Archive of Our Own

December 15, 2017

The exact moment Patrick realized he was royally and properly screwed was also the exact moment he found himself sitting half in Pete’s lap, the taste of some expensive wine still fresh in his throat, laughing and giggling at the conversation around them. It should have been an insignificant moment, out for dinner with the band as they celebrated their last show of the year— something they’ve done a million times before. But one phrase, one answer, slipped from Patrick’s lips before he gave any sort of permission for such a sentence to exist.

“Yeah,” he said, laughing and grinning. “Of course, I have the perfect present for Pete!”

To be fair, he can’t quite blame everyone else— the rest of the band and some of the crew— for laughing. It doesn't stop him from pouting and frowning at the reaction, though.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” He complains, folding his arms across his chest but wobbling dangerously at the sudden action. Pete’s hands find his hips and hold him in place. “We’re here to celebrate getting through those Christmas shows, not make fun of my gift choices!”

This only makes everyone laugh harder still. Patrick sighs and looks around the restaurant. It’s a lost cause with these people.

“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” Joe says, leaning across the table with a drunken grin on his face. “We love you. We support you. We adore you. But we also all agree that you are the absolute worst at picking presents. And that’s not being mean. It’s just cold-hard facts.”

“Name one time that I—”

“You got Pete the same Metallica shirt for his birthday and Christmas last year,” Joe interrupts. Patrick rolls his eyes.

“And he loved it both times,” he argues, glancing back at Pete over his shoulder. “Right? You liked it, right?”

“Loved it.” Pete nods solemnly even if an amused smile tugs at his lips. Patrick ignores the expression and turns back to the others around them.

“Doesn’t he have to love it?” Elliot, the photographer they’d gotten for this era, chimes in. “Since he’s, like, your boyfriend and all?”

Chills go down Patrick’s spine at the word. Boyfriend. Even though they’ve been together for a few years— since the band got back from the hiatus, stolen kisses in the studio quickly dragging up feelings they’d both tried to hide— it still sends a possessive thrill through his body. His boyfriend. He’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“Okay, well,” Joe continues, “remember when you got me an expired Starbucks coupon for my birthday? An expired coupon, Patrick. You weren’t even trying.”

“One, I was pissed at you that week for… for some reason,” Patrick argues. “And, two, that’s when I wasn’t trying, like you said. So, according to your logic, if I try, I can get an impressive gift. And my gift for Pete is freaking impressive.”

“Oh. So, you already got it?” Andy asks beside him. Patrick opens his mouth.

And then shuts it not a second later.

Okay, so, maybe he doesn’t actually have the present yet. And, maybe, he doesn’t even know what he plans on getting him. It’s not like that’s a big deal, is it? He and Pete are pretty close; they’ve been living together for about a year, after all. He’s bound to figure out something in time for Christmas. Besides, he’s drunk now. Once he’s sober and in a store or online, he’s positive the perfect present will just jump right out at him.

He’s so positive about this, in fact, that he nods his head with a confident smile.

“Yep! All wrapped and ready to go!”

A smaller portion of Patrick’s mind— the part that the alcohol hasn’t touched yet, maybe— starts shaking its head and saying that Patrick will hate himself in the morning for setting such high hopes for a gift. That voice, however, is quickly drowned out by everyone else’s rambunctious laughter.

“Right, okay, okay,” Joe says, laughing through his words. “I’ll believe it when I see it, man.”

Everyone else joins in with similar statements, reminiscing on all the horrible gifts Patrick’s given in the past. If Patrick had the words to defend himself, he wouldn’t even have a chance to say them between all their teasing. Instead, he settles for another pout and leans back against Pete.

“Aw, don’t worry about them, babe,” Pete says, wrapping his arms fully around Patrick and pulling him close. “I’ll love anything you get me.”

But Patrick doesn’t want him to just love anything merely because Patrick gave it to him. He doesn’t want an obligatory gratitude; he wants Pete to see whatever present Patrick gets him and know that Patrick was able to find such a perfect gift because he loves him.

Patrick leans in and presses a chaste kiss against Pete’s lips, short enough to prevent any teasing about PDA. “It’s gonna be the best present. I promise.”

Pete smiles, warm and loving and safe.

“I know it will be,” he says. “I know.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 16, 2017

Headache. Nausea. Dizziness. The extreme desire to hide his head under the nice hotel pillows and never come out again.

Patrick wakes the next morning and immediately knows he’s been cursed with a hangover. It’s not the worst he’s ever had— that honor goes to most mornings and afternoons after the hiatus had first been announced— but it’s enough to make him groan. His hand stretches out across the bed, searching for the one comfort he can always count on— only to find Pete’s not there. Patrick pats around the empty side of the bed for a few minutes, just to be sure Pete hasn’t curled up on the edge, before peeling his eyes open and glaring at the place his boyfriend’s supposed to be.

“Pete?” He mutters though it comes out more as a grunt than anything else. He clears his throat and tries again, lifting his head up and rubbing his eyes. “Pete?”

There’s a noise from the bathroom, like someone stumbling into a wall, and Patrick sighs. Why is Pete always up so early? Sure, it’s eleven but that’s still before noon and anything before noon is early in Patrick’s book. The singer debates going back to sleep until they have to leave to catch the plane back home but, ultimately, he finds himself falling out of bed and shuffling across the floor. Pete in the bathroom means Pete might be taking a shower and the thought of a showering Pete— naked and dripping wet with steam curling around him— always gets Patrick out of bed at unholy hours such as this.

Patrick makes it to the bathroom door, a bit more awake than before, when he realizes the shower isn’t running. His eyebrows furrow together and it’s then he hears Pete’s voice through the door, speaking something Patrick can’t hear. He leans forward, planning on eavesdropping, when Pete stops talking and the door suddenly opens.

“Ach!” Patrick shouts, falling forward in a way that makes his stomach protest with a vengeance. “Fuck, ow, my head hates me for this. It hates you for this!"

“Sorry, sorry,” Pete shouts, grabbing Patrick’s arm and helping him to stand. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fuck ,” Patrick complains, shutting his eyes and waiting for the room to stop spinning. “I thought you were taking a shower but obviously not. Ow . Who opens a door that quickly?”

He opens his eyes in time to see Pete smirking. “Who tries to sneak up on their boyfriend in the shower?”

“You,” Patrick grumbles with a glare. His rubs at his head before leaning against the wall and looking around. From the looks of it, Pete hadn’t taken a shower at all, just gotten dressed and ready for the day. It seems like he’s been up for hours and Patrick can’t comprehend it at all. Why on earth would someone do that to themselves? What’s the purpose? He’s about to ask when he spies another strange detail.

“Hey, were you on your phone?” He asks, nodding towards the cell left on the counter. Pete follows his gaze, eyes widening a fraction, before nodding and snatching it up.

“Yeah, um, just talking to Meredith. About what to get for Andy’s gift, you know?” He says.

“Oh,” Patrick replies. “Probably something Star Wars or Harry Potter related, right?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “But I wanted to make sure I didn’t get the wrong si— Um, thing. Like, if he already had it.”

Patrick shrugs. “Sounds fair. Hey, are you staying here until check-out?”

“Oh, no,” Pete says. “I was actually gonna head out. Do some last minute shopping. Did you want to tag along?”

There’s a wariness in his eyes and a hesitation in his voice but Patrick ignores it, shaking his head as vigorously as his headache will allow.

“I’m way too hungover from last night,” he says. “I’ll stay here and get some sleep like a normal person. But feel free to pick me up some coffee on your way back.”

Pete laughs, reaching out to ruffle Patrick’s hair playfully. “Alright. You rest up. Oh, but try to pack some, okay? I don’t know when I’ll be back and I really don’t want to miss our flight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Patrick says, swatting Pete’s hand away. Pete laughs again and presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, making up for the new tangles in Patrick’s hair.

“Be back soon,” he says before heading off. Patrick grins and waves, waiting for the sound of the hotel room door closing before he rushes back to the bed. He lifts his bag from the floor and tears out his laptop as soon as he’s certain Pete’s not coming back anytime soon.

“Okay, okay. Perfect gift. Can’t be that hard, right?” Patrick’s fingers fly over the keyboard as if someone could walk in at any second.

Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for: the latest pair of Yeezys.

