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All stories have a beginning, and this one starts in the middle of nowhere, or.. more like, in the middle of everything, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard to start. Well, it was by a rainy evening like there are millions on earth, Patrick was driving back from work, the sound of droplets of water hitting the windshield almost lulling him into sleep. The road was an ocean of mud and fallen leaves and had they been kids, or even teenagers, he was sure Pete and he would’ve spent the night placing little paper boats on imaginary waves and sending them off to nowhere land. He could imagine already the ink escaping the damp sheet to bleed down onto the pavement. Instead of that, he was coming back to a almost broken house, or at least that’s the impression it gave. They’d fought. Again. It seemed to be a lot of what they did lately. It was like, in a short amount of time, they’d switched from in love to destructive towards themselves and each other, and he couldn’t even explain why. Whatever.
Patrick wondered, for a few seconds, what would happen if the tires screeched on the wet pavement, if suddenly, he lost control, if the wheel escaped his hands. Would Pete mind? Would he really? Would anyone at all mind? What if he just died, if he mysteriously kicked the bucket, stopped breathing, drowned, crashed, burned to ashes. What if he ended up on a stretcher, then at a funeral house, all pampered up and pretty, and then down, six feet under. Would Pete mind? Would he really? Would he cry, would he break down, would he never be the same again, would he, would he? Or would he just go on with his life, forget him the day after, when he found a better fuck.
Then, reality hit him like the truck that drove past him could have if he’d reacted two seconds later. He saw. They were just hanging out on a rooftop, feet dangling down when Pete looked deep into his eyes and offered him one of those second hand smiles he was so good at, the reheated, microwave warmth. That’s when Patrick melted for the first time, though his fingers had been everything but warm, but Pete took them into his, kissed them one by one and then looked up into Patrick’s ocean blue orbs again and this time he went for the jackpot. It was unsure and sloppy and highly dangerous, and Patrick felt like he may drown in it, but it was fine nonetheless. The stars glittered in the sky but it wasn’t the fire of the sun that made the golden boy feel all too hot that time, it was Pete, joking about the way he’d blushed like a schoolgirl.
And then, the first time they fought. Patrick didn’t even remember why, just the nasty words, but what he did remember is that it was the first time he’d seen the dark haired boy cry and that left him completely unarmed, ‘cause he’d seen life fuck Pete over, again, and again, and again, but never, never had he cried in front of Patrick like he did that day. “Please, oh god, please don’t leave.” Had he whimpered into the blond’s arms, apologizing for things he hadn’t even done, and maybe it wasn’t all too healthy to live this way, but Patrick promised not to leave.
Now, it was that same, teenage, desperate little voice fragile as it yelled at him not to leave, please, oh god, and Patrick couldn’t say no. He really couldn’t, because those thoughts, those terrible thoughts were purely vengeful, only egoistical. Patrick knew, deep within, that there was no way Pete would react so coldly to his death. Probably, he’d be wrecked by it as Patrick would be if the other died, probably, he wouldn’t want to sleep on the same bed again, wouldn’t mention his name. Maybe he’d bring a rose to his tombstone, but then break down and crush it, unable to see the ugly truth in its face. Patrick hated the way his life probably impacted everyone’s life. He couldn’t just leave, because people did care. And Pete did care. And in all his clumsy mistakes, he was just trying to make them both happy, and everyone else, everyone in the world if possible.
When Patrick arrived, his eyes were flooded with tears, it was like the water was finally escaping from the inside of his corneas. He angrily wiped it off, took a moment to compose himself and then knocked on the door. He didn’t have to, he had the keys, but it was a little bit of a routine they had.
The door opened and a wave of warmth hit Patrick’s face, along with Pete’s perfume. Pete smiled at him awkwardly and said a soft “Hey, come on in.”, moving from the doorway. He brought a towel to his boyfriend, walking with a spring to his step that made Patrick wonder what was up, he didn’t ask though, didn’t trust his voice.
“I, uh, made a little thing, but you need to, like, get in more comfortable clothes.” Pete said with a little smile, pecking Patrick’s lips.
Patrick dragged himself to the bedroom. He couldn’t say no to Pete, but honestly, he wasn’t feeling too “activity” right now. More like curl up and feel sorry for himself.
The moment he stepped into the room, a smell of wax hit his nostrils.
The room’s only source of light were dozens of little candles all around, showing dozens of rose petals waiting in little hearts on the bed.
Patrick gasped softly, the tears now definitely falling down his face. He couldn’t do this right now, he really couldn’t. Hiding his face in his hands, he sobbed about every little thing that’d happened since the day before.
“Patrick, are you okay?” Pete’s worried voice asked, the guy coming closer. Patrick turned around and hugged him tightly, not offering an answer, just soft ‘ I love you’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. Pete didn’t need to know the things that had gone through his brain on his way home just like Patrick needed to know they weren’t true. Next time the tide was high, he’d be ready. He’d know.
The flags were green again.