Assuming Patrick didn't die from the flu and is alive because yes. Also, necessary.
Fluff, all of the fluff. So much.
.,.,.
"Carl Grimes, coming up the left side." It might have been ridiculous, but he felt the need to commentate the shot. "He's approaching the hoop, dribbling fast—ha!" he exclaimed while expertly dodging a swipe from Patrick.
Carl turned a complete three-sixty and stepped around Patrick. Grinning madly, he jumped and launched the ball right toward the hoop. The ball fell through the net with a distinct swoosh.
Carl jumped and hollered, "And the crowd goes wild!"
Patrick frowned and glared resentfully at the other's celebrations. In the way that his lips puckered a tiny bit so that they looked wrinkled, his eyebrows pushed together slightly. "That was a cheap shot," he said.
Carl smirked smugly. Proud at the win and the resentment it had caused. "Green isn't a very nice color on you, Pat."
He couldn't help it—Patrick blushed loudly. There was something about losing and getting teased for the same person who had won, and Carl at that.
"I'm just saying. Maybe if you spent less time commentating your own shots—"
"And doing what? Watching you get your butt whooped?" he asked, grinning brilliantly.
They were just a foot apart. Patrick could see the intricate details in the other's lurid blue irises. It kind of took his breath away, how pretty they were. Getting distracted wasn't new. It was getting distracted by Carl. And more and more recently.
Patrick swallowed before delivering his reply, "That's it young sir. Two out of three now."
Carl gave a genuine laugh at that. His cheeks flushed. The freckles sprinkled sparingly across his cheeks stood out in high relief. He leaned forward slightly, an arm across his middle as he seriously giggled.
Patrick let out a breath, taken by the display. It stirred something inside of him. Something like butterflies. Hundreds of tiny butterflies flapping around in his stomach.
"Okay," Carl said once he regained a bit of his composure. "You're on."
That stellar grin was like a punch to the gut. The butterflies crawled up his throat. Minutes passed like years, centuries passing by. Carl punched him lightly in the arm, and Patrick gave a small jump.
"Hello? Earth to Patrick?" Carl chuckled a bit as Patrick slowly logged back into the present. "Your shot, dude."
"Oh um…" he drew a blank. "What?"
Carl opened his mouth to answer, but not before a coarse voice prevented him from doing so.
"Carl!"
They both turned at the sound. From a good ways away, Rick stood and waved him over. Patrick shared a glance with Carl, who shrugged. He watched as Carl scooped up his hat before starting into a light jog to head toward Rick.
"Oh!" Carl doubled back. "Uh, rain check on that?"
Patrick glanced at Rick, who was minding the delay very patiently. Then he turned back to Carl. Those eyes were going to be the death of him.
He smiled gently. "Yeah, it's alright."
The wind blew a bit of hair into their eyes but Patrick clearly saw the wink Carl gave him before heading off again. Patrick stood there for a long while, the butterflies going absolutely berserk in his stomach.
.,
A cool breeze rolled in. It was refreshing and much welcomed in the day's heat. Fall couldn't be farther away, it seemed. And summer was only just beginning.
Patrick stood at ease in front of the basketball hoop. Every so often the ball would fall through the net with a nice swish. But more often than not it bounced off the rim, rolling off far away. Practice made perfect, he supposed.
Usually he played with Carl. The other kids were either too young or vastly uninterested. Of course, Carl was away working hard at his chores. Patrick would be too, except Carol had given him the day off from helping with the cooking, so there wasn't much to do.
Patrick sighed. He scored a simple shot that made a soft whish in the net.
"Nice shot," an even voice commented.
Patrick turned around quick, startled by the sound. Carl smiled almost sheepishly. He had his hands in his pockets, while his hat threw a shadow on his face. The butterflies awoke again.
"Did I scare you?" he asked.
You would like that, wouldn't you? Patrick thought but didn't say.
He let a small huff of air out through his nostrils. "Just nearly the daylights out of me, thanks."
Another gentle, cool breeze rolled in. Carl rubbed the tip of his foot around in the ground nervously.
Carl smiled abashedly. "Sorry?" he offered hopefully.
Patrick wasn't about to let him off easy. Or look like he had forgiven him already at least. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
The color in his cheeks brightened. "My dad cut me some slack."
