Sweet Returns
summary: after two years of patrick calling her late at night to come over and fuck, reader decides to end the cycle. it just so happens to be the night patrick planned on confessing that he’d maybe caught feelings.
warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, angst, fluff, reconciliation, mentions of alcohol
no matter how bad or selfish or borderline rude he was- patrick zweig would call, you would come. literally.
you shook your head at him in the parking lot of the motel he was staying at while he was on tour. you were in college. he was in your area and he called, and you went. you shook your head and you stood your ground and you knew you’d come, but you didn’t come. you wouldn’t. this was it.
“came all this way for what, then?” he asked, arms gesturing to you. 2am on a sunday. your arms were folded over your chest, red zip up slipping down your shoulder. the end-of-summer air was the perfect temperature. warm, but with hints of a cool wind that tousled your hair a little. “you drive over here at 2am just to stand there and say you can’t and that i’m not good? for you? for what?”
his words sometimes stung like this, but this feeling- you felt it in your fingers like loaded springs in a pressed coil. you felt it shoot sharply against the very tip of your fingers and toes. live wires. electric pain.
he was loud for a motel at 2am. you hated it. you hated that you even showed up. your friends shouted at you to stop letting him dictate the place you lay your head when he’s in town. shaking you, telling you to stop seeing him if you feel like shit the afternoon of the next day. you tried to stay away, you did, you wanted to. but something about the whirlwind, like a riptide, pulling you back out. this early. this late. like a sleeper agent, you were put in action. like an on/off button on a toy. and you hated it. so you showed up. and he was greeting you, and you pulled away. which led to this mess, this confusion.
you did not want to be pulled under again just for an afternoon of shame. you swore sometimes returning home, you accidentally held your shoes in your hand minutes after getting back to your dorm. the shame lingered, festered. your girlfriends usually had to bribe you out of the disgusting stupor.
“i can’t, patrick, i’m sorry,” you said, anxious enough to shake just slightly. “i’m going home.”
“you drove thirty minutes to come here, say hi, and say sorry?”
“guess so,” you bit your lip. he looked at you with disbelief. this was unlike you. usually he had you horizontal by now. you guessed that he didn’t like your non-compliance attitude. it was new, fresh, probably scared him. you imagined he was hungry right now, upset about not having what he wanted. what he ordered.
“why are you still here then?” he asked. it was bitter, his tone. “you said it, go.” one of his hand shoved into his jean pocket, he gestured toward your car with the other one. “fuck, didn’t want to see you anyway. go.”
“you mean fuck me?” you scoffed, almost baffled at his choice of word. it was so simple, the word ‘see’ instead of ‘fuck’, but at this point. it was too far gone to be unnoticed. “didn’t want to fuck me anyway? god, what will you do when your number one piece of ass walks out on you? you’ve got the second piece of ass on speed dial, you don’t need me here, patrick. you want me. i don’t want that anymore.”
his raised eyebrows fell and his darkened, but not in a way that scared you at all. more like clouded over, like breaking a spell. you stood your ground, despite watching his body lose it’s tense.
you shook your head again, taking a step back. “goodnight.” he had nothing to say, he just stared at you. you imagined you’d upset him, and that he was only upset with you. not himself. would be just like him. so you took another step back and turned, walking back over to your car. you’d have to get gas on the way home. your heart raced, but this was it, this was over.
you unlocked the door, opened it, got in, and you reached to close the door, but it was stopped by his hand on the corner. his figure startled you just a bit, and you wondered if he had seen it, afraid you looked stupid or something. you also wondered if he’d hurt his hand catching the door like that. and then you wondered why he did it, before he spoke.
“there’s no ‘second piece of ass,’ first up.” he said. you couldn’t see his face. only heard him, voice firm. “it’s only you and you’re not just a ‘piece of ass’, or a toy. i don’t know where you got that idea.” he said.
you turned your legs out of the drivers seat and stood up. he stepped back to let you out and you looked at him expectantly. he stopped your door from closing, it better be fucking good. your anxiety was turning into adrenaline. recycling.
he kept talking, “yeah, i did want to fuck you. i always do when you’re around. can’t help myself. and speaking of no second ‘pieces of ass,’ i don’t have a single other girl in rotation, though i know you believe differently.” he said it like they were supposed to be offensive words, but they were genuine, hidden by sharp tone. shielded. “it’s only you. when i’m away i’m passing time waiting to come back around. i call you, we fuck, you leave. it’s all i get.”
