By Foot It's a Slow Climb (1/2): gift for romanticalgirl

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Title: By Foot It's a Slow Climb, or, Coffee Delivery and Unexpected Consequences Thereof
Author: alpheratz
Pairing(s): Pete/Gabe
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Word count: 17.5K
Summary: Gabe was happily unattached and married to his company, and then one day he ordered coffee.


Cobra Enterprises resides in a glass and concrete palace, and it's Gabe's domain. His desk is pristine and gleaming with reflected light flooding in through the full-wall window. Gabe's shoes are gleaming too, and the street below is clean, shiny, and orderly. It gives him aesthetic satisfaction.

He snaps shut the file in his hands and turns around. Victoria's in the doorway, looking even more immaculate than her surroundings. Shiny, shiny hair, neat black dress, lethal heels that mysteriously don't make a sound even when she walks with purpose.

"I'm done with this," says Gabe. "Throw it on the heap."

"Don't insult my fucking filing system," sniffs Victoria, but takes the file. "Did you even do anything with this other than read it?"

"It's sweet that you think I even read it," says Gabe. He's not even sure what was in it. Reading the files is not his thing.

Victoria rolls her eyes, but smiles at him. Then she freezes. "Do you smell something?"

"Who smelt it, dealt it," Gabe says just to make her roll her eyes again. She doesn't bite. "Wait," he says. There is a smell. "Mikey Way, you motherfucker."

Gabe grabs Victoria's hand and follows the scent down the dimly lit hallway, past empty offices with their blinds down - he's going to have words with whoever did that - towards reception. There's a distant sound of the elevator chime. Victoria's shoes are completely silent. He's going to have to cave someday and ask her how she does that.

When the reception desk comes into view, Gabe slows down and presses his finger to his lips to shush Victoria. That gets an eyeroll. She doesn't need the warning. She's always in tune with Gabe.

The reception desk is even cleaner and infinitely more impressive than Gabe's desk, and Gabe has the best office on the entire floor. Appearances matter. The receptionist must be intimidating. The right person to represent the striking cobra carved into the wood of the desk didn't come along for a long time, and even when he did, Gabe wasn't sure he was the right fit. Mikey Way is deceptively non-intimidating.

Of course, Mikey Way is also a traitor, because he's drinking coffee.

"Was that Gerard?" Gabe demands loudly in hopes of startling Mikey. "Did he bring you that?"

Mikey only slowly turns, sipping the coffee like he's doing nothing wrong. "Yes."

"You can't drink that in here," says Gabe petulantly.

"Why not?" Mikey asks. His expression is blank but Gabe knows he's laughing.

"You can't have things that don't bear our logo in here." Gabe turns to Victoria for support, but she's already gone, as silently as ever.

"New policy?" Mikey asks dryly.

Gabe nods. "Victoria will tell you."

"And she's conveniently gone." Mikey turns the cup sideways, waving it at Gabe. There's some kind of Sharpied scribble on it, thick stark black against the white cardboard.

Gabe leans in to examine it. "That's not our design."

Mikey shrugs. "It's a cobra logo. It looks pretty rad and you're overdue for a redesign."

The cobra does look pretty rad, but...

"He spelled 'cobra' wrong," Gabe points out. Mikey's eyes narrow and Gabe pumps his fist on the inside. Mikey-baiting through Gerard is a game he plays with relish. There are notches in washable ink on the underside of his desk. "I know he majored in art, not English, but I'm surprised he doesn't know there isn't a 'K' in it."

"I'll mention it to him," says Mikey blandly, but Gabe hears the threat in it anyway.

"White flag, Mikey Way. I apologize." An annoyed, artistically insulted Gerard in his lobby isn't something Gabe can deal with again.

Mikey drinks deeply and tauntingly, hiding a smile behind the cup. That's the final straw.

"Please order us coffee," says Gabe firmly. "One for everyone."

"None for me, thanks," says Victoria. "And Alex and Nate are out on a call."

Gabe jumps. "You weren't there half a second ago. You left."

"Someone has to do work around here."

"You just went to the bathroom, didn't you?" Gabe asks. Victoria doesn't react, just turns and walks away in the direction of her office. Gabe loves to watch her go. "Right. Mikey, coffee for two, please."

"That was a short-lived policy," Mikey says, but picks up the phone and dials. Of course he knows the local business numbers by heart. Gabe leans over Mikey's desk and watches him place the order from up close, getting all up in his face.

