Work Text:
Ephemeral
(adj.) lasting for a very short time.
Patrick has short, tightly curled bleach blonde hair, brown eyes, a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and tanned skin.
But that's just for today.
He's just trying out the look, in the unlikely hopes he'll stick to it. He knows he won't. But isn't it worth a shot anyways?
Patrick hasn't decided on his appearance yet. He knows the fact he has the ability to change it in the first place should be this huge, monumental thing, but to him, it's really not. He just can. He's always been able to. So he does.
Technically, there is a way he's "supposed" to look. But he doesn't like it. He can't stop himself from falling back to it when he sleeps, since the concentration required to uphold another appearance is lost in his repose, but he gets rid of it the second he wakes up every morning. And every day, he chooses something new.
There are some things Patrick doesn't like, no matter what. He had ginger hair all of one time, and quickly decided he would never adopt that quality again. Hair that's longer than his chin is another no-go. He doesn't like being too tall (his definition of "too tall" being over six feet), or having dark eyes, or having an abundance of freckles. (Though his light dusting today is perfectly fine.) He also doesn't like having extremely pale skin, which is one of the reasons he doesn't like his "true form". He likes to stick to at least lightly tanned, if he truly must.
The way Patrick tests out every new image is by not only looking it over himself, but by going out and seeing how people react to it. He figures other people's opinions of his look matter just as much as his own. In fact, he doesn't think his own matter all that much in the first place.
Unfortunately, the best way to judge people's reactions is to go out to bars. Patrick hates bars. But he hates not knowing what he wants to look like more, so bars are a reasonable compromise.
Tonight, Patrick is at one of his favorite places - favorite meaning, in this case, that he hates it less than the rest of them. The people are all decent, at least for the most part, the food and drinks are pretty damn good, and it's not seedy and dark. It's ideal, as bars go. He can frequent this one as much as he likes, if he's honest - it's not like anyone will recognize him if he looks different every single time. But he still likes going to a variety of places anyway, no matter how much he prefers this one.
He's testing out his new facade here, because he sort of likes this one more than most of them, and he wants to take it out for a test run at the least shitty place he can find. And this is it.
The bartender hands him a drink he didn't order, so he puts "free drinks" under the growing list of the pros of this look. Then again, he's not sure he exactly trusts the drink. He doesn't recognize this bartender - is she new? - and he didn't see her make the drink, so what she put in it is a mystery to him. He sets it aside and orders some onion rings instead. This place has good onion rings. They're his comfort food.
Someone takes a seat next to him, and he tenses. He's fully prepared for the stranger to start hitting on him. It's not like that's completely bad - it means his current appearance is a good one, doesn't it? But it also kind of makes him uncomfortable - that's something he doesn't think he'll ever get over.
But it seems Patrick is lucky. The guy who has taken a seat next to him simply turns to him and warmly greets him, "Hi!"
Patrick allows himself to turn and look skeptically at the intruder. The guy looks nice enough - probably around Patrick's age, curly dark hair, blue eyes. If Patrick's honest, this guy's exactly his type. But he won't let himself get attached - he'll likely never see this person again, and if he does, he'll be someone else. This guy will never know who he is.
"Uh, hello," he responds after a moment of deliberation that leads to the decision to at least attempt a normal conversation. It's worth a try, isn't it?
"How are you?" the stranger asks kindly, as if he and Patrick are good friends. They're not - Patrick's never seen the guy in his life. But the faux familiarity is...surprisingly, comforting.
"I'm okay," he answers, nodding to indicate his thanks for being asked. "How are you?"
"Mind if I rant at you?" the stranger asks, waving the bartender over as he does.
No one has ever been this forward with Patrick. Maybe this look really is that good. Patrick likes that this stranger can just talk to him like they're old friends. It's a nice feeling. He's not used to it - friends are hard to have when you never look the same way twice.
"Sure," he agrees, interested to see what the stranger has to say.
The stranger nods, orders a beer when the bartender walks over, and then begins, "You will not believe what my ex did the other day."
Patrick lets this mystery person go on about his ex, and his shitty job, and his dog. He doesn't even know the guy's name, and yet he feels fully comfortable listening to the endless rants that seem to tumble from the stranger's mouth.
