#and let ybc!patrick just Stare at it

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

I think if you were to put one of those sensory videos on for ybc!patrick he would sit there and Watch like how a cat stares at a television

#tbh i feel like this would work on real life patrick too #even possessed he cant escape his neurodivergency #this is how joe could have lived they could have just put one of their phones on the floor with a little fruit dancing sensory video #and let ybc!patrick just Stare at it #he gets incredibe amounts of joy from it btw. both patrick and whatever is possessing him. #fall out boy #fob #patrick stump #youngblood chronicles

[ybcpatrick]

More soft post ybc: can we hear about the first time Pete and Patrick comfort each other after a nightmare? And maybe the first time they cuddle together, just the two of them?

i was gonna write a whole fic for this but i've been holding onto this ask for MONTHS and your boy simply does not possess the energy so. word vomit instead. here we go

pete manages to go, like, a HOT MINUTE without showing any "weakness" to the guys. probably a solid month or two of being Completely Fine, Thank You. he feels like he can't break, he has to protect his boys, has to help them work through their bullshit. he can't worry about his own, and he doesn't fuckin’ want to, either (even though he knows that’s the same self-destructive koolaid he used to drink, but in a different flavour). so when he finally cracks, it's bad. but it's still hidden, mostly. 

except for from patrick.

it's late. or, early, actually, depending on how you classify 2am. patrick's been awake for a while, he doesn't get much sleep at night these days; he’s pretty much surviving off of caffeine, adderall, and cat naps through the day. he’s still not comfortable with the idea of not being fully awake and aware of himself while the rest of the band sleeps, but that’s his tea.

so like, he’s up, and he’s staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything and nothing and he hears, like, this pathetic little squeak to his right. and its followed by a whimper, and then there’s a weird choking sound, and suddenly, pete is bolt upright and gasping for air.

patrick bites down a surprised yelp, watching pete with wide eyes as he fights to catch his breath and calm down. pete’s trembling, patrick realizes; pete is shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and he fucking jumps when he finally notices patrick staring at him. 

apologies and profanity start spilling from pete immediately, he’s babbling, wiping at his face to hide the tears he knows patrick’s already seen. he’s trying to throw that facade back up as quickly as he possibly can, and it triggers something well-worn and familiar in patrick, someone he hasn’t felt like in months. a few years, now, if he’s honest.

for the first time in a very long time, patrick initiates contact. eyes carefully locked on pete’s, patrick reaches out, grabs pete by the back of his neck. he pulls him down again, tucks him close against his body just the way they used to. pete’s breathing is rapid and staccato against patrick’s neck, like he doesn’t know what to do with this, and he probably doesn’t. for a split second, fear lances through patrick, like he may have just fucked up, may have made things worse, may have scared pete even more than whatever he just escaped from--

but then pete sobs. it’s quiet, but deep, and he becomes a dead weight against patrick as he breaks down. desperately, pete fists his hands into patrick’s shirt, tries to drag him impossibly closer, and patrick feels his already shattered heart fragment just a little further. he wraps his arms around pete, he holds him like he hasn’t since they were crammed in too-tiny bunks with problems that paled in comparison to this, and he lets pete fall apart with him.

and they don’t talk about it in the morning, but pete looks a little less storm-cloudy, and patrick feels a little less like he’s irredeemable. and that’s enough for that day.

#shut up kell #ask #anonymous #rpf #post!ybc #peterick #i am sorry i am sorry i am sorry i've had this ask for nearly a year i am SORRYYYYYYY

[non-binary-bi-fanperson]

Save Fall Out Boy

Summary: Gender neutral reader’s POV, you are a cop at the police station in which Fall Out Boy is taken in YBC after Joe is killed and you get involved.

