a/n: this fic contains strong language, mentions of homophobic slurs, brad being beaten by his father and involves smut so please don't read if any of these things are going to upset you.

Patrick and Brad have never fucked; they made love. It has always been slow, steady, secure. It always had to be, for Brad, for Patrick to feel safe. It is different now, though. Five years have passed and they are both so different and yet somehow they are exactly the same to each other as they were the time they first kissed. It's just a stupid gay bar and Patrick just wanted someone to flirt with before he inevitably turned them down but now he's face to face with Brad after five years and he can't walk away, can't let this encounter end the way it did five years ago. He still thinks about that day in the cafeteria sometimes. It still stings when he recalls the word Brad threw his way, stings when he recalls the way that Brad did nothing. And it fucking hurts every time he thinks about he could even be dead, had Charlie not stepped in. Everything still hurts and he knows that the best thing to do would be to get up and walk away, leave Brad behind and find someone else who will get him through the night. He knows that is what he has to do, but when he looks into Brad's eyes all he knows is that he has to at least talk to him, that he can't leave him behind so easily, not after every misstep and apology the two of them have had to make.

"Hey." Is the first thing Brad says to him. No 'how are you', no apology, no nothing but a simple 'hey'. Patrick stares at him, wearing a whimsical look as though that one word is the most complicated thing he has ever come across in his life, and maybe it is.

"Hey." Patrick echoes, feeling almost as though he's out of his body, that it isn't really happening. His heart is pounding in his chest and he doesn't know if it's in terror or anticipation but he can't tear himself away.

"Uh... I..." Brad tries to speak but keeps trailing off, something that makes Patrick want to shake him, ask him why it's been five fucking years since he heard from him and why they're in the same gay bar and why Brad is sitting next to Patrick and has only been able to say three words, all of which mean absolutely nothing at all.

Patrick takes a sip of his beer, turning away from Brad for a moment before he can face up to the boy who took his heart and tore it in two. Five years and he thought that he had left Brad behind for good. Five years of other boys, other men and it all seems to come back to Brad right now, even though he can barely look at him thinking of how he hurt him, what he did. Yeah, Patrick knows. He knows it was hard and he knows Brad was scared and he knows that it's not fucking easy but he also knows that he is worth it, that he was worth it back then and still is now and it just sucks that Brad never got to see that. And, okay, maybe Patrick is really unsympathetic because his parents always accepted him, he always had friends who would stand by him and Brad ended up with a Dad who beat him with a belt and friends who laughed at the word 'fag' and would trip someone like Patrick as soon as look at them. No, it's not fair. It's not fair at all that Patrick can judge Brad for being so scared when he never had the support Patrick was granted every day of his sorry life. Maybe he's a dick to think about Brad like that, maybe he's just a jerk for dismissing everything he's been through, but he can't quite think about how Brad hurt him rather than how the world hurt Brad. Patrick still can't quite feel completely sympathetic for Brad because, yeah, his life was hard, but so was Patrick's. And Patrick was brave and strong and he didn't hide who he was and now he's a twenty-three year old gay guy and other than the odd violent encounter he's absolutely fine, absolutely living normally.

Except for the fact that he goes home every night to a cold apartment and an empty bed. Except for the fact that he has never been really able to stay with someone longer than six months because it never feels quite right. Except for the fact that sometimes he thinks about Brad and hates it so much that he can hardly breathe.

"I haven't seen you in five years." Patrick says, knowing that his words mean absolutely nothing, solve absolutely nothing but he says them anyway because what else is there to say?

"No." Brad says. "College, you know. Work."

It's just so fucking shitty and Patrick wants to shake Brad, shake some sense into the guy but he won't because he doesn't want to bring back old memories because Patrick knows and he's not enough of a douche to bring that upon him.

Perhaps Patrick should tell Brad that he missed him but he's at the point where he doesn't even know if that would be the truth. He has thought about Brad, yes, thought about him most days actually and some nights — but he's never admitting that to anyone but himself because it's fucking embarrassing — but it doesn't mean he missed the guy, it means next to nothing.

"How've you been?" Brad asks awkwardly, feeling the tension between the two of them.

"I missed you." Patrick says and the words are out before he can take them back and, fuck, he wishes he could but now Brad is staring at him like he's seeing him for the first time in the haze of the smoke of the joint they shared and Patrick can fucking see it now, see their first kiss and that's not what he wants, not anymore. He can't deal with a fucking boy who won't accept that he's gay and calls him a faggot and he can't deal with someone who will go back on every single time he said he loved him because of what people have done to him. He can't go through that because it nearly fucking broke him the first time and if it weren't for Sam and Charlie, Patrick just doesn't know where he would be right now.

