic hug and kissed his forehead before he'd left the house; he kind of just wanted to curl into her shoulder and let her hug him like he was still a little boy.
They sat almost in silence for a while, Joe with the hood of his Parka up and his arms hooked around the chains while Patrick sat sideways and swung gently back and forth.
"So, y'know," he began, and Joe didn't look at him, just rubbed his eye, "what the hell was last night about?"
Joe's stomach dropped and he took a deep, miserable breath. He knew this was going to be difficult; he didn't know quite how much, though. He started with a shrug.
"If you're mad that I got a card, I didn't ask for that. It's not even like I want to date her or anything..."
"I know."
"So what is wrong with you? Why do you have to be so fucking weird? I mean, if you can go and tell that dick, why can't you tell me? Who actually is your best friend, now, Joe? I mean -"
"You are..."
"So what's the deal?!"
"You don't want to know... you think you do, but you don't."
"Why? What can be so fucking bad that you have to go to Pete fucking Wentz before me?"
Joe gave something between a snort and a sigh and buried his face in the crook of his arm.
"Joe?"
There was nothing he could really say to make it sound better. "I'm sorry."
"What for?!"
"For screwing everything up."
Patrick stopped swinging suddenly and stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
Joe closed his eyes and groaned helplessly. He didn't want to say this; not if it was going to ruin everything. But Patrick deserved the truth. They couldn't keep doing this – not the kissing, or the touching or any of that – if Patrick still thought it was just friendly. Because Joe felt like a fake and a cheat already, as though he'd been conning Patrick into this under false pretences and what kind of friend did that?
"I really like you."
Patrick laughed a little, "Yeah, dude, me too."
"No, you don't get it."
"Don't I?"
Joe shook his head.
"You want to explain?"
"Not really..."
"So we're just gonna sit around here acting uncomfortable and you're gonna go and talk to Pete instead?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"I just told you and you thought I was joking."
"What?"
Joe turned his head a little to look at him, and Patrick was very, very pale. Joe's blood ran cold.
"What do you mean?"
"I guess... I guess that when people called us fags they were like... half right."
Patrick didn't say anything for several moments. "That's not funny."
"Yeah, I kind of know that."
"So... what are you telling me, dude? You're gay or something?"
Joe actually felt like someone had stuck a pin in his heart and popped it like a party balloon. He swallowed and nodded jerkily.
"And the whole..." Patrick trailed off and suddenly started to look nauseous. "But you kissed me."
"I know."
"Like... a lot."
"I know."
Patrick honestly looked like he was going to be sick.
"Are you okay, dude?"
"You... we were supposed to be friends, Joe!"
"I know – and I like, I wasn't... I didn't do that because I like you like that, dude – I didn't know I did!"
Getting off the swing, Patrick folded his arms across himself and backed away. "You should have told me!"
"How could I tell you what I didn't know?"
"I'm not like that!"
"If you aren't then why were you doing as much of the kissing as me?"
"Because we were friends, Joe! This was supposed to be a – an us thing! About us being friends, not about... it's because we're friends and we've been friends forever."
"But it's not normal!"
Patrick turned around and stared at him, mouth open, and then kicked a bunch of woodchips at him. "Fuck you! This is seriously messed up and I can't believe you didn't even... fuck. I have to go. I have to go."
"Patrick, dude, wait – "
"No! I don't want to wait! I want to go home and brush my teeth or something, because oh yeah, my best friend has been putting his tongue down my throat and now it turns out it wasn't the only thing he wanted to put in my mouth!"
Joe stared at him, aghast. "What the fuck? Dude – I didn't..."
"How would you fucking feel if I did this to you?"
"But I didn't! I didn't know!"
"You didn't know?! You could at least admit it, you fucking coward!"
"Patrick – " Joe started toward him, wanting to calm him down, not wanting to let his best friend be this mad at him, but Patrick moved away quickly.
"Don't. I don't want you anywhere ne – just. Don't fucking touch me."
A little voice at the back of Joe's mind was telling him he should have expected this. He should have, because they had an agreement and nothing else.
"I told you you'd hate me..."
Patrick just looked somewhere in the middle of Joe's chest. "Yeah. And you were right about ruining everything, too."
Part Three