Finally, the stranger seems finished, and says, "Thanks for letting me yell at you. Don't have anyone else to rant to at the moment. Figured I'd go to a bar and try for the nicest person I saw, and what do you know? It worked."
Patrick chuckles. He doesn't think his current appearance is all that "nice", but he'll take it. He's thankful this guy isn't full-on hitting on him. He seems genuinely nice, like he really just wants to be friends. It's a pity Patrick will never get to talk to him again.
The stranger extends a hand and finally introduces himself. "I'm Joe."
Patrick takes his hand, debating whether or not he should give his real name. Then he chastises himself for even wondering. He'll never see this guy again. What does it matter? Sure, if he does happen to run into him again, it'd look rather strange to have the same name and a different face, but it won't happen. Patrick's never met the same person twice before. Why would it happen now?
He shakes the offered hand warmly and says, "I'm Patrick."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Patrick." Joe grins cordially, pulling his hand back, and for a scary moment Patrick is afraid he's going to ask for a phone number. But he doesn't - he just says, "I have to go. See you around?"
"Sure," Patrick responds, but he really doesn't intend to at all.
///
Patrick has green eyes, buzzcut brown hair, and skin as pale as he'll let it go - which is still fairly tanned. He's seated at the bar of a much less pristine establishment. It has been two weeks since he met Joe, and he can't forget the sociable stranger who had unloaded his personal business on someone he hadn't met once in his life. No matter how much he scolds himself, tells himself he won't see Joe again, the memory remains prevalent.
He's trying to force the persistent recollection out again when Joe sits down next to him and orders a margarita.
Patrick jumps in surprise at the familiar voice, turning to see that Joe is, in fact, right next to him. And that's a coincidence if he ever fucking saw one.
Joe seems to notice him staring, turning to stare back, and for a split second Patrick is terrified by the notion that Joe is going to recognize him. But of course he won't. Patrick looks completely different from the last time they'd met. Joe can't possibly recall him.
And he doesn't - of course he doesn't. He just nods to Patrick and says, "Hey." His tone indicates that he thinks he's talking to a stranger, but it's still friendly. It's exactly like it was last time they met.
"He - hello," Patrick stammers out, anxiety overtaking him. Joe looks a little surprised for a moment, and Patrick is scared Joe's going to turn away because of how obvious Patrick's discomfort is, but he doesn't. His face softens again and he speaks.
"Mind if I unload some dumb emotional garbage on you?"
Patrick blinks. This is eerily similar to last time they'd talked - does Joe just dump his baggage on anyone he meets? He seems like the kind of guy who can talk to anyone, but even then...
Nevertheless, Patrick nods. He'd kill to hear the warmth with which Joe gives out his personal life again - hell if he isn't going to take this opportunity.
"Cool." Joe nods. "Anyway, I got fired last week for the worst reason-"
Patrick lets himself get lost in Joe's tales of his homophobic boss, the time his dog threw up on the stairs, and another stupid thing his ex did. It's all so trivial and simple, and yet Patrick is drawn in more with every word.
Joe finishes his rambling, and just like last time, he tells Patrick he needs to go, and asks, "See you around?"
"Sure." And this time, he means it. Just a little.
///
Patrick has deep blue eyes, caramel brown hair styled in a smooth wave, and he's back to the tanned skin again. He thinks he really likes having lightly tanned skin, if he's honest. He wishes he could identify his preference for his other features so easily. Then maybe he wouldn't have to shift between looks every day like this.
He's just ordered a beer when Joe sits down next to him. He can't even say he's surprised anymore. And he certainly isn't surprised when Joe immediately asks, "Care to listen to a stranger's meaningless rambling?"
Patrick almost says something to the tune of "skipping the hello today, are we?", but stops himself when he remembers there's no way Joe knows they've met before. Instead, he turns and nods. "Go right ahead."
Joe grins and goes off on his rant like he has the past two times. This time, it's about a horrible customer at his new job, an asshole he met in the park, and yet another expected complaint about his ex. Patrick listens with rapt attention, as he always does. He nods and says, "That fucking sucks, man" in all the right places. Joe is beaming at him the entire time.
This time, when Joe says, "See you around some time?", Patrick nods definitively.
"Sure," he replies, and this time he really does mean it.
///
Patrick has paler skin today, accompanied by light brown eyes with tiny golden flecks that he thinks he likes enough to try again sometime, and deep purple hair. He doesn't like having unnaturally colored hair all that much, but he does like changing it up every once and a while. So today, he's doing purple.
