How To Survive Winter In Chicago

Title: How To Survive Winter In Chicago
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: tame with swearing. PG?
Summary: Pete and Patrick, winter, fingerless gloves, hot chocolate. Lots of fluff. My first Pete/Patrick, so that's exciting I guess.

“If you have frostbite, I am going to be so fucking pissed at you.”

Pete hops over the back of the couch and snuggles up next to Patrick. “Aww, that’s sweet,” he says, grinning. Patrick tries to ignore him, but Pete is used to dealing with people trying to ignore him and he knows exactly what to do. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll just go home then.”

“Mmm,” Patrick says absently.

Pete coughs. “Home. Alone. In the cold. Without gloves. If I get cold enough, do you think my fingers will fall off?”





In retrospect, giving Pete a key to his house was a really bad idea.

Not that Patrick hasn’t known that all along, but he’s just been unpleasantly reminded by a pair of very cold, very unexpected hands on the back of his neck. “Jesus, Pete!”

Pete chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “Nice to see you too,” he says.

Patrick squirms, shifting away from the icy hands and turning to look at Pete. “Don’t you own, like, mittens or something?” he asks.

Pete shrugs and holds up a pair of fingerless gloves. Patrick decides in that moment that Pete is in fact a lost cause and turns back to the TV.

He can practically feel Pete pouting at him. “Pat-riiick,” Pete whines. “I could have frostbite and you’re watching Project fucking Runway!”

“If you have frostbite, I am going to be so fucking pissed at you.”

Pete hops over the back of the couch and snuggles up next to Patrick. “Aww, that’s sweet,” he says, grinning. Patrick tries to ignore him, but Pete is used to dealing with people trying to ignore him and he knows exactly what to do. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll just go home then.”

“Mmm,” Patrick says absently.

Pete coughs. “Home. Alone. In the cold. Without gloves. If I get cold enough, do you think my fingers will fall off?”

Patrick clicks off the TV. “Okay, okay!” he says, trying not to laugh. “I get it. Look, I’m paying attention to you. Happy?”

Pete grins and presses his nose to Patrick’s cheek. Patrick does his best not to flinch. “Very.”

“Your nose is cold,” Patrick tells him. “You are a moron. How long have you been living in Chicago?” Pete starts counting on his fingers. “Rhetorical question, idiot. I’m making hot chocolate.”

He extricates himself from Pete’s arms and makes his way to the kitchen. Pete follows him and leans against the wall, staring at him like some kind of creepy emo lost puppy. Patrick puts the water on and fishes some hot chocolate mix out of the cabinet.

Pete’s still staring.

“What?” Patrick demands, trying his best to sound appropriately annoyed.

Pete smiles benignly. “Nothing,” he says. Patrick rolls his eyes and gets out two big mugs, and when he goes back to the stove Pete comes up behind him and buries his face in the place where Patrick’s neck meets his shoulder. His breath is hot through Patrick’s hoodie and he wraps his arms around Patrick’s middle and holds tight.

“Hey Patrick?” he says after a minute.

“What?” Patrick says, taking the whistling kettle off the burner.

“I love you.”

Patrick smiles. “Yeah,” he says, pouring the water. “I know. I love you too.”