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Once again Pete woke up covered in sweat, his face portraying pure horror. He'd had a nightmare again. Not just *a* nightmare, the very one that had been haunting him for weeks on end. He wouldn't dare tell anyone what they're about, but the way he checks his arms after he wakes up will tell you all you need to know. Pete sighed, looked at the glowing red clock next to him, and frowned when he saw that it was early morning, 3:47AM to be exact. He got out of bed, grabbed a random shirt from the floor, stuffed his short, tan legs into some sweat pants, put a matchbox in one of his pockets, and left the house to go to the park nearby.
No one was actually ever there so it was more or less his sanctuary. He sat on an old swing, and got the matchbox out, striking it against the red cover. He liked to just watch the little fire, how it seemingly floated just above the match, a beautiful amber flame. He heard a scuffle of feet, and something, or *someone* heavy falling over, followed by a muffled groan. Pete shoved his fringe back and looked up, hoping to see what was going on. He saw a stocky boy not much shorter than him, about his age laying on his back with a small gash on his cheek. He shook out his match.
''Hey kid, you alright?'' Pete asks after skidding over, kneeling down beside him. The kid jumped apon hearing pete's voice, it was a wonder how he didn't notice him there before seeing as Pete was maybe 7 feet away when he fell to the ground. Looks like he tripped over a rock.. maybe? Maybe he’s drunk? Maybe he’s drugged? Oh god! (Pete’s mind runs too fast for this shit. The boy’s fine.)''U-um yeah I-I'm fi-'' the boy was in the middle of a sentence when Pete suddenly jumped in. ''You look like you've been jumped man, did anyone hurt you or anything?'' Pete quizzed, looking at him with a sympathetic look. He knew how shitty it was to be jumped, and he didn't want this kid to get hurt, he looked too soft, I mean for god's sake even his voice was precious. ''T-This guy was drunk a-and he just accidentally hit me is all.. I'm f-fine i swear!'' He hurried out, trying to get up. ''Hey, dude you don't have to yell, if you don't want to tell me what happened it's fine, just. this place is swarming with alcoholic men burdened with anger issues and young guys looking for people to mug." Pete grimaced. "Let me help you up.'' stretching his hand out for him to grab. When he eventually took Pete's hand and stood up, he introduced himself as Patrick, and sat down next to Pete on the swings.
''So why are you out so late anyway? A sweet kid like you shouldn't be out here at 4am.'' Pete asked, playing with his fringe and seeing if he could completely cover his eyes. Almost. Won't be long now, he thought. ''Well my dad kicked me out after I broke curfew...I only wanted to check on my dog.'' Patrick frowned, looking at the ground. ''Wait, your dad locked you out of your house because you went to check on your dog??? That's messed up man, where are you even gonna sleep???'' Pete kicked up angrily as the swing he was on went higher. ''It's really not that bad, and he goes out about midday, so I could get back in then. Anyway, enough about this. Are you going home?'' Patrick grabbed pete's swing, trying to slow him down. Pete flicked his hand off and tried to kick up again but the swing torqued and he kind of almost flung himself out.
''I don't normally go back for an hour or so, but I guess home time it is. And you're coming with me!'' He grins, grabbing Patrick's arm and yanking him along to Pete's house. After the short walk he ran up the few stairs leading to his front door, and pushed it open, flicking the light switch on next to him.
(PATRICK’S POV)
''Sorry it's a bit messy, obviously didn't know i was gonna have a visitor!'' Pete yells, running to the small kitchen on the other side of the large hall. This guy had a huge house, especially considering he was probably only a few years older than me, and (presumably) didn't live with anyone else. I sat down on a soft grey lounge, staring at the beautiful dark bass sitting on a stand next to a chunky box TV. All these books strewn about, random weird statues and Knick-knacks, this bass that’d probably cost me a leg, but a chunky old thing with maybe 3 video tapes peaking out of the clutter in his TV stand. I wonder what kinda guy he is. Does he even have a PlayStation? I’d die without mine. I like Tekken.
I heard a clutter of pans in the kitchen, and a loud, booming laugh, followed by pete running out to where I was sitting, almost tripping over stray books in the process. God this guy's house is messy. "well I wanted to get some coffee but I managed to drop seven pans.'' Pete sighed, collapsing on the lounge next to me, and smiling. ''how are so clumsy? I've already seen you trip like four times ''- I said, holding up four fingers right in Pete's face so he really, -really- knew that it was four times- "dropped all those pans, and almost flung yourself off a swing!" I exclaim, giving him a look I guess came off as dazed. if we're going to be friends I need to make sure he isn't going to accidentally push me off a cliff one day. ''well I don't know why I'm clumsy, maybe I have two right feet, but I may as well contribute it to the fact I have a cute boy in my house?'' .
Oh god he's a flirt. I don't know why but I can feel myself blushing. He's not even that good looking. Oh god he is good looking. Fuck. ''Awe, you're blushing! Didn't know I had that much of an effect.'' Pete winked at me, and went to turn on the TV. Bastard. ''No! Please don't turn on the TV, I want to talk to you.'' I mumble, kind of embarrassed I even said that. ''well, I guess we'll talk then!'' he beams, flopping back down on the lounge.
''let's play truth or dare!''