(i posted a few hundred words of this the other day for @onegoalinfinitedreams that I’m reposting along with a larger chunk. This isn’t beta’d and it’s not completely finished, but it’s almost done so I feel better about posting more today. once again for @antismiles)
Patrick misses Jonny. He misses him in the morning, when he wakes up and looks over at the pillow next to him, and he’s not there. He misses him on the way to work, sitting on the El with no one to nudge when the little boy with the boy scout uniform topped by a Shrek mask gets on, by himself, and sits down, his backpack at his feet and his hands in his lap, as though this is how he goes to school every day. He misses him at ten thirty, when he takes his break and there’s no one waiting at the Starbucks with his cotton candy frappuccino already ordered and a grumpy expression on his face because Patrick’s always late, for fuck’s sake, Patrick, is it that hard to tell time? He misses him at lunch, and on the way home, and at dinner.
He misses Jonny curled around him when he goes to bed the most, though. That’s when the day fades away and those moments before he slips into sleep, when Jonny used to whisper in his ear about his day, less words than soothing sounds, have turned into Patrick remembering all the ways life has changed since they broke up. Sleep comes a lot harder, now.
Bottom line, he misses Jonny.
He still loves him, of course. And he thinks Jonny still loves him, although apparently not enough, since Jonny’s not calling, hasn’t even been by to pick up his stuff, neatly boxed up and sitting by the front door. Hasn’t asked Sharpy about Patrick, even - and stop asking, Kaner, I’m done being the go-between for you two idiots.
When Patrick broke up with Jonny, he’d not meant for it to be forever. He’d been hurt and angry, and he’d lashed out. Again. And now Jonny’s gone and he’s not coming back.
“God, stop moping and go on a date with someone already,” Erica says the next time they FaceTime, something Patrick’s been avoiding because he knows he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and Shawsy keeps telling him he’s even paler than his usual pasty-white self. “And get a fucking haircut, Jesus, Pat, you look like Einstein with your hair like that.”
Patrick can’t help smoothing his hair self-consciously, even while he makes a face at her. “Shut up, I’ve been busy.”
“Busy pining for Jonny?” She’s painting her nails but she pins him with a long stare. “Either put yourself out of your misery and call him, or move the fuck on, Pat.”
“I-” Patrick can feel his throat closing up and he has to grit his teeth to fight it off. Erica’s annoyed expression turns into something sad and that’s all it takes for him to lose it completely. “I just, I miss him so much.” He wipes his eyes roughly, knuckles damp when he pulls his hands away, and he sniffs once, making a gentle, sad smile appear on Erica’s face. He has to look down, then, or he’s going to lose it for real and make an even bigger fool of himself.
“Why don’t you just call him, Pat?” Erica asks after a long moment broken only by Patrick’s sniffles. “You know he’s just waiting for you to - “
“For me to what? To crawl back to him, beg him to take me back?” Patrick’s words taste bitter in his mouth. “He’s just proving my whole point, he’s moved on because whatever he felt for me, it’s nothing like how I feel about him.” His voice cracks at the end and he swallows. “So.”
“Pat,” Erica says. “You told the man he didn’t love you enough and threw him out. Did you really think he was just going to, I don’t know. Stand outside your balcony with his “get Patrick back” iTunes playlist until you gave in?”
Patrick snorts in spite of himself. “Jonny doesn’t have a “get Patrick back” iTunes playlist.”
“How do you know? You should call him and ask, because if he does, he’s not using it right.”
“He doesn’t.” Patrick sighs, the feel of it like a balloon deflating inside his body. “Erica. I.”
“Patrick. You.” Erica says impatiently.
“I don’t even know why I called you, you’re not helping.” Patrick sniffs again and Erica makes a frustrated, angry noise.
“I’m going to come to Chicago and beat you to death, would that help?” Erica says mildly, and Patrick shrugs. “Maybe?”
“Oh my god, stop feeling sorry for yourself, you childish asshole,” Erica snaps. “I’m done trying to talk sense into you. Call him. Don’t call him. Go get laid. Just stop telling me about it, because you’re the one being stupid. You’re the one who decided he didn’t love you enough and was going to eventually break your heart, just because he wasn’t ready to move in with you. Well, congratulations, you broke your own heart first! Happy now?”
But Erica’s already hung up before Patrick can formulate an answer.
And she’s not wrong, but she’s also oversimplifying. He hadn’t only broken up with Jonny because he hadn’t been ready to move in with Patrick. Or because he’d been afraid eventually Jonny would have broken his heart.
Patrick’s FaceTime chimes again, and he drops the phone in surprise. He hits accept as he’s bringing it to his ear, already speaking. “E, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that -”
“Pat?” A male voice asks and he pulls the phone away in shock to see Jonny’s face on the screen. “Patrick?”
“I, uh. Yeah.” Patrick stares at Jonny in horror before he gets it together enough to say anything intelligent. Or. Semi-intelligent, anyway. “Hi. Yeah. Uh, what’s up?” Patrick says finally. He’s sure his eyes are red and it feels like he might have a trace of a tear under one, so he has to school himself not to wipe them. He knows Jonny can already tell he’s been crying but he’s not going to let either of them acknowledge it if he can help it.
“How are you?” Jonny asks, a little too gently and Patrick’s not going to have to acknowledge anything if Jonny keeps up with that much longer because he’ll be openly weeping, so he forces a smile on his face. “Fine, I’m, uh. Fine. How are you?”
Jonny shrugs, looking uncomfortable, not really meeting Patrick’s eyes, and it makes something in Patrick’s chest swoop. “Been better.”
There are dark circles under Jonny’s eyes and he’s cut his hair since the last time Patrick saw him - it’s way too short, the kind of buzzed cut style that he’d favored before he met Patrick, that he’d finally given up when Patrick told him how much he liked running his fingers through the hair at the back of Jonny’s neck.
“Oh,” Patrick says, biting his lip to hold back the instinct to demand answers to all of the questions racing through his mind. Why are you calling? Why haven’t you called until now? Why did you cut your hair? Aren’t you sleeping? You don’t look like you’re eating right, either, when did you get so thin?
