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Pete pounces Patrick first thing in the morning, grinning at him when he opens his eyes.
"Fuck," Patrick says. This isn't the first time Pete's woken him up this way by a long shot, but it's not something he could ever get used to.
He says, "Move, Pete. I'm up."
And then, "I'm up and I have to pee," when Pete just settles himself more firmly on top of Patrick. He still ends up having to shove Pete away to get to the bathroom.
Pete follows him to the bathroom's entrance, ready to nudge his way inside after Patrick, but Patrick shuts the door in his face and says, "Still don't like you that much."
Patrick pisses, then goes to the sink to brush his teeth. He puts toothpaste on his toothbrush, wets it quickly-- he watched a documentary a week ago about water waste in developed countries and still feels guilty-- and starts brushing before he opens the door. He makes enough room for Pete to shuffle inside while he brushes, and Pete sits back on his heels and watches him. Patrick is too aware of Pete's eyes on him, and of the way foam is oozing from the corner of his mouth, but he spits and rinses-- he's used to Pete staring at him with varying levels of intensity for one reason or another, but some instances are harder to ignore than others. He washes his hands for good measure when he's done, and pats the top of Pete's head once as he leaves the bathroom.
"Okay, okay," Patrick says through a yawn. "Breakfast."
He fixes himself a bowl of cereal and takes the box with him as he goes to sit at the table. Pete sits on the floor beside him and watches Patrick, this time in a way that means he's either begging or just that fascinated with the muffled crunchcrunchcrunch sound the Frosted Flakes make as Patrick chews. This time Patrick notices because now he's supposed to.
When he's finished and there's nothing left but six soggy flakes floating in his milk, Patrick scoops out a little cereal from the box and holds his hand out for Pete; he is totally the kid who sneaks the family dog food off his plate.
Pete eats the cereal, and then licks the sugar off Patrick's palm until Patrick laughs and snatches his hand away. He wipes his hand off on Pete's bare shoulder, and Pete just grins up at him.
Patrick pushes his chair back and wipes his hand off on his pajama as he tells Pete to, "Go get your fucking ball or something."
The funny thing is that when Pete is Patrick's pet-- and, really that concept never quite stops being strange to Patrick; it isn't enough to comment on, but sometimes he wonders just how this is his life-- he's actually less trouble than when he's just being Patrick's boyfriend. Relatively, anyway.
There's about as much face licking either way, though, so Patrick supposes it's an even enough trade.
*
This--they didn't start with Pete and his stupid impulsiveness.
It's understandable how it might look that way if you think of Pete kissing him first as a question, but for as long as Patrick's known him, Pete's never asked a question he didn't know at least half of the answer to. So really, the first kiss was more of a demand. In all honesty, bad timing aside, the whole thing kind of pissed Patrick off.
There's this habit Pete has of coming to a conclusion and then deciding on a course of action without much or any consideration for any other parties that may be involved. It's not malicious, but definitely selfish; it would be a lie to say sometimes it didn't pay off, but that doesn't mean they haven't fought about it. It doesn't mean Patrick hasn't almost quit the band, quit Pete, for doing it.
So Patrick said no and no and no until he couldn't ignore the yes, and after that there was no one to get angry at but himself.
But the point is that Pete isn't half the pioneer he probably thinks he is.
*
Pete really does have a ball. He has three of them, actually, in a box with a bunch of other toys. Things that move and squeak and get half stuck under Patrick's couch. Things that Patrick got because Pete did a full body wiggle when he saw them while they were flipping through one catalogue or another.
Pete brings back a soft purple ball that makes a sort of jingling noise when Pete drops it at Patrick's feet.
Patrick picks up the ball and looks at it for a moment. He tosses the ball back and forth from hand to hand, and thinks about going back to bed for maybe just another half hour, but Pete perks up at the sound.
Patrick tosses the ball.
*
The truth was, Patrick's calm was a lie.
Not when he kissed Pete, because that was appropriately clumsy and full of awkward reassurances that he meant it, really he did. But everything after that was Patrick very privately freaking out. Never in his life had he been so discreet.
In the name of effeciency, he managed to condense the 'I'm in like with my best friend' freakout with the 'I'm dating my best friend' freakout into one solid block of internal confusion and turmoil. All things considered, it wasn't as if all that much had changed, but that was precisely the problem. Now stuff like Pete stealing the last clean-enough shirt he had during their tour or sitting too close meant something it didn't before, but it was still the same Pete. It was still Patrick letting him get away with it or getting annoyed until Pete stopped doing whatever it was that was annoying Patrick in the first place, which honestly begged the question: just how long had they been doing this?
That was the scary part. Not knowing how long they had been getting ready to be whatever they were becoming, and the fact that Patrick could just apparently not fucking notice for weeks or months or years.