"No, we want it delivered," Mikey says, twisting away from Gabe. "Yeah. Three coffees."

"Two," Gabe says loudly.

Mikey slaps his hand over Gabe's mouth and pushes him away as he rattles off the address. "Yeah. Twenty minutes is great. Thanks."

"Mikey, did you just order yourself more coffee? Is Gerard's coffee not good enough? Should I have a talk with him?"

"Don't you have to work?"

"Not really," says Gabe and propels himself away from Mikey's desk, walking over to the window behind it. The glass is so clear it's like it's not even there. It's another tactic. Blind them with appearances.

He glances over his shoulder at Mikey. He's got four chat windows pulled up, which is fewer than average, so Gabe lets it go.

Down in the street, there are hardly any cars and not many pedestrians. It's well past lunchtime and their street doesn't get that much foot traffic. It makes the business look elite. That's why Gabe spots him right away, the small figure in slim-cut jeans and a hoodie, non-notable clothes except for the way they're him, not lazy day wear. Black hair and a coffee tray.

The coffee boy disappears into the building and a few seconds later Gabe hears the nearly imperceptible chime of the elevator opening downstairs. The coffee is coming.

The coffee boy isn't a boy but a guy about Gabe's age, just one dressed like a college student. And short. Very short. He looks around and shuffles up to the glass doors of Cobra Enterprises like his awkwardness is a lifestyle choice he's embracing.

The coffee guy pulls the right half of the heavy doors open and slips inside sideways, not so much balancing the coffee tray as clutching it to his chest with his free arm. Nothing spills. Gabe is impressed.

"Right here," says Mikey, and the coffee guy sets the coffee on the bright edge of the reception desk. Mikey snaps one of the cups out of the tray before Gabe even gets close and licks the opening of the lid. "Mine," says Mikey.

The coffee guy stares. "Is there not enough? You ordered three, right?"

"There's too much," says Gabe, leaning against the desk and watching the coffee guy's eyes flicker down his stretched legs.

"Okay," the coffee guy says, drawing the word out. It's insultingly dubious.

"No, tell me, coffee guy," Gabe says. "Mikey here already had a cup of coffee. His own brother brought it to him. Gerard tore himself away from his art--"

"He was procrastinating," Mikey interrupts.

"--tore himself away from his art," Gabe says with a glare, "and trekked halfway across town--"

"Across the street."

"--to bring Mikey coffee. He even drew a badly spelled picture on the cup. And Mikey ordered himself more coffee."

Coffee guy gives Gabe a weirded-out look and holds out his hand to Mikey for a fist-bump. "Coffee rules, dude," he says. "I'd be dead in a mangled van on the side of the road if not for it. You want another after that, you call me."

"Thanks, man," says Mikey.

Coffee guy picks up Mikey's old cup from the desk and squints at the Sharpied cobra on it. "Your brother drew that? That looks pretty rad."

"That's what I said," says Mikey with a totally uncalled-for look in Gabe's direction. "My brother is an artist," Mikey tells Pete with pride in his voice.

"Okay!" says Gabe. "Coffee guy, thanks for the coffee, but it's time for us to get back to work."

"Uh-huh," says coffee guy, casting a dubious look around the lobby and the deserted corridors to either side. "Is it a clutter-free mind kind of thing?"

"It's all smoke and mirrors," Gabe says, shooing him to the door and hitting the elevator button. "We're very, very fucking busy."

Coffee guy's eyes are dark and unimpressed and trained on Gabe as the elevator doors slide shut.

"Who was that?" Gabe asks, still staring at the elevator doors long after they slide shut.

"I've seen him at a couple of shows," says Mikey. "Never met him."

Gabe bites back a request to find out, even though finding things out is part of Mikey's job, and instead says, "Order more coffee tomorrow, okay? Same time."

"Kay," says Mikey, already distracted.

"And stop chatting."

"Sure," says Mikey, typing away.

Gabe shakes his head and takes the last cup to bring to Ryland. Ryland's office is in the furthest corner of the building, opposite Gabe's office. He has two glass walls, but Gabe doesn't begrudge Ryland that. Ryland and the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out and feet on the desk, fit this office well.

"Ryland, my friend," Gabe tells the back of Ryland's head. "I got you coffee."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Ryland says, craning his neck around and accepting the cup. "Do you mean you actually went out to buy it or you called out for it?"

"I asked Mikey to call."