Warnings: Character death, violance

Wordcount: 3265

A/N: This is my first fanfiction I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with the criticism. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors. Enjoy! 🖤🖤 (GIF’s not mine)

‘James and Frank are at the scene with the murderer and two witnesses, all three of them have several injuries, ambulance will take care of it, please, make everything ready for the interrogation,’ my boss told me hurriedly not long after we got a phone call from a desperate man from an abandoned hospital near the police station where I work.

Not long after that, James and Frank arrived with the three guys and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I know them. Well, as much as anybody else who likes their music. It was Patrick, Pete, and Andy from Fall Out Boy. They’re missing a band member. Is it possible that…? 

While Pete and Andy were carried away I had to stay with Patrick and my colleague, Frank and we tried to force that hook down which was attached to his left arm, right where his hand should had been. We can’t let him in to the cell with a potential weapon in - or in this case instead of - his hand now, can we? It hurt him; I could tell that, he was screaming in pain and hell, was it really attached to him, like it was burnt there or something. Damn, what have these guys been through?

Patrick was in his cell; literally the most innocent member of the band was accused with murder. What the hell is going on? My boss sent me to help James interrogating the other musicians and right when I was about to open the door, James burst out of the room, looking furious.

‘They’re a bunch of psychos, what they say makes no sense at all,’ he said to me, trying to control his anger, failing miserably. 

‘I suppose you were the bad cop with all your usual shouting, so trust me, maybe they just need some nice words and a good cop,’ I smiled at him, patting his back and going into the room.

Andy and Pete looked at me and then back at the table right in front of them. I took a seat on the chair which now was too far from the table; probably James tossed it away during one of his not-so-uncommon outbursts. 

‘Gentlemen,’ I started trying to stay professional since this whole thing was way too serious. I mean, a person just died, I can’t allow my fan-self to take over. ‘Please, tell me everything you saw, don’t let the fact that the accused is a friend of yours cloud your judgment.’

They just sat there in complete silence. I was patient, maybe they just needed time to think about a proper sentence. I waited one minute, then five, then ten more and they still haven’t said a word.

‘Gentlemen, please, we need as many details as possib-‘ I started calmly but I was cut off by a really angry Andy.

‘We just told every fucking detail to the other cop and he straight up called us crazy, what do you expect?’ In the heat of the moment the drummer even stood up and slammed his hands on the table which made me and Pete flinch.

‘Andy, please sit back down,’ Pete said. Somehow he remained calm. ‘He’s right though,’ he continued now looking at me. ‘We did tell everything and your colleague didn’t believe us, why would we make a fool out of ourselves again? Why would you believe us?’

‘Try me, I’m very open-minded,’ I told him with a small smile on my face which made him relax a little.

And they told me everything. How they had been kidnapped by a bunch of girls, how they drugged them, how they managed to escape and what happened in that hospital, everything. Honestly, when they got to the part where Patrick had yellow eyes and acted like he was possessed, I kind of doubted them, but looking in their eyes, I could tell they weren’t lying. I could feel it.

‘Okay, let’s make one thing clear,’ I said. ‘So when Patr- I mean Mr. Stump heard the music, he became this yellow-eyed demon thing, right?

‘Yes,’ Pete and Andy both nodded.

‘But… How could he just become a demon? Don’t you need to be possessed by one? And when it happens, doesn’t it take over your entire body all the time?’ I asked a bunch of questions in my confusion, I got to admit, I probably wasn’t acting so professional but I needed answers. ‘Or was Supernatural just a lie?’

Pete chuckled at my last question but Andy just stared at me which reminded me of the fact that I should be doing my job here. 

‘Alright, thank you for the cooperation, one of my colleagues will be here in a few minutes to inform you of further procedures,’ I said now more skillfully then I did before.

I was about to leave the room when Andy asked me something. ‘Wait, you believe us?’

As I looked back at him I could see the surprise in his eyes. Once again, with a small smile on my lips which I tried to hide but didn’t really succeed I answered him. ‘Well, as I said, I’m very open-minded.’ And with that, I exited the room.