Pete was geeking out about them the night before with a few of the crew members, rambling about how they’re getting released today but he’s forcing himself not to buy them. He’d blamed it on Patrick’s irritation with how many pairs of shoes get lost around the house but, really, Patrick knows he’s being his typical indecisive self. Just like every other release, he’ll wait around a month and mope about not having them until, weeks later, he comes back with a box from the UPS containing the shoes.

By Christmas, Patrick figures Pete will be in the moping phase. Patrick can’t help but smile at the thought of Pete’s face lighting up once he sees them. Patrick has no idea what they look like but all that matters is they make Pete happy.

And then, of course, the page loads. And Patrick physically recoils away from it.

This… They… These are the shoes Pete wants?

Yikes.

They’re barely in stock despite having been released a handful of hours ago but Patrick still hesitates to purchase them. They look to be made of a quality material but something about the zebra pattern and the bright red letters/numbers on the side hurt his eyes. It’s ghastly. It’s horrible. It’s…

It’s exactly something his Pete would wear.

Patrick sighs, more fondly than before, and adds them to his cart. If they make Pete happy, so be it.

Patrick’s mouse hovers over the purchase option when his screen lights up with an incoming Skype call. Patrick’s eyebrow raises— it’s not often he gets one of these— and accepts without checking the name.

“Hey, who—”

“Yo, Patrick! Dude, what’s up?”

Brendon. Patrick smiles affectionately. Of course.

“Hey! Good to hear from you,” he replies. “I’m doing alright. You?”

“Pretty good myself, man,” Brendon says. He’s at home, leaning back on his couch with a Santa hat on his head. “Hey, so, I had a question.”

Senseless as it is, Patrick’s anxiety starts kicking into overdrive. Nothing good ever follows a statement like that. Did he drunk text or call Brendon last night? Did he post something insulting? Was there something wrong with his performance at one of the Jingle Balls and is Brendon gonna point it out to him? What if—

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice higher pitched than it should be. Thankfully, Brendon says nothing of it.

“Sarah and I are putting together a party thing for Christmas Eve. Well, trying to, at least. I know it’s sort of last minute but we were wondering if you and Pete wanted to come hang. If you didn’t have plans, that is,” he explains, eyes off-screen as he tries to open a beer bottle. Patrick lets out a heavy breath and allows a smile to work its way back onto his face.

“Yeah, it sounds like fun,” he says. “I mean, I’d have to, like, talk to Pete, of course. But I don’t see why not.”

“Cool,” Brendon says, looking back at the camera. “Hey, where is Pete, by the way?”

“Oh,” Patrick says, waving off the question. “Gift-shopping. For Andy, I think. He wasn’t really clear about who.”

Brendon laughs, the screen shaking as his phone moves around in his hand. “Aw, sounds like Pete. Then I assume you got all your gift-shopping done?”

“Pretty much,” Patrick says with a shrug. “Wait, are you like… Are you guys planning on doing gift exchanges at your party?”

“Oh, what? Maybe,” Brendon says, his response sudden enough for Patrick to know he hadn’t planned that far ahead. “I mean, like, I think it’d be pretty sick for us to do some friend exchanges, you know. But you can save the romantic shit for when you’re with Pete on Christmas. You know, if you wanted to have a big moment or something. I’d respect that.”

Patrick laughs, thoughts of anyone getting emotional over a pair of Yeezys floating through his head. “Oh, dude. I got him shoes. I don’t imagine it’s gonna be a big moment.”

Brendon joins in on the laughter, his phone shaking once again. Patrick looks away from the screen, the visuals causing his already nauseous stomach to turn.

“Oh, man, that’s classic,” Brendon says, leaning in towards the camera. “The new Yeezys, right?”

“Yep!” Patrick exclaims, looking back at the screen once Brendon’s stabilized the phone. "They’re so horrible, though. Just a second, let me go look at them again just to be sure Pete’s happiness is worth the ugly.”

Brendon laughs as Patrick returns to the other tab, eyes scanning the page for the hideous shoes he’s talking about. His eyebrows furrow together when he sees the zero items written in the place of where the shoes were supposed to be in his cart. He frowns, reading about the holding time expiration and clicks back to the other page. It’s irritating but at least Brendon reminded him to actually purchase them. He clicks on the Yeezys again and selects add to cart .

Instantly, three words appear on the screen and stop his heart.

OUT OF STOCK

“No,” Patrick breathes, frantically refreshing the page and trying again. Still, the bright red words remain, mocking him.

“Patrick, dude,” Brendon’s voice calls from the other window. “Is everything okay?”

“Um, everything’s…” Patrick trails off, opening another tab and searching desperately for the shoes. There has to be another store with them, right? Certainly, nothing that ugly could sell out that fast? “Everything’s great.”

Everything is not great and Patrick chews on his bottom lip as site after site appears with the exact same words.

OUT OF STOCK

OUT OF STOCK

OUT OF STOCK

“Shit,” Patrick says before remembering Brendon’s still listening. “Oh, um.”

“Patrick?” Brendon asks when Patrick brings his image back up on his screen. He’s leaning forward, clearly concerned by what he saw. Patrick remembers with a wince that the camera was still showing Brendon what was going on. He can only imagine how panicked he looked.

“Yeah, okay, so, the shoes are too ugly to buy,” Patrick says, tapping his fingers impatiently on the side of the keyboard. “I’m gonna, um, I’m… I’m just gonna have to, like, you know, buy something else. That’s all.”

“Too ugly?” Brendon’s eyebrows knit together. “Patrick, Christmas is in a little over a week. Do you really have time to—”

“Hey, I’ll call you back after I talk to Pete,” Patrick interrupts, eyes darting back towards another page he has loading. “Sorry, I just, um. I have to go.”

He hangs up before Brendon’s fully done with his own goodbye. He reminds himself to feel guilty about it later.

For the time being, he takes his solitude as a chance to express exactly how he feels about the situation.

“Fuck!”

He loses track of time, searching through forums and scam sites, begging for something to appear. But fate refuses to play on his side, each website showing off the cruel three words he's see far too many times.

 His head falls into his hands as yet another site proves fruitless. Seriously, it makes no sense to him. The shoes aren’t even that nice, who the fuck—

“Patrick?”

Patrick’s head darts up and his hands fumble to close out the page. Pete stares at him from across the room, his lips in a tight frown.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, praying that Pete won’t ask what he was doing. He’s too stressed to properly lie right now.

“You… You didn’t pack,” Pete says instead, kicking at an empty bag left on the floor. Patrick winces.

“And you’re back earlier than I expected,” he says. Pete huffs out a breath.

“Yeah, the store didn’t… I’m looking for something really nice and they didn’t have it so.” Pete shrugs in place of finishing his sentence. “Look, we should just start packing now and head towards the airport. Unless you were doing something important.”

“Nope,” Patrick says with a sigh. He shuts his computer down and stands. “My head still hurts, though, so, like, less talking than usual.”

Pete grins at him, miming zipping his lips. Patrick rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Okay, so, the first option didn't work out. When does it ever? Patrick helps Pete clean and pack, all the while his head whirring with more possibilities for presents. The more he thinks about it, the easier it is to accept the loss. The shoes were ugly anyway and it wasn’t like Pete would wear them often. If anything, he should thank the universe for saving him from such a decision.

Patrick nods to himself, ignoring Pete’s confused glace at the action. Right. The universe is just telling him that wasn’t the perfect gift.

And Patrick’s going to find the perfect gift no matter what it takes.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 19, 2017

Patrick's plans of placing all his focus and attention on finding the perfect gift are dashed from the moment he steps foot in their house.

In retrospect, he should have seen the marathon sex and days lounging around with Pete— talking about everything and nothing between sleep and sex— coming. Every tour always ends the same way— making up for the time and intimacy that can be so easily lost while on tour. At home, they can be as loud or as long as they want with no one to stop them. By the end of the few days, Patrick’s more pleased than he’s been all year.

Once it wears off, though, stress easily fills its place.

Pete’s on the phone again when Patrick wakes up, earlier than he’d like. His boyfriend’s in the bathroom, door locked, and speaking in a hushed yet excited tone. If Patrick didn’t know any better, he’d be concerned. As it is, he silently slips out of bed, gets dressed, and heads downstairs to start making coffee. Eventually, Pete joins him, dressed for the day with an urgency in his pace. Patrick raises an eyebrow when their eyes meet.