Ryland nods sagely. "Delegating. The basis of our business model."

"Exactly." Gabe sits down. "A coffee guy brought it."

"That's how delivery works, yes."

"I don't think he was very impressed with me."

"I saw him walking here," says Ryland. "He didn't look like the kind of person who's easily impressed."

Gabe generally trusts Ryland's judgment from more than five stories above, but this is ridiculous. "Everyone's the kind of person who is easily impressed if you know how to impress them."

"Except for you?" Ryland asks blandly. "This is good coffee. We should get it delivered every day."

"I work on that shit," Gabe says, gesturing emphatically. "And yes, we should. So I can evaluate and impress the coffee guy. That didn't come out right."

Ryland gives him a measuring look. "Pulling the pigtails of delivery people isn't in our mission statement."

"I'm going to petition to change our mission statement, then," Gabe says decisively. "Make a note of it for our next board meeting."

Ryland nods and pulls up his calendar. "That's at the bar next Thursday."

"That's soon enough," Gabe nods.

"Do you think we should be revising the mission statement wasted?"

"Wasted is where genius lies, Ryland."

Ryland nods. "It's on the agenda."

***

The next day Gabe reminds Mikey to call out for coffee again and lurks in his office with his face pressed to the glass until he sees the coffee guy walking over. He's glancing up at the windows and Gabe almost pulls back before he remembers that the glass is mirrored. "Smooth," he tells himself and runs a hand over his tie.

He sneaks down the hallway, practicing Victoria's silent walk, and meets Mikey's stare. He was completely silent, he knows, but Mikey's got the hearing of a small woodland rodent, always on the alert.

Gabe sticks his head out of the hallway into the lobby and waits. The elevator chimes sweetly and coffee guy steps out with a tray of three coffees. Today the hoodie is different, purple instead of green, but the jeans and kicks are the same.

Mikey's still shooting Gabe a Look and Gabe flaps his hand at him to act normal. That might be beyond Mikey, but he can at least look at coffee guy instead of Gabe. That should be easy because coffee guy is fascinating.

Gabe watches him do through the same coffee-to-chest clutching procedure to get through the heavy door and pulls back just as coffee guy makes it inside the lobby and sets the coffee onto Mikey's desk.

"Thanks, Pete," Mikey says with a toothy smile and the coffee guy grins back. He's got laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. Coffee guy gets a toothy smile now? And Mikey knows his name? And his name is Pete?

"Coffee guy!" Gabe says, making his entrance.

The coffee guy jumps gratifyingly. "I know you heard my name, strange tall dude."

"But we haven't been introduced," Gabe says, taking a coffee out of the tray.

"It's Pete," says Pete.

Gabe nods. "For all I know, Mikey could've made your name up."

Pete gives Gabe the same unimpressed look as the day before, laugh lines gone, and turns to leave, but as he pushes the glass door, the elevator chimes open again and Gerard walks out with two coffee cups, right on cue.

Mikey's face lights up with the same toothy smile and Gerard beams back, blinding even from fifteen feet away.

"Pete, stay for a bit," says Mikey. "You gotta meet Gerard."

The laugh lines come back even though this smile is more cautious. "That's Gerard," Gabe says helpfully. "Resident loiterer, bad speller."

"Fuck off, Gabe," says Mikey.

"I'm your boss," says Gabe, mentally adding another notch to his desk.

"So what's strange tall dude's problem?" Pete asks Gerard in the same awkward monotone he says everything, then adds, "Hi, I'm Pete. You really come here every day by choice?"

"You heard my name," Gabe mutters, leaning on the desk and watching Pete and Gerard make awkward but pleasant conversation that jumps from coffee to loitering to Gerard's art to his gallery show the week after, and then Gerard's inviting Pete to the show and Pete is grinning and Gabe is scowling.

Mikey pokes him. "What is your problem?"

"Nothing," Gabe says and makes himself stop scowling. His poker face is unparalleled.

Gerard finally waves goodbye at Pete and comes up to the desk. "Oh, you already have coffee," he says in a disappointed voice.

"Yours is better," says Mikey firmly, examining the doodle on the side of the cup, a more streamlined version of the cobra from the day before in the same confident strokes of black sharpie. "Thanks."

"That guy you were just talking to brought it," says Gabe.

"Pete," Gerard says with a smile. "He was nice."

Pete wasn't nice at all, but Gabe gets distracted from that train of thought by Mikey and Gerard's silent communication. "For the record, the staring is creepy. And stop talking about me."