“all you get?” you snapped. “like i’m supposed to do more?” you advanced a step on him, but he didn’t move. “i come over when you ask, i ride you until you come, you’ve insulted me, you’ve made me feel like i’m not good enough for you since we met. and i could have anyone else, but you keep me in your pocket to call and fuck and go back on tour, leaving me to feel used and stupid. and you want more from me? what do you want? a fuckbuddy, a friend? i feel like you want a toy.”
“what i want,” his words overlapped with your last ones. “fuck- i don’t have anyone else. it’s always you, i always come back here. i don’t have to, i could be closer to stanford with art, i could be back home constantly. but my winnings go to motels here, hotels here. when i say see you, i mean see you, i don’t just mean fuck you. what do you want me to tell you?”
“what does that even mean?” you gestured wildly. “what do you want me to tell you? i don’t know, patrick. i’m trying to say goodbye to you, i don’t want you around, i don’t want to see you. don’t come around here if you don’t want to.”
he looked far left, shaking his head, taking a sharp breath in. “what do you want me to say? because i’m sure you’re being obtuse on fucking purpose. i want to see you. i dont want to see anyone else. i dont want to fuck anyone else either, but they go together. you think i don’t know i’m an asshole? you’ve told me again and again.”
“you are!” you ensured. he shut his eyes tight and pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek. your body pulsed, electric pain now a current running through every vain. you felt it in every appendage. your stomach muscles were tight, and you were sure you weren’t breathing enough.
but he looked down at you, breaking the small silence, continuing, “an asshole. so yeah, i figure i should leave you alone for your own good, but then when i’m out of here and back on tour, i can’t get you out of my head and as soon as i’m done, i end up back here, calling you. and you come. and then you’re gone.”
“patri-“
“i don’t deserve more than that, i know you’re not staying. and you probably should go, but i don’t know. i don’t even know why i stopped your door. just go if you’re gonna fucking go.”
another beat passed. you looked at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “what are you saying?”
“i don’t fucking know.” he looked at his feet, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek again. his hand met the back of his neck. “delete my number and i’ll delete yours. i’ll do it in the morning. just fuck off.”
your eyes burned, your emotions piling on top of each other, all pressing on your chest. you watched his foot turn to face you. you grabbed the door of the car and braced a little against the anxious ball of weight that was suddenly returning. circumstances began to shift underneath your feet, dizzying you just a little. and you were unfortunately sober. you blinked hard, shaking your head.
“yeah, whatever.” patrick replied to your own thoughts, reading your mind. he must have, there wasn’t another explanation. “i’ll do what you want, though. genuinely.”
you could feel he meant it. it wasn’t an empty promise. you knew he knew you were wondering if it was, and he wanted you to know it wasn’t. he was giving you up as well. when you met him, you thought he was cute, and you were drunk. sometimes you wondered if you had met him sober and didn’t take him home that night, that maybe he’d take you seriously. but that thought had been given up two weeks in, two years ago. it was weird to feel like it never really left as you slowly began to wonder if he meant what you never thought he could mean.
“okay,” you agreed, swallowing hard. he raised his head from his feet. you would give him up, he would give you up. the soft september breeze blew his curls just slightly. his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. you always liked his eyelashes, you didn’t think that they’d be even prettier when wet. you could see it in the motel light, the light bounced off of it. it was so weird. “you’re upset.”
“go.”
“patrick.”
“you’re not supposed to give a fuck. i’m begging you not to give a fuck.”
“say what you mean,” you ordered him, wits end. edge of your seat. “fuck, say it!”
“i don’t know what you want me to say!”
“am i just a body to you?”
“no, fuck off.”
“tell me.”
“tell you what?”
you looked him in the eyes, “are you telling me you… fuck, i can’t-“ you couldn’t even say it, you felt so stupid. “fuck, patrick!” both of you couldn’t say it. but it was so familiar, the feeling. the nervousness, the tingling in your limbs, the flip of your stomach. resurfacing, curious, naive.
both of you getting more riled up by the second, you looked anywhere else. you heard him breathe out hard, exasperated. “i don’t think i should say anything.”
“so why?”
he shook his head, “you deserve better.”
“than you?”
“yeah.”
the silence stung your ears. the hair on your arms stood up straight. the air was suddenly hot and thick. and you held onto the door a little tighter.
