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“Okay, everyone, make sure you draw for our Secret Santa on your way out,” Spencer calls, straining to be heard over the din of everyone packing up and leaving.
Pete grins as he gets into the makeshift line. He fucking loves Secret Santa, especially because he’s known for always having the best gifts.
Spencer holds out the small bowl of paper slips to Pete once he reaches the doorway. “You know the drill, Pete, just make sure you didn’t draw your own name, and then have the gift by December 20th.”
“Got it,” Pete says, grabbing a slip of paper and unfolding it with no small amount of anticipation.
Oh fucking no.
“Not yourself?” Spencer asks.
“Nope!” Pete forces a smile as he ducks out of the office, the paper in his hand crumpling as he unconsciously clenches his fist. Because, apparently, the universe hates Pete, it’s none other than Patrick fucking Stump’s name branded into Pete’s retinas.
The thing is, Pete hates Patrick Stump. With a burning passion. He's not sure why, exactly, because he doesn’t really know the guy. And even though they work together, it’s not like a Randall and Sully situation because they’re not competing. Something about the guy just drives Pete fucking insane - whether it’s the way Patrick is literally always working with headphones on and missing all of Pete’s hilarious office-wide jokes, or the way Patrick brings in his own coffee pods like his are better than the ones Spencer keeps stocked on the table, or something else entirely.
Usually, Pete just avoids Patrick, and it works out pretty well. Except that’s not going to work anymore, because now Pete needs to learn something about Patrick that he can translate into the world’s best gift.
Could he take the easy way out and get Patrick chocolate hazelnut coffee pods? Of course. But this is Secret fucking Santa, and Pete’s not going to let Patrick fucking Stump ruin his streak of getting the absolute best gifts every year.
“Joe, you won’t fucking believe who I got for Secret Santa at the office,” Pete says, his phone tucked between his face and shoulder as he wraps lights around his small Christmas tree with more force than usual.
“Oh, no,” Joe says, knowing that Pete’s tone can’t mean anything good, “who?”
“Patrick Stump,” Pete fairly spits out.
Joe sighs down the line. “Right, the guy you hate because… why, again?”
“Because he’s annoying,” Pete explains, with the (justifiably) long-suffering air of someone who’s had this conversation god knows how many times before.
“Mhmm,” Joe says, with an equally long-suffering air. “Look, dude, you always complain about how he brings those coffee things to work. Just get him a pack of those and call it a day.”
Pete swears under his breath as he nearly pulls the tree over on top of himself. “Joe, I can’t just get him those, that’s the most basic Secret Santa gift ever. In case you forgot, I’m the fucking king of Secret Santas - I don’t do basic gifts.”
“Just talk to him next time you do those Thursday night after-work drinks, then,” Joe says.
“Ugh. Fine,” Pete relents, because he knows that Joe’s not going to let him argue about this anymore. “But only because it’s Christmas.”
Thursday night after-work drinks are a time-honored tradition at the office, just not one Pete usually partakes in. The main reason for this, of course, is that Patrick always goes to Thursday night drinks and annoys Pete with the mere fact of his existence.
Today, however, not only does Pete go to the bar with everyone else, but he also passes the empty seat next to his friend Andy and sits down right next to Patrick.
“Hey,” Pete says, hoping his smile looks genuine. “I’ve seen you around the office, but I don’t think we’ve ever actually met. Patrick, right?”
Patrick blinks at him for a second, eyes wide behind his glasses. (He doesn’t usually wear glasses. God, that’s fucking annoying, can’t he just pick whether he likes glasses or contacts?) “Uh, yeah, hi. I’m Patrick. Shit, I’m bad with names, but you’re…. Peter?”
“Pete,” Pete corrects. His attempt at a smile must look even worse now. “Don’t sweat it, though,” he adds when Patrick opens his mouth, presumably to apologize. “I get that all the time.”
The bartender steps over and asks if they’d like anything. Pete orders a craft gingerbread beer because, hey, Christmas, and has to hold back an eye roll when Patrick gets a glass of whiskey with a name Pete can’t pronounce. Ugh. Talk about pretentious.
