Chapter Text
Despite everything, Patrick liked college.
He was enjoying himself, decorating his little dorm room with band posters and his crates of records. He was enjoying his psychology program, and was keeping up with all his assignments and assigned reading and whatnot. He was taking care of himself too, making a lot more use of the shower facilities than the other guys in his dorm, and always made time in his busy college schedule to just settle down in his room and write some music to keep himself sane.
He was never one of those teenagers that were just itching to get away from home, but he’d be lying if said that he wasn’t enjoying his independence. But he still made sure to call his Mom every night. God knows she worried about him. And tonight was no different.
“Look, ‘Tricky, I’m glad you’re getting all your work done, but have you made any friends yet? You've been there for three months.” Her anxiety could be heard even over the phone as Patrick sat on the park bench outside his dorm with his cell phone. There was some drinking game going on at the party in the basement, and the walls weren’t exactly soundproof.
“I’ve got friends, Mom.” Patrick sighed, scuffing the bottom of his shoe against the concrete. “I, I eat dinner with this big group of guys, and they’re pretty great. And then I did a partner assignment with that girl, Elisa, remember?”
“And have you seen Elisa since you finished that assignment a month ago?”
“Well, I mean, I sometimes see her across the lecture hall…”
“And that group of guys. Do you know their names?” She asked, almost accusingly.
“Um…” Patrick racked his brain for names he heard called across the table. “There’s… there’s Andy, and Joe, and Brendon, and, and I think there’s a Josh as well. Oh, and Mark! Mark as well. Yeah. Oh, and Pete.”
She didn’t seem impressed. “Do any of them know your name?”
Patrick sighed. “Mom…”
“Patrick, sweetheart, you can’t go through college without friends. I’m sure there’s some kind of party… or something that you could be at right now. Don’t get me wrong, I love that you make time for your ol’ Ma, but you’ve got to make some friends.”
“I’m not going to make any sort of friends at a party.” Patrick nearly threw up in his mouth at the thought of it. “You know as well as I do that I’m not a party person.”
She sighed again. “Now is your time, ‘Tricky. You always told me that you’d make friends once you got out of high school, and got to meet other people at college who were into the same things you were. You’re at that point now, sweetheart. If not now, then when?”
Patrick listened to the muffled beat coming from the dorm, and hung his head. “Yeah. I don’t, I’ll figure it out, Mom. Don’t worry about me, okay? You gotta live your own life. How’s Dad?”
“Don’t try and change the subject on me!” She scolded him playfully. “But we’re good, honey. Look, do me a favor and go to at least one event on campus that isn’t part of your degree. Whether it’s a party, or whether it’s some kind of club, just go do something and make some friends!”
Patrick rolled his eyes and smiled against his phone. “Alright Mom. Love you.”
“Love you too ‘Tricky. Be safe, and make friends!”
“Will do. Goodnight.”
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Patrick loved two things; music and getting inside other people’s heads to write music about them. Patrick wanted to study music. His family recommended he study psychology. So he was studying psychology.
He didn’t hate psychology though, in fact he found his course to be quite interesting. Sure, he’d rather spend the time he spent doing the statistical analysis unit sitting in his room playing guitar, but most of the content was quite interesting.
Right now he was studying Pavlov’s dogs, and the theories of conditioning. And even though he knew it was quite dorky, he was really enjoying this unit. So much so that he had taken his textbook to the dining hall to continue taking notes on his chapter while he ate.
He was getting right down into his unconditioned stimuli while forking down mouthfuls of pasta when one of the guys sitting at the table gently tapped his shoulder. “Whatcha readin’?”
“School stuff.” Patrick said through a mouthful of food, not even bothering to turn to face this other person.
“Sounds like fun.” The other person joked, shifting closer to Patrick. “Hey, are you gonna eat your cookie? Because honestly, the cookies in this place are better than cocaine, and you don’t really seem like a cookie kinda guy…”
Patrick had to look up from his notes this time, glancing at the mysterious stranger who literally started a conversation where his only intention was of taking his cookie. And as much as Patrick wanted to shove his cookie into his pocket (The guy wasnt lying, they must be shoving these things with crack or something) and tell him to fuck off, he paused.
Patrick sat at a table with a group of other guys for three reasons. One, he needed to please his mother. Two, they’d invited him to join them on his first day when they’d seen he was wearing a David Bowie shirt. And three, Patrick was evermore questioning his sexuality when he saw this one guy from the group. There was no doubt that he was a bit weird, the guy wore eyeliner around college, and had the worst fashion sense that Patrick had ever seen. But he absolutely oozed confidence, something that Patrick definitely did not, and Patrick would be lying if he said that his heart didn’t do the little badum badum whenever he saw him.
His heart was doing the badum badum right now, considering it was that guy smiling at him and looking at the cookie next to his pasta bowl.
“You don’t have to.” The guy chuckled awkwardly, watching as Patrick curled his arms up and seemed almost frightened. “Sorry.”
Patrick tried to pull his shit together, and quickly. “No, no, it’s alright. You can have it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, of course.” Patrick gently picked up the plastic packet and slid it accross the table to the other guy. “All yours.”
“Thanks, dude.” The other guy laughed, quickly taking off the plastic and popping it in his mouth. “What’s your name?”