"But you're so interesting," says Gerard.

"I need to talk to you about you distracting Mikey from work, Gerard. And about sarcasm."

"You're not distracting me," Mikey tells Gerard.

"Really, don't you have any work to do?" Gabe says, but he's still thinking about Pete's unimpressed eyes for Gabe and his wide smile for Mikey, his white teeth and crinkly eyes, and suddenly entertaining himself at the Ways' expense isn't as important.

"Don't you have any work to do?"

He doesn't. "Good point," Gabe says vaguely. "I'm gonna..." He waves in the direction of his office. "I'm gonna go. See you around, Geeway."

Pete's annoyed expression keeps bugging Gabe all afternoon and evening, long after Mikey and everyone else leaves. Gabe stays at work, turns off the light and rolls his chair up to the window, watching office building lights go out one square after another, replaced by neon signs below them.

Then it starts to rain, a wet slow drizzle that hangs in the air and clings to the glass like it's terrified of heights. It blurs the lights outside, and Gabe shakes off his lethargy and springs into action.

The hallway is very dim, illuminated by the light spilling out from above Mikey's deserted desk in the lobby, which is never dark. The light is always shining on the cobra. Gabe makes his way there and tries all the buttons on Mikey's incomprehensible phone setup until he finds the outgoing calls menu.

Three buttons later, he's dialing and placing an order. It turns out Pete has a late shift. Gabe had a hunch that was the case. Pete has that look about him like he's more comfortable in the dark, late at night when everything seems less real than in the morning.

He knows now that it'll take Pete twenty minutes until he rounds the corner of the block and walks up to the entrance. Gabe stands in front of the window for a while, trying to make out shapes in the street, but with the light in the lobby and the darkness outside he only sees his face mirrored in it, broken up by the globes of raindrops trembling on the other side of the glass.

Instead, he makes rounds down the dim hallways: his business, his kingdom, his joke. Alex's office with Minesweeper still pulled up on the screen, Nate's office where the computer hasn't been turned on in weeks. The filing room by Victoria's office lined with slim manila folders.

The phone rings softly, which means Pete's downstairs, in the rain by the door that locks after seven. Gabe sprints back to the lobby, picking up the phone on the last ring and jabbing nine to let Pete in.

He takes one last look at his reflection in the window, smoothing down his tie and jacket, and watches the elevator doors. The chime sounds downstairs, barely distinguishable from the soft tapping of the rain, and something pulls at Gabe's stomach.

He opens the glass lobby doors, leaning on the half Pete came through last time with his entire body. Pete's eyes narrow as soon as he sees Gabe. His hood is pulled up. It wasn't raining that hard and the raindrops are shivering on the hood and sleeves unabsorbed.

"Wow," says Pete. "I really can't figure out what you're playing at, but if your goal is to be confusing and an asshole, well done."

"I'm glad you didn't get too wet," Gabe says with a charming smile and motions for Pete to come in.

Pete squeezes past Gabe and sets the coffee cup on the desk with a thunk. "I was about to clock out when you called."

"But you were still on shift."

Pete sighs. "Yeah."

Gabe takes the cup and gives Pete a once-over. "How did Mikey know your name this afternoon?"

"Sometimes people make an effort and find these things out. Can I go?"

That's just offensive. Gabe makes an effort when he needs something. He just doesn't need anything from Pete. "Sure."

Pete presses the elevator button and raises his eyebrow when Gabe stands next to him. "Do I need a keycard for it or something?"

Gabe shakes his head. "I'm ready to head out, that's all."

Pete presses his lips together but doesn't reply, and the silence is awkward when they get in. Gabe is usually awesome with silences, and the way Pete is deliberately not paying attention to him is exactly like attention, so that makes the silence easier to handle. But he's still almost relieved when the elevator jerks to a halt and his coffee splashes out onto his hand.

Pete's nearly knocked off his feet. He stumbles into Gabe's side, his hoodie leaving a wet print on the sleeve of Gabe's jacket.

"Whoa," Gabe says, catching Pete around the shoulders and balancing the coffee with his other hand. "Oh, fuck."

"Oh, fuck no," says Pete. "This has got to be a joke."

"This is no joke," Gabe says grimly, examining the cuff of his shirt. "That is my favorite shirt. They don't make it anymore."

Pete makes an incredulous noise and steps away, jerking Gabe's arm loose. "We're stuck in an elevator and you're worried about your shirt?"

