Spin For You [Peterick]

-53-

Dear Patrick,

I'd never been so happy to hear the sound of Joe's car pulling into the driveway.

The hours I'd spent waiting for you had felt like years; I was surprised my body hadn't merged into the couch, my face forever imprinted with the patterns on the cushions.

My bones cracked as I began to stir. Everything was numb, my vision bleached white like I'd died on the sofa and this was the afterlife. It couldn't be, though, 'cause I could hear your footsteps on the gravel, you were alive, and so was I. And so was my dad.

The sound of a key in the lock made me blink fast, my head finally beginning to shake off the duvet of dizziness that seemed to have been smothering it. You were here, at last. You'd make everything better, like you always do.

I was so ready to just rush at the door, throw it open and scoop you up in my arms. After hours of waiting with only my mind for company, the thought of seeing you again was the only thing keeping me sane. And yet, I was completely terrified of it.

I didn't run to you. I just stood in the middle of the lounge, staring down the hall, my hands knotted up behind my back. Don't hurt him. Whatever you do, don't hurt him.

The door swung open, and there you were, wrestling with huge suitcases which looked ridiculous in the hands of such a small person. You looked up, and my chest tightened. You dropped the cases, shut the door behind you, toed your shoes off, and suddenly, you were marching towards me.

I took a few steps backwards, shaking my head at you, using every ounce of my brainpower to stop myself thinking of anything that might get me angry. I promised never ever to hit you again, but it was more than a promise. My entire life was bound up in it. I can't lose him again.

You paid exactly zero attention to my protests, though. Before I knew it, you'd slammed into me, throwing your arms around me and squeezing me as tight as you could, your breath tickling my ear. And I, of all people, know that once a Stump is hugging you, struggling is pointless.

My fingers untangled themselves and curled around your waist, my head dropping into your shoulder. Suddenly, anger was the last thing on my mind, exhaustion forcing a sigh from me. Breathing through your shirt, I drank in your scent, faint aftershave mixed with sweat mixed with something that was just...I don't know, just Patrick.

"Love you," I mumbled, my mouth feeling your collarbone under the fabric.

Your lips brushed the side of my head, your hands rubbing slow circles into my back. "It's gonna be okay," you murmured, squeezing me tighter.

I ignored the fact that you couldn't know that, the fact that this could bring my whole world down on top of both of us, and let myself believe you.

Pulling back, you put your hands on my shoulders and gave me a little shake. "You're okay. We're gonna talk this out, yeah?"

At that moment, talking it out sounded like the worst idea in the world; I just wanted to curl up somewhere with you and sleep through this whole thing. You weren't gonna let me do that, though, obviously.

"Hey, no," you said firmly, poking me in the chest, "you're not keeping all those feelings to yourself, it's not healthy, you know that."

I sighed, hating that you were right. But this was exactly why I wanted you here, so you could make me do the things I didn't wanna do and make me feel better.

You took your hands away and pushed at my own, stepping away from me. I felt a wave of something like homesickness, wanting you back in my arms right now.