“Going somewhere?” Patrick asks. Pete hesitates before nodding, an embarrassed smile on his face. Patrick’s other eyebrow raises. “Where?”

“To get your present,” Pete admits, shoulders lifting to his ears as he laughs nervously. “Sorry, I know it sounds like I was putting it off but I promise I wasn’t.”

Something like guilt stirs in Patrick’s gut. He buries it with a long drink of coffee and a smile in Pete’s direction.

“It’s fine,” he says. “It better be freaking amazing, though.”

“Of course,” Pete says, walking over to steal a kiss from Patrick’s lips. “But I bet it won’t be half as awesome as whatever you get me.”

The guilt from before rises again and not even Pete’s lips against his own can distract Patrick from the uncomfortable feeling.

“Right,” he says with a soft laugh once Pete pulls away. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks,” Pete says, forcing his shoes on and heading for the door. “I’ll need it.”

The door shuts.

Patrick immediately starts panicking.

Okay. Okay. He can totally find the perfect present for Pete today. It can’t be that hard, right? Pete’s just now picking Patrick’s present, so, that’s fine, right? Is that why he’s been on the phone so often? Is he having the same problems? Patrick reaches for his own phone only to stop with a heavy sigh.

He can’t call anyone. What is he thinking? He already told everyone— loud and proud— that he bought Pete’s present. There’s no way his pride’s gonna let him expose himself.

Besides, Pete’s his boyfriend. Patrick should totally know what to get him. He’ll just head to a mall or store and he’s sure something will spark an idea.

Right.

Okay.

He’s got this.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

He does not, as he had thought to himself, “got this”. He’s the opposite of “got this”. He’s stressed and upset and has not “got this”.

Patrick’s spent more than half the day at three different malls and four department stores. Each of which yielded the same amount of results: zero. Nothing was good enough for Pete. Nothing screamed that it was the perfect gift. He almost feels guilty for how much he wishes they were back in the days of Jack Skellington cologne and eyeliner. At least, then, presents and gifts were simple.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he comes up to a red light. Patrick’s already forming plans to scour the internet for those websites he’s seen suggested in his spam mail, articles and lists promising a collection of gift ideas for anyone. Patrick’s never wanted to resort to such impersonal means but hours at a mall can change a person.

The red light stares down at him, the time it takes to turn green adding to his frustration. Of course, no aspect of his life can be simple. Did he really think he could fool himself into believing the most hectic part— the part including Pete fucking Wentz— would be any different?

Patrick leans down on the steering wheel, barely wincing at the short sound of the horn from the added pressure. Someone in the car beside him honks back and Patrick glances over, wondering if he’s frustrated enough to take part in a fight in the middle of the street. It’s been a long time since he’s expressed his rage through physical means but if someone else starts it, he’s more than willing to indulge.

Instead of an angry businessman or irritated soccer mom, though, Patrick’s eyes find a peeling poster taped onto a bench on the sidewalk. A poster for Pete’s favorite music store.

Patrick’s eyes light up and he sits straight again. Of course.

The universe shows favor to him once more as the light turns green and he performs a turn that’s only slightly legal, determined to make it to the shop before it closes for the night.

The store is one of Pete’s favorite, family-owned and full of hidden relics. The two have had multiple dates there, enough for a handful of the cashiers to become their friends. The thought emboldens Patrick. Even if it is closed— and the 5 pm ticking on the car’s clock tells him it probably is— he has a chance of one of the employees letting him in or, at least, placing something on hold. Maybe a new record came in that Pete might be interested in? A new bass design? The possibilities are endless and Patrick’s ready to look through all of them.

He stops in front of the store a few minutes later, once again breaking a few traffic laws as he parks right before the front doors. An employee walks past— a  dark-haired college girl nicknamed Lulu, if Patrick remembers correctly. He hurries out of the car, stumbling over the edge of the sidewalk as he chases after her.

“Hey! Hey, Lulu!” He shouts, ignoring the confused looks of passersby. It’s not his fault her nickname is Lulu, after all. He happens to think it’s a nice nickname, anyway. Much better than ‘pattycakes’ or ‘lunchbox’. “Lulu, just a sec!”

Finally, she turns around, popping her bubble gum with a wide-eyed expression.

“Oh, Patrick,” she says. “Cool to see you. What’s up?”

“Just some last minute shopping,” he says with a hopeful smile towards the store. “Do you, um… Is it closed right now? I wanted to get Pete something since it’s his favorite shop and all but, like, I didn’t think about it until too late. Obviously.”

Lulu’s eyebrows come together and she shoves her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, it’s closed. Didn’t you—”

“Can you please put something on hold then? We come in often enough that you should have a good idea of what he likes, right? I was imagining a new bass. We just got off tour and I know he—”

“Patrick,” Lulu interrupts, taking out a new piece of gum and popping it into her mouth. “I mean, like, it’s closed. Shut down. Sort of gone.”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

“Yeah,” Lulu says, shrugging in total ignorance to his plight. “Some company bought it a few weeks back while y'all were on tour, I guess. They just finished moving things to storage this morning. I was walking past to say goodbye.”

Patrick does his absolute best not to swear colorfully in front of this girl. Still, a small “shit” escapes in the most dismal tone he’s ever managed. He leans against the building, finally taking in the abandoned state of the interior. He shuts his eyes and sighs, his hands forming fists at his side.

“I really thought I had it figured out,” he mutters.

“Why don’t you order something online?” Lulu asks. “I know we were kind of niche but, I mean, it’s not like you can only get a bass from here.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, opening his eyes but leaning his head back on the window, not caring of the dirt that collects in his hair and hat. “It’s just that, like, I wanted the sort of cliche nostalgia thing with it, you know? Since we came here a ton and it was sort of like our spot. And I told Pete I was gonna get him the perfect present and I don’t even know what he wants so… This seemed like a good bet.”

“Oh.” Lulu pauses, frowning sympathetically. “Can’t you, like, I don’t know, trick him into telling you what he wants? Like, ask him to guess and then get him whatever he guesses?”

Patrick scoffs. “That’s the oldest trick in the book, Lulu.”

“No, not if you do it right.” Lulu actually sounds excited, a new development for the normally monotonous girl. “Like, I took my girlfriend ice skating at the beginning of the month. There’s this awesome place a few miles out and if you go to the right spot, there’s this frozen pond and it’s so cute and we just sort of had an awesome date so she didn’t even notice when she admitted she wanted a certain necklace.”

“Huh.” Patrick furrows his eyebrows together. It… It does sound like a good plan, one that Pete might not notice. They’re both romantics so an ice skating date could be a good ruse and good fun. But does he even have time to do that? If it doesn’t work or Pete calls him out on it, it would just be another day wasted. Or, worse, Pete would find out that Patrick doesn't have the gift and the humiliation of that— the admittance that he wasn’t able to find a gift for his boyfriend— isn’t something Patrick’s willing to go through.

It is, however, something he might be willing to risk. It isn’t like he has many other options at this point.

“You know what, I think I might just have to go for that,” Patrick says, looking over at Lulu with a smile. “Now, where is this magical pond, again?”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

When Patrick finally steps through the front door of their house, Pete’s waiting for him with a worried expression on his face.

“Where were you?” Pete asks, stepping forward as Patrick slips out of his shoes and coat. Patrick winces at the concerned tone.

“Sorry,” he says. “I went shopping on impulse and lost track of time. I didn’t even think to call or text.”

“It’s fine,” Pete says, drawing Patrick further into the house with his hands on his shoulders. “I trust you but I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.”

Pete steps back, though his hands remain on Patrick. “You don’t have any bags. You know, from shopping.”

Patrick’s face goes red as he stammers for an excuse.

“Maybe I hid them,” he says. “Maybe I was buying your present.”

Pete laughs lightly, stepping closer to Patrick once again.

“Fair enough.”

Pete’s hands travel lower, pressing on the base of Patrick’s spine until they’re chest-to-chest with nowhere to go. Patrick’s arms move of their own accord, wrapping around Pete’s neck to draw him in closer, the contact easing away the stress of Patrick’s day.

“Are you really gonna get me the best present ever, Patrick?” Pete asks, his eyes burning with a passion that causes sparks to light in Patrick’s veins. It’s enough to make Patrick’s answer sincere.

“Of course, Pete,” he says, leaning into the man he loves. “You deserve the best.”

