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It was well past closing time, weekdays weren’t particularly busy, and Patrick had long since kicked out any poor soul that still lingered at two in the morning. He had felt generous, and sympathetically served a final round of drinks before emptying the place.
Now the lights were off except for the ones illuminating the bar, the place was desolated and Patrick couldn’t remember who, if anyone, would still be working in the back. It didn’t matter, if there was anyone at all, they wouldn’t bother checking on him, he was but a bartender to everyone’s eyes and bartenders in the Bella Muerte were known for being nothing but discreet. Whatever dealings happened in the back, or the secluded booths, or the back alley, or anywhere really, was none of his business -- unless Mr. Way asked of him specifically to intervene in one of the meetings or pick some well-wrapped package that would be dropped in, the dealings and commotions were not granted his involvement.
His mind was too buzzy to remember if anyone was working this late, either way. He had offered to do the closing himself and the other bartender that worked the night shift with him on this random Wednesday had been all too eager to go home.
So, he had dimmed the lights and invited himself to a drink. To a few. And now, draped over the bar in a stool that his boss hated was located there, he felt the air fuzz around him, warmth splaying through his insides as his mind jumped from blurry memory to blurry thought without much retail.
“Should you really be drinking?” Gerard’s voice came from the side as he walked in front of him, leaning with an elbow over the expensive linoleum, amusement shining in his eyes in the low light as his smirk crooked his lips upwards. “What are you, like, fifteen?”
So Mr. Way was still working late.
A humorless breath of a laugh came out through his nose, blinking vaguely at him over the edge of his glass. “Twenty-one, actually.”
Gerard’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, his smirk widening as he reached to produce a cigarette from his slacks, placing it in between his lips delicately.
“Oh, yeah? Cause I have at least three different IDs of yours with three different birth dates that would beg to differ. So excuse me for being wary.”
Patrick snorted, nodding behind his empty glass, lips shifting around an agreement that he didn't truly produce.
“That’s fair, but why would I be lying to you right now?” He glanced up at Gerard’s unfazed expression through his eyelashes, licking his lips unsurely.
“Are you kidding? You lie all the time, ‘s practically pathological at this point.”
The smoke that he breathed out swiveled under the artificial light and enraptured Patrick in a feeble nod.
He glanced down to his hands as he reached for the bottle and faucet to refill his glass, he had the mind to put a clean one on the bar on offer, filling it the same when Gerard nodded.
Without looking at Gerard still, he swallowed, scratched under his eye, and mumbled, “Today’s my birthday. The real one.”
“Yeah?”
Hazel eyes searched for his own until he gave in and met them, heavy and dull. He nodded, lifting his eyebrows momentarily and pursing his lips as he took a sip of his drink.
“Well, yesterday technically, but whatever.”
“Hm.” Gerard took the cigarette from his lips and reached to pick the other glass up, tilting it towards Patrick patiently, “Happy Birthday then.”
Patrick scoffed but complied in clinking their glasses together, downing it whole in one go under Gerard’s attentive gaze.
“Happy birthday… yeah, sure.” He laughed drunkenly, “What a ridiculous expression, who the fuck came up with that shit.”
“People who enjoy their birthdays, probably. You’d be surprised by the amount of those that are out there.”
“Well, fuck ‘em all.” He said, pouring himself another vodka soda, without the soda this time.
Gerard watched him, smoking silently for a couple of moments before he reached to stop Patrick’s hand from taking the glass to his lips. Gentle, roughed fingers wrapping around a bony wrist.
“I think you’ve had enough, sweetie.”
“Nah, fuck off.”
He pushed Gerard’s hand off, accidentally sloshing his drink over the bar with a reproachful tsk.
“Patrick,”
He was busy dropping a cleaning cloth over the linoleum, cleaning the mess annoyedly, frown carved deeply into his features.
“Patrick…”
“Patrick.”
He stopped with a huff, turning his eyes sharply towards Gerard’s worried face. His voice had turned soft, trying to coax Patrick into listening.
Patrick’s own face was somewhere between furious and deeply upset, but his expression softened into exhaustion when Gerard gave him a small smile, eyes gentle as they fixed onto his. He sighed, letting his hands fall into his lap, head tilted back tiredly.
A moment of silence was conceded then as Gerard smoked patiently, Patrick closed his eyes and breathed slowly.
“What are you doing here this late?” He asked, straightening his back and looking back at Gerard with newfound resignation.
“Could ask ya the same.”
Raising his eyebrows unimpressed, he gestured to the glasses and spilled alcohol, making Gerard chuckle.
“Well, yeah. Seems like neither of us are having fun, then. Piles of paperwork.”
“Being a crime lord isn’t as easy as it seems, eh.”
Gerard gave him a disapproving stare until he shrugged.
“It isn’t fun, no. Isn’t supposed to be.” He conceded after a few moments of silence. Patrick was surprised at hearing Gerard talk so honestly about his work. “It shouldn’t be enjoyable to do what I do, Patrick.”
“But… you do enjoy it?”
“No, not usually, no.”
He nodded, willing his still fuzzy brain to produce words that wouldn’t overstep any boundaries that could potentially ruin the sudden sincerity.
“Why do you do it, then?”
Gerard didn’t seem too surprised at the question, almost resigned to a looming doom. He sighed and leaned over the bar beside Patrick to put his burnt filter off in the sink there, before standing back and straightening his shirt’s sleeves. Only now did Patrick notice his suit jacket left on the counter a little to the side.
“What else am I supposed to do, eh? This is the family business, Patrick. Things need to be done, and I’m in charge.” He explained, rubbing a hand down his face.
Patrick nodded hesitantly.
“It’s late, you’re drunk. C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”
Patrick stared at him for a moment, blinking thoughtfully before pushing off the stool on unsteady feet.
He joined Gerard in the other side of the bar, where the lighting was even dimmer, being assessed thoughtfully before Gerard hummed and unfolded his jacket to drape over Patrick’s shoulders, who blinked in surprise and tilted his head, frowning worriedly when Gerard laughed.
The jacket was big on him, warm over the thin material of his shirt, and he only hesitated for a moment before pushing his arms through the sleeves when Gerard didn’t offer further reasoning, opting instead to pull him close to his side by an arm around Patrick’s slouched shoulders, guiding them towards the door of the club.
( . . . )
The street was dark, inconveniences of being a seemingly abandoned factory in the outskirts of the city. It was eerily quiet, the occasional car passing by the road up ahead and the few scattered cats roaming around in the peace of the night. The inside of the car was warm in contrast to the chill falling outside, Patrick still refused to take off the oversized jacket, as long as it wasn’t reclaimed back, he would indulge himself in the clinging smell of tobacco and expensive cologne.
Quiet reigned and the small lights of the dashboard reflected on both their faces as the main illumination.
Patrick took in a deep breath through his nose, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth as his leg began to move up and down furiously.
“Will you accompany me inside?” His voice swiveled through the silence and he wondered if he was being too loud or the world was just too damn quiet.
He glanced at Gerard through the side of his eye and saw him combing a hand through his dark hair, any trace of gel applied that morning long since gone as it fell to frame his face in delicate half curls. His head rested against the back of his seat as he tilted it to watch Patrick directly, an amused half-smile as tired eyes blinked at him.
“If I do, are you going to make me stay?”
Patrick matched him in tilting his head, glancing closely at his face, from his lips to the up-crooked nose and the sharp arc of his eyebrows. He licked his lips and shrugged.
“Only if you want.”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head disbelievingly and looking back at the road as he bit the inside of his lower lip. His thumb did an unconscious movement over his other digits where it rested on the steering wheel, Patrick followed the movement closely, he did it a lot around him. A lot of considering came along with dealing with him, he supposed.
“Nah, sweetie, you’re drunk.” He spoke softly, turning back to Patrick again with the same humor in his smile. “C’mon, can’t trust you not killing yourself on a fifty meters walk.”
The engine was killed and without further discussion Gerard got out of the car.
