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Joe’s day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Many may argue that; yes it was, in fact, possible for a day to get worse no matter what but Joe for his own sake disagreed. Walking out of the emergency room alone, arm wrapped in a cast had been frankly embarrassing but that definitely wasn’t the absolute worst part of the situation, with his right hand out of combat he couldn’t, uh, play the guitar and not even that was the worst part of the situation because the worst thing to come out of the situation was that he, a seventeen year old high school senior, was going to humiliatingly be assigned a buddy.
Joe didn’t have any friends, this was a fact that he’s had plenty of time to come to terms with, he hadn’t had any friends since he moved away for sophomore year. Mrs Gilabert was aware of this fact. The thing was, up until the moment he’d broken his arm she had never taken pity on him. However, that morning before home room he’d spent a solid minute trying to maneuver the classroom door open with his left hand and she’d realized just how utterly helpless he was with absolutely no one to help him.
That was why Mrs G was standing in front of a room full of vicious teenagers, who all did nothing to hide their disinterest or disdain for Joe, to accompany and assist Joe through three weeks of school while his arm healed and was allowed out of the cast. The silence after she asked for volunteers was absolutely deafening and he couldn’t imagine a situation where he would want the earth to swallow him more.
Unsatisfied, Mrs G called out “Patrick, how about you?”
When she got no response Joe, in tandem with all his classmates, looked back at the end of the classroom where Patrick sat. Patrick sat staring intently out the window watching leaves on a tree rustle in the wind while chewing on a pen, the cap distractedly stuck between his molars.He didn’t seem like he was willingly ignoring Mrs G in order to stay away from Joe, which all things considered he took as a victory, even if just a small one.
“Patrick!” Mrs Gilabert repeated, this time louder.
He seemed to snap out of it then, forcing his body to face the front of the classroom and in quick succession took the pen out of his mouth. Patrick, seemingly aware of everyone’s gaze on him, flushed dusty pink “Yes Mrs Gilabert?” His voice cracked and Joe saw Troy whisper something to him that made him turn a deeper shade of red and look down at his lap. Joe could empathize, Troy was an asshole.
“I was saying,” she said pointedly, “that Joe needs to be accompanied now that his arm is broken and I was hoping you’d be able to help him out”
Patrick didn’t reply with his voice, instead just nodding. Joe couldn’t tell if it would've been better or worse if Patrick said no. The whole situation was just bad. The rest of the homeroom was painstakingly boring, Mrs G went on and on about the school's new safety policy after the soccer incident. It was ridiculous and mind numbing and it was just first period and Joe already wanted, no, needed to get back home. At some point between the beginning and end of the class Patrick had silently moved his things to sit next to Joe, he’d been chewing on that stupid pen again which was, in Joe’s humble opinion, disgusting.
When the bell finally rang Joe was forcefully pulled out of his deep pondering of every life decision that led him to being stuck with Mr Sucky-suck for three weeks. He realized how much he would in fact need him the moment he tried to put on his back back by himself, already struggling to put his left arm through it, trying to perch it on his left shoulder even slightly for support was near impossible. The bag kept slipping off and swinging down his left arm.
“Do you want me to carry that for you?” Patrick dutifully asked. Those were the first words he’d ever said to Joe in their almost three years of being classmates.
Joe considered it for a second, “No, it’s alright. I just need help putting it on.”
Patrick took the request seriously, almost immediately coming behind Joe to help his bag through his left arm and leaving the other strap on his shoulder, hooking it as much as he could without moving the sling. It was much like his mom had that morning but when Patrick did it, it was so much stranger. His mom, like many mothers, had reason to care about him and his well being but Patrick didn’t. It was in the way that Patrick held his bag so gently and carefully shifted the weight onto him so that it wouldn't all hit him at once that made it seem like he cared so much.
He turned to stare at Patrick, trying to see if he was being played, if something in his expressions would give away that he was mocking him, his fragility. Patrick met his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a questioning look that signaled to Joe that he might’ve been staring for too long. Well, sue him for being surprised, it’s not like people treated him like that very often. It was not behavior he expected from most teenage boys.
“You fags done staring into each other eyes yet?” Troy yelled from across the class. See, that was behavior he expected from most teenage boys.