Pete smiles and it makes the stress— the toil of driving, the frustration of shopping, the rage at not knowing what Pete wants— worth it.

Patrick already knows he wants to get Pete the perfect gift but, when Pete leans down to press a soft kiss against his neck, he learns that, more than wanting, he needs to find it. What better way to express how much he loves him? What better way to prove to Pete, to their friends, and to himself that he truly does deserve the man holding him in his arms right now? Sure, Pete talks a lot about soul mates and meant-to-be’s but can Patrick prove that he and Pete are on the same wavelength? Can he find the present that will solidify the fact in everyone’s mind that “yes, this couple is perfect”?

Perhaps it’s stupid to place so much weight on one Christmas present but Patrick knows when something’s important and this present— this promise— is one he cannot fail.

Pete’s lips trail up his neck to his jaw, his breath hot against Patrick’s skin.

“You’re thinking way too much,” he whispers. Patrick grins, letting his hands fall so his nails can scrape down Pete’s back through his shirt.

“I’m always thinking too much, according to you,” he says, bunching the fabric of Pete’s shirt in his hands and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Then you’re thinking of the wrong things,” Pete says, pulling back to gaze into Patrick’s eyes. Warmth and security flood through Patrick; love and desire fill his veins.

“And what should I be thinking about?” Patrick asks, teasing as he ducks away from Pete’s wandering lips. He feels a smile against his skin; he feels pleasure and anticipation coil in his gut.

“Bedroom,” Pete says, his voice low. “Now.”

Patrick grins, his voice breathy when he speaks. “I like the way you think.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 20, 2017

There’s something about the hickeys on his neck and the soreness in his backside that keeps Patrick’s stress at bay. He sits at the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee, and waits for Pete to join him. It’s early again and his body complains about being so far from the bed but he has a plan. No more frivolous hopes of finding the right gift; this time, he’s going to get the answer he wants so Pete can have the perfect Christmas with him.

“You’re up early.”

Patrick looks up to see Pete leaning on the counter across from him, looking as tired as Patrick feels. He reaches over and takes Patrick’s coffee mug but Patrick doesn’t say anything about it, even if Pete’s coffee is waiting for him on the counter behind them.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking down at his hands as he tries to imagine how he’s supposed to ask Pete on a date. It’s been awhile since they’ve planned one; typically, things occur in the moment as a result of their busy lives or Pete’s spontaneous personality. What if Pete laughs at the idea? What if he thinks it’s strange?

Memories from last night— warm bodies pressed flush against each other, moans filling the air like a song— flash through Patrick’s mind.

No. He won’t be intimidated by the thought of a date with his boyfriend— a date with Pete .

“Did you want to go out today? Like, like, you know, just us? It’s been a bit since we’ve had any sort of, like, time to ourselves and one of our friends mentioned this awesome ice skating spot a bit outside of town and I thought, like, we could go? It sounded enjoyable, I mean,” Patrick trails off, still not meeting Pete’s eyes. When the silence becomes too much to bear, he glances up.

“Patrick.” Pete draws the name out with a smug smile on his face. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Patrick smiles despite the warm blush on his cheeks at Pete’s tone. “Are you saying yes?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, his eyes and smile softening. “Yeah, of course.”

Patrick lets out a breath he’d been holding hostage in his chest, in case Pete said no and consciousness was no longer a pleasing option.

“But,” Pete says, once again putting Patrick on high-alert, “where the hell are we going to go ice-skating? It’s barely snowed at all this month.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, willing his heart rate to calm down. Pete said yes, there’s no reason to be afraid.

“Don’t worry, it’s still been plenty cold,” he says. “And, like, a friend told me about this great spot.”

“Cool,” Pete says. “Can’t wait.”

He stands up and hurries to get ready for the day. Not, though, of course, before downing the rest of Patrick’s coffee. Patrick stares at the empty mug once Pete’s gone but eventually shakes his head with a fond smile.

He loves that man so much more than he ever expected he would.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

For once, everything— the world, the universe, everything — shows mercy and goes according to plan.

No.

It’s better.

He and Pete stop by a store on the way to the lake, their house lacking the ice skates they’d need. Patrick keeps an eye on Pete as they wander through the aisles in search of the skates and as they check out, determined to see if his gaze lingers on anything for too long. Pete’s eyes, though, never seem to leave Patrick.

The drive to the lake, too, is filled with smiles and small talk that only the two of them would understand. Inside jokes and memories float through the air for the hour or so it takes to get to there. Patrick has a hard time keeping an eye on the road with the way Pete’s smiling at him and he thinks that, maybe, everything will turn out okay. Even if most plans do go sour at this point.

“Here,” Patrick says, pulling the car into a parking space off the side of the road, barred away by wooden fences and signs describing the nature they’ll find around them.”We’re here.”

Pete smiles. “Cool. It better be as fun as you promised, Rickster!”

He jumps out of the car before Patrick can reply. Still, Patrick shakes his head and finds himself agreeing.

The worry, though, is unfounded as they walk up to the lake— more of a pond like Lulu had said. It’s cute and ice-coated like something from a Christmas movie. Patrick smiles in relief. It’s not often they have such a perfect skating spot, let alone one so abandoned. He follows Pete to the side of it, holding onto his shoulder as he tugs the ice skates on.

“I don’t know,” Pete says, frowning at the expanse of ice before them. “Does it look reliable to you?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. Of all things that could bring this plan down, Pete’s hesitation is not going to be one of them.

“Oh, come on,” he says. “It’s fine. Lulu came here, right? Here, watch. I’ll show you.”

Don’t crack, don’t break, don’t crack, DON’T BREAK

Patrick shakes as he finishes tying up the laces for the skates and steps onto the ice. Fantasies of falling through flood his mind cruelly, imaginary cracks appearing in his vision. He holds his arms out to the side to keep his balance, all the while staring down with his lip bitten painfully between his teeth.

I’m doing this for Pete. To get him the present he deserves. Come on, what kind of boyfriend am I if I can’t even go out on some ice to find out what present he wants?

“You doing alright out there?” Pete shouts, drawing Patrick away from his thoughts. Patrick smiles shakily, turning back around with a thumbs-up.

“You’re not gonna leave me out here by myself, are you?” He teases, slipping a bit as he tries to get back to the edge where Pete’s standing. Pete laughs, placing his own skates cautiously on the ice and slowly sliding out to meet Patrick halfway. Laughter wells up in his chest and, eventually, they find each other with shaking hands and steady smiles.

“If I fall through this ice, Patrick…” Pete starts warningly. Patrick rolls his eyes, pushing himself away from Pete to perform a sloppy spin.

“It’s fine,” he urges. “Besides, I wouldn’t let you fall. I know how much you hate the cold.”

Pete grins and, for a moment, Patrick’s heart stops at the sight. Ice and cold air, Pete’s warm eyes and warmer smile… Everything is perfect.

“Hey,” Pete says, skating up to Patrick’s side. “I’ll race you around the lake.”

Patrick glances at the perimeter before smiling back at Pete with a challenge in his eyes. “You’re on.”

In a second, they’re both rushing around the edge. They’re foolish and clumsy and appear more like toddlers trying to walk for the first time. Still, they’re laughing and smiling and Patrick can’t imagine a moment more perfect.

They waste an hour or so doing this, racing and pretending they can do any sort of tricks. They laugh and act as if Pete’s figure eight is impressive or like Patrick’s spins are more graceful than they are. The cold air nips at their noses but becomes bearable over time; it seems, the more they smile at each other, the more the cold begins to fade away.

When Pete’s laughing at a stunt Patrick just pulled— an attempt to spin more than three times in a row leading to one of the most precarious slips yet— Patrick knows it’s time to put his plan in action.

“So, Christmas is soon,” Patrick starts, trying to be casual and sounding anything but. “Wanna tell me what my present is?”

Pete raises an eyebrow, skating a circle around Patrick. “I can’t tell you that. Guess.”

“Hmm,” Patrick pretends to think, lifting his hat to scratch at his head. “Another vinyl record from some obscure R&B artist?”

Pete laughs, attempting to skate backward and giving Patrick a heart attack as he does so. “No way. Nope. I told the guys I was gonna stop fuelling your addiction.”

“Aw, pity,” Patrick says, smiling as he grabs Pete’s wrist and tugs him to a stop. “It would have been the best present ever.”