Patrick blinked for a moment, processing the whole movement until the door to his side was pried open and he was staring up at Gerard, the chill of the night hitting him with all its force, biting his cheeks rosy and making him hold the jacket closer to his body once he stepped out fully.
“You couldn’t live in some normal apartment in the city, no? Too seen.” He commented while Patrick punched in the codes to the door's security.
“Do you have any clue how big your digital footprint is living in an apartment building? That’s if it’s not owned by the mafia. Do you know how much organized crime there is in this city, Gerard?” He commented with a sly smirk while he pushed the heavy gate open.
“Oh my God, really?” The flat tone and wide eyes Gerard gave him sent him into a laughing fit, Patrick stumbled across the deserted main plant towards the set of cement stairs on one side, the moonlight and auxiliary lights illuminating the way for them.
“This is really quiet.” Gerard commented, trailing after him in alert to catch Patrick if he fell in his stumbling while eyeing the ground floor, deadly silent and vacant in contrast with how vibrant it usually was, full of colourful lights and music, the haunting noise of restless fingers hitting a keyboard with urgency.
“Pete’s in Cali for… something, I don’t know…” He hummed distractedly, taking a turn to a middle floor instead of keeping up and almost causing Gerard to collapse against him.
He stopped, keeping quiet as he saw Patrick rummaging through a cupboard. Partly in awe at the fully functional kitchen, which didn’t have a doorway but had a breakfast bar, behind which a conventional living room was displayed. He had never been in any of the other floors of the building, didn’t have a reason to, he only visited for business, and the computers with which Patrick and his friends worked were in the first floor, making it the most frequented area.
“Is that why you’re so upset about your birthday?”
“What?” Patrick turned to him, frown in his face and bottle of gin in his hand. He blinked at him in confusion.
“Because… they left you alone on your birthday.”
“What? No, no one knows my birthday.” He battled his free hand around, turning back to the countertop. “There’s a reason for that, ya know.”
“And what’s it?”
He made his way over to lean against the counter beside Patrick as casually as possible, although Patrick was drunk enough to not notice if he was being held at gunpoint. Scary thought, that one.
“People are really annoying.”
What had him distracted from truly indulging in the conversation, or dismissing Gerard off with success, apparently was the fumbling that opening the bottle required from his intoxicated mind. Gerard followed the motion of his clumsy fingers closely, doubting that the glass would remain securely in them for long.
“Birthdays aren’t so bad, though. Gifts, cake… All that stuff.”
Patrick scrunched his nose up, looking at him with a frown as if the comment had deeply offended him.
“Sure, it’s awkward as fuck, people never know what to gift you, worse, they will buy you something that you don’t like, and then you have to pretend as you like it for them to not get upset. In your own damn day.” He rolled his eyes, finally turning the cap the right way.
“People make wishlists to avoid that.”
He watched as Patrick cheered upon opening the bottle and tilted it to his mouth triumphantly. To his obvious displeasure, Gerard reached for his wrist before he could drink anything and gently coaxed it out of his stubborn grip with the other. “I think you’ve had enough, ‘Trick, really.”
“C’mon, ‘s my birthday! ‘m allowed to celebrate!” He cried mockingly, reaching unsuccessfully towards the gin that Gerard held securely out of his reach.
“I’ll buy you a cake to celebrate tomorrow.”
The bargain seemed to catch Patrick’s attention, who ceased his struggling against him to consider for a moment, pensive frown falling on his features.
“Charlotte?”
“...Who?”
Patrick erupted in loud giggles, still draped over Gerard. “Noo… Charlotte cake.”
“What the hell is that.” He frowned down at him, tilting his head back in utter confusion.
“Is… like, brioche cookies with cream and berries.” The explanation was vague, slurred as he gestured mindlessly.
“Right. Well, whatever.” He raised his eyebrows, shrugging off Patrick’s badly explained ramble. “Yeah, sure, but we’re gonna leave the gin here, yeah?”
“Orr… we could have a drink.” His expression brightened, as if he had been blessed by a great idea.
“Yeah, no, sweetie.”
Stretching up, he put the gin in an empty place in the upper shelf of the cupboard, where Patrick wouldn’t be able to reach, and placed a guiding hand over his shoulder.
“C’mon, lying down will do you good.”
With a deterred huff Patrick shook his head and turned for the stairs again, coached under Gerard’s arm and leaning a good portion of his weight on him. They stumbled up the cement steps, bumping into each other thanks to Gerard’s unwillingness to let go and Patrick’s decision to use him as a cane. On the final floor one short hallway directly to the left led to two doors, and a walk to the right led to the other side of the building where the security bar was the only protection against the sudden free fall to the solid floor of the very first level. Gerard made a point of keeping Patrick on his right side when he led them towards the furthest door.
The spacey room that appeared behind it didn’t impress Gerard as much as it should, the mess was only to be expected but it was restricted to the unorganized shelves full of books and CDs. There were piles of both in the soft carpet covering half the floor, besides an empty desk and a piano.
“Do you know how to play all of those?” He asked impressed, tilting his head towards the line of different guitars propped on their stands, plus different cases of varying sizes that he could only guess were different instruments, and what seemed to be an arp in the very corner of the room, in between a wardrobe and a closet.
“Mhm.” Patrick nodded, distracted by kicking his shoes off before stepping into the carpet and falling onto the bed, which stretched enormously in the opposite corner, under the windows taking up well over half the wall on that side of the room. “‘M learning violin, but ‘m not great...yet.”
Gerard couldn’t help the bemused laugh that his chest produced, charmed by Patrick’s confidence.
He watched as Patrick laid on his back, glancing at the tall ceiling. The moonlight and lights from the city came through the wide panes upon him, casting sharp shadows over his features, long lashes fluttering over his cheekbones like ghostly caresses.
The walls in the room weren’t cement, painted a warm reddish color, and covered in posters and shelves. The plants did surprise Gerard, even more so when upon closer inspection, they turned out to be real ones.
“Well, good night, then.” He huffed with humor, having all the intention of turning back where he had come from now that Patrick was secure on his bed, certain that he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself in his gigantic bed, -- what a twenty-one year old that always seemed to be running around getting into other people’s business needed such a big bed for, he couldn’t phantom.
“Gerard.” He called out sluggishly, rubbing his eyes as he sat up slightly to meet Gerard, who turned back towards the call. “...Stay...please.”
They stared at each other for a few moments, Patrick’s eyelids fell heavily now that the warmth of the room added to the same Gerard’s jacket provided, and made the exhaustion and drowsiness come to the forefront of his brain. Gerard’s hands curled inside the pockets of his slacks as he let his eyes graze over Patrick’s form.
“You’re drunk, Patrick.”
He huffed with offense. “‘m not asking anything of you, just to stay.” His request was more demanding this time, eyes meeting Gerard’s across the faint lightning of the room.
Giving the situation a hesitant thought over his head, Gerard hummed, shifting in his feet.
Tilting his head he stepped into the carpet.
“Sure. Promise to keep those hands to yourself, though?” He glanced at him amusedly from the side of his eye, kicking his shoes off.
“You ain’t that handsome.” Patrick huffed, hefting himself further into the bed until only his feet dangled off the edge of the mattress. At that, Gerard laughed suddenly, shaking his head as he hovered over Patrick’s form, reaching his hand out towards him.
“C’mon, sweetie, lift up, you’re gonna get my suit all wrinkled.”
Grumbling and deciding that the effort of keeping his eyes open was no longer worth it, Patrick sat up slightly, reaching his arms out with all the intent of making Gerard be the one to undress him.
“You’re so demanding…” He complained, a faint smirk crooking his smirk as he tugged Patrick’s arms out of his suit. “For someone that hasn’t even sucked my dick.”
“No, but I fuck you good with all the blackmail.” The little shit giggled, unabashedly proud as he flopped back on the mattress once Gerard had the jacket in his hands to fold neatly.
“Low blow, Patrick, low blow.” He shook his head with a chuckle, turning to drape it over the back of the chair against the desk.
