“Thank you, Chicago, you know we love you!”

The crowd, mostly teenage girls, roared excitedly, masses of bodies pressing against the iron fence. Patrick grinned; he still wasn’t used to this kind of thing, and he hoped he never would be. There was nothing like feeling completely shocked at how many people sang along to the words he had scribbled in shitty notebooks before handing them over for Patrick to make sense of.

“That was fucking awesome,” he shouted, punching his fist in the air as they walked backstage. Andy grinned and gave him a high-five.

“It never gets boring,” Patrick agreed, and Pete could see the glimmer of adrenalin in his eyes.

They filed into their respective buses, Andy and Pete changed into less sweaty clothes, and then they headed out again. There was an after-party going on over at the Cobra bus, and Pete was in partying mode. The high from the show still hadn’t worn off, and he slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulders as they walked.

“Dude, I’m still buzzing all over,” he said, heaving a happy sigh and burrowing his nose in Patrick’s neck, not caring that his skin was moist with stage sweat.

“I know what you mean,” Patrick laughed. “I sort of wanna go up again right now.”

“We totally should,” Pete grinned. “There has to be at least five kids still in the venue. Let’s go for it.”

Patrick chuckled and bumped his hips against Pete’s. Joe’s head suddenly appeared, leaning on Pete’s arm, his cheek against Patrick’s. “Dudes, I’m so in.”

“Hey, Pete!” It was Gabe, doing some weird 80s dance to the music that was coming through the open bus door. “This is your jam, man!”

Pete reluctantly released Patrick and joined Gabe, doing a silly rub against his body. He knew how funny they looked dancing together and had to perform just a little extra when he saw Patrick laughing at them.

--

That night, Pete slept well for a change. He woke up to some stubborn rays of light streaming in through the small crack in the bunk window. When he sighed and flopped over to lie on his back, he noticed his head throbbing. Oh God, he was fucking hung over. Damn it, he thought, there’s no way I’m going to sleep again now. So instead he sat up and rubbed his eyes dejectedly. His head was still throbbing dully, and it swam a little as he slid to stand on the floor.

Coffee.

Twenty minutes later, he was drowsing in a sun chair in front of the bus. There was a steaming cup of too-strong coffee in one of his hands, and his enormous sunglasses were perched on his nose, effectively shielding him from getting a migraine in the early morning sun. His iPod was on the gravel next to him, so he grabbed it and put the earplugs in. The next hour was spent listening to a new band he was contemplating signing. There were no thoughts running through his head, and he was thankful for it. He just wanted to bask in the glory of the show the night before. He fucking loved Chicago, and shows like this made him homesick. What could L.A. offer him that his hometown couldn’t, after all?

He vaguely heard footsteps shuffling across the gravel but didn’t have time to react before one of the earplugs was ripped from his ear. He jumped a little and looked up.

Joe placed another sun chair next to Pete’s and sprawled across it, puffing lazily on a joint. “You probably shouldn’t be in the sun. You were pretty fucking wasted last night.”

The lisp in Joe’s words told Pete that this probably wasn’t his first smoke of the day. “I wasn’t that bad, was I? I don’t remember being very drunk. Kinda hung over today, though.”

Joe barked with laughter and sank lower into the chair. “You haven’t seen Patrick yet? Dude, that’s awesome! Tell me when you do so I can watch, okay?”

Pete was sufficiently confused right now. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, my friend, you’ll know soon enough.”

Pete was sort of scared.

--

When he didn’t see Patrick all day, he started to worry. He couldn’t remember doing anything stupid last night – well, no more stupid than usual. He had a vague suspicion that he had made out with Ryland, which was, yeah. But maybe he hadn’t. Ryland had given him a small wink when he walked by earlier, though. Pete would have to ask Gabe about that little issue.

Anyway, he decided to go over to the OCD bus to see what the fuck Joe had been on about. When he opened the door, not knocking first, and jumped aboard, he saw Patrick look up at him, sort of panic and look away again. What the fuck?

“Hey ‘Trick,” Pete said, plopping onto the couch next to Patrick, who slowly inched away. Again, what the fuck? “What’s going on?”