Patrick looked angry, it was a strange look on him. It was a little dorky the way he furrowed his brows and pouted but the way his big baby blue eyes glared at Troy sent shivers down his spine. It sort of reminded him of an angry kitten. Joe knew better than to mess with an angry cat, especially one that was already sticking out its claws. Usually, Joe wouldn’t rise to Troy’s taunts, as he'd mentioned before, Troy was an asshole. On the other hand, Patrick's evident anger made him angrier, he really did wear his heart on his sleeve.
“Suck it asshole” Joe snapped at him.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He taunted.
Patrick frowned deeper, he looked like he was about to explode. Instead of saying anything he pulled Joe by the wrist and stomped out of the classroom with Joe in tow. Half way there he realized he was being dragged towards Patrick’s second period class, which Joe was pretty damn sure he did not take. Not that he minded, he had math which he didn’t particularly adore and not to mention he shared it with Troy. Though Patrick slowed his once brisk pace he was yet to let go of Joe.
Once they reached the art classroom door Patrick paused, “I hate him.” He choked gripping Joe’s wrist tighter in frustration, then he seemed to realize and let go, the sudden cold where the heat of Patrick’s somewhat sweaty hand had been was unpleasant “Sorry, if we didn’t leave I was so going to punch him and I’ve never won a single fight I’ve gotten into.”
Joe tried to suppress a snort, it was true that Patrick didn’t seem like the winning sort.
“What are you laughing at? You couldn’t beat my grandma in a fight if you tried”
“Excuse you? I so could.” He gasped in mock offense.
Patrick looked down at his cast judgmentally, “Right…” he stretched the word. “What if my grandma was an MMA fighter?”
“I could totally still beat her” Joe made a show of gnashing his teeth.
“With those arms? Yeah right”
Joe flexed with his left arm, “What? these guns?”
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“It should.” He replied overly seriously, looking Patrick dead in the eyes with a straight face.
Patrick opened his mouth to reply but before another word could come out of his mouth a series of loud coughs came from behind them. When Joe turned around he saw a chubby mousy girl with hair dyed pitch black staring back at him. She carried herself with confidence and though she was a few centimeters shorter than him it felt like she towered over him.
“Could you guys move? I have class here.” Her tone wasn’t hostile. “Oh hey Trick! I didn’t see you behind him. Who's this?”
“Was that a dig at my height?” Patrick huffed.
“No, I would never.” She rolled her eyes, Joe liked her, whoever she was.
“So are you going to introduce us?” Joe smiled widely at Patrick expectantly.
Patrick sighed deeply, “Joe this is Gee,” she pointed his palm towards her, “Gee this Joe.”
Joe offered his hand for Gee and she shook it fervently, “pleased to make your acquaintance.” He smiled.
“Likewise.” She smiled back, holding his hand after the handshake was strictly over.
”Anyway!” Patrick interrupted, “Let’s get to class before she doesn’t let us in.” He grumbled.
Joe just followed him, as he held the door open for both him and Gee. What a gentleman, he rolled his eyes internally. It was cute, the way he couldn’t hide a single thought. The little frown lines surrounding his barely there wispy ginger eyebrows were sure to give him wrinkles by the time he was 18, it made him want to smooth them over with his thumb, just an act of care and friendly concern. “Friends” may be stretching it though, he realized. Joe was a little desperate after all.
He’d spent so long alone that when he sat on one of those tall art room tables, not completely alone, he felt something well up in his chest. Whatever. It was embarrassing, usually people would avoid sitting next to him. He wasn’t getting emotional over two semi-strangers not running away from him like the plague, what are you on? He looked around the class, he’d never been there before. It was sparsely decorated and all the supplies looked like they’d been around since at least the Middle Ages, the air had a lingering dust that he presumed wouldn’t disappear no matter how long you opened the windows.
Most importantly, it felt almost like an alternate reality from where he usually went to school. He leaned back on his chair and watched Patrick pick up a canvas almost as big as he was, stumbling and dropping it several times attempting to carry it from the back of the class towards their table. Joe shared a look with Gee before breaking into a childish giggle, it was kind of pathetic regardless of how endearing.
“Does this happen in every class?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, he rejects any kind of help anyone offers.”
He mumbled under his breath for no one in particular, it was clear Gee hadn't heard him at all. Unsure on how to continue any sort of conversation with her he turned to watch Patrick set up his canvas on a portable easel. The artwork was interesting, there was really no other word to describe it that would get it quite right. It seemed to be attempting to depict a, well, something Joe wasn’t too sure the figures had become muddled under so many layers of paint, every single one another color that did not work in harmony with the others.