Patrick just continued to laugh loudly, fumbling with his belt to try and undo his jeans. Until Gerard took pity on him and reached to do it himself, tugging them off with complete disregard for being careful about jostling him in the process. The bed was all too big, and yet Patrick was practically passed out halfway on the floor. With a roll of his eyes, Gerard opted to leave him there while he took off and folded neatly his own suit, before taking him by the hips and hefting him further into the mattress as gently as possible. Patrick mumbled something in his sleep, shifting and grabbing onto Gerard’s forearm as he was dragged to lay over one of the many pillows littering the headboard.
“Fucking...ridiculously enormous bed…” He muttered frustrated, fumbling with the sheets and pillows so they could actually lay in the bed. “What do you even need this much space for.”
Logically, he knew that he wouldn’t receive any sensical answer, but that didn’t stop him from muttering complaints until he finally managed to get into a decent position on the mattress, and found a pillow that wasn’t abnormally flat. Fucking teenage nerds.
Patrick curled around him the moment he seemed settled, head falling heavily onto the crook of his neck, unaware of his previous struggles, — uncaring of them, at least.
With a charmed huff, Gerard made an effort to push his arm under him, shaking his head with a smile when Patrick pressed closer with a small noise of content.
“G’night, Gerard.” He mumbled sleepily, curling one of his hands on top of Gerard’s chest, making him feel a kind of warm and fuzzy inside that he would never admit to basking in.
“Night.”
And because Gerard was but a man and there was only so much he could take, he shifted and turned his head until he was able to press a kiss to Patrick’s cheek, basking in the happy hum he produced before settling back in.
( . . . )
What made Patrick’s body come back to the world of the living wasn’t the sun, nor the impending murderous hangover, but a loud, incessant ringing accompanied by very shaky buzzing. The headache settled just as his brain identified the noise as an alarm coming from his phone, he squinted and lifted his head from the deserted bed in search of the devilish device. He gave up when he realized he was too far away from the nightstand to actually stretch and pick it up. So, through the pain of his being, he rolled out of the covers and plush mattress to see what was going on with the security alarms of the building.
What met him when the loud pounding behind his eyes subsided against the bright screen was none other than Gerard, standing outside, big white box in one hand and cigarette in the other. Confused and feeling beaten up, he let him in before walking out of the room.
They met in the cement stairs, Patrick holding onto the handrail for dear life against the murderous pounding of his head, and Gerard looking as bright as ever, suit looking as if it hadn’t been left in anything but the neatest hanger overnight and stance as relaxed as he could possibly ever get, the only sign indicating that he could have spended the night other places that weren’t his own being the softness of his hair, out of its usual gelled back style and curling behind his ears.
“Good morning! How are we feeling!” He exclaimed, unnecessarily loud, just to mess with him, teasing made obvious by the utterly delighted smile that broke havoc on his face when Patrick groaned, eyes shut tightly and hand holding his head uselessly. “Healthy as ever, I see!”
“Fuck off.” Patrick muttered, groaning again and walking into the kitchen in desperate search for Advil.
While he was on his almighty quest, Gerard dropped the white box carefully on the breakfast bar, sitting on one of the stools with that shit-eating grin of his still in place, looking as cheerful to be there as ever. As if he didn’t have anywhere else to be on this casual Thursday morning.
Patrick was, at least, fairly sure it was still morning.
“What…” He stopped for a moment after swallowing the tablets, closing his eyes to think his question through, unsure on which one to utter.
He was sure that Gerard had been there when he fell asleep last night, why he was outside with a box when he woke up was out of his mental capabilities for the time being.
Ultimately, he decided that he was here now, whatever that meant, and so, the reasoning behind it was unimportant. “What is that?”
“A gift. Nothing more.”
“... A gift?” Patrick’s suspicion was instantly raised, whose wouldn’t when one of the most powerful men in New York smiles at you with a spark that could only mean trouble.
In answer, Gerard simply pushed the box in his direction carefully, aware of Patrick’s curiosity being picked.
“It ain’t a bomb, I suppose?”
“Would I risk blowing myself up just to take you out?”
“Romantic in the most Bonnie and Clyde style.” He raised his eyebrows, assessing how to open the box.
Gerard stopped him alarmedly when he went to tilt the box in the air, placing it carefully back on the counter and turning it so the lapel was in Patrick's line of sight.
“We ain’t Bonnie and Clyde, sweetie.”
The grin on Gerard’s face widened when the cake was revealed, Patrick’s expression confused as he blinked at the dessert. He turned his frown up to Gerard.
“What’s this?”
“You’ve never seen a cake? Wow, you ought to get out more, man.” His eyes widened mockingly as he rested his elbow on the counter.
Patrick rolled his own, long-suffering. “I see that it’s a cake, I meant to ask why you brought me a cake.”
“Birthday cake, well, late, but that’s not my fault, is it?” He shrugged, eyeing the state of it inside the box, luckily it hadn’t been damaged too badly.
Patrick seemed to tense at that, shifting his jaw and racking his eyes over the sweet.
“...Charlotte cake, ‘s my favourite...”
“You told me last night.” Gerard hummed, looking at him with slight worry. “It’s like tiramisu.”
“It’s nothing like tiramisu! The fuck?”
“Of course it is, berries instead of coffee and chocolate, but same thing.”
Patrick huffed offendedly, pursing his lips thoughtfully for a moment. “...Okay, maybe it is kinda like tiramisu.”
“My Nonna used to make a mean one.” He hummed with an air of nostalgia that Patrick couldn’t relate to.
He didn’t care, too busy with turning to get the coffee maker started, retrieving plates and cutlery. He was about to dig the knife into the cream when Gerard stopped him, outraged.
“Woah, hey, what the hell are you doing?” Eyes wide and hand raised forward as if Patrick was pointing the knife directly to his gut.
“Cutting a piece?”
“It’s a birthday cake! You gotta blow the candles first.”
Patrick blinked, completely off put by his behaviour and good humour.
“There aren’t any candles?” He frowned puzzedly, pretty sure he and Pete didn’t own any candles.
To his further stunning, Gerard reached into his suit jacket and threw a new packet of them on the counter, making Patrick’s eyebrows raise when his metal lighter was placed beside it and he realized Gerard was completely serious.
Shaking his head, he petulantly opened it and stabbed three of them in between the decorative strawberries. Gerard lit them cheerfully.
“Woah, wait.” He stopped him when Patrick took in a breath to blow them out. “You have to make a wish!”
Patrick’s deadpanned expression was met with a severe look, insistent in the protocol of birthday cakes.
With a sigh, Patrick rested his hands on the countertop, “I wish-”
“In silence! You need to wish it to yourself or else it won’t happen.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, this is exactly why I don’t like people knowing.”
“Just make a wish and blow the candles, Patrick.”
So with a long suffering groan, Patrick looked at the ceiling as he thought of his wish, and blew the candles.
Gerard cheered, clapping his hands complaciedly. “Happy birthday!”
With a deep breath, Patrick looked at him unfazed, “Thanks.” and rolled his eyes as he picked the knife back up. He served two portions on the plates he had brought out, wordlessly pushing a mug of coffee in Gerard’s direction. And they dug in quietly, Patrick oddly silent as he mulled thoughts over in his head, the swirling cogs practically audible.
“You know, you didn’t have to.” He muttered after a few moments, catching Gerard off guard as he was bringing a raspberry to his mouth.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry, I didn’t get you a gift, wouldn’t want you having to make me feel better on your own day.”
Patrick huffed out a laugh, gaze settled stubbornly on his plate. “I wouldn’t know, never received a birthday gift.”
He could feel Gerard’s gaze losing it’s sharp amusement as he frowned slightly in his direction. “Ever?”
Patrick shook his head, shrugging as he sipped his coffee.
“Not even as a kid?”
“Nop.” He pursed his lips, finally looking at Gerard and despising the sadness that shadowed his hazel eyes. He didn’t want the pity, he had been fine for twenty-one years without people doing shit for him on his anniversary. “Don’t even start. If you go around sharing my birthdate, I swear to fuck, Gerard, I’ll ruin you.”
