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Pete woke up to a vicious beeping, the kind high-pitched enough it felt like it was coming from inside your skull and slowly cracking it from the inside out.
"Andy!" He called, although realistically if anyone could hear Pete, they could definitely also hear the noise, and would already be trying to stop it. "Joe!" Pete yelled again, anyway, because Patrick wasn't in bed next to him - Pete missed his sleepy snuffling and solid warmth - and Pete was lazy as fuck.
After a couple more vain attempts, Pete growled to himself and heaved out of bed, wearing only sweat pants, not that that was unusual in any way. He followed the beeping to, unsurprisingly, the kitchen, where it was accompanied by a moderate-sized cloud of black smoke and small child wearing oven mitts twice the size of his head.
Pete darted forwards and snatched Patrick away before he could stick his hands into the oven, shaking his shoulders harshly. Patrick's eyes were watering from the smoke and Pete's rough shaking didn't really do anything to help, so he stopped, turned the oven off and all but dragged Patrick out of the kitchen.
"Patrick, what the f- what are you doing?" he screeched, nails probably digging into the shoulders they still clutched at.
Patrick whimpered at the smouldering expression on Pete's face. Pete hadn't decided if it was made of protective terror or fury at the disruption of his lie-in. "I just wanted to- I was, I was baking. Tryna surprise you. Wanted to be like a-"
Pete sighed. "Trickster, you shouldn't do stuff like that without supervision - look what happened just now. Imagine if you'd suffocated on the smoke, or started a fire or-" Assuming Patrick got the picture, Pete stopped, not wanting to scare him too much.
Still whimpering, Patrick pitched forward and clung to Pete's pant leg. "Shh, Trickydoll, it's okay. I'm not mad. You were trying to be good, I get that. You didn't know you weren't meant to. I'm sorry if I was rough, I was just- I was just scared, baby." There was a nod and a snuffle and then a small face appeared again, upturned and looking at Pete with the slightly terrifying, unwavering gaze that seemed out of place on a five year old.
Laughing, Pete shoved him off, feeling a surge of numbness in his leg where Patrick had actually started to cut the blood off. "Let's see what remains of- what were you making?"
Patrick looked solemn. "Pancakes."
"Pancakes? Ricky, they're literally called pancakes," Pete snorted, "You don't even put them in the oven. You cook them on the stove. In a pan."
Patrick grunted in annoyance and put his hand in Pete's.
To say the least, Pete was apprehensive to see the mess created by cooking pancakes in an oven - shit, had Patrick just blindly poured the batter into the oven and got it everywhere? Maybe he'd actually put a plastic-handled pan into the oven, hence the black smoke.
Patrick had, as it turned out, found an old baking tray from god-knows-where, and filled it to the brim with batter, so at least their oven wasn't hideously destroyed. Looking at the charred mess, Pete wasn't quite sure how Patrick thought it was going to turn out flat, round pancakes and not just a weird, eggy cake. Pete was just casting around for the oven mitts when he heard coughing, and turned to find Patrick, eyes streaming at the lingering smoke.
"Okay, kitten, you go wait over there. All this smoke isn't good for tiny lungs. Can you open the window yourself?"
Huffing something about the perfectly adequate capacity of his lungs, Patrick plodded over to the window and struggled with it himself: Pete knew better than to try and offer him any help when he was in this mood. Meanwhile, Pete liberated the pancake mess and placed it next to the sink. It sadly puffed out a last breath of black smoke. Mercifully, the fire alarm had ceased its blaring and Patrick had pulled up a chair next to the window with some difficulty, and sat quietly swinging his legs.
When Pete picked up the mess and held it over the trashcan, though, Patrick visibly sagged. "'M sorry, Petey," he mumbled dejectedly.
"Aw, Tricky, it's okay. You should see some of the stuff I made when I was five!" Pete added a face to make Patrick giggle, and dumped the vaguely loaf-like creation into the trash while Patrick was bent double, feet smacking against the legs of the chair.
***
"Whaddaya wanna do today, Stumps?" Pete asked, while pulling a hoodie down over Patrick's face. Emerging with adorably mussed hair, Patrick shrugged as he patted it down.
"Shopping? Swimming? Park? We could go to the pound and look at puppies?" Pete wasn't sure his last suggestion was entirely a great idea, because Patrick was bound to get his heart set on one and be heartbroken when he wasn't allowed it. Although, Pete also wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't just get a puppy if Patrick asked him to.
"Oh, I don't really wanna go out today. Can't I just stay home with you and snuggle," he pleaded.
"Oh, I dunno, love..." Pete frowned, "You should at least get a bit of fresh air. What if we go to the park for like... twenty minutes, and then we'll come home and I'll let you pick a movie."
Putting a tiny, shoed foot in Pete's lap for the laces to be done up, Patrick shrugged out an, "Okay," at which Pete bent over and pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick's foot. "Sorry, your feet are just so teeny, I couldn't help it!"
It made Patrick cross his arms and huff, a remarkable shade of red, but it was worth it.
