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The day after his birthday party, otherwise known as the day of his actual birthday, Pete stumbled out of his room, clutching his head. He was somewhere between slightly and a little too hungover, and the time was somewhere between noon and five pm - hard to tell now that summer had set in and it wasn't usually dark until nine.
He could hear laughter coming from the living room and was about to yell for whoever it was to shut up and have some respect for his hangover, although this would probably make it worse if it was Andy. Under the whole Jesus vibes thing, Andy could be a pretty smug straightedge. Before Pete could say anything, he realised the laughter was a little too high pitched and had to quickly try and get his hangover under enough control to handle a small, raucous child.
"Hey, my favourite little dude!" Pete exclaimed, immediately locating Patrick and swinging him into the air, tickling his sides. Patrick squirmed and retaliated by kicking Pete in the stomach, laughing evilly when Pete yelped and dumped him back on the couch.
"Hey, Pete," Andy greeted with wry amusement at the scene. "About time you showed up," he added, in a dirty cop voice for Patrick's benefit, shifting sideways to make room for Pete to sit down. "But seriously, you should start paying me or something, 'cause I've been down here with him since this morning and there's only so much Ghostbusters I can handle - he won't even watch Star Wars. I'm not your babysitter, just because you and Trohman are too hungover to move."
"I'm not a baby, and I don't need sitting on," Patrick piped up, crawling into Pete's lap and fidgeting until he was settled. Instinctively, Pete's arms came around him as soon as he stilled. Andy and Pete both laughed, and Patrick joined in, probably not understanding why and just not wanting to be left out.
Pete noticed that Patrick was wearing the little tux he kept stashed in the bottom of his clothes box for rare special occasions. He'd worn it when he was a pageboy at the age of six so absurdly, some fourteen years later, it was slightly too big for him.
"Hey, what's this about?" he asked, tugging the lapel gently.
Patrick looked to Andy uncertainly. Andy's look in return was an earnest go on. Patrick looked like he was going to say something, then meeped and buried his face in Pete's shirt, losing his nerve. Slightly confused, Pete peeled him off. "What are you doing, silly bear?" Pete questioned him, smiling fondly.
Shyly, Patrick sat up and turned to face Pete. He turned around to glance at Andy for encouragement, which he received in the form of a soft smile and raised eyebrow. "Well, it's your- it's your birthday..." Patrick began nervously. His cheeks were burning.
"Well technically it is, but don't worry about it, you know we had the party yesterday - you were there, don't freak out about it," Pete tried, wanting to put him out of his misery, but this only made Patrick more agitated.
"I- I've had a... date booked, um, for ages... and, Andy, uh, Andy says I should... still - still take you?"
The blush had spread from his cheeks to his whole face, his eyes were enormous and terrified and he seemed to hang back apprehensively from Pete.
Yanking him into a hug, Pete laughed softly, blowing warm air through Patrick's hair and making it ripple.
"I would love that," he said firmly. "You're a sweet little guy, you know that? Anyway, what time do you need me? I guess I need to dress up..."
Patrick frowned. "Why would you need to dress up? Just wear smart clothes..."
"What? You- Oh! I don't mean, like fancy dress, I meant like a suit or whatever."
Looking only marginally less confused, Patrick nodded. "Um, I have reservations at..." He looked at Andy, who held up seven fingers, and his forehead creased as he counted them. "At seven! But it's far away, so we have to leave like an hour early."
Pete checked on his phone. Five thirty. They'd have to leave at six to get there in good time. "Gotcha. I'm going to go and get changed now, all right," he said, ducking out of the room and then dashing back in with an apologetic half smile. "Sorry, Andy... I know you're not the babysitter but I mean, come on. Kid's going to pay for your kids' college tuition someday; this is the least you can do." This delighted Patrick, and he beamed at Pete and then turned a horrifyingly self-satisfied look on Andy.
Pete ducked out again, ignoring the squealing and laughter that meant Andy was probably throwing Patrick in the air again. It was only when Pete caught himself physically shaking his head to accompany the thought of how dangerous that was, that he realised it was getting a little too like he and Andy were some strange middle class couple and Pete was the maternal and overprotective one. Pete wasn't ready to be a mom. Regardless, Pete had less than half an hour to get ready, which really wasn't long in Pete-getting-ready time.
***
Patrick directed Pete somewhere he wasn't familiar with, ending up in the middle of a field somewhere, confusingly. Pete pulled up to the gate and saw there was a booth on the other side.
A face appeared in it and said, "Parking's down that way, you'll see," and a hand indicated a small dirt track heading to the left. Obligingly, Pete drove into yet another field, this one with about twenty cars littered across it, and parked somewhere not too muddy, because neither of them brought appropriate footwear.