“Chill.” Gerard defended, raising two placating hands with wide eyes. “It’ll be our little secret.”
“Good, ‘cos you’re the only one who knows and I will expose you.”
Gerard whistled through his teeth, raising his eyebrows. “Only me, huh? I’m starting to think that you trust me…”
“Fuck off, Gerard.”
“I’m going to interpret that as an I love you.” He nodded self-satisfied, tapping his fork against the plate lightly.
Patrick rolled his eyes and opted to avoid his input in spite of going back to his cake.
“You really never had a birthday party?” Gerard asked again after a moment of silence, more serious, tilting his head curiously.
Patrick shrugged, not particularly enthusiastic about the topic. “No, would be a miracle if my mother remembered shit, much less was actually around for the day, and then as a teen, I didn’t care and already had fake IDs.”
“Of course. Fourteen is the average age for cyber-terrorism nowadays everyone knows.”
“What were you doing at fourteen, hm?” He glared at him, accusing through narrowed eyes.
“Getting into fights in some back alley, probably.” Gerard shrugged back, unashamed under Patrick’s glare. “The point here is, that you’ve never had a good birthday.”
“Never had a bad one either. In fact, I’ve never had a birthday, so.”
“So this is your first birthday.” Gerard settled, nodding approvingly as if he had come to some obvious, communal conclusion.
“I… don’t think that’s how this works.” He frowned, grimacing with a tilt of his head as he glanced doubtfully at Gerard.
“And how would ya know?”
“...Common sense?”
“You don’t have any. Eat your cake, birthday boy.”
Shrugging it off with raised eyebrows Patrick obeyed into eating another fork full of cream and brioche.
“You know, my birthday was yesterday, really.”
“Should’a told me earlier than two am then, because now it’s your birthday.”
He sounded so determined and serious that Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, an honest, body-shaking laugh that made him close his eyes and throw his head back.
“Okay.” He agreed once he quietened down, a smile still lingering on his lips.
“Good.”
They finished their coffees in companionable silence, glancing at each other over the rim of the mugs every time Patrick kicked his legs and accidentally hit Gerard's.
“You look horrible.” Gerard said after pouring himself another mugful, avoiding Patrick’s offended noise when his didn’t get refilled. “So I’m gonna need you to go shower and put on some pants.”
With a frown, Patrick looked at his lap and found himself surprised upon the discovery that he was, in fact, still not wearing pants. He was not about to give Gerard the pleasure, so he huffed indignantly at being ordered around.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I won’t bail you out when the cops arrest you for public indecency when we go out.”
Curiosity picked, Patrick lifted an eyebrow at him, tilting his head back. “Why would we go out?”
“It’s your late birthday.”
No further explanation was given, so Patrick hummed with suspicion before leaving for a shower, still glancing narrow-eyed at Gerard’s amused face.
( . . . )
“I don’t care, I’m not changing and I’m not putting on a suit.” Patrick introduced stubbornly when he reentered the kitchen to Gerard smoking and eyeing a comic that had, probably, been lying around the living room.
“Like I care.” He rolled his eyes, dropping the issue and standing up with the cig in between his pointer and thumb.
He gave him a once over, eyes lingering slowly over every inch of Patrick, who felt utterly scrutinized in his graphic tee and jeans. Shrugging it off, he rolled his eyes, for the sake of reputation, and turned for the stairs without waiting, expecting Gerard to follow.
“Sooo…” He picked up once they stood outside, in front of Gerard’s gorgeous, expensive, fast car, and glanced up at him with an innocent smile and big eyes. “Can I drive?”
Gerard fixed him with a look, disbelieving at the request, his eyebrows only raised higher as Patrick’s look grew more puppy-eyed.
“It’s my late birthday.” He even pouted.
“Good Lord. Fine. But you follow the rules of the road.” He threatened severely, stepping on his burnt cigarette and shaking his head at Patrick’s cheer. “Which means no speeding.”
“We’ll see.”
“Patrick, I’m serious.”
But Patrick was too busy adjusting the driver's seat to pay any mind to his threats. So with a sigh, Gerard just hoped for the airbags to work as he got into the passenger's seat and eyed Patrick’s movements warily.
The car started and already stalled as it surged forward.
Red fucking flag , Gerard thought, reaching for the holder in the door alarmedly, grip tight as he held on for dear life.
“Do you even have a license?” He was honestly concerned when Patrick shoved the gear shift and they surged back first and forward out of the alley afterward.
“I have like, three, I believe.”
“Any real, authentic ones?”
“Depends on your definition of authentic.”
“Legal, Patrick, do you have any legal licenses.” He didn’t even know why he bothered to ask, Patrick’s grin was too wide to mean anything good.
“Nop.” He looked at him with a wicked grin. “But don’t worry, sweetie, I know what I’m doing.” Just as the words were uttered, the car surged at vertiginous velocity across the desolated sideroad into the city.
“Merciful Mother, don't let me die like this,” He muttered, looking dismayed at the car’s ceiling. “Without getting laid one last time.”
Patrick laughed loudly behind the wheel, slowing down the pace as they reached the proper edges of the city.
“Where am I driving to?”
“The promenade.”
“The promenade?” He turned to look at him confusedly.
“Just drive.” Gearrd reproached, gesturing with urgency towards the road and traffic ahead.
Patrick hadn’t been expecting anything particularly interesting, had guessed Gerard would intend for them to walk the promenade like some sort of fauxly romantic stunt, which wasn’t his number one plan to do on a Thursday barely six hours before his shift started in the club, but he was already awake and outside, so the promenade walk it was. Perhaps he would have even gotten Gerard to hold his hand. What a plan.
What he wasn’t expecting was the entire street to be full of stands with people lingering around.
“Didn’t know there was a book fair in town.” He commented, honestly surprised as he stood beside Gerard, glancing at the busy walk ahead of them.
“Too busy knowing what’s going on with some rich guy in Florida to know what goes on in your city.”
Patrick gasped out raggedly, mouth gaping slightly as he stared after Gerard, who walked closer to one of the first booths chuckling. However, he was forced to follow remorsefully once he caught sight of the hardcover classics on display before Gerard.
“You know that thing that people do with classics where they just quote it word by word and it’s like, super romantic and scholar?” Gerard hummed in affirmation, eyeing a shelf with his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I wish I could do that, but I don’t have the brain, can’t remember a single literal word said in any book, ever.”
A beat of silence, then:
“It taught me to hope, as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it, frankly, and honestly. ” With a levelled voice and head tilted, Gerard’s eyes cast all the way across the low ceiling of the stall before falling upon Patrick’s stunned face with no hint of expression to them.
Surprised and gaping, Patrick could only blink back with wide eyes, hyper aware of his face growing warmer as Gerard didn’t falter in his blank stare. His voice seemed to die on his throat and brain to go into plain white panic.
“Sorry?”
“Pride and Prejudice.” Gerard answered flatly, turning on the back of his heels to walk towards the next stand, unfazed by Patrick standing in place, still looking after him.
It took him a moment to register Gerard’s answer and the fact that he was no longer in front of him, but when he finally did, he shook his head and quickly followed after, disbelief still washing plainly over him.
“Did you just quote Jane Austen to me?”
“Did I?”
“You… did.”
“Oh, well.” He directed a smirk to a particularly interesting issue of Batman displayed on the table he leaned over, and Patrick found him as despising as fascinating.
The fascination turned to pure, unfiltered puzzlement when he actually purchased several issues of superhero comics. He almost cried when Gerard began talking about Kafka unprompted. But ultimately decided that everything was good when he bought him the hardcovers of the entire fantasy saga he had been wanting to read for a while.
“I can’t stand hardcovers. I’m physically unable to read them.” Gerard commented, nose scrunched in distaste as Patrick held one of his new books to his chest.
“You did not just say that.”
“They don’t bend.”
“They aren’t supposed to!” Patrick gaped at him in horror. “Do you crack the spines?”