"I missed you too."

That is the only reply he gets. Patrick scrapes back his barstool as if he's going to leave but then he remembers that he can't because there's something in his head that tells him his fate is tied to Brad's and this is not what he wants at all except it is because he has been waiting five goddamn years to see Brad again and even though all that is happening is a stilted conversation it is better than always wanting, always wondering. He pulls his stool back in, closer to Brad this time, as though the only gap between them is mere distance and can be healed by a simple movement of a stool.

"Are you out now?" Patrick asks cautiously, not wanting to bring up Brad's father but at the same time desperately wanting to know.

Brad sighs. "Mainly. My work friends know and I don't get much shit for it. I don't speak to my parents anymore and I haven't been back home in... five years."

Five years. Five fucking years and Brad hasn't seen his parents and if Patrick didn't hate the boy so much for what he did for him he'd feel sorry for him.

(Except he doesn't hate Brad, not really, and he does feel sorry for him, desperately so.)

"I'm sorry." he says, but the words come out cold and as though he doesn't mean them so he tries it again. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know, man." Brad waves it off like it means nothing and Patrick can't help but think that is how this whole conversation has gone. He just keeps thinking it over in his head about how he hates Brad but doesn't really hate him at all and what would happen if he were to just lean over and kiss him right on the lips, if Brad would kiss him back or shove him over and it's a chance that he can't afford to take right now.

"I'm happier now." Brad says. "Without Dad and Mom... They're jerks and I can't... I couldn't... You know."

Patrick understands him perfectly. "I'm happy for you." he says.

For a moment, the two of them sit in silence, watching the couples on the dance floor and both of them thinking back to five years ago and how those five years seem like such an impossible gap to breach, especially with everything that happened at the end. It feels like a lifetime ago but it still stings as keenly as it first did when Brad called him those names and even though Patrick knows they're just words and even though he had trained himself to not let them hurt him, when Brad had said the word it had felt like a knife driving right into his heart and, God, can you ever forgive someone for something like that?

"I'm sorry." Brad says. "I'm sorry I was so fucking stupid back then. I regret a lot of things, Patrick, but being with you? I could never regret that."

"Yeah." Patrick says, but it doesn't feel like he's agreeing or disagreeing at all.

Again, silence. But Brad is staring at Patrick's lips and then suddenly he is moving forwards and his lips are on Patrick's and Patrick is so stunned that for a moment he cannot react, cannot do anything but blur things over in his mind until he realises that even though he hates Brad and this is not what he wants he does not hate Brad and it is what he has always wanted. He kisses back insistently, feeling Brad for the first time in five years and letting Brad take charge this time, letting him take the lead because he never did back in high school, not when he was so afraid and Patrick was the only one who could help him until absolutely no one could help him at all. Patrick allows his mouth to open and he begins feeling the pace of the kiss, his hands travelling to Brad's hair and tangling in them. He's sure that he nearly falls off his stool and so he stands up and gets off it, not once breaking away from Brad, simply pressing closer, being there for the boy that is probably now a man but Patrick can't think that, not when there are so many things to process already. Eventually, they pull apart and Patrick just stares at Brad before re-mounting his stool and taking another sip of his drink like absolutely nothing happened.

"I don't really have words right now." Brad says. "Like, to tell you... Patrick, I just..."

Patrick just feels so unsatisfied with all the words Brad is giving him because they mean nothing but perhaps that kiss makes up for it, perhaps the look Brad is giving him makes it all okay again because he grabs Brad's hand and holds it tight, looks right into his eyes and tells him with all of his heart that he is there, without ever speaking a word. It is silent until Brad breaks it with a sentence that means a lot more than the words in it could ever express.

"Do you wanna come back to mine?" Brad says softly, as though he's expecting rejection, flinching away from Patrick's gaze.

"Yes."

..

