Archive of Our Own ^beta

Duncan, Brent, and Patrick arrive at Bur’s dad’s beach house on Thursday.

They throw their first party of the summer on Friday.

-

“Are you old enough to drink?” Patrick asks. He’s more than open to strangers showing up, especially when they’re as hot as this guy, but he does mind getting arrested for allowing underage drinking under his roof. Under Bur’s dad’s beach house’s roof, he guesses. This guy looks old enough, though, so it doesn’t really matter—

“No,” he says, like lying about it didn’t even occur to him. “I’m eighteen.”

His eyes are very honest and very blue. If Patrick were more of a cliché, he would say that they’re the color of the ocean outside. (If Patrick were more honest, he’d say that description doesn’t do them justice.)

Patrick pauses, and then makes an executive decision. “Then I suppose you’ll have to share with me, no?”

The guy grins. “You’re a terrible bartender.”

Patrick shoves his half-empty red solo cup at the guy and pours himself another. “I can accept that. What’s your name?”

“Brandon,” he says, and raises the cup.

-

“You’re not old enough to drink,” Patrick says when Brandon kisses him.

“I’m old enough to fuck you,” Brandon says, and squeezes his ass.

-

He is.

-

“I have rules,” Patrick tells him afterward, petting his hair.

“Tell me,” Brandon says as he presses kisses along his jaw.

“No last names, we don’t talk about anything outside of summer, and you are absolutely not allowed to fall in love with me,” Patrick says.

Brandon bursts out laughing and kisses him again. “I think I can manage that,” he says dryly. “You’re not that great. Why no last names?”

“That way lies madness,” Patrick tells him. “And Facebook stalking.”

-

Patrick doesn’t learn much of anything about Brandon that first night besides that he’s eighteen, funny, and cut. The next morning, though, he learns… well, first he just learns that he is not a morning person.

He isn’t himself either, honestly, so he’s pretty used to waking up in the late morning (to early afternoon) after a party and discovering his company has excused themselves before he’s woken up.

This is not the case today.

Today, Brandon is asleep mostly on his chest. The entire left half of Patrick’s body is numb, and when he tries to shift away, Brandon goes from incomprehensibly mumbling a little to practically growling, “No,” and hooks his leg over Patrick’s.

Okay.

Patrick brings a hand up to card through his hair. Seems like he’s going to be here a while.

-

Once Brandon rolls off him, moans something that sounds vaguely like ‘caffeine,’ and stumbles out of the room and down the stairs in just a pair of boxers that do very nice things for an already very nice ass, Patrick concludes he’s a pretty lucky man.

He gets up and follows him down the stairs, finds him standing in the middle of the kitchen looking a little helplessly at the cabinets. He looks at Patrick plaintively when he walks in and says, “Help.”

“Coffee or tea?” Patrick asks, and ends up just making him both.

The pleased little noise Brandon makes when Patrick passes him a mug of tea is enough to make him conclude he's a very lucky man.

-

Brandon does eventually manage to start functioning like a human, and now, sober, caffeinated, and still mostly naked, he tells Patrick that he’s from Pittsburgh, and he’s staying at a friend’s beach house with a few people all summer before they all go to different schools.

“That’s rough that you’re splitting up,” Patrick says, leaning over the kitchen island. “College is fun, though.”

“Aren’t you breaking your own rules right now?” Brandon teases. “That doesn’t sound much like summer.”

Patrick grins. “You’re right, you’re right. So where’s your place?”

“It’s Nick’s dad’s place, but—uh. It’s actually just a few down down. We could actually see your place from the back porch, that’s how we ended up here.” He grins a little sheepishly. “It seemed fun.”

Patrick laughs and pretends to be scandalized. “Party crashers? My stars!”

Brandon grins and walks over to him, kisses his cheek. “It worked out well for you,” he reminds him. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Sorry about, uh, the whole morning zombie thing.”

“It was pretty cute,” Patrick admits. “I’m glad you didn’t run into my roommates, though.”