Did I believe them everything? I don’t know. They were drugged, could have hallucinated half of it, and not to mention the whole emotional trauma this case could cause to them. But how they described it, it sounded too real, not like something a drugged person would hallucinate and they didn’t disagree on any of the details. If what they saw wasn’t reality at least on a tiny part of the story they would have corrected each other. But it didn’t happen, they were perfectly in sync. 

I let out a sigh while I was walking down a corridor which led me to the cell in which Patrick was. On my way there I grabbed a few paper towels; he probably needed it since he was still bleeding from a few cuts. When I was getting closer I heard him humming an unfamiliar tune, probably something from their upcoming album – if they’ll come up with another album after this. 

When I got to him, he just looked at me and then back at his hand in his lap. I couldn’t even imagine how much pain he had gone through. I mean he lost one of his hands, one of his bandmates, he’s accused of murder… 

‘Hey,’ I said in a soft tone and he looked back up at me. I was handing him the paper towels. ‘I figured you need them, you’re not in your best shape.’

‘Thanks:’ His voice only sounded like a little whisper and he gave me a weak smile when he took the towels and started wiping the blood off of his skin. 

‘Do you need anything?’ I offered. ‘Water, maybe some food? I think I can get you a sandwich or something.’

‘Why are you so nice? You’re playing the good cop now?’ he asked, his words just shouted sarcasm and irony at me.

I let out a small laugh. ‘You met James then, I suppose. No, I’m not playing the good cop as you said, I am the good cop in general. At least I’m trying to treat even the accused ones how they deserve to be treated. I don’t have to be nice to you though, I can stop whenever I want,’ I replied with a stern look, getting a little too harsh at the end.

He was just looking at me, didn’t say a word, a flash of regret could be seen in his eyes. I pitied him honestly. He seemed such a nice guy throughout the media and I couldn’t imagine who and why would have done such horrible and unbelievable things to him and the band. 

‘Look,’ I started, less sharply this time, ‘I’ve heard the whole story, and-‘ 

I was cut off by him saying ‘And now you think we’re crazy, amazing. Listen,’ he stood up and walked to the bars, now being closer to the spot where I was standing, ‘everything they told you is true. Everything. You got to believe us, I’m not a murderer, it wasn’t truly me, believe me. Please.’

He was so desperate, his bluish eyes were full of fear, despair, and pain. I could understand him, though. I couldn’t feel it but I definitely could understand. 

‘I believe you,’ I said looking into his eyes.

‘What?’ he asked in confusion and disbelief. ‘Alright, I know I just asked you to believe me, but how can you believe me? Even I think I’m crazy’

I had to force back a smile. ‘I just do, okay? And calm down, we’re going to figure something out, we just have to-‘ I stopped in the middle of my sentence because I heard footsteps. Several footsteps, to be exact, probably three pairs, two made by… High heels? What the…? 

My boss arrived with two women on his side. Wait a minute. The girls looked just like Andy and Pete described their kidnappers. Their long hair was in tight ponytails, all black clothing, leather jackets… My boss opened the door for Patrick’s cell and grabbed him, dragging him out of there, even though he protested and tried to stay with all his strength, screamed, shouted from the top of his lungs, begged me to help him. I tried, but one of the girls pinned me against the wall, holding a knife to my throat. 

‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ she hissed. ‘We only need him.’ With her head she nodded towards Patrick, who was still dragged by my boss. Looking at them, I noticed two 100$ notes in my boss’s pocket. Son of a bitch.

When they turned at the end of the corridor, the girl let me go and ran after them. As soon as I could, I followed them and arrived just on time to see the women force Patrick into a car. Lucky me, I have good eyes and quick mind so I could see the plate of the car and memorized it.

I ran to the room where I left Pete and Andy only to find them gone with only a piece of paper on the table which had an address on it. I didn’t know if I should go to that address or run the plate of the car in which Patrick was taken. The address could have been a trap for the bass player and drummer, but it also could have been a safe place.