“Yeah, obviously.” He shrugged, looking through Patrick’s astonished features with a small smile. “It’s more comfortable.”
“But it makes them ugly!”
“Not particularly, I mean the cover doesn’t change, right? It’s just easier to hold if the spines are broken.”
“I can’t do this anymore.” He shook his head, turning his wide eyes to the pavement ahead in unfiltered disbelief.
“That is where you draw the line? Not politics, or drugs, or guns. Book spines cracked.” Gerard raised his eyebrows, nodding whimsically as they walked side by side, his hands back in his pockets. “Good to know.”
“It’s telling! You know the kind of person someone is by how they treat their books!” Patrick defended offendedly, throwing an accusing frown up at him.
“What is telling is how fucking grey your moral compass is.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Saint Gerard. Shall I go to mass on Sunday? Confess my sins, perhaps?”
“I don’t think the church prepares priests to deal with teenage hackers with a flair for organized crime.” An amused smile crooked his lips as he retrieved a cigarette to place in them, lighting it under Patrick’s glare.
“Not a teenager.” He complained.
“Not organized crime.” Gerard mocked humorously, reaching for one of the bags Patrick was carrying, full of books and comics belonging to both of them.
Patrick hummed a truce and settled into walking in silence for a few moments.
“I’m hungry.” Gerard commented, breaking the comfortable silence and dragging Patrick’s attention back to his face. “You feel like having lunch?”
“Sure.”
They went to a small cafe nearby the port, chatting lightly and teasing ruthlessly.
Somehow, it felt almost normal, to Patrick it almost seemed like a casual date, like they were normal people with normal lives just having lunch in their break from their ordinary job. Any thoughts about his childhood long forgotten in spite of discussing local gossip with Gerard.
“Twenty-seventh of April, that makes you… a Taurus, right?” Gerard spoke casually, mid way through their coffee, little spoon hitting the sides of the cup with soft clicking noises.
The question caught him off guard, and not for the first time that day, Patrick found himself surprised and clueless, tilting his head in confirmation as he spared a suspicious glance at Gerard over his nose.
“Explains a lot.”
“Excuse me?”
“It does.” He shrugged, pursing his lips as he assessed Patrick’s form. “What’s your venus?”
“My what?”
“Your venus placement. In your natal chart.”
Patrick shook his head with a frown, shrugging his shoulders up, “I don’t fucking know, man.”
“You should get your card done, would explain lots’a things, had I seen it before I wouldn’t have let you meddle in my business.” Gerard shook his head, hiding his laugh in his cup.
“You can’t direct your business based on astrology.”
“The stars never lie, Patrick.”
“They ain’t the most reliable, either, are they?” He frowned indignantly, shooting his hands out.
“Typical Taurus sun.”
“Did you know that fucking Reagan based nuclear policies on astrology? How did that turn out?”
“He was such a Gemini.” Gerard rolled his eyes jokingly, his smile only widening in further amusement when Patrick stared at him with disbelieving parted lips.
“Are you fucking-” He gave up, shaking his head with a breath. Much to Gerard’s pleasure, who laughed unabashedly at him.
“You think we can go to the beach for a bit?” Patrick asked timidly after a while, turning his cup with both hands.
“Whatever you want.” Gerard agreed easily, placing down the bill. “I’m not getting into the sea, though.”
“Why not, you scared of the water?” Amusement shone through him as he looked up at Gerard, currently unrolling his sleeves as carefully as he had put them up.
“The things in the water, we don’t know shit about the oceans.”
Patrick laughed loudly, eyes closed tightly as he leaned over the cluttered table.
“Yeah, you can laugh all you want, but when one of those deadly fish sting your feet and you gotta be rushed to the ER in need of a venom antidote? You won’t find it so hideous.”
“Oh my God, Gerard… This ain’t Australia, what the fuck?” He uttered in between laughs.
“Yeah, yeah, ha, ha. You wanna go or not?”
Wiping his eyes and trying to calm his laughing fit, he managed to stand up before Gerard began walking away from the chair, intended on exiting the cafe without him, but Patrick caught up easily. Hideousness still bending his mouth upwards at Gerard’s paranoia.
“Do you also think that a serial killer shark is going to target us?”
Gerard rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s been proven that shark attacks only truly happen because they are trying to discover what the hell humans are.”
“Yeah, I’m the ridiculous one, that’s okay.” He shook his head. “So what, sharks are discovering us like we do with bugs or something?”
“No. They sense their prey through the vibrations of the movement mostly, you know? And their teeth have some nerve endings that tells them what it is they are eating, through, like, the texture and stuff.” Patrick’s attention was picked, laughter is momentarily forgotten in spite of the serious explanation, that he had, most definitely, not been expecting, but yet again he hadn’t been expecting much of today. “So when they find this big thing that they’ve never sensed before, moving around that much, they give, kind of, a tentative bite? To test what it is, see if it’s food or not. That’s why almost all shark attacks don’t end with mortal victims, they aren’t truly aiming to hunt, per se.”
“That’s… oddly interesting.” Patrick hummed, captivated.
“Yeah, I mean, still dangerous and all, but sharks aren’t evil.”
“So, bad opinions on Jaws?”
“You kidding? I love those movies.”
Patrick exploded in cackles again, having to stop walking to brace himself and everything when he tilted back dangerously. Gerard blinked at him, smiling dubious at his laughing.
“No, for real, those movies are amazing, they don’t get old.” He continued defensively. “Look at the Star Wars movies, they look old as shit, ‘cos, like they are, okay, but it’s obvious. The Jaws movies? Great special effects, the best soundtrack ever, the build-up of tensions, everything.”
“Okay, okay, yes, yeah.” He battled his hand through gasped breaths, trying to straighten himself. “I agree, but they are so not better than Star Wars.”
“Objectively, yes.”
“Objectively, you’re fucking wrong.” He mimicked, narrowing his eyes challengeable.
“Why are you attacking me, I’m just saying that Jaws was better produced.” Gerard shrugged his shoulders up defensively. “Star Wars as a cinematic universe is a whole other topic.”
“Hmm.” He fixed him with a glare for a few more instances, tilting his head before turning towards the edge of the beach altogether.
Forgetting about it, he kicked his shoes off, stepping on the wooden floorboard to take his socks off and pick his converse to lace them and hang them around his neck, before he turned to the sand and began walking without waiting for Gerard. Pay back. Halfway to the water, Gerard picked up with him in a little jog that Patrick did absolutely not laugh at.
That was probably why he was pinched in the side, making him yelp and flinch away, putting a safe distance between Gerard’s fingers and his ticklish body.
“Don’t do that!” He whined, frowning up at Gerard with wide eyes and pouting lips.
“Don’t leave me behind.” Gerard retorted with a laugh, tilting his head in matching accusation.
“Ah! Doesn’t feel so good when it’s you the one left, eh?”
“Oh, sweetie, did you get bitchy with the wrong person.” His expression darkened in threat, and, in a second, his boots were dropped in the sand and his fast fingers were running around Patrick’s sides.
“No!” He screeched and let himself fall to the sand instinctively, Gerard teetering over him before he found his footing and reached to tickle Patrick on the ground. “Noo…” He yelped and trashed with painful laughs, attempting and failing to free himself from Gerard’s unrelenting torture.
“Apologize.” Gerard suggested, barely stifling his own chuckles.
Patrick cried and thrased a little stronger, trying desperately to free himself from the torture. “No! Let me- goooo,”
“I’ll let you go if you apologize.” He repeated calmly, easily dodging Patrick’s uncoordinated kicks and swats. Patrick refused again and rolled on the ground when Gerard’s fingers found themselves on his bare skin.
“Fine! Fine. I’ll-, apologize.” He gasped, curled into himself and chuckling faintly as Gerard retreated, just barely, expectant of his apology.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, barely above a whisper.
“What was that? I don’t think I caught that quite right.” Gerard frowned, tilting his head closer with a frown and a teasing smirk, grazing his fingers over the warm skin again.
“I’m sorry!”
“For what.”
“For leaving you behind.”