Brandon doesn’t say anything, just looks immediately and adorably guilty.

“Oh, no,” Patrick says. “Which one?”

“Uh, my height, long reddish hair. Freckles. Kind of scary? He says you get around and that I wouldn’t think you were as pretty once I saw you in the mornings.” Brandon sounds a little offended on Patrick’s behalf, which is sweet but largely unnecessary. “Which, I mean—I still—you’re very—”

Brandon gets pink when he gets flustered, and Patrick is only human. He crowds him up against the counter and kisses him again, startles a little sound out of Brandon before he brings his arms up to wrap around his neck.

(Duncs might not think Patrick’s pretty in the mornings, but Brandon certainly seems to.)

-

Brandon looks a little unsteady on his feet when he kisses Patrick goodbye and leaves out the back door. Patrick’s not going to pretend he’s not proud of himself.

It’s gonna be a good summer.

-

Patrick doesn’t get his number before he leaves—he doesn’t see much of a point to it, really. He’s a cute boy in a town full of cute people. Patrick doesn’t see any need to make it more than that. He might live just down the beach, but he probably won’t see him again.

-

(He does.)

-

“Patrick!”

Patrick looks up from where he’s judging oranges to see Brandon heading over, with a few others in tow. He smiles out of habit. It’s only been a few days, honestly, and Brandon is already tanner, a deep, even brown over his shoulders and arms. Patrick takes a second to bless whoever came up with tank tops for men, because Brandon’s arms are perfect.

“Didn’t have you pegged as a farmer’s market kind of guy,” Brandon says, flashing a smile to the woman behind the stand and picking up a few oranges himself. He gives them each a squeeze, and Patrick’s temporarily distracted by his hands.

“We’re making smoothies tonight,” Patrick tells him.

“Seems kind of low key,” Brandon muses. “Also a surprise.”

“Well, we’re going to put tequila in them,” he admits, and Brandon breaks into a grin.

“Makes more sense,” he teases. “Another party?”

Patrick shrugs. “Open door policy,” he says. “It’s not gonna be big, though.” He pauses, then asks, “Wanna come?”

“Yes ,” declares the girl at Brandon’s elbow, pushing past him a little bit to make herself clearer. She’s tiny, with dark hair and a thin face. “Are you the guy from the party? Duncan’s roommate?”

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick says. “Are you—a person that I know?”

“I’m Andy,” she says. “Met your friends while you were defiling mine.”

Brandon turns red. “Shawsy! ” he protests, but she shrugs, unrepentant.

“What time do you want us there?” she asks. “Tequlia smoothies are the best bad idea I’ve ever heard.”

Patrick grins first at Brandon and then at Andy. “Uh, whenever you want, I guess,” he says. “Like, eight?”

“Eight,” Andy agrees. “Tell Duncs I’m coming. Seeya, prettyboy!”

She heads off and practically drags Brandon and the other boy, presumably Nick, off with her. Brandon gives Patrick a look over his shoulder that’s part sheepish, part apologetic, and part—something else, something Patrick doesn’t know that he can name.

-

“Hey, Duncs,” Patrick says, when he makes it home with the oranges. “Did you meet a girl on Friday? Short? Cute? Kind of spiky?”

Duncan looks up from his perch on the back of the couch. Patrick has never understood why he sits like that, feet on the cushions and ass on the top. Ridiculous person. “Andrea?”

“Uh, Andy, I guess,” he says. “Friends with—um, the guy you ran into in the morning.”

“Yes,” Duncs says immediately. “Yeah, I met her, she’s—oh, man, she’s something.”

“Cool,” Patrick says as he heads through the living room and into the kitchen. “She’s coming over tonight.”

He hears rather than sees Duncs fall off the couch.

“Might wanna have more chill than that around her, buddy,” he says, turning around to glance back at him. “She was pretty cute and is coming over with two large dudes.”

Duncs gives him the finger.

-

Brandon comes over with a stack of sandwiches, because his mother says he should never arrive empty handed.