“Um, no, nothing,” Patrick said quickly, not even looking up from his laptop. His cheeks were flushed and his cap shielded his eyes from Pete, who was completely nonplussed. What the hell had he done last night, raped someone’s dog?

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Have fun last night?”

Patrick’s eyes flickered to his for a second, then away again. “Sure, well, no, or yeah.”

Well, if that wasn’t the vaguest fucking answer ever.

“Did I do something, er, bad last night?” Pete asked, a little nervous. He really hoped he hadn’t done the naked ninja or something equally insane. Patrick did tend to get a little freaked out by that stuff and Pete was no fan of a freaked out Patrick, no matter how cute he got when he was flustered.

Patrick just looked at him, almost in a sarcastic way, and now Pete was sort of freaking out. “What the hell did I do?” he said, slapping a horrified hand over his mouth. “Did I show my dick? Cause that’s like, just a normal day. Oh, I did Tampa Bay Tommy all over the place, didn’t I? Did I hump Andy or something? What the fuck did I do?”

Patrick was still staring at him. “You honestly don’t remember?”

Pete shook his head, wondering how the fuck this was his life and why he was such a lousy drunk.

“Then,” Patrick said, looking at the laptop again. “There’s probably no use talking about it. Whatever. It was nothing.”

“No, dude, seriously.” Pete was a little frantic, tugging at the sleeve of Patrick’s hoodie.

“No, Pete.” It sounded final. Pete tried to pout, but to no avail.

He was just going to have to find out some other way, ‘cause there was no fucking way he was letting this go.

--

“Why the hell is everyone giggling?”

Joe giggled. “Cause it’s funny, idiot.”

Pete was getting pretty fucking tired of this shit. He’d asked Gabe (“dude, I was probably drunker than even you”), Andy (“you know I don’t approve of the idea of clouding the mind with alcohol, I was reading in the bus”), Dirty (“there was a party? There was a fucking party? Why didn’t anyone fucking tell me?”) and Suarez (“touché”), all for nothing. No one was going to tell him why Patrick was carefully avoiding him or why people laughed every time they saw him.

“It isn’t funny, you dick,” Pete growled. “I know funny, hell, I’m the fucking master of funny, and this is not funny. I don’t even know what I did.”

“That’s the funny part.”

“Right,” Pete said. “Fuck you.”

The next time he saw Patrick was at sound check. They were playing two shows at the Chicago venue, so it was pretty much the same thing as the day before. Patrick still didn’t look at Pete except when he really had to, and it was pissing Pete off. Patrick blushed and cleared his throat every time he caught Pete staring at him, but didn’t acknowledge him in any other way.

During the show, when they covered Mr. Brightside, Pete leaned into Patrick and kissed his neck, as he always did at this part of the song. Patrick sort of hissed into the mic and turned a dark red and Pete just didn’t fucking get it.

Until right after the show.

Vicky-T walked by him when he stood sulking by an enormous amp, and stopped as though she hadn’t really meant to. He looked at her and was just about to say hi when she shushed him. She tucked something into his hand, kissed his cheek and went off after Gabe. Pete stared after her, again completely confused. He looked down at the plastic thing in his hand. It was a DVD case.

He watched it on his Mac in the privacy of his bunk, headphones plugged in securely. As the screen began moving, he froze.

“Well, fuck me,” he whispered in surprise.

The film was simple; it was a home video of Pete and Patrick, leaning across their laps to meet in a kiss on the graveled ground.

That was when the flashbacks happened; Pete leaning into Patrick, a drunken Patrick leaning right back, lips against necks, lips against cheeks, lips against lips, a slow and lopsided walk to the buses, the cold metal of the bus against Pete’s naked back, strangely familiar lips running down his chest and stomach.

“Holy fucking shit,” Pete wheezed. His heart was going a hundred miles per hour.

Okay, sure, he’d known that he had a crush on Patrick, for fuck’s sake, who hadn’t? Every single guy or girl Patrick had ever met had walked away with little hearts in their eyes, and Pete couldn’t blame them. But still. This could royally fuck his life up.