“How long have you been working on this piece?”
“Far too long for how terrible it looks.” He muttered, clearly frustrated, his body shifting slightly to cover the piece.
Joe tilted his head trying to inspect the painting trying to find something to compliment in order to soothe Patrick’s insecurity but came out blank, it just wasn’t great unfortunately.
“Yeah I’ve got nothing.” He said out loud, apparently, surprising even himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,I’m sure you put tons of effort into it.” He mentally kicked himself, seeing things like this were why he didn’t have any friends.
“No, it’s okay, I’m not entirely blind,” he adjusted his glasses on his nose, “yet.”
“Maybe you should just paint it over white, start from scratch, re-do it from a new perspective.” Joe tried to be helpful, not just mean.
Patrick looked, not quite dejected, more generally exhausted like painting was draining the life force out of him just by looking at it.
“I just want to be done with it.” He said, ignoring the suggestion and turning to splatter out the school’s cheap acrylic paint onto a plastic palette. “Or burn it, who knows.”
A huge grin spread on Joe’s face, “Say, do you have any plans after class today? Because I just had an amazing idea.”
Patrick looked at Joe skeptically and it only made Joe grin even harder, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I suppose I’m free, what did you have in mind?” He replied, trying to appear nonchalant as he added another unnecessary layer of paint to the “face” of a muddy figure.
“Well… you have an ugly painting you hate and I have a lighter and a backyard, think about it, it’s a perfect match.”
“Acrylic paint isn’t flammable.”
“But the canvas is just thinking about the visual; burning wood and fabric, melting colorful plastic.”
“Actually, I’m thinking about the health and safety risks.”
“You serious? You really sound like Mr Stewarts right now, I’m just saying.”
Patrick’s face visibly scrunched up at the mention of their chemistry teacher, he knew Patrick was often on the receiving end of his endless rants, Joe had witnessed them. He really thought Mr S just picked on Patrick because he made himself small, it made him feel powerful, probably. He was a creep regardless.
“Are you trying to peer pressure me?”
“Yes. Absolutely. This is just my first attempt of many.”
“They warned me about guys like you,” Patrick squinted his eyes at him, “next thing I know I’m dead under a bridge with thousands of unpayable debts under my belt.”
Joe snorted, “I can almost guarantee it. So? Are you in?”
Patrick bit his lip like he was actually considering it. His gaze shifted to fix on the canvas before him and then back at Joe. He lifted the paintbrush in his hands up towards his lips, he seemed intent on biting and sucking it just like that pen and at the same time so completely distant from the action, thoughts on something else entirely. He stopped himself right before putting it into his mouth, he looked stunned by his own actions.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” Patrick shrugged, much more relaxed than when he had originally suggested the idea.
“Hell yes! Oh my God this is going to be the event of the century.”
“The week, maybe, and that’s being generous.”
“It’ll be fun I guarantee it.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, “Oh I’m sur–”
“Would you be quiet Stumph? You should be focusing on your work, not mindless chit chat. The art room is a quiet room.” The teacher, who Joe didn’t know and hadn’t noticed until then, called out to him.
Patrick imitated her with a scowl on his face, mimicking the words “the art room is a quiet room” under his breath angrily. Joe couldn’t help but smile, Patrick was just a little ridiculous.
“I definitely need to burn this.” He assured Joe as he looked him dead in the eyes.
They spent the rest of the class in silence. Joe, having nothing to do seeing as to the fact that he didn’t take that class, just spent his time watching Patrick work himself up over every single stroke he put down like it mattered, like that canvas wouldn’t be nothing but ash in a few hours. Even despite the fact that his efforts were meaningless he was still endlessly determined and Joe could kind of see the painting in a new light, it seemed much better now, not that anything Patrick did made it any more visually pleasing.
Eventually he got bored of just watching in silence, as entertaining as it was to see Patrick get extremely worked up every time the art teacher said anything the silence got kind of mind numbing. He shuffled for his back pack and laid it on the table in front of him, trying to open his bag one handed pushing his thumb between the zips trying to pry it open with little to no success until he dropped it on the floor with a loud and unfortunate thud. Patrick wordlessly picked up his bag and opened it for him.
“Thanks, dude.”
“It’s my duty.” Patrick replied, already half turned away from him.
“My knight in shining armour, what would I do without you?” He teased.
“Certainly not open your bag, that much is for sure.”
