All Patrick wants to do is forget about Pete but he can't seem to do that. Written by Sam. R&R! Sorry for the wait. Writing the 17th chapter!
“Hey man,” he answered, “are you up to anything?”
“Hey. Nuh uh. You got any plans?”
“Well, there’s an Arma practice today, wanna c-”
“No,” I replied immediately, without a second thought.
Arma equaled Pete, and Pete equaled a big N-O.
“Oh,” Andy said, sounding a little let down. “I thought you could help me set up and think of some new stuff with me…”
I closed my eyes and started to hit the phone against my ear, feeling guilty. I sighed and sobered: “okay then. Where and when?”
The smile was visible in his surprisingly high voice; and he told me 2 o’ clock at his mom’s place.
I arrived at half one, hoping to get away before everyone else arrived with some swift excuse. Andy greeted me in shorts and flip flops, eating a bowl of muesli. I smiled weakly and followed him downstairs to the basement.
Of course, there was a Pete Wentz on Andy’s couch.
Patrick’s tongue sliding across his chest. Pete’s hands undoing his jeans. Pete’s voice in his ear. Straddling bony hips and chubbier ones. It was there, right in front of him. Too many vicious, gorgeous memories. Pete looked up from his phone. There was a peppering of stubble running down his chin, and he was doing that stupid pout face.
“Sit down!” Andy said to me happily. “I’ll run up and get some drinks.”
I did as he said, and perched cautiously on the edge of the beat leather sofa.
“Hi, Patrick,” he started, hopeful eyes.
I said nothing back.
“Thanks,” he said.
I blinked a couple of times more to make up for the absence of words coming from my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. I looked at him gingerly, my eye flitting through the gap between my glasses and my face.
His expression changed to one of hurt, his glazed-over eyes searching mine, and for a second, I thought he was about to cry.
He sidled up to me until our thighs rubbed, a feeling all too recognisable. Then he reached his head up and pressed his lips to mine, and oh god, how I’d missed the feel of them against my own, so warm, and soft, and inviting and familiar.
“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking halfway.
My face scrunched up and I didn’t know what to say.
“Please do not do things you don't mean,” I purged out, “and don’t say them either.”
He didn’t react to my somewhat cruel, harsh words, but began a speech of his own.
“I think we share the same soul. When I see your face, my heart twirls inside the rattling cages of my ribs and chest. I’m also certain that fairy dust or something magical dispenses from your finger tips time to time,” he pecked the top of my ring finger, “I also believe you’re the reason that all gardens of the world flourish, and why crickets come out at night to conduct and orchestrate beautiful night time symphonies.”
My brow was furrowed and the beautiful words wouldn’t get into my head. I refused to think he thought of me like this.
“They make pretty sounds because they want you to fall asleep so that they can watch you look innocent with your eyelids shut and your arms embracing your pillow, and I’m lucky enough to have seen you like that, so I think it’s Pete 1, crickets 0.”
He smirked coyly, exactly as I’d imagined him earlier, and waited for a response, which he wasn’t gonna get because my heart had stopped beating a long time ago.
“My life would be so dull without you,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t yours be too?” he chuckled, voice still almost mute. “Yeah,” I got out, with a laugh. I smiled properly for the first time in a while. “Andy’s taking his time,” I said.
“A pretty coincidence,” Pete replied.
“Like us,” I said.