A girl to his left is chatting him up, and he's responding blankly in a failed attempt to demonstrate his disinterest when a voice comes from his right and gives him a welcome excuse to get out of this conversation.
"Hey, Patrick."
The words "Hey, Joe" are out of his mouth before he can fully comprehend what's just happened. His head snaps to the right, where Joe is seated, grinning at him.
That's impossible. That's impossible. Joe can't recognize him! He and Joe have met all of four times - counting now - and he's looked different every time. And he only gave Joe his name the first time, so for Joe to greet him with it now - has he known this whole time?
Joe seems to pick up on Patrick's slack-jawed expression, and he laughs. "Your voice never changes."
"I - what?" Patrick squeaks out, still gaping. And that's the only thought on his mind, too - what?
Joe grins at him, with the same familiarity he always has. He explains shortly, "I keep meeting you. Your face keeps changing, but I can always recognize your voice."
"Oh," Patrick says weakly, unable to believe the nonchalance with which Joe is talking about this. He's known this whole time, and he just...doesn't care? And he's right, too. Patrick can change nearly everything about himself. But his voice is a fixed part of him that he can never shift, no matter how hard he tries. And - holy shit, has Joe taken the time to memorize it?
"I'm not gonna ask if you don't want me to," Joe says, and Patrick thinks that Joe may be the single nicest person on the face of the earth.
"Okay," he says, thankful. He casts Joe a nervous smile, and Joe widens his own grin in response.
"So," he begins, "you will not believe what my ex did this time."
"What'd he do?" Patrick asks, leaning forward and propping his head up on his hands. He listens intently as Joe goes on as usual. But this time, it feels different, knowing that Joe has always known who he is. His consistent rants make sense now, considering that he would've known it was Patrick every time. It seems they've become friends through these times without Patrick even noticing. And, to be honest, he finds that he's kind of okay with that.
When Joe says, "See you around?" again, Patrick finds it feels like a tried and true ritual. This time, his response of "Sure" is more meaningful than ever.
///
Patrick has wavy dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and tan skin again. He's trying freckles again today, just a couple on his nose.
And Joe is staring at him intently, like he's trying to memorize his features.
Patrick gives up on his attempt to not acknowledge it, whipping his head to Joe and blurting out, "I haven't said a word! How the hell did you know it was me?"
Joe grins. "You stole my eyes."
"What?" Patrick furrows his brow, confused.
"Those are my eyes, man," Joe elaborates, gesturing towards Patrick's face. "You stole 'em."
Patrick goes red. Shit. Had he used Joe's eyes today? If they'd been on his mind when he'd changed his look this morning, it was entirely possible. He groans. Of course they had been. Of course he stole them.
"It's fine, calm down." Joe just looks amused at Patrick's embarrassment. "I think they suit you."
"Thanks?" Patrick tries, unsure how else to respond to that.
Joe nods, and continues, "Anyway, want to hear my trademark diatribe?"
Patrick laughs, letting himself ease out of the anxiety and forget the eyes. "Go right ahead."
Today, Joe rants about the cute little girl who wanted to pet his dog when they were out at the park, the power outage yesterday, and a cool old guy he met at work. There's nothing about his ex today. Patrick finds it kind of refreshing, but it also feels weird to lose the familiar conversation piece.
He listens anyway. He always does.
"See you around?"
Patrick nods, beaming. "Sure."
///
Patrick has-
"That is my fucking hair, man."
Patrick huffs. "Well, sorry if I like your features enough to try them out."
Patrick has green eyes, paler skin than usual, freckles again, and...Joe's hair. It's longer than he usually likes, but fuck, he likes it on Joe, so he might as well try it himself, right?
Joe snorts. "By all means, go ahead."
Joe buys them both drinks, handing Patrick his carefully. Patrick accepts it and thanks him quietly.
"No rant today?" Patrick asks after a while. Joe shrugs.
"Don't know," he says. "Nothing too interesting has really happened to me lately."
"Tell me about the boring stuff," Patrick suggests. He knows he'll listen anyway.
Joe does. He tells Patrick about the new paint color he chose for his living room, about his favorite music, and then goes off on a tangent about how Patrick should really try dirty blonde hair more often, if suits him.