Patrick takes the sandwiches, hands them to Brent, and drags Brandon up the stairs.

-

“You didn’t say hi to my friends,” Brandon murmurs, kissing down his chest. “Sort of rude.”

Patrick lets out a little laugh and cards his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t prepared for how cute you are,” he admits. He always gets too honest after sex.

Brandon laughs and gives him a little kiss. “I’m glad to be the one to catch you off your guard, I guess.”

Patrick grins and wraps his arms around his waist. “You gonna remember my rules?”

“Definitely,” Brandon says, and kisses his neck. “Under no circumstances am I going to fall in love with you.”

“Good,” Patrick says, running his fingers up and down his spine. “Do you want to go downstairs for the tequila smoothies?”

-

Brandon spends the night again. Patrick has tea ready for him when he wakes up.

-

They only live a few houses down; it makes sense that they run into each other sometimes. Like, literally run into each other, like Duncs and Patrick are going for a jog and Andy and Brandon are coming the opposite way, and Andy grins and gives Duncs a hug and Patrick’s extraordinarily distracted by how tiny Brandon’s shorts are.

“Do you guys want to come over after your run?” Patrick asks without really meaning to. “Bring Nick. Pizza, beer, and a sunset over the ocean.”

“Sounds perfect,” Brandon says, and his grin is dazzling. Patrick definitely watches his ass as he and Andy run off.

“She’s incredible,” Duncs says a little wistfully.

“He’s pretty cool,” Patrick agrees.

-

Patrick wakes up the next morning to Brandon lazily kissing his shoulder.

“Which first,” he asks, “breakfast or sex?”

Patrick decides he ought to keep him. After all, once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is enough reason to ask for the hot boy’s number, especially when they come with choices like that.

-

He doesn’t realize he’s asked Brandon out on a date until after it’s happened.

“Where are you off to?” Brent asks, appearing in Patrick’s doorway to watch him button his shirt.

“Dinner with Brandon,” he says, and looks in the mirror, runs a hand through his hair. “Do I look alright? Does my hair look messy on accident or on purpose?”

Brent comes over with a truly evil grin and ruffles up his hair before Patrick can fight him off. “On purpose,” he concludes, after having wrenched an indignant squawk from Patrick.

“He’s going to think I’m a slob,” Patrick bemoans, looking back to the mirror to try and salvage the damage done. “Goddamn it, Brent!”

“Haven’t you already hooked up with him?” Brent asks. “Like, ten times in two weeks?”

“Seven,” Patrick admits. “It just keeps happening.”

“Then relax,” Brent shrugs. “You’re good at dates, it’ll be fine.”

Patrick drops his comb. “Date?”

Brent blinks at him. “Is it supposed to be something else?”

“Shit,” Patrick says, and looks at the mirror like his reflection will help him out here.

-

The date is perfect. Patrick is fucked.

-

It doesn’t help that Duncs seems determined to kidnap Brandon’s roommate Andy and keep her forever, and she seems more than ready to go along with it. Patrick has some questions about how she fits in with Duncs’ weird thing with Seabs, but then one day he gets home and Brent is asleep in an armchair with Andy curled up on his lap, and it makes a little more sense.

-

Brandon, Nick, and Andy are kind of just… around, from then on. Nick is pretty quiet, but he and Brent click right away, and Andy is the kind of person who can make a place for herself wherever she goes.

And then there’s Brandon.

Duncs likes Brandon. They go on day trips to Monterey so they can like, fish in the bay and go whale watching and shit. Patrick thinks it sounds horrendously boring, but they always come back happy and a little sunburned.

Seabs likes him too, because Brandon’s the only one who’s still awake when he can’t sleep. He says they talk about books in the middle of the night most of the time Brandon stays over.

And Patrick—of course Patrick likes Brandon. Patrick likes Brandon a little too much.

-

Andy shows up on their back porch with a six-pack under each arm and a tiny plastic bucket in her hand. “Get everybody,” she announces. “We’re building sand castles.”