He looks really worried and his eyes aren't sad or unimpressed or crinkly - they're frantic. "Hey, dude, it's cool," Gabe says. "We'll just call the mechanic. No big."

"No big to you," Pete mutters and leans into the corner farthest from Gabe, leaving Gabe to deal with the panel of controls.

"Okay," Gabe whispers. He's not sure there's a mechanic. He's never seen anyone in this office building other than his staff and Pete. But he button's there, shiny instructions all polished, so he hits it.

It doesn't work. No reply at all.

"It's eight pm on a Friday," Pete spits from the corner. "Of course no one's there. No one expects anyone to stick around this long in an office building on a Friday night."

"I'm special," Gabe says, thinking fast while pushing the button again. "Hello?"

Pete gives an annoyed huff.

"Look, I appreciate that this situation is slightly annoying, but it'll be less annoying if you try to stay calm," Gabe suggests reasonably.

Pete presses his lips together and glares at Gabe.

"Awesome!" Gabe says brightly. "I'm just going to text Victoria and get her to find someone to get us out."

Gabe's reception is iffy, but a text finally goes through. "See?" he says, shutting the phone down so Victoria can't call him to yell. "That was easy. She always checks her phone."

There's no reply. "Pete?"

Pete doesn't look good. He's pale, breathing shallowly, and there's a wrinkle between his squeezed-shut eyes.

Gabe's stomach drops. He'd rather look at Pete when he's angry than this. "Claustrophobic?" he asks lightly, setting his coffee cup carefully on the floor and taking Pete's hands in his. Pete's pulse is hammering. "That's okay, dude, just sit down."

Gabe helps Pete slide down onto the floor. Pete pulls his hands away from Gabe's and hugs his knees to his chest, putting his head down onto them.

Gabe gets on his knees next to him. "Breathe slow."

Pete lifts his head and snarls, "I fucking know. Fuck."

"Sorry." Gabe looks around the elevator. "Do you want some water? Well, coffee. There's no water."

Pete flips him a very lethargic bird and starts to shiver.

"Hey," Gabe says helplessly and inches forward on his knees. Pete's so small, curled up into as close to a ball as possible. Gabe reaches out and slides two fingers under Pete's wrist again. Pete doesn't shake him off, which makes Gabe feel even more helpless. "It's going to be okay."

"Not my first panic attack," Pete mumbles into his knees.

Gabe mentally says "fuck it" to everything, including his jacket, because it'll never be the same again after the water stains, and wraps his arms around Pete, holding him tight and absorbing his shaking with his body until it subsides and stops. Pete smells good and his hair is soft where his hood slipped down.

"I hope Victoria isn't on a date," Gabe thinks out loud. "If she's planning on getting laid, she might not come rescue us."

Maybe Gabe shouldn't have said that, but Pete seems to be reviving, getting a little warmer and shaking a bit less. "Maybe she's on a bad date," Pete mumbles. "Then she'd love to escape, right?"

"Yeah!" says Gabe. "Then it'd be like us doing her a favor."

"Maybe you should've called Mikey. That dude has it together."

Gabe snorts. "That dude is at a show. You can't pry him out of a club on Friday night."

Pete presses his face into his knees. "Yeah, I've seen him around the scene."

"I've never run into you anywhere."

Pete groans. "Do I look like I'm capable of small talk right now?"

"Do you want to have dinner with me after we get out of here? We could do small talk then." When Gabe gets home, he's going to look into his own eyes in his very expensive mirror until he figures out what made him say that, and then he will smash his head against the glass.

"Dude," says Pete. "Panic attack."

Gabe pulls away from Pete, stupidly stung. "Yeah. Okay."

"No offense, man."

"My name's Gabe."

Pete turns his head so Gabe sees a sliver of eye between hoodie and denim. "I know, I heard."

Okay. Gabe examines his sleeves, fruitlessly attempting to brush out the water stains, and inches a little further away from Pete.

The elevator lurches and Pete shudders like a dog shaking out its coat. Gabe bites back whatever comforting comment his traitor mouth was about to offer and drinks his coffee instead. It's just barely lukewarm but it makes Pete glare at him, and that's good.

"What are you going to do when we're stuck here overnight and you have to piss?" he says. He's really not very good at conveying sarcasm with his voice, Gabe decides.

"I have a convenient container right here," Gabe says, shaking the cup in the air. "Delivered by you. Thanks!"