***
Patrick stayed closer to Pete than usual; pressed up against him as they walked there, playing in the sandpit almost at Pete's feet when they arrived. There was another boy, seemingly unsupervised, and although he was a good four years older than Patrick, they seemed to get on well.
Patrick seemed to be explaining, in luckily child-friendly terms, the concept of 'boyfriends' to his new-found friend. "...Um, and you think each other are really pretty-" he beamed at Pete, a flash of white teeth and pink cheeks- "And you love each other, forever, and like, no matter about the bad parts of the other person." He bit his lip.
"I think your friend is really pretty," said the boy. "I'm going to ask him to be my one."
"No!" Patrick squeaked in alarm, "You can't have him, he's mine!"
The boy flicked a scathing glance across Patrick's tiny, baby-fat-padded frame, his fur hooded parka that was meant for three-to-four year olds but fit him perfectly, and his chubby cheeks that slowly blossomed to an angry red.
"Please. You're, like, a stupid baby. He'll obviously pick me over you," scoffed the boy, and Patrick - instead of bursting into tears and collapsing onto the ground like Pete expected - growled and threw himself onto the other boy.
The boy was approaching twice Patrick's height; but Patrick was stocky and determined, like a very jealous Shetland pony, and it wasn't clear who was going to win - rolling around in the mud like a pair of wild animals, one on top and then the other, including a lot of growling and at one point hissing, on Patrick's part.
Awestruck, Pete just sat and gaped at them for a minute before he figured he should probably do something before they were both banned. Fighting the urge to yell something like, 'Go, Patrick, get him!' Pete dragged himself up and headed into the sandpit. He grabbed Patrick by the collar and yanked him off the other boy, causing him to whine like a kicked dog.
Pete's ego felt that Patrick - having just tried to fight to the death for Pete's love, with someone nearly twice his age - really didn't deserve shouting at, but the other boy's dad had come to drag him away, loudly chiding him, and now a few people were looking at Pete, holder of parental responsibility.
"Patrick!" he hissed, hoping he didn't sound too halfhearted, "We do not start fights like that, Mister, and you better apologise to that boy."
Apparently still incapable of civilised speech, Patrick bared his teeth at Pete and growled, before elaborating, "But Petey, he wanted to take you away and you're mine!" It started out as a whiny protest but by the end it sounded more vicious and possessive than Pete was comfortable hearing from a five year old.
"Ricky, angel, no one's taking me away from you. I'm kind of hurt that you think it wouldn't take more than some bratty preteen asking me to be their boyfriend," he dropped his voice, "Because I'm already your boyfriend, and I love you, and I'm not just here because no one better has asked. Say sorry to him, and then we'll go home and if you're nice, I'll still let you pick the movie."
Patrick sighed and stomped up to the kid. "'M sorry," he grunted, offering his hand out. The other boy shook it, and they both looked so proper Pete had to laugh, and then Patrick stomped back again.
"Home?"
***
They must've only been home ten minutes when Pete heard the shower running. "Patrick?" he yelled, confused. "Tricky!" he called again, en route to the bathroom, when there was no reply.
He opened the door slowly, in case it was Andy or Joe and they'd forgotten to lock the door or something. Patrick was stood there in his boxers, frowning at himself in the full length mirror. He poked his thigh doubtfully before he turned to Pete, blushing from the heat of the steam-filled room.
Pete blinked. "What's this, love?"
Patrick never took showers, and he never took baths without telling Pete. What was more, Patrick liked his baths lukewarm, but a hand under the running water told Pete this was hotter, even, than the temperature of big Patrick's showers, to his knowledge from the times he'd been in them, not that he should be thinking of that right now.
Patrick looked down. "Was going to take a shower, like a grown up."
"Is this about the thing the boy said at the park?" Pete sighed, "Rickster, you're not a dumb baby or whatever that kid said, but you're also not a grown up right now. You're going to burn yourself in this shower, and you could fall over and really hurt yourself, or get soap in your eyes, so please don't, love. You know I'm yours always, and it really doesn't help me if you melt in the shower. I'd still love you if you were just a little puddle of Patrick, but it would make it tricky to snuggle with you. Let's get you into some nice warm pyjamas, and we can go watch a movie and then you can have your bath, please, kitten?"
Patrick looked doubtful, but he didn't cause a fuss when Pete turned the shower off and picked him up, hands around his waist and holding him at eye level. Patrick giggled at the bumping movement back into his bedroom, to be dumped on the bed, and squealed delightedly when Pete kissed his nose.
"What pyjamas, Trickster?" Pete knew to ask since Patrick had been little since the morning, and carefully avoided the pet name 'baby'.
"My train ones, please," he asked politely, sitting back bonelessly as Pete slid the pants on, barely lifting his arms when Pete moved onto the shirt.
"Love you," he muttered sleepily, and Pete kissed his forehead in reply.
***
Pete gaped. This was not, at all, how it was supposed to occur - not least because he also had a ring box buried in his closet, waiting for the right moment, which was not now.
