five

                                    

                                          
Patrick was shocked, and was still at first so as not to break the kiss. The moment was perfect, and he felt like his heart was fighting its way up his throat. He moved to deepen the kiss. Pete stopped cold and moved back, breaking them apart.
                          
Pete's eyes were wide. He stood and stumbled back.
"I have to go." He managed to choke out, before dashing out of the room.
                          
Patrick stayed there, shocked. His mood had soared and plunged within the last ten seconds, and he didn't know why. He blinked tears away. He supposed he should've expected to be rejected like he always was. But what had that moment been? The moment where Pete kissed him back?
                          
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, thought Pete as he clambered through the hole in the fence, brambles scratching his legs through the skinny jeans. What had he done? 
He had felt that feeling again. 
                          
Time stopping. Breathless panic like something was blocking his airway. Unbelievable nausea like the slightest movement would have him vomiting. Pains like needles were trying to stab their way out of his stomach. Cold sweats and flushed face. A deadly cold feeling of fear, worthlessness and needing to escape. Not being able to move fast enough, any movements coming out sluggish. 
He was told it was a panic attack, but the words didn't quite sum it up.
He had been out of there before thinking. 
                          
Actually, repeating the moment in his head, he was sure Patrick had been moving to pull away. 
Besides, coming here with him was a bad idea: the bullies only kept off him now because he was involved with Stacey. Being friends (or more) with Patrick would just get him beat up every day.
What had he even been doing? This whole thing was stupid. 
                          
*the next day*
                          
The only sounds in the corridor when Pete arrived were the faint slap of feet in the distance. He was late and he knew it. 
He had come to the conclusion there was no point in skiving any more; he would have to face these jerks eventually. 
So, he found his class, took his detention for being late without the usual snarky comment, and sank low into his seat. He could sense everyone's stares and sniggers, even though he was staring down at his blank paper and trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
                          
He kept telling himself he didn't care what they thought. But really, somewhere in that fucked up heart of his, he did. So he buried himself doodling, writing a couple of lines of lyrics instead of taking notes.
                          
His entire body felt heavy, and he want from class to class, ignoring people's giggles and catcalls. Really, what could they do? Laugh a little? Say something mean? They did it anyway, just more secretly before. If anything, this realisation made him feel worse - he felt small and like he was in danger. An emo mouse that could run into a trap at any time.
                          
The day was painful, every step was too much effort, and the lessons themselves were just like white noise to him.
Until he saw Partick, by his locker, who looked up at him from behind those sweet glasses. 
                          
"Hey." Pete said. "I'm sorry, I just panicked yesterday. But if you'd want to pick up where we left off, I don't know, after school some time - " 
                          
"Why'd you leave? If you still wanna see me so bad?" Patrick interrupted.
                          
"I kinda have a, uh, problem with panic attacks when I get really nervous..." Pete figured there was no point lying. "Which isn't often, but..." He trailed off.
                          
A small smile from Patrick. "I made you nervous?" His voice was tiny. 
                          
"Oh, hell yeah." Pete nodded seriously, bangs in eyes. "I mean, have you met you? You're just so intimidating, I couldn't take it - "
                          
Patrick let out a small relieved laugh. 
"Walk to class with me?" 
The banter flowed as they walked to Advanced English, the jeers sent after them only bouncing off the invisible shield around the two boys, blissful in their own world. Until they reached the English corridor, where a set of Freshman lockers lined the wall - and were decorated, in luminous orange dripping paint, with the tilted words:
                          
PaTrIck StUMp Is A FaggoT
                          
And, in matching paint on the opposite wall of the corridor:
                          
PEtE WENtz iS A WhOre





                          
~Short but sweet, right? Sorry if I go on a bit... also can anyone think of a name for this chapter, like an emo trinity lyric to do with it? Thanks~