"Do you think Fall Out Boy are better than us?” Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
“Hey, Mikes. Do you think Fall Out Boy are better than us?” I ask my little brother in an attempt to sound somewhat nonchalant, flopping down next to him on the tour bus and scrutinizing every feature on his face as it lights up at the mention of the other band.
Of his band. Of cocky arrogant asshole Pete’s band. As in Pete who apparently thinks my baby brother is sexy. And a good kisser. Not that he would know. I mean, it’s not like he’s ever kissed Mikey. He’d have told me. I know he would have. I’m his big brother, after all, and it’s my job to protect him from people like Pete. The kind of people who are arrogant and cocky and flirty and don’t belong on top of Mikey, as Pete’s earlier vivid description told me he has been.
He said there was sweat. And moaning. And grabbing. And various other things that I don’t want to even try imagining my innocent baby brother doing. Because Mikey wouldn’t. No way. Pete was just saying it to piss me off, for a cheap laugh at the flustered frontman who has to look out for the baby of his family.
Still, I think the punch I threw him was perfectly warranted.
Cocky little prick.
Mikes looks up from his phone, immediately pressing it to his chest and blushing deeply when I try to look at the screen, fixing me with a look that says I have his undivided attention.
“What band do you think is better?” I question him, some of my nerves starting to shine through in my speech.
Just like they do in Pete’s voice whenever we tease Mikey in front of him. That’s just because they’re friends though, right? I’m no fan of Pete Wentz, but he’s really loyal from what I can tell. Annoyingly so.
“What kinda question’s that, Gee?” He giggles as though it’s some sort of joke, not a test to see if Pete’s words ring true. “You been hanging out with Patrick again?”
“Pete, actually.” It’s all I can do not to spit the name, instead settling for a snarl. Especially when Mikey’s earlier blush returns to his face and a dreamy smile wanders onto his lips, giving the impression that thinking of Pete is the greatest thing in the history of Ever. “He seems to have it in his head that his band is better than ours. Crazy, right?”
I try to push out an incredulous chuckle to accompany my words, but that idea soon gets pushed out of my head when I see that Mikey’s looking back down at his cell with nothing but delight painted onto his features. His eyes scan the screen quickly, lighting up even more with each word he reads, before he quickly taps a reply and looks back up to me.
“Who was that?” My words are meant to sound relaxed, not at all like I’m on the most important undercover mission ever faced by a big brother, but even I have to admit that I sound somewhat anxious.
“I… err, nobody. Just a friend.” He blinks at me, reply far too quick for me to be able to believe him no matter how much I want to. He turns his cell off and slides it onto the coffee table, well out of our grasp, before smiling back up at me in a way that makes me want to vomit rainbows.
Largely because it’s the smile of someone in love.
No. I’m just being paranoid. You can’t tell if someone’s in love just from a smile. He’s probably just texting someone he hasn’t spoken to in a while, perhaps an old best friend he thought he’d never hear from again. Yeah. That must be it. He’s not in love. Not at all.
And definitely not with Pete Wentz.
“Sorry, you asked me who I thought was better?” I nod eagerly, heart pounding in anticipation and feeling very much like James Bond. “Well, what part of the band are we talking about here?”
As much as I want to snap straight in with “bassists” like I did with Pete, I know that I can’t. It’d give the game away and he’d know that I’m trying to puzzle something out about his friendship, or rather, relationship with the other, shorter yet more muscular, bassist. That’s what I don’t like about Pete; he may be shorter, but he’s definitely stronger. And older. And a lot less innocent. And nothing like the sort of person I want my baby brother to have on top of him.
“Any part really.” I pretend to think, eyes rolling around the walls of our drab living quarters before accidentally-on-purpose resting on Mikey’s beloved bass guitar. The one I saw him using to jam with Pete just the other day on the Fall Out Boy bus, where he opted to stay the night.
Nobody said anything at the time, in fact Patrick just smiled in an almost knowing way at both Pete and Mikey, but now I think about it, Fall Out Boy’s bus only has four bunks for their four bodies. Four bunks. Five people. Two of them being Pete and Mikey.
No. I’m just over-analysing things. Mikey probably slept in their living room area. Yeah. He must have. No way he’d share a bunk with Wentz. No way. And certainly not with Wentz on top of him.
I fix my eyes back on Mikey’s bass and point at it, unable to form words that I’m certain won’t be along the lines of “are you fucking Pete Wentz?” I can’t ask him that.
Because he’d say no and I would just look stupid.
“Bass wise?” I nod, looking eagerly at my baby brother to somehow put my fears to rest. “Pete, obviously. I mean, it’d be pretty arrogant of me to say myself.” He thinks for a minute, eyes going all distant in a way that makes my tummy do summersaults at the idea of what that dreamy look could possibly mean. “Besides, he is the better bassist. He’s got more charisma too, and these big strong arms- Ugh, I mean… Um.” He looks at his watch, one I’m sure I’ve seen Pete wearing before. “Sorry, Gee. I gotta go.”
He scrambles to get to his feet, his face now synonymous with a tomato, and rushes through the door, giving me just enough time to gather my thoughts around the exact sort of answer I didn’t want from my baby brother.
“Where are you going?”
“To help Pete with his pre-show nerves.”
A/N: Sorry for adding onto this, but this second part was kinda bugging me and I wanted to write it out. I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)