CATEGORY: Fluff
FEATURING: synesthete!Patrick and emo!Pete
TRIGGER WARNINGS: None
PROMPT: Patrick (a synesthete) can't help but be intrigued by Pete's raspberry voice.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1,610
NOTE(S): In this story (and in real life) Patrick has synesthesia
Also I've never been to Starbucks before so I had to look up the names of the drinks they ordered

The library is quiet, just what Patrick needs. He sits at a desk in the farthest, least populated corner of the library. Sunlight streams through the big bay windows, keeping the boy warm and comfortable. It's mostly silent in the library, except for the occasional soft gray sound of footsteps, the dark blue sound of a book being taken or put back on the shelf, or the muted colors of hushed conversations.

Patrick is trying to study for an upcoming history final. He likes history well enough, but his teacher is kind of confusing and wanders from topic to topic like a stray animal wanders from place to place. Besides, he missed a class last week when he had the flu.

Flipping open the textbook in front of him, Patrick puts his noise-canceling headphones on. He doesn't turn his music on, however; all the colors would distract him. Instead, he uses his headphones to block out the surrounding world just a tiny bit more. He's trained himself to feel relaxed and focused when his headphones are on, whether there's music coming from them or not, and it's a greatly helpful skill when he's got to study.

He reads for a bit, carefully turning page after page. It's peaceful, in that hidden corner of the library.

For a while, anyway.

About twenty minutes into Patrick's studies, he hears a sudden green sound. Startled, he quickly looks up.

A boy has pulled out the chair two desks away from his; the green sound was probably the noise the chair's feet made as they scraped against the carpet. As the boy sits, Patrick studies him. He has wispy blonde hair that clearly has been dyed at least once, if his dark roots are any indication. His eyes are a yellow-brown, and there's a black backpack over his shoulder. In fact, most of the boy's clothes are black--his jacket, his t-shirt, his torn jeans, his boots. Most would call him emo, or goth, but Patrick thinks it looks elegant on him, somehow. Very fitting.

He realizes that he's been staring, and he looks back at his textbook again, adjusting his headphones over his ears.

He manages to study for about fifteen more minutes before he feels a light tap on his shoulder. Closing his book, Patrick glances up to see the stranger. He takes off his headphones, to be respectful, and lets them hang loose around his neck.

"Hey. Sorry to bother you, but I think I recognize you from somewhere, and I'm trying to figure out where."

Patrick blinks, slightly surprised. The boy's voice is a mix between pink, purple, and red--raspberry-colored. Patrick has noticed lots of different voice colors, certainly other combinations of pink and purple and red. But this one may be the only one he can define as raspberry.

Additionally, the color doesn't really seem to fit the boy's appearance at all. With all the black clothing, the dark circles under his eyes, and the quiet expression, Patrick would have expected him to be a dark purple or blue, maybe a husky gray.

As he looks at the boy's face a little more, he realizes that he does indeed look familiar, although he's not sure where he's seen him before. "You do look a little familiar."

The boy squints at him for a moment, then picks up Patrick's fedora from the desk and puts it on top of Patrick's head. He takes a step back, looking satisfied. "Yeah, I definitely know you. Mr. Way's class at ten?"

The boy must be another student in Patrick's English class at school. "Yeah!"

"Nice. I'm Pete, by the way."

"Patrick."

"Studying for finals, Patrick?" Pete moves forward again, lightly leaning against the desk.

Patrick nods, glancing back up at Pete. His raspberry voice is soft, and sort of cloudy; it's certainly an interesting combination. He can't believe he hasn't noticed it in class before.

"Me, too. Is it okay if I study with you?" Pete asks.

"Sure." Patrick scoots his books to the side, and Pete pulls up another chair.

The two study together for a while, although Patrick has a little trouble concentrating. Pete seems to intrigue him, in a way he doesn't quite understand yet. It's something about his slightly blended hair, the way the blonde mixes with the brown. It's something about the way he fits jokes into a casual conversation, making it funnier and more interesting. And of course, it's about his raspberry voice. Truthfully, Patrick can't get enough of it.

Finally, both boys feel as if they've studied enough for the day, and decide to call it quits. As they put their things into their respective backpacks, Pete speaks.