Patrick looks at her. “Andy, are we ten?”

She frowns at him. “Patrick, do you hate fun? Go get Duncs and Seabs. They’ll want to.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shawsy, I really—”

“Brandon’s going to be really disappointed you aren’t coming,” she muses. “What a shame. I did meet this cute boy the other night I think he’d get along with great, maybe I’ll text him…”

Patrick splutters. “You’re—you—but—fine. I’ll come. You’re actually the worst.”

She beams. “Great! Tell Seabs I’ve got Mike’s Hard, also that he can stop pretending to like beer more than alcoholic Kool-Aid, because everyone knows he’s lying.”

“I’ll just tell him you’ve got drinks,” he says.

-

Nick, Duncs, and Seabs build a sand castle that is, quite honestly, kind of incredible in its intricacy and sprawl. There’s a moat, and Nick carefully and slowly brings up water in the bucket to fill it up.

Andy, for her part, makes a sand pile and tells everyone it’s a mountain with a hidden series of caverns full of riches. “Also dragons,” she adds, and Duncs nods wisely.

Brandon falls asleep in the sun, and Patrick buries him up to the knees in sand. Couldn’t resist.

-

On the fourth of July, Brandon dons an American flag tank top and American flag short shorts. He looks ridiculous, and Patrick thinks he’s incredible.

“Hey,” Brandon says. “Canadian. Do you want to sit on the roof and watch the fireworks?”

Patrick does.

They climb out of Brandon’s bedroom and perch carefully on the roof. Brandon puts his hand on top of Patrick’s and looks out at the fireworks, booming and giant a ways down the beach.

Brandon watches the fireworks, and Patrick watches Brandon.

-

“You put way too much effort into this,” Brandon says blearily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His hair is a disaster and his neck and shoulders are covered in bite marks. Patrick’s kind of proud of himself.

“Into what?” he asks, artfully arranging his hair into perfectly deliberate disarray and glancing at Brandon behind him in the mirror.

Brandon waves a hand at him. “All of this. The hair, and clothes. You don’t need to work that hard.”

Patrick grins at him over his shoulder. “And why not? Do you think I’m pretty? ”

“Everyone thinks you’re pretty,” Brandon says, unimpressed, and Patrick preens.

-

Brandon is standing in the kitchen with a mug of tea; he looks sleepy and sated and completely beautiful. When he notices Patrick, he breaks into a smile so big and bright it scares him a little.

“Are you remembering my rules, kid?” Patrick asks, saunters over, squeezes his hips. “You look very in love with me this morning.”

Brandon makes a face at him, and Patrick takes the chance to give him a kiss then neatly steal his mug. He takes a triumphant sip, and Brandon looks down at his now-empty hands.

“Well, I’m definitely not in love with you now,” Brandon says, extraordinarily put out, and Patrick can’t stop laughing.

-

“Did you seriously buy a keg for tonight?" Brandon asks, amused. “Are you gonna do kegstands? You’re such a frat boy, Jesus.”

“I really am, though,” Patrick says. “It’s how I know Duncs and Seabs. We’re brothers.”

Brandon grins. “I’m not surprised. About you, at least. Didn’t have Seabs pegged for a salmon shorts and boat shoes type.”

Patrick makes a face at him. President Toes is really the only one who dresses like that. “It’s a good time, babe. It’s not like it looks in the movies. I mean, it is sometimes, and that’s great, but it’s—for real. It’s cool.”

Brandon makes a considering little sound. “I never thought much about it. I’d probably not be any good at the whole thing. Too shy.”

He laughs at him and reaches out, pulls him onto his lap. “You fucked me the first night you met me. Wouldn’t call you shy.”

“Summer Brandon makes crazier decisions than academic Brandon,” he tells him, grinning and giving him a quick kiss. “But I guess it’s worked out for me so far.”

-

“I do not snore,” Patrick says, indignant. “How dare you!”

“I really thought you knew,” Brandon says. He leans over to check the oven. Patrick wouldn’t have said 3 am in mid July was really a time for baking cookies, but, well, apparently Brandon knows best.