Pete's eyes narrow and then he bursts into a nasal giggle, shoulders shaking. It's awkward and faintly embarrassing like everything about Pete, but it's so him that Gabe listens helplessly and thinks only of making Pete laugh again.

"You're such a dick," Pete says, but there's nothing mean or frustrated in his voice anymore.

The elevator lurches again, and this time there are audible banging metallic sounds.

"Whoo," says Pete.

The next lurch of the elevator drops Gabe's stomach in a second of freefall and the coffee cup tips over, opening down and coffee streaming out in a thin winding line. Gabe jumps to his feet, just a second before he'd have to discard his trousers too.

"There goes your piss," says Pete.

"You look better," says Gabe. The tense wrinkle between Pete's eyebrows that was giving Gabe a secondhand headache is gone.

"It's the prospect of fresh air." Pete scrambles to his feet. "My ass is numb."

Gabe doesn't look at Pete's ass. He looks at the elevator doors.

When the elevator stops again, it opens its doors with the chime Gabe had never paid much attention to before yesterday and would like to disable now, and there's an overalled, mustachioed mechanic with incongruously well-groomed, shiny hair standing in Gabe's way.

"I'm going to sue the young lady who called me for emotional distress," says the mechanic.

"Victoria?" Pete says. "She seemed nice."

The mechanic glares at Pete.

"She was when you met her, but she doesn't like being distracted from dates," Gabe explains to Pete.

"Nobody does," says the mechanic grimly.

"Oh," says Gabe, understanding the hair and reaching for his wallet. "Twenty?"

The mechanic swipes the twenty from Gabe's hand, throws both him and Pete a final glare, and stalks off.

"Sorry, man," Pete calls after him. "Thanks!"

The mechanic slams the side door behind him. Once the echo dies, Gabe looks at Pete again.

"So how does it feel to know you've ruined two people's evenings?" asks Pete lightly. It's a low fucking blow, and Gabe would be an asshole right back to anyone else, but he can't come up with anything to say now. Pete studies Gabe for a few excruciatingly long moments and then smiles and says, "Hey. I've done..." he shakes his head. "I do so much worse than that every day to people I actually know. Relax."

"I bet that's not true," Gabe says, feeling stupid.

"Well, you don't know me, so how would you know?"

Outside, it's still drizzling. Pete heads for the door with an awkward wave and a quirk of his lips that's not a smile.

"Hey!" Gabe says, catching up to Pete in three long strides. "You're not leaving already?"

"As much fun as it is hanging out at your office, man, it's the weekend and I'm done."

"But I felt like we really bonded," says Gabe, inching closer to Pete until Pete's shoulders go tense and then taking one last step closer, getting into Pete's personal space.

"You're so fucking weird, dude," says Pete, forcibly relaxing his shoulders.

"Can I drive you home?" Gabe asks and snaps his mouth shut. That was not what he was going to say.

Pete turns his face up, taking in the slowly falling rain, and finally shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

The car's a block away. Gabe sneaks glances at Pete as they walk. the rain and wind knocked the rest of the yellowing leaves off the trees, and they clump and stick to the pavement like old wet newspaper. Pete kicks at them idly and then shakes them off his feet. his hunched-over shoulders and his chin pressed to his chest make Gabe's bones ache. By the time they get in the car, Gabe's jacket is damp all over and so's Pete hoodie.

Pete's shivering. "This is not the plan I had for Friday night, for the record," he says.

Gabe ignores that and cranks up the heat. He's got a sweet ride; the air's blowing dry-hot just a few seconds later and Pete's shivering a little less.

"Where do you live?" Gabe asks.

"Go straight," says Pete. "I'll direct you."

Gabe was just going to drop Pete off, but there's an open parking spot that's not even in front of the fire hydrant. Pete gives Gabe a look, and Gabe doesn't even realize he's parked and pulled the key out of the ignition until he's standing at Pete's door.

Pete's apartment is surprisingly nice, not that Gabe thought about where Pete lived or anything. Pete shrugs and waves his hand around when he lets Gabe in. "Bathroom's that way, since you kindly refrained from pissing into the coffee. I need dry clothes."

The living room is neat and there's cool art on the walls. The glimpse of Pete's bedroom that Gabe can see through the cracked door is tidy too. The bed is made. Gabe tries to make out the pattern on the bedspread until a shadow moves across the wall and there's a thump like heavy fabric hitting the floor. Right. Gabe assesses his current level of staring at creepy and not too subtle and slips into the bathroom, where he totally doesn't go through Pete's cabinets, even though it's a close call.

