(Two days from Four Months)
"Pete, I don't know if I can handle you being gone for so long." Patrick complained as Pete continued packing his things.
"Babe, it's only for a month or so." Pete argued, and although he was sad he had to miss out on seeing Patrick for that long, it wouldn't help if both of them were just laying around crying until Pete left. And it looked like Patrick was about to do so.
His big eyes were welling with tears, his bottom lip sticking out in an unforgiving pout. He slouched down on his boyfriends bed, watching him put the final things into his suitcase.
"I have a few hours until the plane leaves?" Pete noted optimistically, and Patrick looked up to him, a tear rolling down his cheek.
Pete's never seen him cry, and his heart did a new thing. It just - it twitched, and he suddenly felt like buying everything and doing anything to make Patrick stop crying.
"Pat? No, hey," Pete began, pulling him off the bed and into a tight hug.
"No, 'Trick, seriously, don't cry, come on," he ushered, holding him close to his chest and stroking his hair.
"We'll Skype every night and I'll text you all the time. Okay?" Pete asked, pushing Patrick away by the shoulders gently, and tipping his head up to look at him.
Patrick nodded, wiping his eyes with his balled up fists, the tears staining his maroon sleeves.
Pete kissed his head, pulling him into a hug again.
(Four months and two weeks)
It was Nine. Nine O'clock P-fucking-M. That meant Pete was an hour late for their Skype calls, which he had moved down to once a week. The one day a week were Patrick got to see his happiness. His everything. And Pete was late.
It was Ten. Ten O'clock P - fucking - M. Patrick shouldn't still be awake, just staring at his computer screen expecting Pete for him to call.
He didn't.
It was Twelve... Twelve O'clock A... fucking ..M. And Patrick doesn't think he can stay up much longer, his screen blacking out constantly from lack of usage.
Patrick texted a final 'Kay, well, goodnight I guess.' and passed out.