Patrick didn’t seem thrilled to continue the conversation, he could tell by the way he looked at the front of the class where the teacher was after every word so he nodded in a way that told Patrick it was okay to ignore him. Joe reached into his bag to pull out a comic book, it was the new issue of Captain Marvel that had come out. From what he’d read so far it was kind of sloppy but he stock piled any comics he could get his hands on. A friendless loser like him needed something to entertain themselves with, school days were long and tiring. Especially when you’re facing them all alone, he noted to himself.
The issue was entertaining enough and before he knew it every one around him was scrambling to pack up and clean supplies. He tried to remember what class he had, he stared at the wall for a solid minute before remembering he had chemistry, one of the few classes he actually shared with Patrick. Usually he’d skip, he wasn’t particularly interested in chemistry or dealing with Mr Stewarts most of the time smoking in the bathroom sounded far more appealing.
Today was different. Today he could sit next to Patrick at the back of the class and maybe they could talk over Mr Stew’s dull lecturing about something, anything. Maybe they’d have to work on a practical and he wouldn’t have to wait until the very end to find a partner because Patrick was practically obligated to stick with him and they could fuck around and do no work together, finishing off the class by dropping a beaker just to make Mr Stew mad. He sounded desperate even to himself. What was happening to him? Everything was too much too quick.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by Patrick tapping him on the shoulder and helping him with his bag, though he didn’t give Joe a chance to put away the comic in his hand which Patrick seemed to notice the moment he was done helping him.
“Is that the new issue of Captain Marvel?” He asked, barely hiding his excitement.
“Yeah, the one that came out last week, it was alright.” Joe wasn’t super crazy about it or Captain Marvel in general. He told Patrick as much.
The conversation quickly devolved into rants and rambles about comic books and characters. It felt a little childish but Patrick seemed to have very strong opinions on everything, a lot of them he shared with Joe and others not so much. Some of them were so painfully outrageous that they had him struggling to find the words to describe just how wrong Patrick was. He rubbed his left hand down his face in exasperation, trying to explain to Patrick why his thoughts on the avengers were confusing, misguided and bordering on overly pretentious.
Too entranced in their conversation they left the art room, forgetting to say goodbye to Gee who he would apologize to at some point, and somehow made it to their chemistry class completely on autopilot where Joe slipped into the seat next to where Patrick usually sat easily like he did it all the time and it was second nature. The class started and they kept rambling, even if in hushed whispers, completely absorbed in each other. Their arguments at some point had stopped being coherent, they both forfeited ever trying to change each other's minds but didn’t really want to stop talking to each other.
Mr Stewarts passed around an exercise sheet for them to complete that would most likely remain untouched for the rest of the lesson. They were mid-discussion about the way Thor’s hair had changed over time and what it meant for his character, Joe discovering that Patrick seemed to find Thor extremely attractive, when Mr Stewarts had enough of them. He yelled for the whole class to be quiet which was good enough to stun everyone into silence before locking his target on Patrick.
“Mr Stumph.” He said in a tone that made the both of them stiffen. “Do you think your behavior is at all appropriate for a classroom environment?”
“No.” He replied into the collar of his shirt, looking away.
“No..?” Mr Stewarts said expectantly.
“No, Sir.”
“Tell me, do you want to amount to anything? be more than the useless boy that you are?”
“Yes.” The silence stretched. “Sir,” Patrick added in defeat.
“Then why do you insist on being as mediocre as you are?” Joe watched as Patrick made himself smaller at Mr Stewart's words. “You’re not bright, your results show as much, in case you didn’t notice. Your foolish behavior does nothing to help your case, you're idiotic and instead of trying to remedy it by working hard you waste your time, disrespecting me and disrespecting everyone around you. Are you proud of yourself?”
Patrick pouted, his bottom lip quivering but Mr Stewarts kept going. Joe wasn’t sure what to do, he’d never been close enough to Patrick to realize just how bad it got. Everyone else had already moved on, letting Mr Stewarts go on, he was no longer yelling, no longer far away, just fixed on Patrick. It made him sick to his stomach just the week before he was one of the kids that ignored whatever went on at the back of the class, now he found it disturbing he could’ve ever looked away.
He wondered what Patrick could’ve possibly ever done to warrant this. He looked at his friend (maybe, at least in his head) sitting next to him, clearly on the verge of tears, face burning bright red in embarrassment, Mr Stewarts hovering above them. So up close he could see him trying to bite back a smile as he berated Patrick. What a fucking freak. If his arm hadn’t been restricted he would’ve broken his nose right about now, suspension or expulsion be damned. He hated adults, he hated powerful adults, he hated everyone that could just walk all over them.