“I’m sure,” Pete says, adjusting so Patrick’s holding his hand rather than his wrist. “Speaking of which… You wanna tell me what my present is?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Patrick teases, using Pete’s words from before. He leans in, his words a fog in the air. “Guess.”

“Hmm,” Pete smirks, somehow making even his hum sound sarcastic. “A really good eyeliner pencil.”

Patrick laughs despite the disappointment that comes with the answer. “I mean, if that’s what you want, I guess—”

“Oh, wait, no. If we’re going based off what I want, like, right now, the only logical answer is that you finally gave in and have some lacy red lingerie under all those layers.”

Patrick smacks Pete’s arm, laughing with his entire body. His face is already flushed from the cold but Pete’s words send more blood rushing into his cheeks.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he jokes. “Because, like, that’s the best early Christmas present, right? The thought of me trying to find my way around a Victoria’s Secret?”

“Hey, I pointed out the ones I liked for you during that fashion show years back,” Pete says, mock-sternly. “You really have no excuse.”

“Right, okay, my mistake,” Patrick says. His smile becomes something softer when Pete finally stops skating back and forth, coming to a stop before him just like the night before, only the fear of lost balance keeping them from pressing together any closer. Patrick sighs, lifting a hand to rest it again Pete’s chest. Warm. Safe. Perfect. Perfect . He sighs again, a fraction less content than the previous. “What is the perfect gift for you, Pete?”

“The perfect gift? You know, I’m starting to think it’s a bit unfair to ask you to get something perfect,” Pete says, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist. Warm . “In fact, I’d go so far to say it’s pretty much impossible for you to find the perfect gift.”

“What?” Patrick’s eyebrows furrow together, offended at the insinuation that Patrick can’t find his own boyfriend a decent present for Christmas. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have total faith in whatever you did get,” Pete says, successfully calming Patrick’s nerves just to spike them back up again. “It’s just that, well, you’re already the most perfect present I could have ever asked for.”

Electricity, sparking and buzzing up and down Patrick’s spine, fills Patrick with the same feeling of falling in love for the first time.

“Do you always have to be such a cliche?” Patrick asks. Pete’s smile remains unaffected at the words.

“Only when I’m around you.” He’s saved from Patrick pointing out how that, too, is a cliche by his own actions of leaning down.

Pete’s lips brush over Patrick’s, tender and filled with every version of “I love you”; Patrick’s knees go weak.

It’s the worst reaction his body could have possibly had.

Before Pete’s lips are fully off of Patrick’s, Patrick’s falling to the ice, his knees hitting it with a sickening cracking sound.

Before Pete can fully shout Patrick’s name, Patrick’s falling. He’s falling to the ice… He’s falling through it.

The last thing he hears is Pete screaming for him before his world is encased in the cold.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Breathing. Light. Soft. Safe. Warm.

Warm.

Patrick wakes up slowly, opening his eyes more of a task than it should be. His head hurts, his body hurts, and he’s more disoriented than he previously thought possible for a human to be.

He’s in his room, at least, tucked in bed with no less than a dozen blankets piled on top and around him. It’s warm. Warm, but not as warm as the body pressed so tightly to his side.

Patrick shifts, groaning as turns to look at the person next to him.

Pete smiles, smaller than the ones he’s been giving Patrick recently.

“Hey,” he says, stroking Patrick’s hair. Patrick nuzzles into the touch, sighing softly. “I told you that damn ice was unreliable.”

Patrick huffs out a laugh, his muscles aching at the small action. “Just be glad you weren’t the idiot that fell in.”

Pete frowns. “Hey, don’t doubt that I wish I was.”

His fingers move lower, to brush against Patrick’s cheek. Patrick frowns and hisses when a small burst of pain follows Pete’s movements.

“You got a scrape on your cheek from when you fell,” Pete explains, drawing his hand back. “You didn’t fall through completely, thank god, but you did hit your head on the ice and pass out. Gave me a heart attack in the process. I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure whether or not to call an ambulance but Andy showed up when I called him and said you were gonna be alright. He helped me move you into the car and back home. I can still take you to a hospital if you feel like you need it, though. Do you… How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

Patrick pauses, shutting his eyes and considering the status of his body. He thinks he’s fine; he feels fine, at least, albeit tired and sore. Besides, a hospital trip would totally ruin the holiday spirt— not to mention, keep him from shopping for Pete’s gift, whatever that will be. He shakes his head and reaches out to pull Pete closer to him.

“Just, like, cuddle with me for a bit,” Patrick says. “You’re warm.”

Pete laughs, relief filling the sound. “Alright, just. Just let me know if you do start to feel, like, sick or anything. Can’t have any Patricks getting too sick or injured before Christmas.”

Patrick nods, opening his eyes to glance up at Pete. His gaze, though, lands on the fabric covering his arm.

“Pete,” he says, freeing an arm from Pete’s grip to stare at it. “Why on earth am I wearing your jacket?”

“Because you were shivering like fuck and I couldn’t find a better one in time,” Pete answers, logical as ever. “Besides, it’s freaking Gucci, Patrick. You should feel honored I let you wear it.”

“Gucci,” Patrick repeats, staring at the colorful patterns across the denim. Pete nods.

“Yeah. Now, get to sleep before I start making fun of how you look in it and curse you with the nickname Gucci Slut or something,” he says, petting Patrick’s head again. Patrick shakes his head and wraps his arm around Pete again, exhaustion tugging him away from the conversation.

But.

Gucci?

Huh.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 21, 2017

“What do you mean I’m not allowed to leave the house? Like, what the hell? Pete, I have stuff to do, you can’t just keep me here against my will!”

Patrick’s sure his angry rant would be a lot more effective if his voice wasn’t fading in and out of existence with every other word.

“It’s not like I want to force you to do anything but you have a cold and I don’t want you driving with a possible concussion. You don’t want to go to the doctor, that’s your choice. But I’m not risking something stupid like you tripping down the stairs because you started seeing double,” Pete says. To be fair, it’s one of the most logical things he’s ever said. Still, that doesn’t mean Patrick has to agree with it.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Patrick falls back down on the pillows with an angry huff. “So I’m not even allowed to go down the stairs now?”

“Nope.”

Patrick groans, his throat protesting the action. When he explodes into a round of violent coughs, Pete merely raises an eyebrow to prove his point.

“Yeah, you’re staying in bed,” Pete says. “I’ll get you some medicine and, hopefully, with some rest, you’ll be better in time for Brendon’s party.”

“But, Pete,” Patrick whines, shutting his eyes and employing the stubborn child tactic. “What if I, like, have to go Christmas shopping? How am I supposed to do that from here?”

He opens his eyes, hoping to see his boyfriend give in. Instead, Pete leans against the doorframe and folds his arms across his chest, everything from his stance to his eyes screaming a challenge.

“Who do you need a present for? Make a list, right now, and I’ll get it while I’m buying the cookies for the party.”

If Patrick thought he could get away with it, he’d start kicking his legs and throwing a fit. He thinks back to the video they filmed for his Best Vocalist Award and entertains the idea for longer than his dignity wants to admit. He blames the idea on his cold. People don’t think rationally when they’re sick, right?

“Aren’t the cookies supposed to be, like, homemade?” Patrick asks instead, glaring at the ceiling.

“Come on, Brendon knows that neither of us can cook for shit,” Pete says. “And that includes baking. If he wanted homemade he should have asked, like, literally anyone else to bring them. Now, what presents did you need?

Patrick takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes once more, and counts to three. Calm down. It won’t do anyone any good to start a full-blown fight over this.

“It was a hypothetical,” he says, at last, opening his eyes but still refusing to look over at his boyfriend. If Pete notices Patrick’s frustration, he says nothing about it.

“Good.” Pete walks over and presses a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, one that Patrick tries his best not to react to. His lips stay drawn in a tight line and he keeps his gaze anywhere other than Pete. Again, Pete ignores the hostility. “Get some rest and you’ll be out of bed before you know it.”

“Whatever,” Patrick mumbles. “Be safe.”

Pete grins at the words. “Always. Love you!”

“Love you.”