Seabs wanders into the kitchen, awake at odd hours as usual. “Are we making cookies?”

“Yes,” Patrick says. “Brent, you don’t lie. Now tell Brandon I don’t snore.”

Seabs pauses. “…Uh, buddy, I don’t lie.”

Patrick moans, puts his head down on the table, and doesn’t raise it until the cookies are ready.

-

Holding hands and walking down the beach while the sun is setting is—well, a month ago, Patrick would have said it was painfully cliché. Now, with Brandon’s fingers laced through his own and the golden of the sun casting their shadows back behind them and the waves lapping at their toes…. it’s still pretty cliché, but somehow he doesn’t mind so much.

“And that’s when Andy found the cat,” Brandon finishes his story, and he’s laughing, and the fading sun is in his hair, and Patrick laughs too, and then very suddenly finds himself wishing that the summer didn’t have to end, because he knows he’s going to have to say goodbye to Brandon and he honestly isn’t sure how to.

Shit.

“Race you back?” he suggests abruptly, because it’s safer than anything else he wants to say.

He only gets a glimpse of Brandon’s smile getting bigger before he turns his back and takes off running towards the house with Brandon close behind.

-

(Brandon tackles him about halfway back, presses him into the sand and kisses him soundly.

“Got you,” he says between kisses. “I win.”

Shit.)

-

They fuck holding hands that night, and Brandon kisses him when he comes. It’s so intimate, and so gentle, and Patrick gets dressed and goes back to his place in the middle of the night.

Brandon comes over later that day, and very carefully doesn’t mention it. He lets Patrick kiss him on the couch, but he doesn’t sleep over.

-

“I think that we should stop seeing each other,” Brandon says stiffly, sounding strangely formal. “Or fucking or—whatever.” He’s standing on the front step of Patrick’s place, and when Patrick steps back to let him inside, Brandon doesn’t move. “I don’t want to come in. I just—want you to know.”

Patrick comes out onto the porch and shuts the door. “I don’t want that,” he says slowly. “Why do you want that? What happened?”

“This isn’t working for me anymore,” he says. “I don’t… we should stop.”

“Something has to have happened,” Patrick insists, sounding more urgent than he means to. “Did I do something? Was it—was it the other night?”

“It was me,” Brandon says, and won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.”

“Tell me why,” Patrick pleads. “Let me fix this.”

“I didn’t mean to break it,” Brandon says quietly. “I didn’t—I tried.”

“Tried what, Brandon, please,” Patrick’s trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, and he brings a hand up to brush Brandon’s hair back behind his ear. He wonders if he always keeps it this long.

“I broke your rules,” he says, and he finally meets Patrick’s gaze. His eyelashes are long and a little clumped together. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Tell me,” Patrick says, pulls him a little closer. Their foreheads are very nearly touching, and Patrick feels like he ought to be holding his breath. “Say it.”

“I fell in love with you,” Brandon whispers. Patrick shuts his eyes, just for a moment, and when he opens them again, Brandon’s still looking right at him. So, so blue. “You said I wasn’t allowed to fall in love with you but I—but I did, and I’m not sorry, and if you want me to be sorry you can just—”

Patrick doesn’t want him to be sorry, and he doesn’t think he has the words to tell him so. He kisses him instead, one arm tight around his waist and the other gripping the back of his head. Brandon makes a shocked little noise but kisses him back, lets Patrick pull him impossibly closer.

“Don’t be sorry,” Patrick says a little desperately. “Me too, Brandon, I—I love you, too.”

-

Brandon’s new hobby is fucking Patrick until he can’t form words besides “more,” “please,” and “love you.” That last one seems to be his favorite.

-

“Hey, so,” Brandon says, looking down at his hands. “It’s the middle of August.”

Patrick pauses. “Yes, it is,” he says cautiously.

“I’m going home in a week,” he says.

Patrick sighs. “We don’t have to talk about this. I know you are. Me too.”