Unsure of what to do exactly, he reached out, slithered his hand to clasp Patrick’s and offered a gentle squeeze. Patrick's attention snapped from the spot on the floor he’d been holding a staring contest with right onto Joe, looking at him wide eyed and surprised. Joe morphed his expression into something that he hoped seemed somewhat reassuring. Patrick looked away back at the floor spot but didn’t let go of Joe’s hand, instead squeezing around his wrist tightly. Suddenly, he could barely hear Mr Stewarts over the pulse of his heart ringing in his ears, the feeling of Patrick’s own heartbeat pulsing into him through his finger tips.
Saying goodbye to Patrick after chemistry was a genuine tragedy, they didn’t share any classes until tomorrow. A fact they both seemed equally disappointed about, Patrick joking about who was gonna be the there to put his back pack on for him, complaining that no one would take notes for him (despite Patrick not having done that at all) and spending far too much time loitering around the door of his english class before finally walking in.
Joe didn’t really feel like going to class anymore. It’s not like Mary was expecting him to show up, he hadn’t been to a history class since last term, she really didn’t seem to mind so long as he showed up for the exam and passed, she was kind of the best teacher in the entire school. Instead he headed to the bathrooms on the third floor, no one ever went there. Technically the floor was still under construction, it had been since ‘93 and almost ten years later it seemed to be nowhere near completion. God bless public school.
The bathrooms were still fully functional so Joe didn’t really mind the unfinished paint jobs or the newspaper that covered the floors that he ripped and tripped over. He always shut himself in one of the stalls to smoke, he liked the feeling of smoke surrounding him like a warm hug. It always made him smell like shit, though. Teachers had given up on calling him out for it, after all they never actually saw him smoke.
Trying to: a) open his bag to take out a cigarette and b) light it was almost impossible but his mom didn’t raise a quitter. It took a little fumbling and almost burning himself or the school but he managed. He wondered if Patrick would light his cigarette for him and immediately flushed, dismissing the thought as best as he reasonably could. Because the idea of Patrick up close hand fixed so close to his mouth, flickering a lighter with the other while looking into Joe’s eyes was just not right. So uncalled for, so not right. The thought of Patrick taking the cigarette out of his mouth for a drag was even more uncalled for. Ew. No. What was wrong with him?
He tried to focus on something else, literally anything else. He forced his attention onto blowing smoke rings, he’d been trying to perfect them anyway, what better opportunity than right then and there. He had at least 3 hours to kill before he could reasonably go home (he wanted to wait for Patrick anyway) and nothing better to do than chainsmoke in a school bathroom. He was living the life. Really.
A feeling settled in his chest, familiar and uncalled for. He was lonely. Staring at the writing on the door, all his handy work because no one knew about this palace and it’s not like he had anyone to tell. The uncomfortable strain of being alone hadn't been present until then because his day had been so different; it wasn't until the awful familiarity of the bathroom that he was reminded just how miserable his days really were. Gee and Patrick were an anomaly, something that would fade, wouldn’t last long. The natural way of things was this. Being all alone, staying all alone, keeping himself all alone.
He gasped for air that he didn’t know he was missing then lifted his shirt just a bit, putting out his cigarette on his stomach with a hiss, adding to the collection of burns on his lower belly. Everything hurt, his head was pounding, tension gathered at the nape of his neck. His arm ached, sharp pain sending a jolt through his entire body, it hurt like it never had before. It hurt more than when he’d actually broken it, adrenaline protecting him from feeling the full extent of the pain. He writhed, twisted and squirmed pathetically on the toilet, locked in a stall while skipping class all alone. He felt nothing but distaste for himself and all his decisions ever.
In the midst of everything he just closed his eyes, absently looking for more ibuprofen in his bag. It felt like a miracle when he felt it beneath his fingers, he swallowed a little capsule, the third one of the day. Everything hurt just a little less. It was placebo, probably, he knew for a fact that ibuprofen didn’t work that fast. But it was enough to calm the strain enough, to let him breathe deeply and slowly until he fell asleep, pathetically, alone on a toilet.