“So how long have you been working here?” Patrick asks.
“Five years,” Pete says, unable to keep himself from sounding a bit smug. “I helped Spencer open the company, actually.”
“Oh, that’s awesome,” Patrick says, and he doesn’t even sound jealous, just genuinely interested. Goddamnit, of course he has to act nice. “I got here last year when I moved back from LA.”
“LA? You don’t seem the type.” Too cardigan-y, Pete doesn’t add.
Patrick laughs a little. “I’m really not, I, uh, I had a serious relationship out there for a while. But he was too into the partying scene for me, and after he ended up in the ER one too many times, I ended up back here.”
“Wow,” Pete says, momentarily forgetting that this is his unofficial worst enemy. “That’s crazy, dude, I’m sorry, though, that must’ve been rough.”
Patrick shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey - he’s a perfect tableau for a second, like a scene from a Lifetime movie, and it would almost tug at Pete’s heartstrings if it wasn’t, you know, Patrick fucking Stump.
“It’s all good, things worked out in the end,” Patrick says after a moment. “What about you, though, have you always been in Chicago?”
Pete nods, and they keep talking, and keep talking, and keep talking until the bartender starts not-so-subtly getting ready to close. Pete’s just tipsy enough to admit that Patrick is… kind of cute when he’s drunk. You know, if you ignore how annoying and pretentious he is.
“C’mon, Patrick, you should probably get going. I’ll drive you home if you need.”
Patrick sighs but lets Pete lead him outside and into Pete’s car.
“Got any music requests?” Pete asks once he’s gotten Patrick to mumble out a mostly-coherent address. He doesn’t know why he’s being so nice, goddamnit, this is Patrick Stump, who knows whiskey ridiculously well and speaks Japanese for no other reason than to be the pretentious bastard he is. (Then again, it’s also Patrick Stump, who loves Chicago almost much as Pete and has really nice eyes, actually, but that doesn’t matter. That doesn’t cancel out how annoying he is.)
“Prince,” Patrick says definitively.
Pete grins to himself at that - Secret Santa gift idea, check - and plugs his phone into the aux cord. They listen to Purple Rain until Pete pulls up to the small apartment complex his GPS sent him to. As Patrick unbuckles his seatbelt, he looks over at Pete with an unexpectedly sober-seeming gaze.
“Thanks for driving me home, seriously,” Patrick says. “I had a lot of fun talking to you, and, uh. Well, I don’t know, I just wanted to know if you’d maybe want to get coffee sometime? I won’t get drunk then, promise.”
“Uh,” Pete says. “Uh. Do you - my number? I can write it down?”
What the fuck are you doing? Pete’s brain, very rationally, yells. So what if he’s kinda cute? He’s still obnoxious!
But Patrick’s nodding and holding out the notes app of his phone (and oh, God, did he think Pete was hitting on him this whole time), and somehow Pete’s handing Patrick’s phone back with his phone number typed out in definitive black Helvetica Neue.
“Cool,” Patrick says, “cool beans, I guess I’ll call you then?”
“Yeah,” Pete stammers. His head feels like it’s spinning, which really should’ve have been caused by the alcohol. (He knows it wasn’t.)
Patrick gets out of the car and walks in an impressively straight line up to his building, giving Pete a wide wave before disappearing inside. Pete doesn’t wave back.
Annoyingly true to his word, Patrick calls Pete on Sunday morning. It’s the worst possible timing, honestly, because Pete has just convinced himself that Patrick was just drunk and doesn’t actually want to go on a date, and then his phone lights up with an unknown number with his area code.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Patrick.”
Pete opens his mouth to blurt something like, “Pizza Hut, how can I help you?” but Patrick keeps talking.
“So, short notice, I know, but I was wondering if you’d want to go get coffee this afternoon? There’s this place called Déjà Brew that you have to try if you never have,” he says, sounding almost nervous now that he’s sober. It would be cute if he wasn’t, well, annoying.
“That’s a terrible pun,” Pete says, instead of “no” or any other rational response.