Brandon frowns, looks up at him. “Of course we have to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t,” he says. “We’ve got a week. So why can’t we just—enjoy it as it is?”

He’s really quiet for a really long time, long enough that Patrick starts to worry about it. When Brandon finally speaks again, he sounds far away. “Just tell me, Patrick,” he says quietly. “Am I kidding myself here? Do you think we can—we can try and make this work after the summer?”

Patrick sighs again and crosses the room to stand next to him, presses a kiss to his forehead. “No,” he says softly. “We can’t.”

-

So they don’t talk about it after that.

-

“Where did Brandon go?” Patrick asks Duncs, and looks around. The sun’s set and the bonfire’s still going strong. There are people laughing and drinking and, by all means, it looks like it’s an incredible last bash of the summer, but—but Patrick can’t find Brandon.

Duncs shrugs. “Haven’t seen him.” He glances over at Andy, who’s currently making herself a s’more. “Shawsy, you seen Saader?”

“Not in a little while,” she says, waiting until her marshmallow catches flame and then blowing it out. “Last I saw him, he was getting another beer.”

Patrick glances towards the coolers. “He’s not over there, and I just checked inside.”

Andy shrugs. “Then I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

-

He’s not around anywhere.

-

Patrick’s checked the whole house, the whole crowd out back, even went back to Nick’s dad’s place to see if he’d called it for the night. Brandon isn’t anywhere he’s thought to look, and he hasn’t texted him back.

He walks up the beach, away from the sounds of the party, and finally sees a figure sitting in the sand, close to the water.

“Brandon?” he calls, and starts to jog over.

The guy stands up, stays where he is. When Patrick gets closer, he can see that it’s him, wearing one of Patrick’s hoodies and letting the ocean wash over his bare feet.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, stepping into his space, sliding his arms around his waist. “I’ve been looking all over.”

He shrugs, looks away. His arms are crossed over his chest, solid between their bodies. “I just—needed some air.”

“At an outside party?” Patrick teases. There’s heaviness in Brandon’s voice that he doesn’t understand.

“Smoke,” Brandon says, short, and steps back. “From the bonfire.” Patrick drops his arms.

“Do you want to head back?” he asks uncertainly. “We can go inside, call it a night.”

Brandon shrugs. “Fine,” he says noncommittally, and starts walking, leaves Patrick standing in the tide.

“Brandon,” he says, startled, and rushes to catch up. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He’s quiet for a very long moment and then says, “I don’t want to leave on Sunday.”

Patrick sighs. “We agreed not to talk about that,” he reminds him, and Brandon walks a little faster. “Hey, hey—come back.”

Brandon stops and turns around to face him, and Patrick steps in close, wraps his arms around his waist. “You agreed that,” Brandon points out. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t touch him back, either. “And now I don’t want to.”

“That’s what this is, alright?” Patrick says quietly. “The summer. We both knew that.”

He sighs and brings his arms up to hug Patrick around the shoulders. “Yeah. I know. But it sucks. And I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t.”

Patrick nods, rubs his hand from the small of Brandon’s back up to his shoulder blades and down again. Brandon’s a little bit bigger than him, a fraction of an inch and a couple of pounds, but he always feels small when he holds him like this. “It sucks,” he agrees. “And I’m going to miss you.”

Brandon leans in and kisses him, real soft. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he tells him quietly.

“But,” Patrick adds, a little bit on impulse, “We get to keep this. This’ll always be the summer I got to fall in love with you.”

-

Patrick helps Brandon load up the trunk of the taxi. He almost asks him to keep in touch. Instead, he hugs him for a little too long and won’t look at him when he says goodbye.

-

Patrick goes back to Chicago in a fog. Duncs seems pretty cheery (for Duncs) and Seabs says he’s ready to start senior year, but Patrick feels like he’s lost something.

(He pretends he doesn’t know what it is that’s missing, and he does not call Brandon.)