I decided to take chances and find out where the car must have gone. After a few minutes, thanks to the traffic cameras, I could find it. I got into my own car and took a deep breath before I started it. I hope I won’t find anyone murdered… 

When I got to that older building which had the previously seen car parked in front of it, I hesitated. I know, it’s not so professional but I wasn’t doing the job for so long and it was way out of my league. I mean come on, brainwashing and demonic stuff? That’s not what a regular cop goes after. But I knew that somebody had to save those guys and since I couldn’t see anyone else who even considered helping, I felt like it was my duty.  

I managed to get into the building which wasn’t so hard considering that no one was guarding it. The tough part was not getting caught inside. I went by a room in which at least a dozen of girls were destroying instruments rhythmically slamming their hammers at them. Fortunately no one saw me. They all wore similar clothes as the women at the station and they had the same hairstyle. 

At the end of the corridor there was a locked door and I could have sworn that I heard a scream along with other noises from inside. So with a hairpin I picked the lock and slowly opened the door, careful not to make any noise in case some of the girls are in there. But no, it was only Patrick, tied to a chair, sitting calmly and staring at a brick wall with weird videos and pictures projected on it. 

I ran up to him and immediately tried to free his hand from the grip of the rope only to hear him growl at me. I looked up at his face and looked into his eyes and I couldn’t believe what I saw. They were yellow. So everything was true. Every crazy detail I was told, all of it were true. Not that I didn’t believe them but knowing about it and seeing it are two completely different things.

After I recovered from the mini-shock I just had, I realized that if I let Patrick out in this state, he would kill me. So I tried the only rational thing which came in my mind. I shut down the projector and looked deeply in the singer’s eyes. ‘Patrick,’ I started softly but desperately knowing that any of the girls could come in any moment, ‘please, you need to listen to me. It’s not you, Patrick. You have to fight this, alright?’ He just stared at me, I wasn’t even sure that he understood anything. I continued anyway, this time little more hurriedly, probably because of the fear which started to take over me. ‘Come on Patrick, you’re not like this. You’re a little ball of sunshine, you polite everyone to death, even your haters. You need to turn back, your bandmates need you, your fans need you, everyone needs you, the real you.’

At the end of my mini-speech his eyes turned back to that unique shade of blue he had and it looked like he was himself again. ‘Good cop?’ he asked weakly, looking at me, blinking a few times like he wanted to make sure what he saw was real and I chuckled hearing my ‘name’. I could see that he was confused though, he probably didn’t even know where he was.

‘Yes, it’s me, I’m gonna get you out of here,’ I said reassuringly with my lips forming a huge grin and started to free his hands again. Right when his right hand escaped my smile fell because the door swung open and a bunch of women ran into the room. Three of them dragged me away from Patrick while both of us were shouting and screaming, desperately trying to escape. I tried to free myself but their grip was too strong and tight and by kicking one of them, I only made them angry and they held down my legs as well.

They restarted the projector and Patrick’s eyes turned yellow once again. For my surprise they didn’t held him captive anymore, they let him go but he didn’t move until one of them told him to follow her and he obeyed without any questions. 

Damn it. I tried to escape once again and only earned a pretty strong punch in the face leaving my mouth bleeding. They tossed me to the ground, turned me so I lay on my back and I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. They kicked me once more which made me groan and then they exited the room.

I brought my hand down to my stomach only to feel the sharp pain again when I touched it. And there was another thing that concerned me. A warm, sticky liquid. Blood. I needed a few moments to realize that I’ve been stabbed. Well, that’s not how I imagined my day.

I was thinking about practically everything. How I couldn’t save my favorite band, how probably Andy and Pete were dead by that time, how nobody was ever going to find me, how I would probably end up in a trashcan or in the backyard of someone’s house, so yeah, pretty optimistic thoughts. I couldn’t even call anyone given that those women took and smashed my phone.

I was accepting my death, feeling that I was losing more and more blood as time went by when the door unexpectedly opened again. I didn’t even bother to look there just after I heard a small ‘oh God’ which was followed by rapid footsteps. It was Andy. 