“Good boy.” He nodded satisfied and straightened up to let Patrick level his breathing.
Patrick huffed out and blamed the hotness of his face on the relentless laughter that was forced out of him. He let his head fall back against the sand and panted, looking at the grey sky, luckily it was pretty warm and it probably wouldn’t rain.
“Fucker, I got sand everywhere now.” He complained once he sat up and tried to dust himself off, shaking his shirt and head uncomfortably. His coverse had fallen from his neck and laid away half-buried in a small dune.
“Do you know how to solve that?” Gerard asked mischievously, taking off his jacket and dropping it by his boots without much thought.
“Going home and shaking for three thousand years.”
“Nop.” He grinned sharply, leaning over Patrick and waiting for a thrilling beat before snatching him up under his arms, jolting him up and grabbing him around the waist securely, unfazed by Patrick’s yelp and momentary thrashing. “A bath.”
Patrick had no time to produce a fully coherent negative before the sea was right there and he was being launched forward into the shallows, Gerard’s laughs the only thing sounding in his ears before the water rushed in. He spluttered after the initial shock, spitting salt water and blinking as he sat with the waves crashing against his chest. Gerard was standing not far away, the end of his slacks dipped, but he didn’t seem to care as he threw his head back with laughter, hands on his hips.
“You, son of a-, now I’m drenched !” He cried, glaring up at Gerard with pure hatred.
His irritation faltered when Gerard turned serious all of a sudden and leant forward, his face coming to stand altogether too close to his own, nothing good hiding behind the shine of hazel as his chapped lips crooked upwards in one side.
“Oh, baby, are you all wet for me?” The tease was crooked and rough, uttered straight from the throat and curling with accent and purpose.
Patrick practically stopped breathing, eyes wide and blush spreading down his neck, looking not at all dissimilar to a deer caught in headlights, probably. He sputtered just for a second, enough for Gerard’s smirk to burst into a full grin and for the chuckling to make their grand reappearance.
However, before any more teasing could be materialized, Patrick took hold of the open neck of Gerard’s dressing shirt and tugged harshly, making him tumble forward with an alarmed noise that was drowned as he fell face first into the water beside Patrick, splashing him in the process. He was the one to laugh then, as Gerard rose up on his knees unamusedly.
“You think you’re so damn funny, don’t ya.” It was less of a question as it was a threat and Patrick’s self-satisfaction in basking upon his vengeance came to an abrupt stop as he went back to mild panic in the face of Gerard’s stern features. “I’m gonna get your ass for this one, sweetie, just you wait…”
“I’ll admit that I did not think this through.”
“You sure as hell fucking didn’t.”
He tried for his best innocent smile, “...Sorry.”
“Hm.” Gerard’s expression was still severe, reproachful as he splashed Patrick in the face, making him gasp and cough out water while he stood up.
With Gerard standing over him again, white shirt soaking wet and clinging to the toned body underneath as he combed his hair back out of his face, Patrick found it difficult to feel real regret. He spluttered when Gerard’s accusing gaze fell upon him and busied himself with shaking his head to get rid of the water droplets falling over his face. Gerard hummed again, more interested this time, but let him be in spite of turning to watch the waves break against the rock wall on the edge of the beach.
“What’s the hour? I’m gonna be late for work.”
“You haven’t clocked in on time once in the entire time that you’ve worked for me.” Gerard looked back at him amusedly.
“So what? I’m a valuable worker that you, literally, can not get rid of.” He closed his eyes, lifting his chin with egotism.
“Just because you get into some security systems for me every once in a while doesn’t give you the right to do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Well, it should. Who else is gonna do the dirty work if I leave?”
“If you think what you do is dirty work, I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long.” Gerard shook his head reproachfully, unable to hide his amusement. “Anyway, I got your shift covered.”
“And why’d you do that?” He didn’t particularly care, not having to do another god awfully slow, mid-week, afternoon shift was enough treasure. So he shifted his attention to picking a shell that he could feel digging under his foot out of the shaken water, still sitting down as he cleaned it.
“We can’t go to the botanical garden if you have to serve whiskeys to grumpy businessmen.”
“Ooh, we’re going to a garden? Sounds romantic, is there anything you wanna ask me?” He looked up at him teasingly, lowering his hands into the water, partly to hide the shakiness that took over them and partly because the shell was broken and ugly.
Gerard just smirked down at him, raising his eyebrows before tilting his head back at the clouded sky with a considering frown. Then he extended a hand for Patrick to take.
“C’mon, it’s not a pretty day to swim.”
As Patrick was being hefted back to his feet, swaying slightly with the waves moving across, he mocked an irritating laugh. “Scared of the deadly fish?”
“Pneumonia, more likely.”
“You’re so dramatic.” He rolled his eyes, kicking through the moving water as they made their way to the sand. “Why did you throw me in, then.”
“Let’s go, sweetheart, gotta get you into some nice clothing, can’t go like that to Le Booduir!”
Patrick stopped in his tracks with a frown, utterly confused. “Le what?”
“That French restaurant where they keep trying to rob politicians and failing?”
“...You mean Le Boudoir?”
“Yeah, whatever. I'm Italian, not French.” He dismissed, waving his hand as he squeezed the water out of his shirt.
“I’m really not into fancy restaurants.”
“But you are really into being superior to everyone, don’t you want to make me feel ridiculous for not knowing how to pronounce the dishes?”
Patrick considered for a moment, weighing his possibilities and the outcomes of Gerard’s plan.
“‘Kay but I won’t wear a tie.”
“Deal.”
( . . . )
After a lengthened trip to Gerard’s apartment and one to Patrick’s warehouse that shouldn’t have been as unexpected as it turned out -- because really, how on earth was he going to fit into one of Gerard’s suits when he was a whole head shorter and definitely less ripped than him, he looked like a little boy playing dress-up with some adult clothes, even in the sweatpants and hoodie he had borrowed for the time being, which he was definitely going to keep, for the troubles and all.
Patrick found himself looking at a naked branch tree.
“Why are we admiring an appletree?” He finally asked, turning to Gerard defeatedly.
“Well, they have a charm, don’t they?”
Patrick blinked, turning back to admire the charm in question. “It doesn’t even have leaves.”
“The value of a plant is not solely based on the number of leaves it possesses.”
“Are you fucking with me? It’s a fucking appletree. In late autumn.”
“You just can’t see the depth behind it.” He shook his head, turning to follow the small path in between vegetation.
Patrick stared after him with a stunned frown for a few more moments before following, muttering under his breath, “It’s not even a rare tree.”
They stood in front of a rock column, right off to the side of the path, covered almost all the way with brightly magenta flowers.
“Bougainvillea.” Patrick read slowly from the little sign stuck in the ground before it.
“My Nonna’s house used to be covered in these things.” He commented, gaze fixated on the flowers, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“In Jersey?”
“No,” He frowned at him like he had suggested something utterly stupid. He kind of had. “in Sicily.”
“Ah.” Patrick nooded, turning back to the flowers pensively. “My grandma’s house was a rundown apartment on the Loop of Chicago.”
“You do have an accent.”
“I don’t. Take it back.” He accused him with a glare, receiving only a satisfied smile in answer.
“So you are from Chicago.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Gerard chuckled and restarted their walk further into the garden.
“So what’s your parent's deal? Never had a birthday party, brilliant teenager committing grand-scale fraud, moving across the country via catfishing…”
Patrick shrugged nonchalantly, scrunching his nose displeased at the subject and pushing his glasses further up the bridge of the nose -- he had grown a migraine somewhere in between walking drenched to Gerard’s car and driving into the city, and putting on the glasses he insisted on forgetting about had been his frail attempt at curing it.
“My dad’s dead.” He hummed, turning towards a particularly ugly plant to his left.
“And your mom?”
“Who the fuck knows. Probably, that woman is a menace.”
“Like mother, like son.”
The comment, meant as a joke, hit an obvious nerve because Patrick’s head snapped in his direction angrily, jaw tense and frown deep.