Brad's building is, to put it lightly, fucking disgusting. The elevator is broken and the stairwell smells like piss but Patrick doesn't care at all. They creep around until they realise no one is about and Patrick kisses him against the door whilst Brad fumbles in his pockets for his keys. Patrick says nothing about how unsteady he is making the boy — fuck, the man — feel and simply keeps on kissing him like it's his last minutes on earth. Brad pulls apart from Patrick as he shakily inserts the key into the lock, only just succeeding to get it in without dropping it and Patrick smiles a geniune smile at the look on Brad's face as he draws Patrick into the apartment. Although his apartment isn't disgusting in itself, it's pretty fucking awful with a battered sofa and a dim lamp that Brad swears at when he realises he left it on. Patrick doesn't look around for long until he's kissing Brad again, not even knowing who intitiated the thing but knowing that whoever it was absolutely had the right idea. There's another door handle to fumble with but no key this time and so Patrick gets it, both of them desperately kissing each other like it's the first time and yet it isn't because the first time was so fucking different because they were both scared and yet this time it just feels right.

They make their way into the room and tear off shoes and socks before Patrick is pushed down onto the bed by the man and doesn't resist at all as Brad pins his hands down with his own whilst still pressing into him. He can feel Brad's hard on against his leg and he bucks up against him as his own cock begins to react and he can see the lust in Brad's eyes and, God, he wants him so bad. Brad moves off him and Patrick groans at the lack of contact but then his eyes flick to Brad rummaging in a drawer and he sees the condoms and lube that emerge and it doesn't seem like much of a hardship at all.

Patrick is already unbuttoning his shirt hastily as Brad comes over, fingers shaking and the buttons taking several tries to undo but he's getting there and then his shirt is off and he can feel Brad's eyes pour over his skin like it's an ancient manuscript that has never been read before. Patrick reaches his hands towards Brad and the man moves closer obligingly, allowing him to undo Brad's buttons and ease the shirt of his shoulders, making sure to take in Brad's form. He's still as fit as he was back in high school, if not more so and it takes a second for Patrick to be able to tear himself away from the view and look back to Brad's eyes. They're both shirtless and it's fucking fantastic but it's definitely not enough and Patrick is starting to hurt within the confines of his jeans and he looks up at Brad as though asking for permission and is granted that when Brad's hands move to his crotch and unbutton and unzip the pants slowly, teasing Patrick with every movement he makes. Patrick groans as he lifts his hips, allowing the man to move his jeans down and exposing himself, left only in his boxers, feeling as naked as he did the first time Brad and Patrick had sex.

"Want to touch you." Brad gets out, fingers moving as Patrick's eyes light up in a definite yes. His fingers move down Patrick's length, touching, teasing him. Patrick moves and makes unintelligible noises that cause a smile to spread across Brad's face and it is that that makes Patrick want him, need him, more.

Patrick's hands travel to Brad's pants and unbuttons and unzips them, faster than Brad did because he is not interested in foreplay right now, he needs Brad right here right now, in whatever way the man will let him have. Now both of them are naked save for their boxers and Patrick wants.

"Can I..." Brad begins, a blush spreading across his cheeks, somehow like the unsteady virgin — at least, as a gay guy — he was the night Patrick had first made love to him. "Patrick, I want to top."

Patrick's cheeks flush in response as he imagines the man inside of him and he groans slightly as he responds. "God, yes, Brad. Just get on with it."

To get the message across, Patrick peels off his own boxers and stares pointedly at Brad, asking him to do the same. Brad stares down at Patrick and his hand darts towards it for a second before shaking his head and smiling before pulling his own boxers off, leaving both of them totally exposed. Brad comes down for a kiss again, Patrick objecting only slightly before giving in to the fact that Brad wants this to last. Their lengths touch and Patrick moves his hips against the man, trying for friction and moaning as white hot sparks seem to fly through his stomach. He feels like a teenage virgin because he's so overcome already and Brad is not even inside of him. They're just kissing and, okay, pretty much humping each other, but Patrick wants a lot more before he will let himself go.

Brad seems to realise that fact and pulls away, grabbing the bottle of lube from the top of the bedside cabinet. Patrick's legs open instictively at the sight of it and a small chuckle errupts from Brad as he slicks up his fingers, never once taking his eyes off Patrick's as he does so. He quirks an eyebrow at Patrick, asking if he's ready and when he gets a smile in response he slides one finger in carefully, looking back to Patrick as he hears a hiss from him. Patrick nods at him to go on, the thought in the back of his mind of Brad stopping being absolutely unbearable. Another one goes in and Patrick yells out slightly before aborting the cry and resorting to heavy breathing instead as his cock twitches at the contact. He longs to move his hands down and give his aching member some relief but he feels like he needs to concentrate on Brad right now, needs to let him know that he is valued and trusted and, God, Patrick still can't quite figure out how this is even happening, how he's even here, but he is and it's real and he absolutely does not regret it. Brad scissors his fingers inside of him and Patrick cries out,

"Fuck, Brad!" he curses as Brad keeps moving his fingers, eyes still on Patrick and with anyone else Patrick would feel completely self conscious but now he just feels loved and adored and protected. "God, I fucking..." he trails off, not knowing what he wants to say, only knowing that if this stopped he would absolutely positively die.