By the time Gabe dries his hands and walks out into the living room, Pete's already there, wearing the green hoodie from the day before and hunched over on the couch in a way that reminds Gabe of the way Pete folded in on himself in the elevator. It makes Gabe's chest constrict with an unfamiliar feeling. But Pete's fiddling with his phone, not breathing into his knees, and that's better.

"You have cool art," Gabe says for lack of anything better to say.

"Thanks," says Pete, putting his phone down and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "I have talented friends."

Gabe sticks his hands in his pockets too and raises his chin. "These over here, are they all by the same person?"

Pete twists around. "Yeah, those are my friend Tom's."

"They're kind of... grey."

"Grey can be cool."

Gabe nods.

Pete settles back down onto the couch. "You can sit down or whatever. Wait until the rain ends."

The slow, contemplative way the rain fell felt like it had decided to set in for days of prolonged grey misery, and Gabe's not going to spend days at Pete's apartment, not even if there's cool art everywhere. Not even if there's cool art on his bedroom walls. He wanders along the perimeter of Pete's living room, though, examines every square inch of every photograph and watercolor, oil, and sculpture until he absolutely can't stall anymore.

When he turns around, Pete's not there. Gabe finds him in the little kitchen off the living room. "Do you eat meat?" Pete asks.

"I'm a vegetarian," Gabe says blankly. "Lapsed vegan, temporarily. Why?"

"Thought so," says Pete, waving a sandwich at him. "Here. You're probably hungry. Sorry about my panic attack."

"That's not..." says Gabe, taking the sandwich mechanically. When someone offers him shit, he takes it. "Shouldn't I be making you dinner? Since I ruined your evening?" As repeats of dinner offers go, it's fairly subtle. Gabe hopes.

Pete shrugs. "Don't sweat it. I was due for one anyway."

The silence stretches. Gabe eats his sandwich and waits for Pete to speak first like everyone does, because Gabe is the master of awkward silences. But Pete's quiet.

"Okay then," Gabe says finally. "See you around? I mean," he says, catching himself. "I'll see you around."

Gabe texts a quick thnx to Victoria stopped at a light on his way home and shuts the phone down again. By the time he gets home, the sandwich has digested enough that the caffeine that had been buzzing in his limbs has settled down and left him exhausted. It's barely midnight, so Gabe slips loose the knot in his tie and hangs up his jacket. He's got hours until his bedtime, plenty of time to clear out his TiVo and kill a bottle of wine.

Seeing his face in the mirror above the bathroom sink reminds him of how he asked Pete out. Gabe props himself up on the counter on his elbows and buries his face in his hands. If he stays up for hours, he'll think about it for hours. Bed, then. Sleep rejuvenates the weary mind.

Half an hour later, the memory of Pete is still buzzing at the forefront of his mind like a fly with separation anxiety and Gabe's dragged his hands from inside his boxers five times. He has to declare defeat. The TiVo is 95% full anyway. That makes him twitch.

The glow and quiet murmur of the TV brings clarity to Gabe's mind by the time 4am rolls around, and he falls asleep in the middle of an episode of The Amazing Race thinking, "I like him, I like him, I like him."

Gabe wakes up groggy but filled with a sense of purpose. He turns on his phone even before he opens his eyes and contemplates who to call. He makes a mental chart.

Victoria; pros: knows about shit guys pull. Could advise on what shit not to pull. Cons: currently not a fan of Gabe. Sabotage probable.

Ryland; pros: Bro Code adherent. Has major pick-up mojo. Likely awake. Could help Gabe for sake of amusement. Cons: could sabotage Gabe for sake of amusement.

Alex; pros: top-notch wooing skills. Cons: currently out of town.

Nate; pros: good wooing skills. Cons: currently out of town.

Mikey Way; pros: knows everything. Friends with Pete. Cons: likely asleep.

Gabe's head starts to hurt when he tries to catalogue Travis, because there is too much to say, and just dials Ryland.

He picks up on the first ring and sounds cheerful, the dick. "Hey, Gabey."

"Ryland, I need your help," says Gabe. His throat feels like gravel and he hacks into the phone until it's clear.

"I am here to help you, of course," says Ryland.

"Right," says Gabe. "Whatever. Remember that coffee guy?"

"Uh-huh," says Ryland.