“At least I don’t go around abandoning kids for meth.”
“I’m sorry, ‘Trick, I didn’t-”
“Yeah, whatever.”
He turned back to the garden ahead and kept walking, Gerard following behind with a guilty expression.
“‘Trick, ‘Trick.”
His wrist was grabbed and he was jerked back from the edge of the path, stumbling and collapsing back against Gerard. He glared up at him, lips parting with a loud complaint already half formed.
“Be careful, that’s nettle.” Gerard nodded to the ground, where woundwort peeked out of the grass, stretching towards the rocky path in threat. “I doubt they’ll let us pick pennyroyal just because.”
“What?”
“Pennyroyal, you know the thing from mint tea?”
“That’s not plain mint?”
“Not quite, it’s pennyroyal sometimes. If you get nettle rash you can just rub that into the skin and it usually calms the sting pretty good.” He explained, glancing at his hand still surrounding Patrick’s wrist, and up at his face, making sure it was now calmer before letting go slowly. “I used to get stung a lot as a kid.”
Patrick straightened slightly, tentatively glancing at Gearrd’s open face, he kept close still as he retracted his arm. “Can’t imagine you running around a mountain in shorts.”
“How do you imagine me as a kid then?”
“I don’t. As far as I’m concerned you just popped into existence one day dressed in Armani.”
This made Gerard laugh, shaking his head and looking at him bewildered, hid smile going a little softer when a small, complacied one showed up on Patrick’s lips. His eyes lingered there for a moment, fingers twitching by his sides as electricity run across his chest, tightening his ribcage and striking his heart.
For a second, Patrick’s own eyes fell on his lips, and he had the sensation that they were leaning closer.
However, the spell was broken when Patrick turned and pointed to a big exposition glass, with plants and wide branches inside. A big sign with drawings and writing in front of it explaining different varieties of insects.
“Look, they have moths.”
And they moved on, because Patrick had a lot to say about moths, and Gerard didn’t mind listening.
( . . . )
It was getting dark by the time they walked out of the botanical garden, sharing a companionable silence as Gerard drove them to the restaurant.
“Why do they keep trying to rob politicians in this particular establishment, you say?”
It was the question he had been expecting, because Gerard’s face broke into the most mischievous of smirks, keeping his eyes on the road as he raised his eyebrows, reading Patrick’s peaked curiosity as clear as crystal.
“Because, in this particular establishment, they have one of the highest security systems. Very powerful people go there to dine and drink, all their secreta along with them.”
“Is this business, then?”
“No, it’s your birthday. A treat, if you will.”
“So you take me to one of the most secure, haute cuisine restaurants as a birthday gift. Am I your little secret, Mr. Way?” He turns to him in the passenger seat, eyeing him tantalizingly, a small smirk playing on his own lips.
“You’re too loud to be secretive, sweetie.”
“And how would you know how loud I am, eh?”
They came to a stop in front of a red sign and Gerard turned to hold his narrowed gaze, mouth crooking up in matching fashion. Finally, a car honked behind them and Gerard turned back to the road as he kept driving. “I’m good at telling.”
“You can’t tell shit.”
“Guess we’ll just have to prove me right.”
“Guess you’ll have to."
Silence reigned for a moment as Patrick looked at the cars passing by and Gerard kept focused on the road.
“Wanna bet?” He finally asked again, searching through the side of his eyes to see if Patrick’s curiosity had been called back to light.
Didn’t seem like it as he rested his head on the window and looked boredly at him, “Hm, on what?”
“Whether you manage to steal something from the restaurant without ringing any alarms.”
“You want me to commit a crime.” He raised his eyebrows, afflicted, even producing a small gasp. “In one of the most secure restaurants in the city. On my birthday.”
“Scandalous, I know.”
“What if I manage?” Interest picked. “What do I get?”
“Whatever you want.” He shrugged, an air of servitude on his face.
Patrick hummed engaged, “And if I don’t?”
“You cover morning shifts for a month.”
“Oh, fuck off, does anyone even fucking go to a club in the mornings? Not even you work there at that hour.” He complained, throwing his head back.
“First of all, no one needs me there to bartend. Second of all, I do go in the mornings sometimes, my office is there, you know?”
Patrick grumbled, rolling his eyes before looking back at him. “Fine, bet.”
The chill didn’t have time to seep through their jackets as the car keys were handed to the valet and they made their way inside the building quickly, Gerard’s hand placed lightly on the small of his back as he was guided towards the entrance hall.
“So, what kind’a security system do they got?” He asked, hands in his pockets as he shifted on the heels of his dressing shoes, looking around casually, admiring the expensive decoration, looking for the cameras.
“I don’t know, ‘Trick, why don’t you tell me?”
Patrick rolled his eyes, watching a young couple be patted down before receiving their coats back, he lifted an eyebrow and turned to Gerard, head tilted in their direction. “Did you forget to mention anything about body checks?”
“Oops.” But he didn’t sound apologetic, nor did he try to hide his mocking smile. “Will that be a problem?”
He huffed, straightening his shoulders and scheduling his features as an old woman with a polite expression appeared with an apology to take Gerard’s name and guide them to an empty table near a wall.
They made it through the entreés and the soups — which, okay, french —, without much discussion, chatting lightly about this and that, but the challenge and tease could be felt just underneath the surface, lingering in the air that clung around them.
Before the seconds, Patrick placed his glasses down and excused himself to the restrooms under Gerard’s suspicious gaze.
He took a turn down a pretty clearly incorrect hallway, all the way until a man came out of a closed room labeled with a private sign, sternly professional expression on his face. However, Patrick was already prepared with affliction and anxiety showing on his own.
“Excusez-moi.” He began before the man could produce a single sound, then he widened his eyes and pressed his lips together in consternation. “Sorry, I am looking for the… uh… toilettes?” He made sure to round the r’s, put all his might in the accent, even if the man didn’t seem to care all too much.
“The restrooms are on the opposite side of the establishment, to the left, the second hallway.”
“Mon Dieu, uh- could you… uh show? Je juis nul à l’Anglais.” He shook his head, frown deep and shoulders raised in embarrassment as he tried to gesture between him, the man and the dining room.
The man, suited and firm postured, considered for a moment before sighing and gesturing for him to follow. Patrick caught sight of the monitors displaying live footage of the security cameras, the office otherwise empty, clear views of the dining tables, the hallways, kitchen, and entrance to the bathrooms, only one from the outside entrance.
He trailed after the man, still holding up the shaky act of abashedness, playing with his hands in front of his stomach nervously, until they walked through a turn in the proper hallway, restroom door clearly displayed ahead as the man signaled.
“Merci, merci, thank you...” Patrick nodded avidly, smiling relieved at the man who nodded and left where they had come through.
He watched him move with ease around the disperse dining tables and made quick work to turn to the decorative wardrobe in front of him, eyeing de objects on it before a small statue of some classic-looking woman,— half the size of his forearm, mind you —, caught his attention and he smirked in success.
Grabbing it and fitting it on the back of his slacks under the jacket of his suit, he made sure to brace his arm behind himself casually before hurrying to peak out at the dining hall, in time to see just the barest bit of dark tuxedo disappear around the corner he had wrongly given in the beginning.
He made his way through the edge of the dining room, shiftly avoiding tables and waiters, with his back towards the wall, avoiding to face the cameras as much as humanly possible with the number of angles registered in the security room.
To his absolutely splendid luck, the person in charge of the reception desk was now a young man, checking the reservations in a leather-bound book.
“Pardon me.” He slid to the front, resting his free elbow in the tall desk, an easy smile on his face as he dropped any act of foreign accents. “Would it be possible to check my mother’s purse for a pair of glasses? I forgot them and I’m getting a terrible headache. Embarrassing, ain’t it? Twenty springs and Momma still has to carry an extra pair of everything for me.” He chuckled charmingly, frowning and tilting his head downwards in embarrassment.
“Oh, uh, of course, sir, to what name is the reservation? We keep the hangers under the same names.”