"Would you like to get some coffee or something?" He slings his backpack over his shoulder loosely. "I need some caffeine."

Is Pete...asking him out? No, Patrick's probably reading too much from the offer. "Sure." He slips his arms into the straps of his backpack, and follows Pete through the library to the world outside.

For Patrick, every sound in the world has a color--cars honking, footsteps on pavement, people talking, a cell phone ringing. When he was younger, these colors seemed to overwhelm him, and he was afraid to go into the bustling city. However, as he got older, he grew more used to the colors, and now he can tune them out well enough to focus on basic tasks like walking and talking.

It's better for him to be out with someone than on his own, though, so Patrick is glad that Pete's at his side. He follows the taller boy's lead to the Starbucks down the street.

The inside of the Starbucks is full of voices, each its own color--bright yellow, soft blue, sweet green, and many more. Patrick gets a little distracted by the voices, and he blushes a dark red when Pete touches his arm to get his attention. "You want something, or...?"

"Um, yeah, I'll have a white chocolate mocha."

Pete orders for them both, getting a caffé americano for himself. Patrick starts to pull his wallet out of his denim jacket, but Pete stops him. "Nah, I got this one." He pulls a few crumpled up fives out of his pocket.

"You sure?" Patrick hesitates, his hand still in his jacket.

Pete nods and puts the money on the counter. "Mhm."

As the cashier gives Pete his change, Patrick wonders what Pete might have been implying about 'this one.'

The two boys head over to an empty table, and hang their backpacks on the back of their chairs. Pete pulls out his phone briefly, giving Patrick a moment to look him over.

Before, they were studying, and so Patrick had to pay attention to something else, but now he can admire Pete for Pete, and not for his history notes. He's free to take note of Pete's slightly tanned skin, and the bit of intensity in his whiskey eyes as he types on his phone. There's a song playing on the intercom, and Pee hums along quietly, sweet raspberry mingling with creamy white.

Pete fetches their coffee when the barista calls his name, and he slides Patrick's over to him. "For you, good sir," he says, with a grin on his face.

Patrick finds himself smiling back. "Thanks, Pete." (A/N: Oops my hand slipped)

Without schoolwork in their way, they talk about other things. Those other things mainly include their hobbies, interests, and lives outside of school. Pete asks Patrick about the band pins on his jacket, and they talk about music. They both like the same type of music, as it turns out, and a few of the same bands. Pete talks about one of his favorite bands, Five Finger Death Punch, and recommends a few songs for Patrick to listen to. Silently, Patrick makes a note to listen to them as soon as he gets home.

Normally, when first meeting and getting to know a person, Patrick wouldn't be so intrigued. He knows this. It's clear to him that he's attracted to Pete. Being gay, Patrick probably should have seen this coming.

Some part of his brain keeps trying to get him to say something about it to Pete, but Patrick always shuts it down before he can bring it up. He's afraid to mention that he's gay, even, in case Pete is homophobic.

Eventually, they both finish their coffees, and they both step outside of the Starbucks. Pete is saying something about the history final, and he's probably about to leave, and Patrick is suddenly overcome with this irrational but powerful fear that they're never going to speak to each other again. And god damn it, if they're never going to speak to each other again, he may as well do this.

The thought only gives Patrick a short bit of bravery, of confidence, but it's enough, and Pete is mid-sentence when Patrick quickly leans in and presses his lips to his.

Pete clearly wasn't expecting this, because he stays completely frozen. Patrick pulls back, embarrassment making his cheeks flush, and he looks down, taking a step backwards. "I-um, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

This time he's the one getting interrupted, as Pete moves in and kisses him. Patrick completely forgets what he was going to say, because this time Pete is kissing him and he tastes like coffee, and he's holding Patrick's shoulders, and the rest of the colors in the world seem to tune out.

It's over too soon for Patrick's liking, but as Pete breaks the kiss, Patrick remembers that they're still in public. Feeling even further embarrassed, he straightens his jacket and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Here," Pete says. He looks just as flustered as Patrick feels.

"Here?"

"Meet me here," Pete clarifies. "Tomorrow." There's a question in his eyes, one that he seems almost afraid to ask out loud.

A smile plays across Patrick's lips, and he nods, briefly grasping Pete's hand to answer his unasked question. "Tomorrow."