"I got stuck in the elevator with him last night."

"Of course you did." Ryland sounds very patient. "Why were you in an elevator last night?"

"I had to get out of the building somehow. And so did Pete. We're too high up to take the stairs."

"Why were you in the elevator with Pete, Gabe? Didn't you get coffee delivered that afternoon?"

"Yes. I got it delivered again because I have a crush on Pete."

"That was fast," says Ryland. "You've reached self-understanding."

"I know, right? I didn't understand that it was a crush at first."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," says Ryland. "Sometimes I can't tell when you're being a dick for a reason and when you're just being a dick either."

Gabe is touched. "Thanks, Ryland. I knew I could count on you."

"So what do you want?"

"I need advice. From all of you. Can we reschedule the board meeting for Monday happy hour?" Gabe thinks hard. "Wait," he says, preemptively interrupting whatever Ryland was going to say. "I want to ask him out on Monday. Maybe I should be free Monday night so we could have dinner then."

"No, no, no," says Ryland. "You don't want to seem too eager."

Gabe blinks. "But I'm already waiting the whole weekend to ask him out." He probably is. He's almost certainly not going to track Pete down tomorrow.

"I mean, you can't ask him out on Monday for a date on Monday. That's just trying too hard."

"Wait, seriously?" Gabe asks.

Ryland laughs, high-pitched and too loud for this hour. "No."

"Fuck you, man." Gabe scratches his belly. "I'll just do what I want."

"You do that," says Ryland. "Follow your heart."

"That is really good advice. I could've given it myself."

"I think you mean you couldn't have said it better yourself."

"No," says Gabe, mouthing both phrases and frowning. "I think I said it the right way."

"Well, thank you for the compliment. Go get him, tiger."

Ryland laughs too loudly for the morning yet again. Gabe hangs up and stares at the ceiling, thinking about Pete's crinkly eyes and then his sad eyes completely against his will, exactly like he's been playing Tetris for too long and can't help rotating the bricks in his head. This is serious. He's not going to find Pete at the coffee shop either today or tomorrow, no matter how vital it seems to figure out how Pete fits into his life. He needs a break.

Gabe holds out for exactly twenty-four hours and then shiftily drives to the office. He looks up coffee shops in the maps app, cursing himself for not looking at the cups Pete had delivered. They probably had the shop name on it, which he could have read if he hadn't been staring at Pete the entire time. And he hadn't even realized he was doing it. He probably would have enjoyed it more if he had.

Gabe flicks through the list of coffee shops indecisively. They all have appropriately hipster names, too, so he can't even weed out any where he can't imagine Pete working. He's about to give up and call Mikey and brave the mocking he'll have to endure when his gaze lands on his cupholder. Which is still holding the cup from Friday night.

"I am a moron," Gabe says aloud and snatches up the cup. "I am a moron."

That he neglected to throw away the cup is another distressing sign that Gabe is hopelessly, unacceptably distracted and needs either a) to track Pete down immediately, or b) a vacation to center himself.

He opts for (a). A drive-by of the coffee shop is inconclusive. The lights inside are dim and there are people sitting along the windows, and if Pete is there, he's not visible through the layers of glass and hipster. So Gabe parks the car, disposes of the Friday cup with prejudice, and walks into the shop to scope out the joint.

Scoping out the joint doesn't result in immediate success so Gabe has no choice but to approach the counter and order something to stall. The barista on shift is short, but he is not Pete. According to his name tag, he is Patrick, and also he is blond.

Gabe scans the premises more carefully while Patrick makes him a soy pumpkin latte. Maybe Pete is on break. Despite Gabe's subtlety in keeping his eyes trained directly on the staff door, Patrick still catches Gabe at it and doesn't look impressed.

Gabe totally plays it cool and waits for fifteen minutes in the car until the end of Pete's theoretical break.

"Is there a problem?" Patrick asks when Gabe goes back into the shop. Pete remains absent.

"No," says Gabe.

Patrick gives Gabe the evil eye. "Another latte?"

Gabe shoots him a wide smile to stall. Unfortunately, no ideas occur to him. "Sure. Another."

Patrick takes Gabe's money but looks steadily at him when Gabe doesn't immediately leave. Gabe briefly contemplates asking Patrick about Pete outright, but Patrick doesn't exactly appear to be in a humoring mood. It's time for a strategic retreat.

Also, Gabe remembers that Pete works afternoons.

Part 2