“patrick, do you want me?”
he pressed his fingers to the side of his chin, turning his body away from you. you watched his hand slide down to the back of his neck. you knew him, he wasn’t dumb, he knew he had to say nothing. if he said something, you might stay. and it was best that you didn’t. the fight wasn’t worth having. “just go.” he replied, not even turning around. he couldn’t look at you.
your heart pulled, a sinking feeling filling your chest. why? this wasn’t attachment, this wasn’t manipulation, this was him. for the first time. him. “okay.” you said. but you stood there, just a moment longer. and he did turn after a moment, eyes locking on yours. you couldn’t really read him. but you didn’t need to. you just wanted to say goodbye properly.
so your hands fell on his shoulders, squeezing gently as they trailed over, up his neck, and to the back of his head as you kissed him slowly, deeply, passionately. there was no lust in this kiss, no urgency, no bed in sight. his hands, the most gentle they’d been without having to fuck first, slipped around your waist. he kissed you back just as softly. there was no hunger. just the chirp of crickets and the whisper of the nearby highway. and you kissed him, pressed against the side of your car. he kissed you the same. you head swam.
this was him. his desire was only to kiss you, his hands travelling up to your jaw as yours trailed down his chest. it was deep, slow, every moment felt. he was the best kisser, it felt a shame to stop kissing. so your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. he smelled like cigarettes and his subtle cologne. it seemed like the most familiar thing in the world. you sighed between kisses.
you wanted this. and you wondered how real it was. how badly did he want you to stay? the truth was, he wanted you to be free from his cycle. he knew he wasn’t supposed to have you. he thought this would have gone differently, planning out an entirely different way to tell you this. but he couldn’t say it anyway. it- the words- hung in the air as you kissed, embraced, and said goodbye all in one. it was bittersweet. and a little bit sad.
because the kiss eventually ended. and you stayed against him. he didn’t want you to know how upsetting it was to wrap his arms around you for the first and hopefully last time in this context. his lips pressed against the top of your head as you stayed that way just a moment longer. and even that moment ended.
you looked at him again. “goodnight, patrick.”
“goodnight, y/n.” he replied. “just fuck off.” but he didn’t mean it. and you drove away. that was it. that was your goodbye. and he didn’t come around again. he kept on tour and started going back home instead of toward you. you kept going to school, graduated. your friends were proud you quit the cycle, but you didn’t tell them about any of what patrick meant. it wasn’t romance, it wasn’t going to be.
you missed him sometimes. and four years passed as you missed him occasionally. friends came and went. you dated two guys since then, terrible in bed and horrible in general. you missed him after having to fake your last orgasm with the guy you were seeing. you had a job now, an apartment, a solid group of friends. things were good.
you were grocery shopping when you ran into him again. a cheap little shop that had the best chip selection and most essential items. you thought maybe it was someone else, but it was him, in a sweater and jeans, holding a stack of ramen bricks. and your heart skipped a beat, like you were four years younger and he still gave you butterflies. and you were about to move, to start to think of what to do, when he turned around and looked up to see you. he turned his head away, then back at you, doing his own double-take.
his eyes, just a little wide locked onto yours. so you smiled, a little smug at his reaction. you walked over with a slight sway. he continued to look bewildered. he looked four years older. and he thought you looked gorgeous. “hi.” you said, keeping that smile.
“hey.” he responded, blinking once. “how are you?”
“i’m okay,” you replied. “how are you?”
“i’m fine.” he swallowed again, as if nervous. “are you stopping by or are you local?”
“local, why? are you local?” you asked.
“yeah, i live a block away.” he said. “just moved.”
you stared at each other for a second more, analyzing features, thinking back… and you nodded, holding your carton of raspberries. “are you free tonight?” you smiled.
“uh- yeah, think so,” he replied. still shocked.
“would you maybe want to get a drink?”
“i would, yeah,”
you nodded again, rocking on your heels, “perfect. see you then.” your heart was beating a mile a minute. it was him, he was here, he lived here… and you’d just asked him to get a drink. but you weren’t nervous. just… excited. something in you knew more. he was different, he had changed, he carried himself differently. and you were trusting it. the past was the past. and there was a reason you ran into each other.
when you got home, you texted him. and it was a leap of faith to hope he had the same number. you relied on it. because even after all the time had passed, you never actually blocked his number. you couldn’t.
and the address to the bar delivered immediately, meaning… he hadn’t deleted yours either. all these years. you grinned a little as you read his response.
‘its a date’.
cocky. presumptuous. horrible. terrifying. exciting.
a/n: omg first fic on this account. thought maybe this was a fun place to start off. also, i might consider a second part to this fic.let me know if you want IN on the taglist. requests open!