Patrick laughs. “Okay, yeah, kind of. But the coffee’s amazing, so, um, if you’d want to go, I’m free whenever? Would three work?”
Pete wants to turn him down, but… but what if he can get a better gift idea? Prince merch would be kind of basic, right? He checks the time - two o’clock - and figures that he can put up with Patrick for a little bit if it means keeping his gift-giving reputation. “Uh, yeah, that sounds good. Can you text me the address?”
“Yup!” Patrick says, his voice bright. “Awesome, I’ll see you then. Bye!”
“Bye,” Pete replies, hitting the button to end the call just before he drops his head onto the kitchen table. What the fuck is he doing? Yes, Patrick’s cute, but he’s still annoying, like, Pete doesn’t even know if he’ll be wearing glasses or not. That’s annoying. And so is the name of the fucking coffee shop, honestly - it’s probably going to be stupidly hipster. Goddamnit.
Pete throws on an old Star Wars t-shirt under a jean jacket because he’s not really that concerned with impressing this guy, obviously, and then before he knows it, he’s on his way to a fucking date with Patrick Stump.
Déjà Brew is, true to Pete’s prediction, more hipster than any coffee shop has the right to be. Pete counts twelve bikes in the rack outside and at least twenty pairs of oversized thrift store glasses inside, and then he has to spend several minutes trying to read the messy handwriting on the chalkboard menu.
Once he has a peppermint latte that probably has some weird soy milk or something in it, he turns to find Patrick sitting at a two-person table by the window. Pete puts on his best date smile and walks over.
“Hi, sorry I’m a few minutes late - traffic,” Pete says as he slides onto the metal stool.
“It’s all good,” Patrick assures him, spinning the stirrer in his definitely-pretentious, probably-chocolate hazelnut drink. “I was going to buy your drink, though, c’mon.”
He’s cute when he smiles like that. Well, he would be, if he wasn’t smiling like that in the middle of a hipster-ass coffee shop. “Don’t worry about it, you can get it next time,” Pete says, because he’s fucking stupid. There is not going to be a next date with Patrick, thank you very much.
Patrick, of course, doesn’t know that Pete doesn’t think before he speaks, so his eyes light up just a bit. “I’m going to hold you to that, you know,” he says, and Pete makes a sarcastic mhmm noise that makes Patrick snort.
There’s a beat of silence before Patrick says, “Nice shirt, by the way. I’m, like, more than kind of a closet nerd.”
Who the fuck says closet nerd? Pete’s pretty sure that liking Star Wars doesn’t get you shoved into lockers anymore, but then again, it’s Patrick. He’s not surprised. “Me too,” Pete finds himself saying, instead of any of his internal commentary. “Which episode is your favorite?”
Talking about Star Wars actually gets them through one hour, one more drink each, and one instance where Patrick places his hand on the table, about halfway across, like an invitation for Pete to hold it. (Pete pretends not to see, because, well - because.)
By the time Patrick looks at his watch and exclaims something about needing to get home, Pete’s smile has shifted to something entirely natural, and maybe he’s leaning in a little closer than he was when he first arrived. Maybe.
All in all, it’s one of the best dates Pete’s had in a long time, not to mention that he gets home with a long list of gift ideas scribbled on sticky notes in his car.
Pete’s pretty proud of himself for how subtly he manages to ignore Patrick all through the work week. He takes up residence solely in his cubicle and acts like he’s typing all day. It’s a great system, until, of course, Friday morning rolls around, and Pete wakes up to several texts from Patrick.
Hey :D
So I know this week was really busy for you. and I know we kinda saw each other yesterday, but would you want to get coffee sometime today?
You choose where this time, so you don’t have to deal with any bad puns LOL
Pete can’t help but smile - the little face is kinda cute. (The LOL, though, is very annoying.)
when r u free, we shld go to tina’s. i’ll shoot u the address
It’s barely a minute later before Patrick answers. Does 3 work again?
yeah, c u then xo
Pete locks his phone and puts it back on his bedside table before realizing that he just sent an ‘xo’ to Patrick Stump. Jesus Christ, the things he does for, uh, Secret Santa.
