Spin For You [Peterick]

-25-

[A/N: Happy New Year everyone! May 2016 bring good fortune upon you all. Sorry I have to say this, but possible trigger warning.]

Patrick.

I'm not really sure what to do now.

I don't even know what to fucking write.

I guess I'll just try to figure this out.

I'd hinted that I was in love with you. I'd said it to your grandma, but more as a persuasive argument than a simple fact. Indirectly, it was written all over me; it was in the way I looked at you, the way I touched you, the way I smiled for you and nobody else. I was so completely in love with you, I'd just never said it to your face.

I've now said it three times. Well, four I guess.

-

The first time, it just sorta slipped out.

We'd just been sitting there, watching Star Wars, because what else do you watch when you're trapped inside by mid-January snowstorms? I'd arrived at your house soaking wet, having trudged what felt like fucking miles through the snow to get to your apartment building. You got me a change of clothes, and snuggled me up on the couch, making your trademark hot chocolates for both of us.

So anyway, you'd paused the movie to go see if you had any popcorn left over from the last time we had a movie marathon, but just ended up coming back empty handed, flopping down next to me with a huff.

"I swear to god I thought I had popcorn. We can't have had all of it for the Lord of the Rings thing last month. I bet it was Joe. He's a popcorn addict, he took it. Or Andy. I mean, he's all fitness on the outside but I reckon even he can't resist the wonders of salt and sweet. Salt and sweet, together? I mean, who even thought of that? Why would you look at salt and sugar and think you know what would taste good? If I mixed them together. But I'm fucking glad someone did think it, because it's like the nicest thing. If hot chocolate wasn't so good, I'd live off of that popcorn. Fuck butter popcorn, no-one likes that. Oh wait, apart from that special stuff you put in the microwave and it makes those proper popping sounds, that's good. That's butter isn't it? I don't know. Anyway, sorry, Darth Vader was just about to say the father line, we can carry on now, Pete. Pete? Why are you staring at me?"

I blinked. I'd been completely transfixed by you, as usual. It had just dawned on me that I love it when you ramble on about completely irrelevant crap. And also, I love it when you talk and you do hand gestures without even realising it, as a lot of people who've had their drinks swept off the table have experienced. Oh and when your eyes light up because you just thought of some genius idea, and when you laugh so hard your hat falls off, and when you sit close to me and I can see every one of your eyelashes, and the way you nibble at your goddamn perfect lips. I love all those things.

"I love you."

You stared at me.

I'd hardly even realised I'd said it. Straight out, no misinterpretations. I could've made excuses, flapped about, said I didn't mean it or whatever. Then, it struck me that I wanted you to know.

"You don't have to say it back. It's fine if you're not there yet. I just...thought you ought to know that. I love you, Patrick."

I looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say next, or wanting to see your reaction. I may not have had trouble saying it, but you might be having trouble hearing it.

I expected words, but got lips. You lifted my face up and kissed me softly.

I grinned against your mouth, and you grinned back, turning it into less of a kiss and more of a conjoined smile. We were so cute, it makes me sick.