“Well, damn, I got no clue to what name they reserved, Mom’s new boyfriend and all, don’t know him quite well. What with him being Russian and all, yeah? But, we’re on that table under the chandelier.” He perked up, leaning over to signal to one particular table, with a middle-aged couple dining, their backs to the front desk.
“Oh, um, table 9...” The receptionist looked through the book with a slight frown. “Mr. Mikhailov?”
“Yeah, that’s him. Unpronounceable, ain’t it?” He chucked again.
The man gave an uncomfortable laugh of his own before turning to the coat room to retrieve the big purse Patrick had seen the woman welding when she had walked in, right after Gerard and him, speaking a really wonky and accented Russian to her clearly amused companion.
He had to pass the successful smile relief when the man placed it carefully on the desk in front of him.
“Thank you, so much, man.” He moved both hands to pry open the purse, careful not to move his body too much, keep his back angled back.
“Mmh.” A frown overtook his expression as he rummaged around, making space for his statue but looking for his glasses under the man’s slight worry.
Scratching the side of his head, he pushed the bag further towards him, over the edge of the counter until it fell to the floor on accident, both of them gasping in different levels of alarm.
“Oh, shit. Hideously huge thing...” He muttered angrily, crouching beside the purse to pick some of the fallen items.
He glanced up at the receptionist, obviously nervous and glancing down at him with worry. Trying to draw his attention away for the briefest of moments, he asked, “Hey, man, are they serving the seconds, already?”
“Uh...” The receptionist glanced away, towards the tables with a frown, giving Patrick the perfect opportunity to slip the statue out of his suit and into the purse, standing up just as the man turned back to him. “Doesn’t seem like it, sir.”
“Well, you can take this back, seems like Mom isn’t carrying extras.” He rolled his eyes with a huff, the act of entitled rich kid having been polished to perfection over the years, he felt just as proud as he did almost disgusted by the attitude. “Gonna have to deal.”
He slapped the countertop with his palm, pushing the purse in the receptionist’s direction as he turned back towards the inside. “Thanks, I guess.”
And with that, he slid back towards his own table triumphantly.
Avoiding Gerard’s suspicious once over as he dropped down on his chair casually. A new plate of food had been served in his absence.
“Did you go outside?” Gerard frowned, glancing towards the entrance of the restaurant confusedly.
“What would I have gone outside for?”
“Hm.” Even though Gerard squinted at him with narrowed eyes, skeptical, he let it go and began eating without further prying.
They were about to step outside after being patted down when Patrick looked around with pressed lips, glancing towards the back while the door was held open for him and Gerard to step out.
They stood outside, waiting for the valet to bring back the car when Patrick turned to him attentively, shifting back and force on the balls of his feet as he held his hands together behind his back.
“Don’t you feel like smoking?”
Lifting a distrustful brow at him, Gerard tilted his head, “Excuse me?”
“Smoking. A cigarette.” He repeated calmly, “Don’t you crave one?”
“What kind of subliminal message is that?”
“Not subliminal. I’m just suggesting that you smoke now rather than while driving, there are plenty of car crashes because the driver was distracted.” He shrugged, all wide eyes and innocent concern. Gerard wasn’t buying it.
“Because of texting, phone calls, alcohol, drugs... not cigarettes in particular.”
“They are a drug too, technically.” Patrick pointed smartly. “You wanna smoke or not.”
“Fine, Jesus Christ.” Gerard huffed with irritation, producing his pack of smokes from his suit jacket. “Never been pressured this much into smoking in my entire life.”
“Should have listened to those drug prevention talks in school.” He commented distractedly, head turned towards the newly open door, where his couple of stowaways was coming through.
“We didn’t have those back when I was in school, maybe that’s why now- Where are you going?”
But Patrick had already stepped away, taking off his glasses and a cloth handkerchief from his slacks, flashing a kind smile as he approached the couple from behind.
He threw the handkerchief to the ground, behind the lady’s feet, and made a show of bending down to retrieve it with kindness rolling off him in waves, “Oh, ma’am, ma’am, I think you dropped this, miss.” He offered the cloth to the woman attentively.
“Oh,” The woman frowned at the item, “no, I’m afraid that is not mine, dear.”
“Oh,” He gave the handkerchief a similar frown, glancing up at the woman with concern. “It is not?” She nodded. “I apologize, then. Nevermind.”
He held eye contact with the woman as she shook her head and smiled reassuringly, the Russian man thanking the valet with a thick accent and taking the car keys while he slid the figure out of the woman’s purse carefully, thanking the wobbliness of the receptionist for not closing the zipper he had made sure to leave open.
The years of inactiveness in the art of pickpocketing made Patrick pay the price of utmost worry as he spoke steadily to keep the lady’s attention fixed on his face in the meantime that he slid the statue behind his back, under his jacket.
“I’ll leave it in reception then, in case the owner decides to look for it.” He took a step back, gesturing with the cloth and his glasses towards the door of the restaurant with a small smile. “Have a good night, miss.”
“You too, dear.” She smiled back, completely unaware as she stepped towards the car door, open by the professionally expressionless valet.
Walking backward, polite smile still on his face as the car drove off and the valet welcomed a different one, he almost stepped on Gerard’s foot as he wasn’t looking, but glanced up at him when he avoided doing so.
“What the hell, Patrick.”
“Open the car door for me.” He muttered through his teeth, glancing at the empty doorway and its cameras in hopes of having stood in one of the blind angles he had noticed the entrance had while checking the monitors of the vigilance room.
It didn’t matter much as he sat on the expensive leather of Gerard’s car, him barely clicking his seatbelt on before starting out of the restaurant’s property in a hassle.
He waited until it was out of sight to produce the statue of the semi-naked woman with a bow from his suit, eyeing it curiously before turning to Gerard smugly.
“You sneaky son of a bitch.”
Patrick laughed loudly at that, feeling pride spark his chest.
“How.” Gerard moved a hand to take the piece off Patrick’s hands, waiting until they stopped at a red light to inspect it closely. “Artemis. Nice.”
“Just needed to dust off the french.”
“Cheeky.” But he was already pulling over to a vacant alleyway, turning the statue over in his hands. “You got a serious problem with kleptomania, man.”
“No, what I got is an expensive, silver set of cutlery.” He smirked, smoothly pulling a knife, fork, and two different-sized spoons from his sleeve, much to Gerard’s surprise, who laughed uncontrollably.
“Oh my God, you so have a problem.”
Patrick giggled along, mimicking a stabbing gesture with the utensils before dropping them on the hollow of the center console.
“So, I win.” He settled smugly, tilting his chin up. “You get to come home with me tonight.”
“Again, huh? Lucky me.”
“Yes, quite. However, tonight I am sober. ”
Gerard gave an interested hum, tilting his head back, not dissimilar to Patrick as he weighted the statue of Artemis on his hand.
“You know, I would have gone home with you without any theft.” He said softly, honestly, as a small, fond smile upturned his lips.
“You know,” Patrick mimicked, bypassing the pink tint of his cheeks in spite of matching Gerard’s sincerity, “I would have committed theft without you coming home with me.”
Gerard chuckled, amused and charmed, and shook his head faintly.
Eyes blinking open when he was already leaning over the console, slowly, watching Patrick’s pupils widen in the dim light, dark eyelashes fluttering shadows over his cheeks as he glanced down at Gerard’s lips, enchanted.
Self-aware, he licked his lips, letting one of his hands make its easy way to hold Patrick’s chin gently. The barest of moves guiding him closer until their lips met.
A soft contact of lips on lips as Patrick leaned in, hand reaching to curl his fingers around Gerard’s wrist.
Gerard pecked his lips again before leaning back into his seat, a satisfied smile on his face as he started the car again, resting the figurine on Patrick’s lap before settling both hands on the steering wheel.
Abashedly, Patrick rested his head against the window, biting the inside of his cheek to stop his face from breaking into a ridiculously wide, dumbstruck grin.
The night hadn’t but started yet, and Gerard was thrilled to find out what uses could be given to that gigantic bed of Patrick’s.