It’s snowing lightly by the time Patrick gets to Tina’s Cafe, cheeks pink and a light dusting of flakes decorating his jacket. His face lights up when he sees Pete, who’s sitting at a small table and gesturing to two steaming cups.
“I went ahead and, uh, I got you a chocolate hazelnut latte,” Pete says, “I know you always bring that flavor to work, and Tina’s is really good.”
Patrick’s silent for a moment, and Pete’s starting to think that he’s completely wrong about the whole thing, like, maybe Patrick was really craving a vanilla bean latte today and now Pete’s messed that up, but why does he even care in the first place, and -
“That’s - oh my god, Pete, that’s so sweet.” Now Patrick’s beaming, cheeks flushed even darker than before. Pete smiles back at him in relief. “Seriously, thank you. I can’t believe you paid attention to that.”
Pete shrugs. “It’s really not a big deal, I just… notice things, I guess? Anyway, how are you?”
“I’m good,” Patrick says, still smiling as he sips his coffee. “You?”
“Same,” Pete replies, and then he’s, somehow, off another date with Patrick fucking Stump. How is this his life again?
They go on a few more dates as December 20th draws closer, and Pete actually sets one up. He can’t quite explain why to himself, justifying the message of r u free sat night? i can get us reservations @ presque lá to himself with the admission that maybe, just maybe, there’s a slight chance that he’s only hating Patrick on principle by this point. Maybe.
He’s glad he did make the reservations, though, because Patrick looks kind of stunning in a suit, eyes reflecting the light of the candle on the table and face a little flushed from the wine.
“So, basically, I told my mom that my favorite was Donatello, right, because I was a sneaky fucker. And she took my Donatello figure and threw it away! I never saw it again,” Patrick is saying, shaking his head a little.
Pete laughs. “That’s actually kind of amazing, Patrick, oh my God.” (Not to mention the absolute best opportunity for a Secret Santa gift, he thinks.)
Patrick takes a sip of wine, and when he puts the glass back on the table, his hand ends up kind of directly across from Pete’s. And Pete is going to blame this on the wine he’s drank, of course, but he reaches across and takes Patrick’s hand in his own.
Patrick blushes almost immediately, but he squeezes Pete’s hand for a second, like he’s saying Of course this is okay, and it’s way nicer than Pete thought it would be.
There’s a nagging feeling in the back of Pete’s mind, like maybe he’s really getting in too deep for a fucking Secret Santa gift exchange that’ll be over in three days, but it’s hard to focus on that with Patrick’s thumb running slow circles over the back of Pete’s hand.
“These past couple of weeks have been pretty amazing, you know,” Patrick says. “I can’t believe I never actually talked to you before.”
Patrick’s leaning in slightly, like he just might kiss Pete, and Pete’s leaning in just enough to make himself realize that he just might kiss back, and - Pete’s phone goes off.
“Shit, sorry,” Pete says quickly, grabbing his phone out of his pocket to try and silence the loud trumpet fanfare he has set for his dad’s ringtone. “It’s my dad, do you mind if I take this?”
“Not at all,” Patrick says, and his tone and smile are both completely genuine. (God, he may be cute, but it’s still annoying how nice he is.)
“Alright, be right back then,” Pete replies, and then he steps out to the restaurant’s lobby and answers the call. There’s a weird, twisting feeling in his stomach; his dad has only ever called when something bad happens. “Hello?”
“Pete, your mom’s in the hospital. Can you - she wants to see you, when can you get home?”
Pete swears his heart stops, and then he hates himself for it because oh, God, what if that’s what happened to - “I’ll be there tonight,” he says, cutting his own thoughts off. “I’m gonna leave now, be there in an hour or two.”
He hangs up before his dad can say what happened, before he has to hear the probable worst, and runs back to Patrick, who stands up when he sees Pete coming like the perfectly well-mannered person he is.
“Shit, I have to go, I’m so sorry,” Pete rushes out, “my mom’s in the hospital so I need to head home, uh, here, this should cover the check, I’m really sorry about this-“ He fumbles to take his wallet from his pocket just as Patrick’s hand closes over his and stops him.