A third finger is added and Patrick moans at the contact, not even knowing anymore whether he is cursing or saying Brad's name and it doesn't even seem to matter anymore as long as Brad keeps going, keeps inside of him and doesn't ever stop.

Brad draws his fingers out of Patrick and he practically wines at the loss of fullness inside of him but watches eagerly as Brad grabs the condom from the top of the bedside cabinet. He sits back on his knees and Patrick props himself up on his elbows to watch as Brad rips open the packet and rolls it on. Patrick is even more eager to watch as the man squirts lube onto his hand again and slathers it up and down his hard cock. Patrick just stares at the man, taking in his naked form and not wanting to look away, knowing that if it weren't for the painful ache he is feeling he would want to stay in this one singular moment forever.

Moving forwards, Brad places his hands on Patrick's shoulders and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Patrick arches his hips up against the man but Brad pushes him back down, a wryful smile upon his lips. With one last glance at Patrick's face, Brad slides himself into Patrick's opening and Patrick cries out, feeling every inch inside of him and wanting it harder, faster and right now.

"Are you okay?" Brad asks, warming Patrick's heart but the man has no time for such things, he just wants Brad, all of him.

"Just fuck me." Patrick groans. "Fuck me, Brad."

The words seem to break something inside of Brad and he begins moving in and out, thrusting harder and at a seemingly impossible angle that hits Patrick's prostate every single time. They have never fucked before, never asked for harder, faster, never dared. It was always something of a taboo topic, something that neither of them dared ask for because they were both scared shitless, especially on Brad's part. It had to be tender back then but now it isn't and it's hard and it's 'I fucking missed you' and 'I did so much shit to you, I'm sorry' and it's Patrick and Brad and it's something neither of them ever thought even remotely possible.

Patrick can feel sweat forming and he's sticky and gross and is going to be even stickier and grosser later but he doesn't care, he's simply caught up in the feeling of Brad inside of him which he has never had before and he doesn't know why in God's name they had never done this because it is fucking perfect.

"God, Patrick." Brad breathes as he keeps moving, hands still firmly on the man's shoulders and bracing himself as he moves in. One hand travels from shoulder to cock and he strokes Patrick's length, causing the man to groan and buck up for more contact, always needing friction, always needing Brad.

If asked, Patrick wouldn't be able to say how long either of them lasted but he would say that it felt like a century of perfection and lust and maybe some kind of lingering reminder of love still hanging in there, waiting to be re-realised. All he would be able to say is that with Brad coming inside of him, Patrick comes seconds later and the two of them fall to the bed in the afterglow of hard, fast sex. Brad's arm travels to wrap around Patrick and they find themselves cuddling, snuggling together like they're teenagers again, like it's five years ago and before the fight, before Brad's father caught them. Patrick isn't able to put words to how perfect everything feels right now but Brad is against him and has been inside him and he knows that five years of not speaking and the last weeks of high school being filled with days of ignoring Brad and the words that sting so badly when Brad says them cannot go away straight away. He is lying next to the boy that broke his heart and he cannot feel angry with him, not when his arms are wrapped around him and sheets are splayed over them and now the morning sunlight is streaming into the room. He can't be angry, no matter how hard he tries.

Maybe it will fall apart in a few days, weeks, months. But, for now, Patrick doesn't care because Brad is beside him and everything feels absolutely wonderful. It will never be the way it was five years ago and maybe that's okay because it was fucked up five years ago, because five years ago caused pain and fights and heartbreak and stupid kisses with straight boys in parks that meant nothing but that he was hurting because of Brad. Perhaps the only thing the two of them needed was time. And if five years is anything, anything at all, it is time. If those five years meant anything at all, Patrick doesn't know, but he knows what now means, what lying next to Brad in a scruffy apartment with light coming through the dusty window means.

It means that after five years, Patrick is finally on the way to forgiving him.

a/n: if you like this enough to favourite, i'd love it if you could drop by a review