"Really?" Patrick asked, a bit surprised. Not that he believed Rick to be that strict, but it was the middle of the day. It was suspicious, but he wasn't about to complain.
The ball had rolled off in the opposite direction from where they stood. It sat against the fence, round and a pretty washed out orange. The indents, long ago black, were now a dusty gray. Glenn had stumbled across it and filled it with air. Despite its weathered hue, it was in pretty good shape. Patrick moved to retrieve it.
"Yeah. So," Carl started casually. "How about that rematch?"
Patrick fumbled with the ball. "Of course, yeah."
To look more natural he decided to bounce the ball off the ground a few times. Almost as he weren't seeing Carl watch him with a certain intensity. It wasn't uncomfortable though.
"And Patrick?" Carl asked quietly.
He was surprisingly close. That Patrick definitely noticed. He couldn't look away from him. Their breaths intermingled, warm and soft and surprisingly minty. The lows and highs of his eyes were startling up close, a cool, understated blue-green. The way he looked up through his eyelashes made Patrick's heart clench. The butterflies crawled up his throat again.
"Yeah?" he managed.
At that, Carl closed the distance. Their lips connected softly at first, like breezes against eager skin. Then they both pushed forward a bit, crushing their lips together. Patrick made a small noise of content and reached up to cradle Carl's cheek. Tingles raced across his skin. The euphoria was enough to send his heart flying.
An ear-splitting wolf-whistle broke through the air. Patrick and Carl disconnected abruptly, looking alarmed at the sudden sound.
Michonne stood at the other end of the yard alongside Daryl. The grin she wore was unmistakably smug. Patrick drew his hand away from Carl like he'd been burned and Carl stumbled backwards away from him.
"Don't stop on our account," Daryl chuckled.
Patrick's voice trembled. "When did you guys get here?"
"Just now," Michonne answered cheerfully.
Carl flushed, red all over. "What are—why are you here?" he demanded.
"Your dad said you disappeared, so we decided to look for you," Michonne answered. Carl went rigid. "But it seems you're in good hands," she added pointedly. Daryl snorted.
Carl wasn't amused. He began in a sharp-edged tone, "Don't tell—"
"We won't tell your dad," Michonne finished with a nod.
"Naw," Daryl agreed. "That's for y'all to deal with. Ain't our business."
Michonne shrugged. "Can't guarantee we won't encourage you to, though."
Daryl added, "You two been like some damn romance novel for weeks. Been wondering when you lovebirds were gunna get it done with."
Carl groaned miserably. He practically glowed red. Patrick just stood there, frankly horrified. Michonne laughed lightly and clapped him on the shoulder. A moment passed in a mixture of mortified and amused silence. All of the party were either grinning in amusement or blushing furiously out of embarrassment.
"Hey cheer up, this means we can double date!"
Carl only groaned again, hiding his face under the cover of his hat.
"Hah," Patrick mumbled mirthlessly.
After regaining whatever sense of dignity that they had left, Carl picked up his head with cheeks aflame. He addressed Patrick directly, ignoring the other two completely.
"C'mon Patrick, we have a game to finish," he grumbled, walking away.
"Oh so it's a game then?" Michonne said with the biggest grin. "Who's winning?"
Carl spun around, mouth agape in horror.
"Oh my god," Carl said in mortification. "I meant the game we—you know, whatever."
He strode off for the ball. Patrick would swear he saw him roll his eyes. With both Michonne and Daryl's gazes on him, Patrick floundered.
He stuttered, "It—it's the basketball game—we're not—it's not—"
"Patrick!"
"Coming," he replied quickly while making haste to follow Carl.
"Have fun with your game!" Michonne called after them.
Daryl chimed in, "Let us know who wins!"
Carl ignored them, sporting a stony expression. The two of them left shortly. For the rest of the day Carl and Patrick shot hoops and lost track of how many points they had won several times. It was an absolute mess, and they figured the first to tap out was the loser. At sundown, they both called it quits and headed back inside the walls of the prison, blushing furiously as they walked hand in hand.
.,.,.
Sorry for the cheesy ending. Though they are the best kind. Also, ship Captains Michonne and Daryl represent!
Side note, take the "totes double dating" thing as you will.
Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you thought, if you've got the time!
Have a super nice day!