He took it all in stride because that's all he could do-- step by step, one day at a time, like an AA pamplet or something one of Pete's therapists might coach him with.
*
Pete never stops at one toy. It's always all of them and they always end up scattered around Patrick's place like a Pete-specific marker of where he's been throughout the day. The last thing Pete abandoned was his rope bone in favor of a bright red blob-shaped plush toy that is supposed to be a crab. Patrick isn't so convinced, but it's Pete's favorite anyway.
He starts to climb up on the couch with it, and Patrick says, "I'm thinking no."
Pete freezes, half on the couch with the vaguely crab shaped toy in his mouth, and whines. It doesn't work because it never works, but Pete has to try. Patrick's never telling, but most of the time he thinks it's kind of cute.
"Pete," he says again. Patrick doesn't yell, but his voice is firm, and when Pete climbs down, he wanders off to sulk in a corner.
Patrick tries not to feel too bad about it.
*
Comparatively, negotiating actual parameters of their relationship wasn't as much of a fuss for Patrick.
A varitable walk in the park, pun totally intended.
*
He does get a little tempted after about three minutes to break out the Scooby snacks, but it just seems ridiculous to bribe Pete into coming to him after he tried to break a rule, especially since he knows that Pete will get over it on his own. He figures it's a good time to refill Pete's bowl with water, anyway, so he does that.
Patrick catches himself humming the Scooby Doo theme song under the sound of the running tap and sighs. That's going to be stuck in his head all fucking day.
*
Once, after lunch, Pete dropped down on the couch beside Patrick and said, "You like it," furrowing his brow.
"Why does that sound like an acusation?"
"It was an observation."
"A random one."
"A spontaenous one. And you do. Like it, I mean."
There was a twinge in the space between Patrick's eyebrows, and he pressed two fingers to the spot. "This isn't the beginning of this conversation. This isn't even a conversation. What am I supposed to be liking?"
"Me going all," Pete waved a hand at Patrick, then combed his bangs down over his eyes. "All, like, Fido on you."
"It's convenient when you bring me stuff. I don't lose my socks anymore," Patrick said, and he's mean to Pete a lot, even when he could try harder not to be, but this is one of the times he wishes he hadn't been. When he looks up, though, Pete is just smiling, half embarassed and half amused.
"Yeah, well," Pete said. "What can I say? I'm well trained."
Really, the joke was on Patrick, because not even a week later he caught himself very quietly saying, "Good boy," in the middle of a completely innocuous conversation. Or, Pete caught him. Sometimes he said it and meant it to be a little mocking, but he hadn't even heard himself say it this time. He thought he might have meant to say something like, "Good job," instead. Probably.
"Right," Pete said, and laughed until his face started to turn pink.
Patrick closed his eyes and sighed. "Shut up."
"Wait, wait. No. Just a second ago I was being a good boy, and now you're telling me to fuck off? You gotta stop sending mixed signals, man. I mean, how am I supposed to know what you mean if you don't mean what you say, Patrick?"
And Patrick laughed it off in the end because it was funny, really. He still wanted to squirm, though, because there it was; a thought that he hadn't even known he'd been thinking had been spoken and turned into something more. Something real.
*
He ends up fucking around on his laptop. He means to keep an ear out for Pete, but gets lost clicking through links for five minutes or half an hour (he can never tell), so when Pete finally comes back, squeaky toy and all, he jumps.
"Fuck," Patrick mumbles, and when he blinks, his eyes sting and start to water a little.
Pete paws at Patrick's legs and Patrick moves his laptop and the pillow it was resting on off to the side so that Pete can drop the toy in his lap.
"Is this for me?" Patrick picks up the crab by one of its claws to see if Pete will try to snatch it back. Pete leans in closer, panting, but doesn't do much else.
"I guess it is," Patrick says. "What's with the present?"
Pete cocks his head to one side.
"Are you trying to bribe me dude?"
Predictably, Pete doesn't answer, but Patrick's still charmed. He pats Pete on the top of his head, ruffling his hair so that it sticks up in the front.
"Come on," he says after a few moments, "Let's clean up."
*
Patrick never really had to say that he liked anything, which he would admit could be a problem.
The truth was that it was mostly a thing Patrick did for Pete, until it wasn't. Then it was a thing that Patrick wanted too, came to need sometimes. It wasn't really about seeing Pete on his knees for him (or maybe it was, but not all of it), and it wasn't how dependent Pete was on him. It was the simplicity of it. It was about Pete nudging Patrick's hand and begging to be petted because he knew Patrick needed to have that contact.
There's another tendency Pete has, and that's to operate under the impression that Patrick does a lot of things to humor him, which is ironic; Patrick doesn't have the patience to humor Pete a lot of the time.