Patrick shuts his eyes as Pete leaves, listening to him run down the stairs, grab his keys, and rush out the door. Once he hears the car pull out of the driveway, Patrick’s eyes snap open and he fumbles over the side of the bed to reach the laptop stuck underneath it. He usually keeps his computer close by in case musical inspiration hits but, now, he’s just desperate to find Pete’s gift. Once he’s settled back on the bed with the computer in his lap, wincing at the bright light of the screen, he starts to search.

Gucci

It’s not as bad as the Yeezys, at least, and Patrick says a quick prayer of gratitude for that. If he’d gone through all this trouble of finding a present only to end up with some stupid shirt or jacket, he was going to riot. He’d be the Patrick Who Stole Christmas and no one would be able to stop him because, fuck, he just wants to get his boyfriend a present and either he’s getting the best present or no one’s getting a present at all.

Yeah. Patrick can already see the child’s book and movie adaption of his story. It’s not a pretty sight.

Thankfully, his rage eases as he scrolls through the Gucci products online, wincing only a bit at some of the louder pieces of clothing. He’s not sure what Pete already has so he focuses on finding something he thinks Pete will look good in. It doesn’t narrow down the options as much as he’d hoped, his bias telling him that Pete would look good in anything.

Eventually, a scarf catches his eye, something simple with a bee embroidered on it. It comes in a variety of colors but the red and blue stand out to him, both colors that Pete’s pulled off magnificently in the past. Sure, it's simple and pretty lame in comparison to the hype he’d been creating but he’s sure a nice statement about how handsome he thinks Pete looks in the colors will redeem him. He already knows everyone else is bound to make fun of the gift but he’s pretty positive it’ll make Pete smile and that thought alone causes him to buy it. He doesn’t feel as satisfied as he’d like, still searching and waiting for the right gift to come along, but at least he has something. No one can say he didn’t try.

Mission accomplished, Patrick drops the computer back down onto the floor and gives into the sleep tugging at his mind. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but Pete had the right idea when he sentenced Patrick to bedrest. He’s not sure how he’d cope in the outside world right now.

When Pete comes back later, crawling into bed in a way that brings Patrick to the brink of consciousness, Patrick can only hope that his present is good enough.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 22, 2017

House arrest is easier with the knowledge that he doesn’t need to stress about presents for Pete. Sure, he argues with him until he’s finally allowed to walk down the stairs by himself but, for now, Patrick’s content with Pete’s overprotective personality hiding the car keys and warning the neighbors about Patrick’s condition. It’s touching, in a very Pete Wentz way.

He curls closer to the man as they watch cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies on the couch together, something Pete swears they have to do as a couple every holiday season. Patrick’s almost certain Pete has a list somewhere, a guideline of “How To Have A Romantic Holiday”. Again, a very Pete Wentz version of romance that has Patrick smiling as the couple on the screen kiss in the snow.

“You’re shivering,” Pete says out of nowhere, wrapping his arm tighter around Patrick’s shoulders. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, eyes on the TV and wondering how on earth anyone could kiss for so long. Surely, they have to come up for air at some point? “Just chills, I guess.”

“Here, just a sec,” Pete says, slipping out from Patrick’s grip and placing blankets on him as he stands. “I’ll make us hot chocolate.”

Patrick grins, hating how easily the simple suggestion makes him blush in happiness.

God, they may be even cheesier than the Hallmark couple. Patrick shudders at the thought.

The TV couple is exchanging presents now, something that has Patrick’s smile fading. They squeal and cry as they open their gifts, rambling about just how perfect or sentimental it is. Is it supposed to be that simple? Sure, Patrick knows they’re TV characters but a piece of him still yearns for the smiles they’re sharing. He wants that happiness on Christmas; he wants that piece of perfect.

And he’s back at those thoughts from before, those questions of what kind of boyfriend doesn’t know what to get his boyfriend for Christmas? They expand, stealing his focus and contentment in exchange for panic and disappointment.

Really, how much does he deserve Pete if he can’t even find him one perfect present?

Patrick sighs, tugging the blankets tighter around his shoulders as another vicious shiver travels through him. These thoughts are stupid, he tells himself. He bought Pete something, didn’t he? And he knows Pete will enjoy it so isn’t that all that matters in the end?

Somehow, he can’t quite convince himself of that this time.

“Catch!”

Pete’s voice appears from nowhere, as does a piece of fabric in Patrick’s face. Patrick laughs at the sudden bombardment as Pete sits back down beside him, turning the TV down and placing a warm thermos of hot chocolate in Patrick’s hands.

“What the hell, Pete?” Patrick asks through his giggles, smiling down at the drink. Pete’s silly and cheesy; the thought eases Patrick’s mind that he will find a way to enjoy Patrick’s present.

“You seemed super cold so I got you extra hot chocolate and a scarf,” Pete explains. Patrick nods, accepting the answer.

He glances down at the scarf, expecting to see something ragged from the back of their closet. Instead, blue meets his eyes. And red. And a small bee insignia…

Patrick gasps harshly, choking on hot chocolate and sending Pete to his side in an instant. His throat screams at him for the action as he hacks up the liquid, burning his tongue and mouth but not caring as the scarf around his neck chokes him worse than anything else could in this moment.

“Where…” Patrick coughs again, Pete’s hand patting his back to help. “Where the… fuck, where did this scarf come from?”

“Huh? The scarf?” Pete’s eyebrows furrow together and he eases Patrick back into a sitting position and out of the doubled-over posture he’d fallen into. “I bought it on my way back from the store yesterday. Yeah, I know buying yourself something during the holiday season is totally giving into the materialistic side of Christmas but I saw the Gucci store and couldn’t resist. Besides, at least I got the colors you think I look good in!”

Blue and red.

Well.

At least Patrick knows he made the right choice. Just, not in a way that would matter.

“Right,” Patrick says, staring down at the scarf. “That’s… yeah, that’s great, Pete.”

He’s sure if he thought about it some more, let the situation sink in, he’d be able to find something to laugh or shout at. He could curse or scream; instead, he almost feels like giving up entirely.

On the first day, with the out of stock Yeezys, Patrick had thought the universe was telling him to buy something better. Now, it just feels like the universe doesn’t want him to buy Pete anything at all. And how the hell is he supposed to interpret that message? That the perfect present doesn’t exist? That Patrick’s as horrible at buying presents as everyone says? That he’s not good enough for Pete so stop trying?

Patrick bites down on his lip to keep it from trembling, though he’s sure he can blame it on his chills if Pete happens to see.

What did he do to deserve these obstacles? Why can’t things just work out for him for once?

Pete tries to reach out and grab Patrick’s arm, to ask him if he’s alright. Patrick pulls away, guilt and shame itching beneath his skin. Obviously, Pete deserves someone who can buy him something perfect. Someone who’ll hear the words “perfect present” and immediately know what to get him. Someone better. Someone that’s not Patrick.

“Is everything okay?” Pete asks but not even his voice can draw Patrick away from his thoughts entirely.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, not trying to hide the saddened tone. “Let’s just… Let’s just watch the movie.”

Pete watches him but doesn’t say another word, turning back to the screen and raising the volume in time for a new movie to start. Patrick doesn’t pay attention to the plot.

And he doesn’t let Pete touch him for the rest of the night, either.

Who’d want to be intimate with someone so filled with guilt and ignorance?

Patrick falls asleep alone, Pete’s breaths the only sign that someone else is there.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 23, 2017

One more day before the party. One more chance to find the perfect present.

Patrick had woken up before Pete, before even the sun and most of the rest of the city. Stress gnaws at him like a dog on a bone, refusing to let him forget about the number one problem staring him in the face.

Patrick dresses quickly and quietly, sending affectionate glances towards Pete’s sleeping figure every now and then. They’d stayed up pretty late last night, watching an unhealthy amount of Christmas movies. He wouldn’t be surprised if Pete managed to sleep for the rest of the day— a fact that Patrick’s counting on.

Patrick leaves, snatching the keys from where he saw Pete hiding them in his shoes. Just a few hours at a store. He’s sure the pressure will force him to make a decision and just find something.

He’s sure of it.

He has no other choice.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

The pressure of an impending deadline leads to only one place, it seems.

The toy store.

It wasn’t Patrick’s first choice but something about the colorful lights and cartoon characters screamed Pete’s name. Besides, Patrick had already checked every other store multiple times. This was his only hope.