Joe was rudely awoken by the bell announcing the end of the school day, it’s ringing far louder and more jarring than the noise that played in between periods. Joe was foggy, his vision took a solid minute to stop being blurry, he blinked rapidly trying to speed up the process but it just made everything worse. Real tears began to form in his eyes. He took a deep breath and slowed down, closed his eyes and waited for his body to come back online like the dusty old family computer.
That nap had really taken it out of him. He stretched trying to soothe the inevitable aches and pains that came from sleeping on a fucking toilet seat. If he was being honest with himself, he was sort of impressed how easily he could sleep in unconventional places. He supposed it might make for a useful skill in the future, he didn’t know what life had in store for him. He was an idiot though and his habit of skipping class would apparently indubitably come back to bite him.
When he was finally ready he stood, made his way through the empty, barren hallways of the third floor. It looked different in the early sunset of January, the empty spaces looked magical in the oranges and pinks spilling through the window. It made his mind wonder how Patrick would look like underneath this lighting, the orange would compliment the ginger hues of his hair and the pink would match the dusty flush of his cheeks. It'd be cute. Cute? What the hell was he thinking? That was gay. Not that there was anything wrong with being gay, he just wasn’t.
He waited for Patrick around the back exit where they’d talked about before saying goodbye to each other. After far too much time sat loitering around and doing absolutely nothing he began to wonder if Patrick had decided to properly ditch him. It made a fair amount of sense, they’d just met after all and he was sure a guy like Patrick had plenty of friends. He was probably so busy with other people. Joe began to wonder what the hell made him think Patrick'd be there at all, he supposed he just really liked setting himself up for disappointment.
A loud thud from behind forced him to turn around so quickly it surprised even himself. He saw Patrick at the top of the exit stairs, a pleased (bordering on smug) expression, on his face. At the bottom of the stairs that comically oversized canvas that had been torturing Patrick for weeks laid on the grass, pathetically. When Patrick spotted Joe he grinned and waved enthusiastically before going down the stairs to kick and pick up the canvas. Turns out Patrick did want to see him, turns out he really needed to stop overthinking as much. Who knew?
“Took you a minute, I thought you were gonna leave me to the worms.”
“Is it bad to say I’d forgotten about our plans until I was half way home.” Patrick said, apprehensive. “And carrying this stupid big canvas out of the art classroom was a challenge.”
“I can’t tell if I’m offended or not.” Joe muttered, “Whatever, the show must go on. Time to light this thing up.” He pulled his lighter out of his pocket and gave it a few flicks for good measure.
“Wait. Like right here, right now?”
Joe considered it, “No, I suppose not. I did say my back yard.”
“Yes. Yes, you did.” Patrick looked back at the canvas, “Do you live very far away?”
Joe shook his head no then said, “C’mon let’s go, I’ll help you carry this thing.”
He lifted what he could with his left hand and smiled at Patrick who helped him out with the thing. They carried it awkwardly, from an outsider's point of view what they were doing was completely pointless, ridiculous even; but it made sense for them and really that was all that mattered. It wasn’t like any of the events to follow the procession from school to his house would be any more sensible or reasonable at all. Joe was excited, so was Patrick it seemed because they couldn’t help giggling the entire way there. Patrick was looking at him wide eyed, electric.
“A fire pit, you have a fire pit in your back yard.” Patrick sounded surprised.
“Well I wasn’t going to risk burning down my entire house, I wouldn't have suggested this if I thought it would actually kill us.”
“I guess I was just expecting everything to be riskier. As much as I complained earlier, it would've been fun.”
“Breaking news: high school students cause chain of house and forest fires that burn down the entire state of Illinois.”
“I never said I thought it through, high risk, high reward.” He shrugged like he didn’t sound like a deranged arsonist.
“You’re crazy.” He smiled, Patrick was awesome.
He seemed completely unaffected by Joe’s comment as he placed the canvas snugly within the confines of the fire pit, he seemed extremely focused on the task at hand. “We’re going to need fuel for the fire.”
“How about kitchen oil? Does that work? Fuck I should’ve paid more attention durning chemistry.” He didn’t miss the way Patrick frowned at the mention of the class.
“No, it wouldn’t work well. What do you usually use?” He wasn’t expecting Patrick to know.
“Dunno, I don’t think we’ve used it since we bought it. Impulse purchase from my dad after an argument with my mom.”
“Do you have any newspapers? They catch fire really well.”