Once Patrick was free of his car seat, he sprang from the car and started rummaging in the trunk. "Y'alright, love?" Pete asked, standing behind him, "What you doin'?"
"Gottit!" Patrick yelled triumphantly, appearing with a rolled up picnic rug twice his size and a basket also twice his size. Sagging visibly under the weight, he held the wicker picnic hamper out to Pete.
"Wh-" Pete popped the lid and peered inside at the neat rows of sandwiches, bottle of champagne, a few opaque boxes and a clear one with a cake inside that looked homemade. "You made this?"
Patrick blushed and looked humble. "Yeah, yesterday... I'm s-"
Pete placed the basket carefully on the floor so he could lift Patrick up and plant a kiss on his cheek, swing him around and pop him back in the footprints he'd left in the ground.
"I love it! You'd better show me where we're supposed to go now, so I can eat this bit- ...lovely food."
They tromped through the wet grass, back to the booth from before, at which point Patrick produced a pair of tickets from somewhere and handed them to the guy there, who came out to help them with the gate since Pete's arms were full and it looked a little heavy for Patrick.
"Thankyou!" Patrick singsonged, making the man smile and bow exaggeratedly. "It's my pleasure, young sir." Being addressed like this made Patrick gasp and look back at Pete, like he always did when anything of mild interest happened, to make sure Pete was watching.
Pete smiled at Patrick and then at Patrick's new friend. "Yeah, say bye to the nice man, Stumps," and to the man, a genuine smile and, "Thanks so much for your help. I hope you have a nice night."
The man beamed. "It's no problem. You got a real sweet kid, there."
Pete decided that having your date mistaken for your child was just part of the rockstar lifestyle.
They waved goodbye and continued down another trail, towards a small cluster of lights.
It soon turned out to be an outdoor dining spot, with fairy lights strung everywhere and soft jazz playing. People were strewn around on rugs - a mix of families and couples that didn't make Patrick and Pete stand out. Pete gasped. "It's adorable!"
"You like it?"
"I- yes."
Patrick pointed out an empty spot away from most of the people and slipped the twenty feet there. His shoes were ruined, Pete thought guiltily as he unrolled the blanket.
Patrick took the basket from Pete and they both sat down, Patrick explaining what food there was. "Okay, I made sandwiches - chicken for you, cheese for me cause I'm a... vegetable... tarian?"
"Vegetarian?"
"...Yeah! So anyway, that. Um, and there's chips in here, champagne for you and..." he pouted, "just water for me, because I didn't know when I packed it. Uhhh, there's a... I can't pronounce that," he admitted, popping the lid off a container filled with quiche. "And also a cake, that I made, but there aren't candles because I didn't have any and playing with fire is bad anyway."
With difficulty, he lifted the basket back up and placed it in between them, and as soon as his lap was free, Patrick crawled into Pete's. Looking up with huge, sparkling eyes - slightly lighter blue than they were when he was big, with less green in them, noticeable only if you looked closely and knew him well - he smiled serenely. "Happy Birthday, Petey."
"The happiest," Pete radiated an answering smile and felt more peaceful than he had in a long while. This was worlds away from his previous birthday. Patrick had been there too, but Pete had barely been. He let his arms come around Patrick's waist and held them there loosely.
Vibrating with happiness, Patrick let himself sink back into Pete's arms, his head lolled back against Pete's chest as he chewed carefully on his sandwich. "Love you, Petey," he mumbled contentedly and his mouth was full and it was kind of gross but the general fuzzy warmth of the evening largely overrode the fact.
"I'd love you a lot more if you didn't talk with your mouth full," Pete hummed lazily, laughing as Patrick clamped his mouth closed and hurriedly swallowed his mouthful.
"Okayokayokay how much do you love me now?"
Pete regarded the beautiful picnic spot and thought of Patrick's excited squeak and wonder filled eyes and the little blue CD in Pete's car and the ugly twelve string guitar with half its strings cut off that Patrick still kept because it was his first one and the way he got when he started talking about eighties music or movies and the way he went stuttery when he blushed and how he originally wanted to be a drummer and how many times he'd saved Pete's life without knowing or how passionate he was about three-legged cats.
"I mean, what's the scale here? Are we talking percentage, out of ten, to the moon and back? Lyrical waxings? Actual waxings? Because I'm really not good at sculpturing - is that the word? - but if you hang on a couple years, Madame Tussaud's will totally be all over you."
Patrick wriggled, huffing a breath of air in a half-laughter, half irritated sigh. "Just say a lot," he suggested.
"Oh yeah, a whole fu- ton."
"I love you a whole fuh ton too, Petey," Patrick sighed, his hand finding Pete's again even though it was an awkward angle in their current position.
"Metric or imperial ton?"
"I don't know what either of those words mean but which ever one is biggest."