He heads in, smiling at the early shift employees and hoping no one asks who he’s shopping for. Sure, he could probably say a niece or nephew but if there’s anything this whole ordeal has taught him, it’s that lying fucking sucks. He can only imagine how adding more lies to the heap could create issues he’d rather not deal with.

He heads towards the electronics, an ad for a flying drone toy directing his thoughts. Pete would like that, right? He’s childish enough to enjoy a typical robotic device, right? Patrick’s dubious but he carries on anyway, his last strands of hope pulling him along.

Hope, however, isn’t quite the strongest thing because, when he sees the empty shelves, he’s not as surprised as he’d have been a few days ago. Instead, he sighs and feels his holiday spirit shrink even more.

Is it too late to go through with stealing Christmas?

Patrick turns, intent on asking for an employee’s opinion on what to get his boyfriend from the toy store, when his eyes land on the perfect toy. The perfect present. The perfect gift.

A giant— giant — Chewbacca stuffed animal.

The band and crew had seen the new Star Wars when it came out and Pete hasn’t been able to stop quoting it since. Star Wars was one of those things they could rant about for hours together, a place where their geeky interests overlapped. The hype of the new movie should make it even more exciting and Patrick knows Pete has a weird thing for stuffed animals— the toys littering their basement is proof enough of that. It’s not sentimental or nostalgic but it is perfect.

And perfect is exactly what Patrick needs.

He runs to the stand even though there are plenty enough left that he need not worry about an OUT OF STOCK sign or a mom taking the last one. He plucks the closest one off the shelf and holds it to his chest. It really is giant, a bit bigger than him, and he struggles to wrap his arms around it in a way that keeps his dignity intact. Eventually, he gives into the embarrassment of hugging a giant Chewbacca and waddles towards the store clerk. He’s doing this for Pete, he reminds himself. He’s doing this for Pete.

He’s halfway to the check-out when his limited vision— trying to glance over Chewbacca’s shoulder to guide his way— leads him to bumping into someone else.

“Oh, crap, sorry, I couldn’t… Andy?” Patrick lowers the Chewbacca to gaze wide-eyed at the drummer.

“Oh, hey!” Andy says. “I see you’re buying presents, too?”

“Yep,” Patrick says. “What are you—”

Patrick looks at what Andy has stuffed under his arm.

Of fucking course.

“It’s for Pete,” Andy says, following Patrick’s gaze. “I put off the shopping for a bit but at least he’s easy to shop for, right?”

“Right.” Patrick’s grip tightens on his own Chewbacca toy. The same one Andy has tucked in his arms.

“So, um, who are you getting it for?” Andy asks. Patrick’s mind goes blank.

He can’t just admit he was going to buy his boyfriend a stupid Star Wars toy! Not after promising the perfect present! And definitely not after pretending he already bought his gift!

“Oh, um, this? It’s for, well, you see, I.” Patrick stops, looking at Andy with no emotion on his face whatsoever. “Myself.”

Andy steps back, taking in Patrick’s neutral expression and monotonous tone. “Really?’

“Yes,” Patrick says, placing it back on a nearby shelf. “I got bored and thought it would be cool to have but, um, I guess, yeah. You should probably get it for Pete. He’d like it.”

Andy stares at Patrick a second longer. “Patrick, you did get Pete his present already, right?”

“ Yes ,” Patrick all but hisses, hands forming fists. He continues because, apparently, he hates himself “Yes, I did. And it’s awesome.”

Andy nods, still suspicious but not pushing any further.

“Well, okay,” he says, smiling. “Hey, at least now you know you don’t have to worry about competing with my gift!”

Patrick can only laugh half-heartedly.

“Yep,” he says. “At least there’s that.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

It doesn’t matter how many stores Patrick goes to after that; it doesn’t matter how many meaningless ideas pop into his head. Nothing stands out as the perfect present anymore. Nothing is good enough for Pete so he returns home a few hours later, dragging his feet and hating his life.

Pete’s still asleep, though, when he goes upstairs to check. At least one thing is working out, Patrick thinks with a derisive laugh.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you the perfect present,” Patrick says, sitting on the edge of the bed and running his hand through Pete’s hair. “I tried, I promise but. I guess I couldn’t get you anything. I’m a bad boyfriend.”

“I’m a bad friend.”

“Patrick, your voice is like a gift from God.”

The scene appears unbidden in Patrick’s mind, a memory from years ago. He laughs lightly to himself. It doesn’t seem like it’s the first time he’s failed to get Pete a present.

Your voice is like a gift from God

Pete was partaking in onstage banter and was probably being sarcastic then but, still, Patrick’s eyes travel to the guitar resting against the wall on the other side of the room.

It’s a stupid idea.

It’s a useless idea.

It’s an idea so far from perfect or wonderful or what Pete deserves.

It’s a horrible idea.

But it’s the only one Patrick has.

He stands and walks over to the guitar, grabbing it with a small frown.

Pete wouldn’t… He wouldn’t hate it, right?

Patrick glances back at the man still sleeping on the bed and his resolve hardens.

He has less than twenty-four hours to create the perfect gift.

Challenge accepted.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

December 24, 2017
Christmas Eve

Patrick wakes with his arms cuddling a guitar and his cheek pressed to their music room floor. Light streams in through the blinds, the birds chirping outside letting him know it’s morning. He rolls over onto his back, trying to remember when he fell asleep, and is greeted by the sight of Pete’s amused grin staring down at him.

“Well, good morning. I was wondering where you were last night,” Pete says. “What on earth are you doing?”

Patrick licks his lips, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Um. Practicing MANIA songs?”

Pete’s eyebrow raises. “Right. Okay. That makes sense.”

He doesn’t question it, though, something Patrick’s immensely grateful for as he pushes himself into a sitting position. He winces at the indents left in his hand by the guitar strings. Pete better appreciate what he’s been through for him.

“So, I’m thinking we leave for Brendon’s in a few hours. That should give you enough time to get ready, right?” Pete asks.

“Right,” Patrick says, still trying to ease feeling back into the arm he fell asleep on.

“Oh, and Merry Christmas Eve, Patrick,” Pete says in a sing-song voice. “I can’t wait to give you your present tonight!”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, even as Pete hurries out of the room. He gazes down at the guitar at his side. “I can’t wait to give you yours either.”

<><><> <><><> <><><>

At the party, Patrick’s almost able to forget about the present.

Almost, but not quite.

Brendon’s always good with parties. He knows exactly the right amount of people to invite and how much alcohol to have. He can predict how late people will stay and can talk to each guest for just the right amount of time for everyone to feel welcome. Within the first few hours, Patrick finds himself with a cup of spiked eggnog and a soft smile on his face. He’s already spoken to a few of Brendon’s friends about music, his go-to topic, and Pete’s somewhere in the crowd laughing with Andy and Joe about whatever present he'd gotten Patrick.

Patrick’s eyes drift over to the guitar stashed behind Brendon’s couch. Sneaking it over was simple enough. He’d hidden it in the trunk of their car and waited for Pete to be properly distracted before bringing it in. Brendon had helped, moved the couch out enough for the guitar to fit. He’d smiled at Patrick’s idea and called it romantic but the amount of presents under the giant tree stops his breath each time he looks over at it. He’s the only person without a neatly wrapped box labeled To: Pete. Even Joe took part in the Christmas spirit and brought boxes of candy canes for everyone with the threat that they better be willing to spend some of Hanukkah with him next year. If anyone looks too closely, they’ll be able to call Patrick out on it.

Maybe Patrick can convince Brendon to call off the gift-exchange or maybe he can get Pete to leave early. If he pretends to be sick, Pete will rush them both back home. But then he’ll still have to explain that he doesn’t have an actual present for him!

The thought of stealing Christmas sounds more appealing as the night goes on. He eyes the trash bin in the kitchen. Hypothetically, he could totally fit at least half the presents in there before anyone noticed.

“Alright! Who’s ready for presents?”

Too late.

Everyone crowds around the tree at the sound of Brendon’s declaration, good cheer and holiday spirit flooding the room with everyone’s excitement.

Patrick hates it.

Brendon plays Santa, passing out the presents with the enthusiasm of a child. At least Patrick doesn’t have to worry about anyone wondering why Pete doesn’t have one from him.

Not yet, at least.