-

“Don’t you miss Andy?” he asks Duncs without really meaning to. They’re in the kitchen of their frat house, and it’s weird to be home. It’s never been weird to come back here before.

Duncs shrugs. “I mean? It was the summer,” he says, and Patrick doesn’t have an answer to that.

-

Classes start up again. He’s doing fine. It was just the summer, and everything is fine. Rush parties are starting, and it’s literally his job as pledge chair to help make them perfect. The house gets cleaned, his suit goes on, and he is ready to schmooze.

His head has been more in the game, admittedly, but it’s fine. It’s fine.

“Hey, Sharpy,” Seabs yells across the living room. “Come here!” Patrick’s mid-conversation with the little brother of a Kappa who graduated three years ago, but he looks up anyway.

Seabs is beaming, and he’s got his arm slung around—

Holy shit.

“Excuse me,” Patrick hears himself saying, and he’s pushing through the room, and when he gets in front of him, Brandon is still right there, looking hopeful and sheepish and a little bit terrified all at once.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Um, you said you liked your frat, and my roommate, uh, Smitty, he’s over there talking to the guy in the salmon shorts, uh, he wanted to rush, so I came along, and then I bumped into Seabs, and—”

“No, no,” Patrick says. “What are you doing here, in Chicago?”

“I go here,” Brandon tells him. “I’m in engineering.”

“You go here,” Patrick says. Seabs elbows Patrick in the ribcage, and Brandon’s starting to look worried. “You—you go here, Brandon, oh my god—”

Brandon bites his lower lip, just for a second, and then Patrick yanks him into a kiss. Brandon makes a tiny surprised sound and then kisses him back, arms locked around his neck, as shameless and eager as he always is.

When he lets go of him, a small crowd has gathered, including freshly-inaugurated President Toes (in the salmon shorts) and a tallish, thick boy who has to be Brandon’s roommate.

“Sharpy,” Toes says slowly. “What’s happening here.”

“That’s Brandon,” Seabs says.

Kaner, Toes, and Crow say in unison, “Oh.”

Patrick looks horrified. “What have you told them!”

Seabs shrugs, unrepentant. “Listen, asshole, you come back all puppy eyes and moping, everybody wants to know why.”

Brandon looks at him with stars in his eyes. “You were moping?”

Patrick just gives him another kiss as an answer, which, again, gets a little… enthusiastic, and he starts to shift him towards the stairs.

“Sharpy,” Duncs reminds him. “You’re pledge chair. It’s really inappropriate to disappear during Rush to go fuck one of the potentials.”

“I resign,” Patrick says, and turns back to Brandon. “You wanna see my room, babe?”

Brandon grins at him. “I’m not sure,” he says. “Won’t it damage my chances of getting in if I’m not around to meet and greet with the other brothers? I thought I was supposed to make the rounds, be charming, make sure everyone remembers my name—”

Patrick’s got his tongue in his mouth before he finishes his sentence. Brandon is laughing and pliant and wraps his arms around his neck, and Duncs says, “Jesus Christ. Disappearing is better. Go. Go.”

Brandon, Patrick notices, has the decency to look sheepish as Patrick practically drags him up the stairs. Patrick has no such decency, and just keeps grinning.

“Your rules are stupid,” Brandon tells him once Patrick’s shut his bedroom door behind him. “If you’d let me tell you what school I was going to, we could have avoided that end of the summer angst.” He pauses. “You had angst too, right?”

“I did,” he confirms. “Which is why I put those rules in place! If we were Facebook friends, I would have been doing so much drunk Facebook stalking.”

“Or you would have known which dorm I was living in,” he points out. Brandon is much smarter than Patrick is.

“I think you should stop being a wiseass and let me suck your dick,” Patrick says.

“I bet I can do both at once,” Brandon says.

-

“Do you have any rules I need to follow?” Brandon teases, all stretched out on Patrick’s bed. “An updated set for me as your boyfriend?”

Patrick smiles and kisses his cheek. “Well, falling in love with me is highly encouraged.”

Brandon kisses his nose. “Done.”