‘Pete, they’re still alive’ he shouted to the bassist and kneeled down next to me, my blood on the floor instantly soaking the fabric of his jeans. He tried to cover my wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding which made me moan in pain. It hurt like hell, but they were trying to make it easier for me by telling me stuff like ‘everything is going to be okay’ and ‘we’re here to help’ and so on, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it, I knew I was going to die, there was no way they could get me out in time.

‘Bullshit,’ I said and regretted it right at that moment because it sent a wave of pain through my entire body and made me cough up blood. Now that wasn’t a good sign.

‘Hey, easy on there,’ Pete said worriedly. It kind of surprised me that he was worried about me since we didn’t even know each other but still, it made me smile weakly.

‘Guys, there’s no way I’m gonna make it so listen,’ I started seriously but had to stop because I had to cough again. ‘They took Patrick, I guess to their leader who I think is upstairs so go, leave me, you can’t save me, save him and yourselves.’

They just looked at me, not moving a single muscle and I felt my eyelids getting heavier and I knew what was coming. I managed to whisper a last weak ‘Please’ right before the pain stopped and I wasn’t suffering anymore. I closed my eyes one last time. I was still conscious when I heard one of them – I couldn’t identify the voices anymore – ask ‘What was their name?’ and the other one just answered with a weak ‘I don’t know’. This is the last thing I remember from before I let the numb darkness take over me, and I didn’t regret anything I did that day.

‘So yeah, that’s my story I guess,’ I told to the man sitting in front of me with his big curly hair, wearing all white clothing. As a matter of fact, everything around us was white, even I wore white which I wouldn’t do normally. Who thought I was going to go to Heaven and meet Joe there. That’s right, the man in front of me was the lead guitarist of Fall Out Boy. 

‘That’s awesome,’ Joe grinned. ‘I mean, not the fact that you died, that sucks, but I always wondered what it’s like to be a cop,’ he explained quickly which made me laugh.

‘Yeah, well, I think not as great as you thought,’ I said kind of getting sad because that’s not how I imagined everything. I know it’s cliché, but I was young and had my whole life ahead of me. I suppose not anymore.

‘At least you came to Heaven. Don’t get me wrong, Hell is cool as well, but-‘ he was cut off by me shouting ‘Wait, what???’ in complete disbelief which just made him chuckle.

‘I guess it’s my turn to tell my story, isn’t it?’ he asked with once again a huge grin and it just put a smile on my lips as well.

A/N: That’s it, I hope you all enjoyed, have a nice day and take care!🖤🖤

#YBC #young blood chronicles #fall out boy #patrick stump #andy hurley #pete wentz #joe trohman #fanfic #fanfiction

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

you ever think about what Joe's last moments were like in YBC. like was it terror? heartbreak? pity? regret? did he resign himself to this being the end, and of course it would be at the hands of one of his best friends. this band was always destined to tear themselves apart. just, none of them knew it would be so literal. what kind of a final breath, to take it staring at what used to be someone you love

GODDDDD I THINK ABOUT JOES DEATH ALL THE TIME!!! especially because patrick strangled joe to death! there's cords around his neck! he didn't die a quick death like pete did!!!! he had to watch patrick slowly but surely kill him and he did nothing about it!!!! even though he could have!!!!! patrick had ONE hand and managed to tie joe down and strangle him joe HAD to have let him do it (to an extent). the last shot of just his eyes staring wide at the ceiling look to me like an expression of just. pure shock and horror than anything else. and I feel like that's the most telling about Joe's last moments. joe found patrick in the bookstore and patrick found joe in the hospital. something we're the beginning of the end

#i could talk ybc all day buddy

[ybcpatrick]

ybc anon resending the hc tumblr ate - going off of patrick locking himself in the en-suite to keep the others safe (despite the beast no longer being a threat) it takes a ton of convincing for him to let pete go see him, even though his eyes are normal and he’s tied himself up with a sheet just in case. pete, determined to show patrick he trusts him, unties the sheet from around patrick’s hands and puts it over his shoulders instead.

destiel gave me enough energy to overcome my burn out and finally answer this like a fucking adult ahsjhsfjdhj. should i post all these drabbles on ao3, or should i just leave ‘em here and save ao3 for the real fic in whatever century i complete it?

