Current music:	morrissey - mama lay softly on the riverbed
Entry tags:	fic, rec time!!!, skins

life is nothing much to lose
I shit you not, I have *the* most epic Skins Primer in the works. There's not even any need, there's been 2 1/2 seasons and they're all up online, but I started having way too much fun compiling things and I just want you all to love it because that show is so the love of my life. So ridic and gay and hilarious and then they throw in surprise ouch >:( THEY DECIDE TO THROW OUT THE ENTIRE CAST AFTER TWO SEASONS AND I STILL LOVE IT :( My dirty affair with it is not over, basically. Let me indulggggge.

For now have this weirdass scene which came from nowhere when I was attempting to write BBB the other day. I think I probably read a fic which went along this vein of thought one time and this is my own version or something. It's probably stolen, idk. Sorry?

"I'm not gay!" Patrick bursts out. His palm slams down against the back of the chair and clings on, the muscle of his forearm clenched tight. "I'm sorry, Pete, but that is never going to happen."

Pete sits down slowly, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of his own stupidity.

"I know," he says quietly, calmly, because some quiet, persistent part of him did. The louder, scarier part of him merely drowned it out, because Patrick had always let Pete do whatever he wanted, and this wasn't so different, really.

"Do you?" Patrick asks with heat in his eyes. Pete winces.

"Yes," he insists. "Yes, I fucking know, okay, but I can't help this, you know? You need to give me some time to fucking get over you, man, come on."

Patrick sighs at that, shakes his head at the words and puts his palm to his forehead, over his eyes. Pete feels small and large and twisted at the thought that this, this is his reaction. This is the response that Pete is getting.

"I love you," Patrick says after a moment. He drops the hand to look at Pete, and Pete feels the sharp ache of embarrassment for himself, the clench somewhere deep within him at the shape of Patrick's words, at the way they don't fit into Pete's meaning of them.

"I--I honestly do," Patrick continues, his eyes slanting off to the kitchen counter behind Pete. "But not like that. Not in that way. Okay, I - I can't."

"I *know*," Pete says again, and he feels like some automated response machine, feels like Patrick is pressing this button and then that, and each slim glimmer of hope Pete had ever harboured is slowly shut off, the light dimmed.

"I'm straight," Patrick repeats miserably. He looks helpless and afraid, like he honestly wishes he could change that. "I'm sorry. Pete. Pete."

"Yeah, okay," Pete murmurs, and there's a dull finality to it. "Okay, what, I get it. I get it."

"I don't," Patrick stammers. He steps nearer around the curve of the kitchen table and Pete bristles. "I don't want to fuck this up, but the way you've been lately -- I just thought you should know that."

Pete kicks at the table leg, wants to say well thanks a fucking lot, buddy, and, you have no fucking clue what this feels like, but doesn't. Patrick's fucking serious little face, and Pete had only ever wondered, he'd never *said*.

"I guess - I, I'm flattered," Patrick continues stoically, almost to himself, looking down at his custom Nikes, not at Pete, "and I want you to be happy, but I can't *be* that for you. Pete?" He glances back up. "You understand that, right?"

"Yes," Pete snaps, the word bitten and furious. He wants to shout then why did you never stop me! Wants to scream at Patrick that in his noble fucking bid not to offend he had let Pete fall in love with him, wants to beg enough, enough.

"Okay," Patrick says, guarded. He steps back. "Then. Are we good? Are we - Pete?"

Pete blinks up, looks at Patrick blankly, at the way he fumbles for a hold on the next chair over, at the way his forearms and his hands stay in a tight line against the back of Pete's kitchen chair; at the way Patrick is the centre of the room despite the miserable helpless look on his face, the way his shoulders slump.

"Yeah," Pete says, forcing his mouth to form the shape, the sound of it. He can't seem to form any real meaningful thought, his brain stuttering to keep up with the scenario unfolding.

"Right," Patrick says, and the clip of his tone spits disbelief. "I guess - it's okay if I go, then." He looks awkward at the thought of it, of this, unsettled by the distance and bitterness radiating from Pete's side of the table.

"No, yeah, don't think twice about it." Pete's words *sound* bitter and he knows that he's not handling this well. He hadn't *meant* to say that, sound like that, but some part of him is furious with Patrick for not returning it, for not reciprocating this, for not being the one that Pete had thought he was. "It's fine, just go."

Patrick purses his lips and raises an eyebrow at Pete. "Okay, I'm not even going to *try* to believe that." His voice is dry with sarcasm, and he sighs when he concedes, "But if that's what you want."

Patrick sighs again and turns to leave and Pete snaps, "I don't think you understand how good this could be," at the back of his t-shirt.

hahahah, WHAT. *despairs*



Also I have downloaded a lot of awesome music today! :) The debut album from White Lies is awesome, fyi, and the OST for Angus Thongs And Full-Frontal Snogging is really good, damnit :(