I Want to Hate You Half as Much as I Hate Myself

"Hey," Pete slumped into the couch. The red cup of beer was half empty. The guy next to him whispered into his ear, "What's up?"

"Nothing much," He fingered the edges of the plastic cup and slurped down more beer. He smelled something like weed and looked around, trying to find the source. "Do you smell weed?"

"Yeah," This nameless boy replied, looking through the room full of people. "You want to find some?"

"Fuck yes," He smirked and shot up. The other boy stood up, towering over Pete. They searched through the smoke and people and found a small group of people sitting in a circle. They passed the dope to each other and told jokes.

Pete squeezed in and someone passed him the smoking object. He inhaled long and hard, and exhaled. He leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, chuckling to himself for no reason.

"What's your name?" The guy asked, sitting next to him and stealing the pot from Pete's hand. "I'm Dallon."

"Pete," He flicked open his eyes a bit. He looked over at Dallon and realized he had blue eyes just like Patrick. He smiled lazily and said, "You have pretty eyes."

"Thanks." Pete frowned a bit, because that is not something Patrick would say. Patrick, oh sweet Patrick, he would stutter out a 'thank you' or 'you think?' instead of sounding confident.

Pete was supposed to be the confident one, because two confident people in a relationship is shit because someone needs to even it out by having no self esteem.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Dallon asked, way closer than necessary. Pete thought he felt his breath on his neck and knew there was a smirk playing Dallon's lips. Dallon took another sharp intake of smoke and let it out.

"I don't know," Pete replied. A smiling face flashed through his mind, and shit, Patrick. He didn't know where that came from, did he now actually have a fucking conscience? He weighed the pros and cons in his mind, Dallon against Patrick. Dallon was good looking, probably a good fuck, but Patrick was something else. Patrick had charm, and he didn't have an ego. He looked at him and made his decision. "I think I actually might have a date with my boyfriend."

~~~~~

"Patrick?" Pete breathed into his phone, clutching it until his fingers hurt. His mind was still fogged from alcohol and marijuana. "Can you come and pick me up?"

Brendon would bitch if Pete asked him to pick him up, so he called Patrick. Not to mention Ryan would come along and think he was being a slut and would end up giving Patrick some kind of STD. He didn't take his car here because he knew he would be wasted, so he rode the bus.

"Sure, give me the address." Patrick asked sleepily into the phone. Pete felt like a piece of shit for waking him up, but he would have felt even shittier if he asked Brendon.

Pete got out a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it, and repeated it into the phone. He and Patrick said their goodbyes, and Patrick began getting dressed.

Pete sat on the lawn of the house, ripping up the grass and dissecting it with his fingers. He could hear the music and voices. Some people occasionally walked outside and got into their cars. He laughed, most of them would stumble over and barely get into their cars. He even thought he would hear ambulances a few minutes after they drove down the street.

Patrick drove up, smiling and beckoning Pete to his car. He stood up and smiled, wiping his hands on his pants for no reason.

"Hi," Patrick greeted him. Pete looked at the neon numbers that said the time near Patrick's dashboard, and shit, it was late. 2:47 glowed in the dark light of the car.

"Sorry, I didn't realize how late it is." Pete mumbled.

"It's okay," Patrick swerved onto the main road and they drove in silence. Pete passed a few car crashes and felt very morbid. It made him appreciate Brendon and Patrick even more.

Pete made it home in one piece. He kissed Patrick a very late good night kiss and made Patrick blush.