Patrick doesn't say anything about how that's his natural hair color. He just nods as Joe goes on and on and on about the most random things it seems he can come up with. He doesn't think today's rambling is any less interesting than usual. The arbitrary details are just as entertaining as the intriguing things when it's Joe saying them. He could listen to the constant drone of stock market news for months, as long as Joe was the one saying it. He doesn't bring this up, though. He just listens. As always.
"See you around?"
"Absolutely."
///
Patrick has extremely short black hair, hazel eyes, and the paler skin again. He doesn't know why he's been defaulting to that more often lately. He doesn't let it bother him. He doesn't think he hates it as much as he used to.
Joe has just sat down next to him and started rambling with no greeting. Patrick doesn't bother to ask how Joe recognized him this time - he's starting to think Joe just has some kind of magical Patrick-sense. Hell, Patrick's a fucking shapeshifter, he of all people should know it wouldn't be impossible. He just goes with it, listening as he always does.
Today, the rant is about a bee that had stung Joe while he was walking, the bad cold he had for two days before it mysteriously disappeared, the cute dog named Izzy he'd met while walking his own dog on Tuesday. Patrick listens with as much focus as humanly possible, as usual. He doesn't think it's an option for him not to.
When he finishes, Joe doesn't ask Patrick "See you around?", he asks, "Want to hang out at my place?"
Patrick can't see a single reason to say no.
///
Joe's dog greets Patrick the second he's inside the small apartment. He laughs and squats down to tickle the dog behind the ears.
"He likes you!" Joe says happily, watching Patrick greet the dog with enthusiasm.
"I like him, too," Patrick says, grinning at the overexcited pup that's now jumping up on his knees.
They watch every movie either of them can come up with - first a Star Wars marathon (prequels excluded, naturally), then Ghostbusters, then Goonies. There might be more, but Patrick is asleep before the end credits, so he doesn't know.
He wakes up on Joe's couch, cuddled into Joe's side. Joe is already up, and staring at him with thinly masked interest.
"G'morning," Patrick yawns out, instinctively nestling further into Joe.
"Morning," Joe says, then immediately follows it with, "Is this what you really look like?"
Patrick startles all the way awake, eyes darting down to himself. And shit, it is - he should've remembered he always changes back in his sleep. He breaks himself out of Joe's grip, trying to change as fast as he can, but the only thing on his mind is Joe, and that's what he ends up as.
Joe chuckles as Patrick's face goes red, and he relents, letting himself slide back to his real appearance.
"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Joe says, smiling gently at him.
"Y - yeah," Patrick mumbles, trying to move away again, but only succeeding in pressing himself up against the back of the couch. His mind is reeling too much to try and change again - he doesn't want to find out what would happen if he did.
Joe looks him over like he's inspecting a fragile museum artifact that he'll break if he breathes on it the wrong way - and hell, that's exactly how Patrick feels - then nods like he's approving something.
"I like it," he says. "Why don't you always look like this?"
"I - I don't-" Patrick stutters, his foolproof logic suddenly seeming simply foolish. He finishes weakly, under his breath, "I just don't like it."
Joe frowns, looking Patrick straight in the eyes. It makes Patrick uncomfortable, but he doesn't look away.
"Patrick," Joe says, "you look absolutely fucking ravishing and it would be a crime if you tried to look any other way."
The first thing that tumbles out of Patrick's mouth is, "Did you just use the word ravishing?"
"I absolutely did," Joe answers, grinning at Patrick and pulling him closer again. "I don't know, do you prefer simply attractive? Beautiful? A piece of art? Divine? Stunning? Adorable? Exquisite?"
"Joe, shut the fuck up," Patrick says, but he's laughing before he can stop himself.
Then Joe's laughing too, placing a light hand against Patrick cheek and brushing it softly. Patrick relaxes into the gesture.
"I'm serious," Joe says gently. "You look amazing, Patrick. This is better than all your other looks combined. I don't think you should change it."
Patrick has spent decades of his life trying every appearance under the sun, trying to avoid this one, trying to find something better. He's always believed there's something better. But curled up in Joe's arms on this scratchy couch, hearing Joe's ever-comforting voice talking about him this time...he can't stop the words from falling out of his mouth.
"I won't."
Joe beams like never before.
"Good."