“Patrick.” Patrick managed, wishing his heart would stop pounding. “You?”
“Pete. Pete Wentz.” The other guy, Pete, introduced through a mouthful of cookie. “What’s the deal with you? You’re here like, for every meal, but you don’t say anything.”
Oh, great. Perfect. “Uh…” He fumbled for a reasonable response. “I dunno. I’m just, quiet, I guess.”
Pete shrugged. “You should say more, you know? You seem cool. I don’t know a lot of…” he glanced at the textbook. “Psychology? I’m guessing? Majors who also like Def Leppard.”
Patrick glanced down at his t-shirt, and blushed. “Yeah, maybe…”
Pete shrugged. “Nice to meet you. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you around. Thanks for the cookie, Paul.”
He was already walking off before Patrick had a chance to correct him, but there was no denying the badum badum in his chest. Deep down, he knew that Pete had only given him the time of day because Patrick let him have his food, but there was something there he could hold onto. Maybe.
He glanced down at his textbook and sighed. It was interesting, sure, but there was no way that conditioned responses were as interesting as Pete Wentz. Then Patrick blinked. Then blinked again. No… that wasn’t something he could do… was it? Pete was the one who had asked him for the cookie… but then again, it wouldn’t be difficult… he had to prove one of the theories for his next assignment anyway….
He waited until Pete disappeared from the dining hall, before running around to everyone still seated and requesting their cookies. He got quite a few fuck off's, but he also ended up with a backpack full of cookies. Especially when he emptied the bowl of cookies in the corner into his bag.
Deep down, he knew this was wrong. Very, very, very morally wrong. But there was also this giddiness along with the badum badum badum's that were getting stronger.
Pavlov conditioned dogs to associate the sound of a bell with food. Patrick was going to make Pete Wentz associate him with his favorite cookies.
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Patrick was excited. He was excited about the new notebook he had bought, he was excited about his 100% mark on the Pavlov pop quiz, but most importantly he was excited about the 3 cookies he’d stashed in his backpack, for the chance that he might run into Pete.
Problem was, it was harder than expected.
Patrick ran on a schedule. Up at 6:30, shower at 6:45, breakfast at 7:30, first class at 8am, then a mix of classes and study time until 5pm, then back to his dorm, then dinner at 6:30, and then back up to his room for music time until he called his Mom at 9.
Pete did not live on a schedule. Some days, Patrick saw him at all 3 of his meals. Some days he didn’t see him at any of them. Sometimes Pete and the rest of the group would come into the dining hall just as Patrick was finishing up and getting ready to return his empty bowl, like today.
Oh god, it’s now or never. Patrick tried to ignore that badum badum and quickly approached the group. “Hey, guys…”
“Phil!” Pete grinned. “Nice to see you again.”
“Patrick.” Patrick corrected, but smiled to show that it really didn’t bother him. “Hey, um, they were giving cookies out with lunch today too, and I dunno, I just thought…” He dug through his backpack and presented it.
Day One. Subject’s response to cookie stimulus are wide eyes, relaxed shoulders, smiling, increased salvation. Feelings of emotional security. Subject does not remember my name, but thanks me for the cookie and eats it immediately. Even before dinner. That’s kinda weird.
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The next time Patrick ran into Pete was three days later, and not in the dining hall. Patrick was sitting in the library, working on his research paper, when he spotted his love interest subject. Pete was alone, sitting with a cup of coffee and his head rested on his hand as he read a very large book open on his table.
And so, like any good researcher, Patrick grabbed his stuff and sat down in the chair next to him. “Hey.”
Pete glanced up and gave Patrick a small smile. “Hey, Preston. Whatcha doing?”
“Just working on my paper.” Patrick shrugged awkwardly, clutching the cookie in his palm underneath the table. “You?”
“Reading.” Pete sighed, turning the page. “There’s so much reading. I mean, I thought being an english major meant we got to write all the time, but it turns out that we just study other people’s writings. And there’s so many books we have to read.”
Patrick nodded uncertainly. “Yeah. Psychology has a lot of reading too. Different stuff, though.”
“Yeah.” Pete sighed to himself. “But you seem smart though. You’re probably acing everything.”
Patrick didn’t really want to tell him that he was acing everything. “Are you saying that just because I have glasses?”
Pete laughed. “Maybe.”
Patrick shook his head playfully to hide the colour in his cheeks. “Well, look, you’re on the right track by being in the library. Anyway, here…” he pushed the cookie along the table. “Thought you might want a study snack. I saved mine from dinner last night.”
Pete’s eyes lit up, and he quickly shed the cookie of it’s wrapping. “Thanks, Preston!”
“Patrick.” Patrick corrected with a smile. “But no problem.”
Day 2: Subject maintained same unconditioned responses when presented with the cookie stimulus. Got my name wrong twice. I almost ruined everything by going to leave straight after, which confused him because I made it look like I just sat down to work on my paper. So I got to sit with him for a whole hour while we worked, which was pretty amazing. His arm brushed mine sometimes. I love his tattoos. Later in the experiment I might ask him more about them. But he has to view me with a positive frame first. And then hopefully, a romantic one. I wonder if he wants a family when he’s older. I wonder if he has good music taste. Hang on, isn’t this diary meant to be a scientific write up?