The gift-exchange goes by quicker than Patrick wants, a flurry of ripped wrapping paper and inside jokes littering the room. His palms sweat as they go around the circle, closer and closer to Pete. Patrick had dragged them to the end in hopes that a Christmas miracle would appear. Maybe someone else messed up as badly as he has. Maybe a Ghost of Christmas will come collect his soul before the end of the night. He’s pretty wealthy, right? There may be hope yet.

But then they get to Pete, smiles and jokes about how they can’t wait to see the perfect present Patrick had bragged about flooding his senses. Patrick’s stomach turns. He always knew trying to be selfless had to have a downside. As Pete reaches for the first present— Andy’s comically large present— Patrick makes a note to not lend Joe as much money as he had this year. That’s greedy enough, right?

“Bah, humbug,” Patrick mutters to himself as Pete continues with his presents. Each reveal causes Patrick’s forced smile— a mask of excitement for his boyfriend— to falter a bit more.

A Gucci jacket.

A Metallica record.

Hair product.

The giant Chewbacca.

A star wars phone case.

Patrick bites down on his cheek. Why didn’t he think of any of that? Pete smiles widely at each one. Perfect . They’re all perfect.

“Hey, Patrick,” Pete turns, that stupid smile still on his face. “What about your gift?”

“Yeah!” Joe calls out, the word distorted by the candy cane in his mouth. “The perfect one you said you had?”

“I…” Patrick’s eyes dart to the guitar and Brendon’s excited smile. The other singer nods encouragingly, makes a movement to grab the guitar for him.

Patrick freezes and his breath catches in his throat.

He can’t do this.

He can’t fucking do this.

A song?

Did he really think he would be able to perform a love song in front of everyone?

Did he imagine for a second that Pete would appreciate something so stupidly cliche?

He’s so stupid.

A song isn’t something Pete could hold or look at in the times he wants to remember Patrick. There’s nothing physical for Pete to cherish and, god, Patrick knows the physical aspect isn’t all that important but he didn’t even record it! He just planned on pulling out a guitar and flattering himself by pretending his voice and music would be enough to earn the title of the perfect present.

“Patrick?” Pete’s voice is concerned; it has no right to be.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick breathes, shaking and staring into space as he pulls himself up from the couch. He can’t do this, he was such an idiot to think he could ever find something deserving of Pete— that he could ever prove his worthiness of Pete. Their friends stare at him but he can’t care. He’s humiliated himself enough. “I— I couldn’t find anything, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Pete calls his name but it doesn’t matter. Patrick’s already racing for the back door.

Air. He needs some air and he needs to clear his head but, most importantly, he needs to escape.

The cold of the outside welcomes him with a tight embrace that squeezes the warm air from his lungs and freezes his fists in place. Wind threatens to tear his hat from his head. It frees the tears pooling in his eyes.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

How could he be so fucking stupid? A song? A fucking song? What did he think this was, one of those Hallmark movies where he serenades the love of his life and ends the night with a perfect kiss with a perfect person and a perfect round of applause around them?

Stupid.

So fucking stupid.

“Patrick! Patrick, where are you?”

He knew Pete would follow, the same way he knew he wouldn’t try to run. Still, his legs tense and his breaths come quick as if he has a reason to hide.

His mind— his cruel, cold, traitorous mind— plays scenes of a messy breakup, of humiliation, of Pete realizing that “you couldn’t even find a present? What kind of boyfriend are you? I got you something awesome and you can’t even do the same?”

Oh, Patrick knows it’s dramatic, knows that Pete’s too kind to break someone’s heart on a night like Christmas Eve. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking about it. It doesn’t mean Patrick’s not terrified of the thought.

“Patri— Oh, here you are.” The door opens and shuts, Pete slipping out with a frown on his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Patrick doesn’t bother to hide his tears or the stutter of his breath. There’s no point anymore.

“I know I promised you the perfect present but I didn’t know what you wanted and I don’t know why I said that, I’m so sorry. I know I’m a horrible boyfriend. I know I should know what you want but every time I tried to get something, something would go wrong like the universe fucking hates me,” Patrick wipes at his face, snot and tears spreading across his cheek in a disgusting metaphor for his life these past few days. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas but—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Pete says, his hands finding Patrick’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “It doesn’t matter, Trickster.”

“But it does!” Patrick complains, pushing Pete’s hands aside though all he wants is to pull him close. “I promised to get you something perfect and I couldn’t even do that!”

“No, it’s… You will get me something per— You know what, I know what to do. I’ll just give you your present and you’ll see that it doesn’t matter.” Pete steps back and Patrick chokes out a sob at the action.

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter, it’s o-okay if you’re upset,” Patrick says, taking slow breaths in an attempt to regain some of his composure— more for the sake of the party than anything else. “It’s… It’s alright, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Or, I guess, I shouldn’t promise anything anymore because I’m an idiot that can’t keep one but I’ll try and I’ll prove that I do love you and that—”

“Patrick.”

“ —that I can find out what you want and we’ll have a per-perfect Christmas, okay? You just have to give me a little more time to find the present, okay? I want to get you something perfect and I wrote a song but it’s stupid so I just need some time to find something better and—”

“Patrick.”

“ —and I just love you so fucking much so it’s not like I didn’t try thought I know it looks like that but trust me, okay, I love you and you deserve the world and if I could find the world and give it to you. Like that moon quote? I’ll get you the moon but I’m too horrible at this to find out how so just—”

“Patrick!”

“What!? What do you— Oh .”

Pete smiles sheepishly at Patrick, one hand running nervously through his hair and the other holding… presenting… showing…

“I know that most people kneel when they ask but, like, all our friends are probably spying on us and I don’t want to make a scene in case you say no.” Pete laughs softly, the sound so unlike him. “But, I guess, you can see why it doesn’t matter if you get me anything or not because… Well… I love you so much more than any words can try to explain. I want to spend every day with you, spend every night knowing I’ll wake up with you at my side. All of my heart, my soul, my being… It’s yours. Forever. I mean, it’s been yours since the first time I saw you but I want to show the world that. And… I know it’s cliche to do on Christmas Eve but… ”

A pause. A breath. Another round of tears in blue-green eyes but for an entirely different reason.

Patrick stares down at the golden band in Pete’s hand, the smallest of silver stones embedded in them in the shape of a P.W. and P.S. on the side. He reaches out, hand hovering over the ring in case this is a joke, in case it’s an illusion or dream that may fade at the wrong touch.

“Is this real?” His words are a mere breath when he speaks.

Pete blinks, eyes wide and smile growing. “Of course. Patrick Stump… Will you—”

The words— the wonderful, beautiful, perfect words-- are lost in the way Patrick’s lips crash against Pete’s, a sudden snowstorm collapsing onto the safe warmth of a town as they fall together. Warm. Safe. Perfect.

Their hearts flutter at the same pace, a moan twisting its way free from Patrick’s throat as Pete’s hand tangles in his hair— the other clenched tight between them to protect the ring. Night surrounds them with a cold chill neither man feels, sparks of gold passing between them as one breathes in and the other breathes out. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s perfect.

Cheering fills the air, muffled by the glass door shut between them and the inside. Still stealing every kiss he can get, Patrick glances at the crowd inside, their friends clearly in on what Pete’s present had been. He laughs, shaking his head and connecting their lips once more.

“Are they watching?” Pete asks, pulling back. He doesn’t get far before Patrick’s tugging him back in, his collar bunched in Patrick’s hand.

“Yeah but I don’t care,” he says. Pete smiles, a strangely pleasant sensation in the middle of a kiss.

“Is that a yes?” Pete asks. Patrick pulls back, breathing heavy and wishing he could hold his breath forever. Maybe life would be better if it were a Hallmark movie and he could kiss Pete for hours on end. As it is, he opts for pressing their foreheads together, a breathless smile on his face.

“Of course,” Patrick breathes. “Yes, of course.”

Pete’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him close. “See, I knew you’d get me the perfect present.”

Patrick’s eyebrows knit together, his breaths still trying to slow down. “What?”

“You,” Pete says, as stupidly cliche as ever. “You said yes. I could have nothing better.”

Patrick smiles and leans in for another, better, kiss. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s Pete.

 It’s perfect.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

And when Patrick’s song plays as their first dance, months later as a professional recording in the background to all the tears and joy, he can’t even bring himself to care about how stupidly cliche and sappy it all is. Because, as long as Pete’s looking at him like that— like he’s the best gift he will ever ask for— nothing about their relationship could ever be anything other than perfect.