"Tricky-" he rasped, feeling like a goldfish.
Patrick's lip wobbled. "You don't wan-"
Pete reached down and scooped Patrick into his lap, gently taking the ring - which was actually a mood ring and still slightly muddy like it'd been picked off the floor.
It was actually the opposite problem: Pete wanted Patrick, desperately, but he was worried Patrick wouldn't reciprocate when he was a little more capable of thinking it through. Pete was all heartache and true love and much too fast, but Patrick was sensible and lovely and beautiful and even though he loved Pete, he probably wasn't ready to commit like this. Pete really didn't want to accept a proposal that wasn't really intended.
He kissed Patrick's cheek, twice for emphasis, and felt a sleepy Patrick lean back into him. "'Tricky," he murmured, "Of course I want you. I just... We can't really talk about this right now- You can't make big decisions like this right now, love. But I love you more than anything else in the world, you get that, right?"
Patrick nodded silently.
"Okay, good. I just don't want to put any pressure on you when you're big again because of something you did when you were kind of riled up with jealousy and not really in a state for talking about serious, lifelong commitments like this. But I- I love you, Patrick. Let's go to sleep, and we'll talk about it in the morning."
Patrick didn't protest, slumped exhaustedly in Pete's lap, and after a few moments his familiar sleepy snuffle-breathing started to come through. Trying not to jerk him, Pete stood up and carried him bridal style to bed. He curled instinctively around Pumpkin when the toy was placed in his grasp, and lay snuffling into the pillow while Pete quickly changed.
When Pete pushed him over to climb in, he whined and kicked his legs but stayed asleep, curling into Pete's chest and making happy mumbling noises like he always did when he was sleeping peacefully.
Pete kissed his brow, whispering a solemn 'Love you' and fell asleep to his mumbles and jerks.
***
Pete was pretty sure his lip was bleeding from being bitten so intensely. He looked back at Patrick, once again full-sized and still curled around Pumpkin, wearing different pyjamas to the ones he'd fallen asleep in. Patrick snored softly, oblivious, and clutched the pillow tighter. Pete looked down at the box in his hand, feeling terror and excitement swirl together, and then glanced at the mood ring still set on the side.
He'd counted the months in his head, six and a half, and surely it counted for something that they'd already known each other around four years before that. Pete wasn't really sure what happened to relationships after declined proposals, and he really hoped he never had to.
It felt unfair to wake Patrick up straight away with a proposal, but Pete was wound too emotionally tight for the ideal way of waking him, so he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, just adoringly watching his totally beautiful boyfriend, just in case he never got to see him like that again, and then shook his shoulder and knelt as best he could on the mattress.
"Are the owls coming?" Patrick asked frantically, clear-voiced for having just woken up, looking at Pete with unfocused eyes before his brow wrinkled and he blinked again, eyes clearing. "Wassit... Pete-" he grumbled, sounding much more appropriately groggy.
Pete kissed him awake, swiping his tongue tenderly across Patrick's bottom lip and drawing away to Patrick's reluctant whine.
Patrick sat up when Pete pulled the box from behind his back. "Oh," he said in realisation, and Pete wasn't sure if it was a good 'oh' or not.
"So, um, Patrick. I'm- the number of songs I've written about you, and I can't get the words out now," he chuckled nervously. "Um. I love you? And I just, wanted to make sure you really wanted to. But you're- we don't have to do it right away, or anything, 'cause you're- we're both kind of young, and we have tour and stuff, but would you hypothetically- wait no, like in reality, eventually, want to? I'm- oh my god, I love you so much. You're my angel, and I don't want to ruin this with all my shitty clichés about how you saved my life and you make me way happier than I have a right to be, and how fucking cute your snoring is, but-"
Patrick was nodding his head frantically. The phrase 'blushing bride' came to mind, not that Pete valued his life so lowly he'd tell Patrick that. "Yes, fuck yes. I'll marry you right now if I have to. Fuck, I was- last night, I was-"
Pete pressed their lips so they were just touching, but not kissing yet.
"Me too, babe. I was fucking- Of course, though, I wanted to. I was trying to hint like fuck without actually saying yes, until I knew if you wanted to."
Then Patrick's hands were in his hair, yanking him aggressively into a proper kiss, and then he put his hand flat on Pete's chest and it was casually possessive in a way that made Pete shiver, especially when he saw the plain silver band now gleaming on Patrick's ring finger. He only had a second to stare at it before Patrick was full-on in his lap, kissing him desperately and trying to get his own shirt off.
"I love you, I love you, I love you-" he chanted for each button he popped.
"Aren't we going to wait 'til marriage?" Pete teased, fingers toying with Patrick's hair.
"Marriage," was all Patrick sighed out against Pete's lips in reply.
"Slight problem," Pete realised, "Gay marriage isn't actually l-"
Patrick shook his head. "Massachusetts legalised it in April, and we can always just go to Canada, just fucking-"
"Okay, okay, God, be patient."