It was still kind of a surprise to both of them that the dog tags ended up being completely Patrick's idea. Let it never be said that he can't do symbolism, too.
They were real tags for a dog's collar. Patrick got two of them in stainless steel, both in the shape of a bone. There was standard pet (Pete) information stamped on one, and has a good home on the other. Patrick slipped them onto a ball chain and gave the necklace to Pete on a day that was just a day, and not a birthday or any kind of romantic or religious holiday.
"It's just," Patrick said, fumbling when Pete made him put the necklace on him. "I just thought--"
"You're invested, I get it," Pete said. When Patrick got the clasp to catch, Pete turned to face him; he was grinning too wide and his eyes were shining bright. It triggered some light, weightless feeling in Patrick's chest, and he felt himself smile back.
"Sometimes you don't," Patrick pointed out. "Sometimes you think I'm being patronizing."
"Sometimes you are," Pete said, shrugging, and his smile started to fade some, but it was still there lingering in the corners of his eyes.
"Well, now you know the difference," Patrick said. He heard the annoyance in his own voice and frowned, tried again. "I'm not with this," he said instead and brought his hands up to Pete's hips, pulling him in closer.
Pete looked at Patrick for a long moment, and it would've been awkward anyway, but was made even more so by their proximity. He nodded after a while and shrugged again. "Okay," he said, then hugged Patrick and mumbled something about Patrick sheltering his inner stray and teaching him to love.
*
Cleaning up is almost a game in itself. They go around the apartment to find all of Pete's toys scattered throughout. Patrick carries the toy box and point out the toys, and Pete brings them over and drops them in the box. They've got it down to a science.
It's more hard work than it sounds, mostly because Patrick doesn't always know where Pete's hidden his toys, and he always double checks. It still doesn't take them forever, though, and when they're finished Patrick says. "Who wants treats?"
He read somewhere that reinforcing positive behavior was key. He either saw it in a pet training guide or something about the educational development of toddlers, but it sounds like something that applies either way, so he goes with it and they head for the kitchen.
There aren't really Scooby snacks. There are, however, bone shaped cookies that Patrick calls Scooby snacks. He gets them from a novelty bakery not too far away from his apartment. Pete loves them, but then so does Patrick which is why he keeps running out so quickly. He gives two to Pete and takes one for himself, because they're the last three left, then tosses the plastic bag they were in.
Pete wolfs down the first treat and plays with the second one, nudging it around on the kitchen floor with his nose.
Eventually Pete eats the cookie and, after about twenty minutes of lying curled up on the floor with his cheek pressed into crumb covered tile, he falls asleep. Pete told him once that he always sleeps best on days like this, no nightmares. Patrick still doesn't know what to think of that, but he supposes he's glad for Pete.
He brings Pete a blanket after a while, draping it over him. Pete burrows under it sleepily, and Patrick sticks around long enough to watch Pete settle before he leaves him be. He only goes as far as the living room so he's not too far away and Pete doesn't have to look far when he finally wakes up.
Ironically, it's Patrick who ends up confused when Pete isn't nearby. He dozes off too and doesn't hear Pete wake up, so when he goes to the kitchen for something to drink, there's no blanket and no Pete. He hears the tap come on in the bathroom afrer a minute, and heads that way, knocking on the door once.
"I'm in my room," he says as he passes by.
Patrick falls back onto his bed when he's inside, and closes his eyes. They leave each other alone after. Not always, but it's not new either. Sometimes the distance helps. Pete gets time to be just Pete, Patrick gets times to be just Patrick, and then they find each other all over again.
The place is quiet enough for Patrick to hear the water shut off. He catches the sound of Pete pushing the bathroom door shut as quietly as can be managed, and then Pete himself a few seconds later.
"Hey," Pete mumbles and his voice is raspy.
Patrick sits up, half-smiling. Pete climbs up onto the bed and lies back, pillowing his head on Patrick's lap. He's wearing a shirt now, and it rides up when he stretches his arms up over his head, but he doesn't tug it down. Patrick does that for him, and pats Pete's chest once, then again, when he's done.
Pete takes a deep breath and Patrick watches as his hand rises, and then sinks slowly as Pete sighs.
"You look happy."
"Don't laugh at me," Pete says, but he's smiling when he crosses his arms over his eyes.
"It was just an observation," Patrick says, and there's a tickle in the back of his mind, like the memory of a memory. "I'm not laughing."
"But you're thinking about it."
"Maybe," Patrick admits, shrugging one shoulder. "Go back to sleep."
Pete stretches his arms up over his head again, peering up at Patrick. "Not tired," he says. "Just."
"Yeah," Patrick says, because he knows, or he thinks he does. "Just."