“Don’t worry about the check,” Patrick says. “I got it, go make sure your mom’s okay. I’ll see you at work, alright? And don’t apologize, I completely understand.”
He kisses Pete’s cheek, says, “Call me if you need anything,” and then Pete’s practically running out of the door.
Everything is fine, thank God. Pete’s dad had just overreacted when his wife fainted during an awfully gory movie, and Pete’s able to drive back home the next morning (after promising that he’ll be back by Christmas Eve, of course. He ignores the way a little voice in the back of his mind asks, Are you sure? when he assures his parents that no, he won’t be bringing anyone for dinner.).
When he finally checks his phone, he’s greeted with two text messages from Patrick.
Hey, I hope everything’s okay. I’m here if you need to talk about anything <3
And if you need some time off next week, I can go ahead and tell Spencer for you if you want.
Pete can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest, or the way that he actually just appreciates how fucking nice Patrick is instead of hating him for it.
everything’s ok! my dad just overreacted
im still sry abt dinner tho, do-over 2nite? xo
The ‘xo’ is completely intentional this time, which is an interesting revelation for Pete, to say the least. He knows, deep in his gut, what’s happening here, but he still manages to ignore it until he’s driving home from another amazing date with Patrick that night.
They’d held hands across the table again, and Patrick had kissed Pete’s cheek before he left. Pete’s heart had skipped several beats and then refused to slow to a normal rate, beating in perfect time to the frantic piano intro of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” on the radio.
Pete definitely doesn’t miss the irony/maybe perfection of the song choice as he dials Joe’s number with one hand.
“Hello?”
“I need advice,” Pete says. “Uh. I think I’m in love with Patrick Stump.”
Joe fucking cackles. “Oh my god, I knew you’d do something like this, you dumbass. Well, what are you gonna do about it? Does he know?”
“Well, I haven’t told him,” Pete says, wondering why exactly he thought Joe would be the best person to call right now. “But we’ve been going on dates all month, so he probably has some idea. I just don’t know what to do about it, though, because, like, god. I don’t know.”
“Just keep asking him out?” Joe says. “He clearly likes you back if you’ve been going on dates all month, so just… keep it going?”
“But what about Secret Santa?” Pete demands.
“…Give him a gift?” Joe suggests. “Pete, dude, I don’t know what kind of advice you want here. You’re in love with him, it sounds like he feels the same, and you have the perfect opportunity to, like, tell him through a gift. I don’t know if you wanted me to tell you that you couldn’t be in love with him because he’s “Patrick fucking Stump, Joe, he annoys me so much even though I’ve never spoken to him, and-“
“Okay, look, shut up,” Pete says, grateful that Joe can’t see how red his cheeks are. “Fine. Maybe you’re right. I’ll just get him a gift then, I guess, and then keep asking him out.”
Joe’s voice is more than vaguely amused when he says, “Great plan, Pete, glad I could help you out there.”
Pete had thought he would be nervous about the party, because, you know, he has to see Patrick. Patrick, who Pete’s finally admitted to being in love with, even though, you know, he used to be Pete’s mortal enemy.
But Pete’s not nervous as he takes the elevator up to his floor for the party, a small, awkwardly wrapped basket in his hand. (It’s the best Secret Santa gift he’s ever given, and that’s saying something.) He’s honestly just excited to see Patrick’s face when he opens his present.
Will Patrick figure out who his Secret Santa was immediately? Most likely. Does Pete care right now? Of course not.
The elevator comes to a stop and Pete steps out to find a large table covered with gifts. He sets the basket down, adjusts the small label reading, Patrick :D, and heads out to join everyone else in what sounds like karaoke.
Yep, Spencer’s (making a solid attempt at) singing “Walking On Sunshine” at the front by his desk, and everyone else is milling around drinking/laughing at him in the empty space that’s been cleared.
Pete spots Patrick almost immediately, standing by the punch table, and walks over.
“Hey,” he says, unable to keep himself from kissing Patrick’s cheek.
