You know that one picture of Patrick wearing Batman pajama pants where his hair his extra fluffy? I think about that every goddamn day. Kind of fluff, but not really. That would be illegal. :)
Pete's head is starting to hurt. He doesn't want to admit it, because he's almost nineteen and soon to be a freshman at DePaul university, and admitting it makes him feel too old, but fuck is this music loud. He's only at this party because the host is a friend of a friend who he thinks is friends with his ex-girlfriend.
Also, free booze.
He's not in the mood to dance, and the group of people he showed up with disappeared an hour ago. He's debating just leaving and calling his friends later to say he got food poisoning or some shit and had to go home early.
He walks outside, starting the trek up the block to where he remembers parking his car. It's chilly, but quiet, and as soon as he starts walking along the line of cars his head starts to feel a little clearer.
That is, until he can't find his car.
He's only had three beers, so there's no way he's too drunk to find it, right? It doesn't matter if he passes the same spot eighteen times trying to find it.
Oh fuck.
What if it was stolen?
"Shit," Pete curses. He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit shit shit shit."
It takes him five minutes to come up with a new plan. He decides to text his friends and tell them what happened, and then go back to the party and try to find a quiet room to camp out in. He texts his parents that one of his friends needed help with their algebra homework and then starts walking back to the house.
Walking back into the party after being on the silent street makes Pete wince. He thinks his friends are in the basement, but that's also where at least half the noise is coming from, so he heads upstairs instead. Most of the doors on the hall have socks or ties hanging off them, but towards the end he finds one without an article of clothing.
He knocks on the door once, then opens it when he doesn't get a response. It's a bedroom, and it only takes Pete two seconds to realize it's not empty.
"Shit," Pete says for the tenth time in the night, covering his eyes. "Sorry, there was no sock on the door- so I assumed-"
"It's, um, it's not a problem."
There's no way that voice belongs to a horny teenager fucking their brains out.
Pete lowers his hand. Sitting on the twin-sized bed is a ginger boy who can't be older than fifteen. He's looking up at Pete awkwardly, and there's a science textbook open in his lap.
Pete blinks. "I was just...trying to get away from the noise, you know?"
The boy smiles gently. "Yeah, I always hate it when Kevin throws parties like this. It's not my scene."
A few dots connect in Pete's head. "So you're his brother?"
The boy nods.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Pete."
"I'm Patrick."
Pete wipes his hands on his pants. "Well, Patrick, I guess I'll leave you alone now. Sorry for intruding."
"You don't have to go," Patrick says quietly. "I mean, it's loud as hell out there and you're not bothering me, so." He shrugs, gesturing to the chair at his desk.
Pete steps into the room. "Really?"
Patrick nods. "I'd rather talk to you than do homework." He shuts his textbook and sets it aside, smiling shyly at Pete.
Aw. Cute.
Wait no. How old is he again?
"So, what grade are you in?" Pete asks as casually as he can.
"I'm almost done with eighth grade. I'm supposed to be studying for my last tests of the year right now." He glares disdainfully at a pile of books and packets besides his bed, and Pete knows exactly how he feels.
And, doing some quick mental math, he guesses Patrick's around thirteen. Should he be hanging out in Patrick's room? Debatable.
"I'm in the same boat. I've got finals to study for too." Pete rubs the back of his neck, thinking about the history book open on his desk at home.
"Are you a junior or a senior?" Patrick asks.
"Senior."
"Are you excited about college?"
Pete thinks. "Kind of. I don't know what I want to do yet though, so I'm not looking forward to classes that might end up being useless."
Patrick nods. "That's how I feel about my math class."
Pete laughs.
He ends up spending an hour in Patrick's room before his friends text him that they're getting ready to leave. He wonders what the moral implications would be if he asked Patrick for his number; despite the five year gap, he's already one of the coolest people Pete knows.
"Do you have to go?" Patrick asks quietly after noticing Pete staring at his phone. Pete looks up at him and nods. Patrick looks down at his hands, then looks at back up at Pete. "Any advice for a thirteen year old getting ready to start high school?"
So he was right.
Pete scratches the back of his head while he thinks. "The sooner you stop caring what people think, the better. Work on it. And if you ever have to change in the locker rooms it's easy to change underneath your shirt if you don't want anyone looking at you."
Patrick nods, and Pete can almost see him committing the advice to memory. "Thanks. Uh, it was nice to meet you."
Pete smiles. "It was nice to meet you too, Patrick." Pete stands, then takes a step closer to Patrick and holds out his fist. Patrick grins and touches his own to it. "I'll see you around."
With that, he slips out of Patrick's room and makes his way downstairs.
When his friends ask where he went, he was honest: he was hanging out with the coolest guy at the party.