Also, Pete wasn’t completely sure he was even gay. So that was a small problem.

He couldn’t help his mind wandering a little. How it would’ve felt if he and Patrick hadn’t stopped at some groping, if they had gone a bit further. He got an image of Patrick on his knees, Pete’s dick in his mouth, looking up at Pete with heavy-lidded eyes.

Oh shit, he was so gay. Above the belt and otherwise.

--

“So,” Pete said conversationally as he plopped down next to Patrick in the bus lounge. “We made out.”

Patrick jumped, almost dropped his computer on the floor, and gave a little squeak. Pete had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Didn’t we?” he said, though he was completely and totally sure they had.

“Um,” Patrick said, his cheeks flushed. He straightened his hat, a nervous habit, and scratched his neck. “I guess we sort of did.”

“It was awesome,” Pete said, grinning at him, “right?”

Patrick grinned too, looking down at the floor. He laughed a little and nodded. “How’d you remember?”

Pete leaned back against the back of the couch. “You know how Vicky T is always flinging that video camera in everyone’s faces?”

“Oh, no,” Patrick gasped, and finally his eyes met Pete’s. “She filmed us making out?”

“Totally,” Pete said, still grinning. “And I’m telling you, we look pretty damn hot.”

“I highly doubt that.” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“We did, dude, and we really shouldn’t deny the world the hotness that is us any longer.”

Patrick laughed again. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Pete felt a surge of bravery. This would be okay. They would work this out, this could last. He knew because Patrick was the only one who had understood him completely, known his every thought and still hadn’t left him. He was still there every day, through every insane plan or depressed rambling Pete had.

So he jumped on Patrick and straddled his thighs, pushing Patrick back against the couch. Then he rubbed his nose against Patrick’s neck.

“I said, this is too fucking good to go without. You know that I love you.”

Patrick suddenly didn’t look amused anymore, he looked angry. His cheeks turned a deeper red and Pete almost recoiled at the look in his eyes.

“This isn’t some dumb joke, Pete,” he growled darkly. “It’s not fucking funny, it could screw up everything.”

“I know it isn’t funny,” Pete said breathlessly. His eyes flickered to Patrick’s lips. “It isn’t funny at all. It’s pretty fucking great, if you ask me.”

Patrick seemed to consider Pete for a minute, biting his lip. Pete almost groaned at the sight, but sobered when he saw how thoughtful Patrick was.

“If this is some weird prank you’re trying to pull,” he said calmly, “I need to know right now, okay?”

Pete nodded. “It isn’t. I love you. It’s pretty simple, if you ask me.”

Patrick still looked a little doubtful. Pete sighed and leaned forward, but hesitated when he felt a stopping hand over his lips.

“What are you doing?” Patrick said, sounding a little panicked.

“I bas twying two kiff you,” Pete said against Patrick’s clammy palm.

“Oh,” he answered. He bit his lip again, then let go of Pete’s face.

Pete just stared at him for a moment, not really knowing what to do, suddenly insecure about all of this. He looked away from Patrick, staring at the torn wallpaper next to his head, trying not to cry, what the fuck. He almost missed Patrick’s soft whisper.

“Okay.”

Pete snapped his eyes to Patrick’s. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Patrick shrugged. “Let’s do this.”

Pete grinned and leaned forward, and this time his lips met Patrick’s. It was even better than the vague memories of last night, which were pretty damn amazing.

 “Oh man,” he gasped when they reluctantly broke apart, their foreheads still touching, Patrick’s hat laying forgotten next to them on the couch. “Wow, I fucking love you.”

Patrick let his fingers touch Pete’s cheek and chuckled a little. “Took you long enough.”

Pete shrugged, leaning toward Patrick again. “Well, some people do call me just a little slow.”

Patrick just snorted against Pete’s mouth, which would’ve been icky but, strangely enough, wasn’t.

When they left the bus much, much later that afternoon, they were met with a chorus of catcalls and applause. Patrick blushed and hid his face against Pete’s neck, but Pete just grinned, gave the Cobras and his own band the finger and led Patrick straight back onto the bus.

They could kill a few more hours before heading out into the world.