Patrick jumps slightly in surprise before relaxing into a wide smile. “Hey, I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
Pete mock-gasps. “And miss Secret Santa, a.k.a the thing I’m the best at? Absolutely not, I was just stuck in traffic.”
“If you say so,” Patrick says. Spencer finishes singing and takes a bow to half-hearted applause. “Oh my god, Pete, you should try karaoke.”
“Fuck no-” Pete starts, but the rest of his vehement protest is cut off by Spencer announcing that it’s time for the actual Secret Santa part.
Everyone gathers in the ring of chairs that’s been set up and sits down as Spencer passes the first gift to Andy. Pete smiles and nods along with everyone else as Andy unwraps a vegan cookbook, trying his best to ignore the slight nervousness in his stomach. What if Patrick doesn’t like his gift? What if Patrick doesn’t figure out who it’s from? What if Patrick’s been faking everything the whole time and now Pete went and fell in love for nothing and -
“Pete, here’s your gift,” Spencer says, passing him a gift bag.
Pete takes it, both thankful for the distraction and just generally excited because, hey, presents are awesome. He takes out the tissue paper to reveal a Chewbacca tie, which is fucking awesome.
“Oh my god, I love it,” he says, holding it up for everyone to see.
“Any guesses on who it’s from?” Spencer asks.
Pete looks around the circle of his co-workers, smiling when he sees that Gerard is shiftily avoiding his gaze. “I’m gonna guess Gerard.”
Gerard nods, and everyone claps as Spencer reaches for the next gift. “This next one’s for Patrick,” he says, stepping over and presenting Patrick with the basket.
Patrick carefully balances it on his lap as he tears the wrapping paper off, and god, Pete wishes he has a camera to capture the way Patrick’s face lights the fuck up when he sees what’s inside.
“This is perfect, what the hell,” he says, laughing as he holds up the Donatello action figure. “And coffee pods? Thank you, oh my god.”
Pete can’t help but grin. The basket looks cute, too, once the messy wrapping paper is gone; it’s decorated with a sparkly ribbon (purple for Prince, of course), and there’s a small note taped to the side of the action figure’s box that Patrick hasn’t noticed -
Nope, he’s reading it now, lips silently shaping the words, “Meet me on the roof at 9?”
”Any guesses on who it’s from?” Spencer asks.
Patrick doesn’t even hesitate before saying, “Pete, definitely Pete.”
Pete nods, and he doesn’t even care that it was so obvious, because Patrick’s face makes it clear that Pete has once again given the best Secret Santa gift ever. (Not that that title means anything compared to Patrick’s smile right now.)
It’s cold on the rooftop, and Pete’s starting to regret not wearing an actual jacket as he rocks back and forth on his heels. According to his phone, it’s 8:58pm. The party’s ending in about half an hour, but more importantly, it’s going to be nine o’clock in two minutes.
As it turns out, though, Pete doesn’t have to wait that long. Just as he drops his phone back into his hoodie pocket, the door to the roof is pushed open and Patrick’s there, all sparkling eyes and shy smiles and god, how did Pete ever hate him?
“Hey,” Pete says.
“Hey,” Patrick returns, stepping over and taking Pete’s hand.
Pete feels himself smiling like an idiot before he collects himself enough to clear his throat and say, “So, I kind of, like, hated you before we actually met. You just drove me crazy for some reason, but then I got you for Secret Santa, and um. Well, that’s not important, honestly, I just wanted to tell you that I’m maybe sort of falling for you.”
There’s a silence as Patrick takes all of that in, but then he just laughs. “You’re so fucking weird, Pete, but, uh, I’m. Like, I’m maybe sort of falling for you too.”
Pete’s face is literally going to split in half from how much he’s smiling. “I was going to bring mistletoe out here, you know, but then I forgot it at home.”
“We can pretend,” Patrick says, and whoa, since when is his voice all low and smooth like that, and whoa, since when is Patrick fucking Stump the best kisser literally ever?
When they finally break apart to breathe, Pete can only stand a second before he pulls Patrick in again, and yeah, Pete’s definitely the best at Secret Santa.