(this is pre-peterick i think. that’s how i view this anyways sjjjdbfdbjdf)

"i’m gonna come in now, okay?” pete’s voice comes muffled from the other side of the bathroom door. mentally, patrick steels himself, pulling at the bedsheet tied around his wrists experimentally. it feels like it’s cutting off the circulation to his hand, but it’s doing what it’s supposed to. he can’t move, he can’t get free. good.

pete must take patrick’s lack of response as confirmation, because the latch on the bathroom door clicks. the hinges squeak slightly as pete slips silently into the space. patrick can’t see him -- he’s shut the shower curtain as another precaution -- but he can feel pete drawing closer to the bathtub. he tries to make his breathing as quiet and level as possible, as if he were hiding. 

as if it were possible for him to hide anything from pete. 

a hand curls around the edge of the curtain and patrick shrinks back, praying desperately to become one with the porcelain of the tub. he hates this, hates what he is. hates that when it all boils down to it, he’s nothing more than a scared fucking animal. his heart thunders in his ears as he watches the curtain inch back, revealing pete’s worried face.

and there it is again, just like every time patrick freaks out like this; the pity. pete stares down at him with eyes awash with that stupid pity, that misguided worry, and something patrick will always place as fear. even if pete insists he isn’t afraid, patrick knows it’s just to make him feel better. pete is afraid of him. 

pete shoves the shower curtain all the way over. patrick snaps out of the stormclouds filling his head and flinches, hard, as his friend steps over the side of the tub. he forces himself not to meet pete’s eyes again as he drops to his knees in front of him. pete tugs the shower curtain closed again, effectively sealing them both in, and patrick thinks for the millionth time in his lifetime that pete is a fucking idiot. 

patrick soldiers on in his stubbornness, choosing to stare a hole through the nearest bottle of shampoo. he’s so focused on watching the label with unseeing eyes that he barely hears it when pete makes a short noise, almost like tutting. a calloused hand comes to curl around patrick’s wrist. his fingers nestle just beneath the bedsheet bound tightly there, warm and gentle, and somewhere, distantly, patrick feels that familiar flutter in his chest that only pete can put there, almost feeling himself lighten up a little. 

but then pete starts to tug, and every fiber of patrick’s being starts to scream.

he struggles against pete’s grip, writhing against the tile wall, but pete holds him steadfast. he makes quick work of untying the sheet, unraveling it from around patrick’s arms easily. patrick feels sick as the fabric falls away and blood rushes back into his hand. he feels too free, too unhinged. who knows what he might do--

“you’re not gonna hurt me,” pete shushes him, and patrick realizes he’s been vocalizing his every thought the whole time. he bites his tongue.

suddenly then, pete crowds into patrick’s space. he’s leaning in, way too close. patrick squeezes his eyes shut and jumps back, away, scrambling to put any amount of distance between them. but pete doesn’t relent, patrick can feel his arms moving around him, too close to his head, too close tooclose and--

oh. 

pete’s presence is gone as soon as it came. patrick musters up the courage to pry an eye open, and his wary gaze lands on pete’s hands, as they push and pull at the sheet. he’s wrapped it around patrick’s shoulders, and is adjusting it, as sweetly as he can. the delicacy of his movements snaps his heartstrings.

as always, patrick is taken aback. his eyes sting as tears threaten to blur his vision. he was never a crier before all this. 

