Ship: Joe/Patrick
Words: 490

"It doesn't matter how you feel
Life is just a ferris wheel
It's always up and down
Don't make a sound..."

And just like that, the blonde is asleep on my chest, his lips parted just slightly, and his breaths steady above me as I rock us back and forth gently.

I smile softly when he hugs me closer and I quickly begin brushing through his hair, knowing that helps him sleep. He had a hard day in the studio today and I offered to bring him outside for a bit to rest. He complied with a small thanks and I took him out here where we're now laying. My eyes on him, looking across every one of him beautiful features.

Now, I'm not usually a super fluffy, lovey-dovey guy but something about Patrick makes me that way. I've never felt so attached to anyone before. Emotionally, physically, mentally. But something about him just traps me. He makes me feel different than any of the other guys at the bar. He makes me feel so much different and I don't want to be with anyone else. Just the boy laying on top of me, searching for my warmth as I rock the hammock back and forth.

I continue to look across his features and bite my lip. I don't understand how he can be so self-conscious. How he can hate himself so much. He's beautiful. He so fucking beautiful. In so many more ways than he knows. I don't understand why he can't see that. Why he can't just see himself the way I see him. Why he thinks he's disgusting.

The blond hair, the light pink lips, the green-blue eyes, the softness of his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach, everything below the waist (not to mention his legs are the Fall Out Boy equivalent to Mikey Way's jawline). And somehow with all of that, beautiful, pristine, he still denied sex, afraid I would leave him because he's so disgusting...

He's gotten better. He walks through the house shirtless (still trying to cover himself a little). I always pull his shaky hands from his chest and kiss him, whispering, "You're so beautiful." In his ear. He only blushes and shakes his head with a smile, avoiding my gaze.

"You really are, Baby." I'd whisper, "So beautiful. Don't deny it."

"S-Sorry..." he'd reply, "I'm really not..."

I'd only sigh and reply, "Someday."

Now, I wonder if he still thinks himself ugly. I wonder if his opinion changes when he sleeps. If he's beautiful in his dreams.

I continue to stroke his hair gently, his smooth breaths softly turning to snores and in that moment, I'm convinced I'm the luckiest man in the world...

"I love you, Patrick. Forever and always." I whisper, and I begin to feel myself drifting off as well, eyes shut and breaths slow.

I really do...