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Joe always knew who it was. He could always tell when he looked into his eyes. The warm hazel would go from an excited flickering blur, to a soft, slow blinking pattern, eyes intently focused on what was at hand. Whereas Pete couldn’t focus on something for the life of him. Always jumping from one thing to the next.
The thing was, Joe loved both of them. He considered it to be an almost polyamorous relationship. You see, Pete and Patrick, are the same... Same body, not the same mind. They were completely different minds.
When Pete was younger, he’d been wrongly diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This was all before Dissociative Identity Disorder was well known, not enough well known to be given as a diagnosis at least. Patrick didn’t even introduce himself until one dark night, legs tangled with Joe’s in Pete’s stupid twin beds that he’d pushed together. Joe could tell Pete had changed. His movements became gentle. Thought through. Joe looked down at him, brushing his thumb along his bartskull tattoo.
“Who are you?” He’d whispered, not wanting to scare this different-pete.
“Patrick.” Was the whisper he’d gotten in response, his eyes looking up into Joe’s, fingers holding onto his sides like he was scared Joe would run away.
However, Joe just nodded, kissing his nose gently. “I’ll learn to love you too.” He said softly into the shell of his ear.
That night, Patrick told his entire story to Joe. How he always came out without Pete’s knowing, explained that Pete was still listening right now, as Patrick always did.He was basically just borrowing Pete’s tongue and body. Joe listened to everything, running his fingers through what he used to view as just Pete’s hair. Now he knew it was Patrick’s too. Patrick eventually yawned, and then hesitantly kissed Joe’s neck, blushing. With their complexion however, it wasn’t easily visible.
Joe kept true to his word, and he learned to love Patrick. He learned all about him. Whereas Patrick was the music, Pete was the words. When Joe got the occasional, “How can you possibly be with two people?” From people with their noses stuck in the air, sniffing for love that they would never truly find, that's what he would tell them.
Eventually, they all moved into a tiny one bedroom apartment. But it was okay, because Joe never wanted to have an excuse for either of them to be too far. He was so lucky to be loved by two amazing men, and he knew that.
They did occasionally have their arguments. Pete’s were always loud and explosive, screaming and the possibility of someone getting hurt. Patrick wouldn’t ever say what was bothering him, until he would breakdown, trying to lock himself into a bathroom because he “Doesn’t want to bother you…” Joe knew how to deal with each. With Pete he let him scream and hit, until he relaxed again, and then they cuddled up and talked it out, Joe wiping away each tear that would fall, occasionally dotting their ancient tan sofa in a perfect circle. With Patrick, it took hours of gentle coaxing, convincing him that “No, you /don’t/ bother me.” Until he finally unlocked the door with a shaky hand, eyes red and rubbing over the “2☆R” tattoo nervously with his thumb. (Another way to tell when it was Patrick, as Joe had learned.) Joe would make him some tea and slowly let him talk about what was bothering him.
Being intimate with them was similar to the arguing as well. With Pete, Joe would be walking into the house after work, about to go change into some sweatpants when suddenly, he was pressed against the wall, Pete lip’s all over his own and neck, traveling lower until Joe took control. Pete was always quick, Joe pinning him down to the bed so he couldn’t move an inch, trying to evaporate all of his nervous energy with each thrust.
Patrick’s was sweet. It would take hours of build up. He still blushed over everything, (Joe had learned how to spot the blush against the dark skin by now) and got flustered over every kiss. Joe would be cuddled up with him, Patrick laying between his thighs on their couch, Joe nipping gently at his ear. Patrick would giggle and halfheartedly swat him away, and Joe would keep up these touches for hours until he had a sweaty Patrick underneath him on their bed, slowly pushing into him as Patrick tried to keep quiet. Unlike Pete, he would try to hide his face, keeping their hair grown out so he could push the black strands across his eyes while Joe pushed into him languidly. Just like the build up, the release was just as slow.
It was a very silent and dry night. Patrick whispered quietly, tracing patterns on Joe’s chest. “Sometimes I wish we were two different people.” He teared up, and Joe knew he would try and hide it so he tilted his chin up. “I love you both like this.” He let Patrick fantasize about it, of course. He asked him what he thought he would look like.
He responded with a quiet, “I-I think very pale. Probably a little chubby you know? I hate working out like Pete does... Probably longish red-brown hair. Still short.” He said resolutely, blushing once again.
Joe smiled and rubbed a hand over the small of his back, whispering lovingly. “Sounds perfect to me.”