“i’m not scared of you,” pete promises into the tense air between them, “and i’m gonna tell you every time you need me to ‘til you believe me.” 

with a final, careful tug, pete lets go of the sheet. he assesses his handiwork carefully, makes sure patrick is sufficiently cocooned by the fabric. nodding once, pete scoots back. patrick watches as he settles into the space between the faucet and the wall. pete meets patrick’s eyes, crosses his arms, and leans his head back.

“i’ll wait here with you, til you’re ready to leave.” patrick begins to protest, but the softness in pete’s eyes, the way they plead with him, kill the words in his throat. “i don’t wanna leave you alone, and you don’t like being left alone. we can just wait, it’s okay.”

patrick can’t speak around the jumbled mess of his heart crawling up his throat, so he settles for nodding. with a shaky sigh, patrick pulls the sheet tighter around his shoulders, curls his hand into the fabric, and sits back. he doesn’t look away from pete. 

pete doesn’t look away from him, either. 

#shut up kell #ask #anonymous #post!ybc #peterick #holy SHIT why is writing so hard #this has become something beautiful tho :') #pete might come across like he's crossing patrick's boundaries in this but i wanna assure everyone that he ISN'T #patrick's behaviour isnt a comfort zone thing. it's very self destructive and luckily pete knows trick well enough that he knows to stop it #love hurting patrick tho. delicious fucking projecting here #rpf

[ybcpatrick]

have you seen that comic that’s of cap and bucky holding hands bc bucky said his hand was cold but then cap realizes he’s been holding the metal arm their entire walk and bucky just tricked him bc he wanted affection? en nee wayz that’s ybc pete with patrick’s prosthetic

KAKSHSJDH HERE LEMME JUST --

"It's cold," Patrick grouses.

Pete makes a non committal noise, still staring down at his phone and expertly weaving around downtown Los Angeles with Patrick. For some reason, it's fucking cold and windy out, and Patrick forgot to wear anything heavier than a cardigan, ill-prepared for the weather (not that Pete was doing much better, in his designer sweater with a tank top underneath, but, like... technicalities).

"Peeeete, my hand is cold," Patrick says, and Pete chuckles a little, glancing up from his text conversation with their manager.

"I know, 'Trick, the car is just a couple more blocks away." Huffing, Patrick kicks a rock beside him.

"Hold my hand so it stays warm?" Patrick asks, innocently. Pete startles; it's not usually like Patrick to just straight out as for something like that. He obliges more than happily, gently taking Patrick's hand in his. Patrick makes a sweet little noise at that, and Pete smiles into his phone.

They carry on walking in comfortable silence, as Pete keeps up the talk with the manager about honestly-he-doesn't-remember-or-care, and Patrick just looks around downtown contentedly, gently swaying their joined hands back and forth. Before long, the wind has died down, and the air isn't as bitter when they finally reach the car.

And when they reach it, and Pete lets go of Patrick's hand to go around and slip into the driver's seat, only then does he pause and put down his phone for a second.

"Patrick?"

"Yeah?" Patrick hums.

Pete feels like a moron, staring down at Patrick's hands, resting in his lap. "Which hand was I holding?" Patrick doesn't even try to hide his cheshire grin.

"Oh, the left one."

Pete takes a second to compute, then his brain spits out an answer.

"That one doesn't cold," Pete says dumbly. Patrick laughs loudly as he buckles his seatbelt, as if he just pulled the world's best practical joke. He grins at Pete across the center console, and wiggles the prosthetic's fingers a little.

"I know," Patrick says, coyly. "I just wanted you to pay a little attention to me." Pete stares at him, with an incredulous smile. After a beat, Patrick sputters out, "Well, it worked, didn't it?" Now it's Pete's turn to laugh, reaching out to grab the prosthetic again.

"Shit, I guess."

#shut up kell #ask #post!ybc #peterick #THIS SHIT CUTE AS FUUUUUUUUCK #also im not gonna tag this as ybc anon because uhh i think there might b more than one #which is BONKERS #if theres more than one of u whoever isnt ybc anon needs to come up w a signoff of some sorts so that i can love u all equally #rpf