“Yes, actually!” Joe ran off almost immediately, searching around for the stack of old newspapers his dad swore he was going to take to the recycling eventually. Finally, they were useful for something. He made it back outside just as quickly as he’d ran off handing his offerings to Patrick. He happily took them, scrunching some of them up into balls and tearing them apart, making sure to perfectly arrange them, he was meticulously perfectionist. By the time he was done the sun had come down fully, leaving pitch darkness surrounding them.
Joe reached for the lighter in his pocket again, outstretching his hands towards Patrick. “Would you like the honors?”
“Well of course, you’re a gentleman for asking.” He teased as he took the lighter from Joe’s hand.
Patrick pressed the lighter to an edge sticking up from a newspaper ball. It caught on quickly, going from one paper ball to another before enveloping the canvas in bright golden flame. Patrick flinched away from the burning mess when everything suddenly caught on, then he took a couple steps back to admire their artwork next to Joe. It was beautiful. The contrast between light and darks made the subject of the piece stand out against the night sky. The fire cast a glow on the previously unremarkable patio furniture turning it into a majestic sight. It completely captivated the both of them, they looked at the colorful fire in a trance watching carefully for every shift.
He looked down at Patrick, probably to make some stupid comment or something along those lines when he saw it. Patrick was smiling full, happy, making his eyes scrunch up and his cheeks appear so chubby they looked bitable. He literally glowed in the firelight, it made all his features stand out in the best way possible. His eyes shone brighter than any star ever, it didn’t matter. He could look up and check but that would mean taking his eyes off of Patrick and it’s not like he needed to check he knew. Patrick’s hair looked like actual fire and Joe couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to run his fingers through it. Would it be so hot it would burn?
Patrick seemed to notice he’d been staring for far too long because he turned to look back at Joe. He looked at him straight in the eyes, burning with an intensity that made his heart flutter. Adverting his gaze, he looked down to his lips, fuck, worst possible mistake he could’ve ever made. They were so full, looked so soft and even in the dim light he could make out that luscious pink shade, they were just like a girl’s lips. He wanted to kiss him like he would a girl. What the fuck. No. He looked back up at Patrick's eyes, immediate death sentence. In those sweet baby blues was a question, one he couldn't fully understand but he knew what the answer was.
Yes. A million times over, yes.
He wasn’t sure how exactly but Patrick's lips were on his, pressing against him desperately like he’d been waiting for this his entire life, like they hadn’t properly met for the first time just hours ago. Joe laced his left hand in Patrick’s hair desperately trying to pull him closer as if that were even humanly possible, it didn’t burn. Patrick pulled away, Joe whining at the loss. Patrick placed sloppy wet kisses down Joe’s jaw before moving down to lick a spot on his neck before sucking and nipping, Joe’s head tilting back to grant Patrick easier access.
Patrick let go just to roughly push him onto a patio chair before practically jumping onto his lap and straddling him. Joe’s back hit the chair, knocking the wind out of him just for a moment. There was a dull throb in his arm but he could ignore the ache, easily. There were more important things to care about than a little bit of pain, for example the way Patrick was looking at him like that under firelight looking absolutely stunning. He was so beautiful. How was it possible for a boy to be so pretty? He slid a thumb over Patrick’s bottom lip tentatively.
Everything seemed to slow down for just a second before it all came crashing down again. Patrick desperately kissed Joe like he needed it to breathe, Joe just went along with it, happy to let Patrick set the pace. “I’ve been,” Patrick choked breathily, “been wanting, for so long.” He gasped into Joe’s mouth, pressing his hardening cock against Joe’s thigh, rutting against him. Fuck. Patrick was so God damned hot. Maybe he was a little gay or whatever. It didn’t matter, as long as Patrick kept making out with him.
Patrick pulled Joe’s shirt down by the collar before biting down on his clavicle, Joe yelped. Involuntarily pressing harder against Patrick. Patrick hummed happily against his skin before moving to keep biting. Suddenly, Patrick jumped off of him. Joe looked around in dazed, confused and sad. He tried to pull him back towards him by tugging him by the wrist, pouting and whining, it was pathetic, but Patrick wouldn’t budge. He kept his distance, trying to train his breath.
“What did I do?”
“Nothing, look behind you” He saw his mother’s car pulling into the driveway. “Can I use your landline? My mom is probably wondering where I am.”
”Tell her you’re sleeping over at a friend’s, I wanna show you my room.” Joe ginned like the Cheshire cat seeing Patrick blush all over.
He could probably consider Patrick his friend now.