Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy
G.I.N.A.S.F.S.
6 reviewsTrade baby blues for wide-eyed browns / I sleep with your old shirts / And walk through this house in your shoes
1Ambiance
Slowly opening his blurry eyes, Pete blinked them a couple of times to clear the haze so that he could look at the peaceful face of the still unconscious Patrick. He took in the slightly parted lips and the eyelids that were shifting ever so slightly from the dreams playing in the younger male’s head, and a small smile pulled his lips up. Pete wanted so badly to just reach up and brush the stray hairs from in front of Patrick’s face but he worried about waking him. He knew how much his friend had drank the night before, just as much as he had drank himself, so he knew Patrick would want more rest before waking to a hangover.
Even though he had seen his friend’s face for years, he still couldn’t get over how gorgeous Patrick was, and he frowned when he caught himself taking in every little detail one by one again. He knew it was wrong for him to feel this way, but he couldn’t help himself. Who could truly control their feelings and emotions? This was one person that couldn’t, and it hurt to know that he could never have this boy the way he wanted so desperately to. The kiss last night only worked against him, deepening his sorrows as the teasing thought of Patrick’s lips against his own wrapped itself around his mind, refusing to leave.
- - - - -
Pete and Patrick giggled as they leaned into each other’s shoulders, thoroughly amused by Joe running around a few minutes ago with part of his fro on fire after a friend had hugged him with a lit joint in their hands, easily catching the fro on fire. Luckily someone finally got him with a glass of water, putting the small fire out, leaving everyone, sans Joe, laughing.
Patrick gasped for air through his laughter as Pete leaned down, still laughing, to pick up the trucker hat that had fallen from the singer’s head when he was curled over himself laughing. Pete sat up and put the hat on Patrick’s head, giving him a drunken, proud of himself smile.
“I goted your hat for you, Tricky,” Pete giggled as Patrick adjusted the hat, his own laughter dying to giggles as he smiled back at Pete.
He reached out and pulled his friend closer, a strange smile on those gorgeous lips. “Let me give the one that saved my hat a thank you,” he murmured before he pressed his lips to Pete’s, their lips melting together as Pete put his arm around Patrick. A testing tongue moved out to touch Pete’s lips, lightly brushing against them before it was met with Pete’s lips parting, his own tongue coming out to touch with Patrick’s.
- - - - -
Pete sighed as he moved from the bed and made his way to his suitcase, taking out his journal, and pen, before he moved to the table in their hotel room and sat down in the chair. Turning to a blank page in the book, his chicken scratch hand-writing scrawled the words on the page that his dream had caused. He frowned as he looked them over, hating once more how Patrick unknowingly succeeded in making him feel. How badly did he wish that him and Patrick hadn’t been drunk when they shared their kiss? There wasn’t enough pain to describe it.
I've loved everything about you that hurts, so
Let me see your moves,
Let me see your moves
Lips pressed this close to mine,
True Blue
- - - - -
Pete paced the hotel room he was in, suddenly feeling claustrophobic as he took in the walls, his eyes for a moment straying to the balcony before he tore them away from the sight. A chill took his spine as he realized that he had actually found the balcony, and the fall from it, tempting. He grabbed his bag and his phone before he left the hotel room, making a bee line for the stairs since the elevator just didn’t move fast enough for him. He had to get where he was safe from his own mind, he needed to be where he felt safe from everything. He needed to be back in Chicago with Patrick.
-12 hours later-
A loud, obnoxious banging on his door, accompanied by the non-stop ringing of his doorbell made Patrick grumble to himself as he made his way to the door of his apartment. What he saw when he opened the door made his chest tighten. Pete was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes bloodshot and his skin looking pale. He quickly pulled Pete into a hug, frowning when the hug was returned as hard as it was given, if not harder.
“Pete, what’s wrong? I thought you were in New York?” He questioned as he kicked the door shut with his foot and rubbed slow circles on his friend’s back.
“I just made a thirteen hour drive in eleven hours,” Pete muttered into Patrick’s shoulder as he discreetly took in the comforting scent of his long-time friend. “I would have been here an hour ago, but it took the guy at the rental agency almost an hour to find a fast car that had no governor in it.”
He picked a thirteen hour drive over a 3 hour flight? Patrick thought to himself as he tried to figure out what was going on. “Pete, why didn’t you fly? You could have gotten here sooner,” Patrick continued the slow rubbing as Pete’s hold loosened slightly, but the older male stayed close, his head laying on Patrick’s shoulder now. When he got no answer, he decided to give up for now and let Pete relax from an eleven hour drive. He rested his head softly against Pete’s to let him know it was okay, something he had picked up over the years of being there for Pete when he needed it.
“I just wanted to get here without the crying babies and nasty stewardesses,” Pete finally answered after a long, heavy silence. “I knew I couldn’t just wait around in an airport, waiting for my flight. It was hard enough sitting in the rental agency waiting for the guy to find me the car I wanted.”
Patrick nudged Pete’s head with his own before he slowly pulled away, but didn’t let go, and looked at his friend, whose eyes already shone a little more than when Patrick had first opened the door. “You hit a dip, didn’t you?” Patrick asked softly, even though he already knew the answer. Ever since the parking lot overdose Pete hit dips in his emotional roller coaster that would make it hard for him to be alone. Patrick had seen enough of the dips to know when Pete was trying to come back up from one. When Pete’s slow nod confirmed his fears, Patrick’s mouth pulled downward.
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Pete whispered, hating that he had his friend worrying about him again. “I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he said as he started to pull away. “I’ll go.”
Panic seized Patrick as he thought of Pete, in the middle of one of these dips, driving down the highway in a car with no governor, which meant no speed limit for Pete. How many turns could his friend purposely take too fast? “Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third you sit your ass down on my couch and get that fucking thought of leaving out of your head,” Patrick commanded, his tone oozing concern for his friend. “Don’t apologizing for coming to me when you need me.”
Pete felt the tightness in his chest slowly evaporate as he looked to his friend, a small smile forming on his lips. He slowly pulled away and went to the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. He watched as Patrick went to the kitchen, disappearing from his sight, but he knew by the sound of clinking glasses that Patrick was getting them something to drink. He bit his lip and took out his sidekick, pressing a couple of keys until his notes area was opened. His thumbs moved on the qwerty keypad as lyrics left his mind and showed on the screen.
But the prince of any failing empire knows that
Everybody wants, everybody wants
To drive on through the night
If it's a drive back home
- - - - -
Pete slowly paced his living room, toning out the sounds of the snoring Hemingway, who was collapsed on his “chosen” couch. His girlfriend was out, doing who knew what with whoever, and it was so late his time that he knew Patrick would be asleep in Chicago. Pete was stuck out in California because in a couple of hours he had an interview and it was one he couldn’t miss out on. He had ditched these people back in New York when he had his break down and had driven to Chicago from New York, so he knew he couldn’t bail on them again.
Walking from his living room to his bedroom, he grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on, zipping it all the way up before he pulled up the hood and stuffed his hands in the pockets. He sighed as he stared down at his feet, trying to fight off the urge to pick up the house phone. His right hand moved from the hoodie pocket to his pants, touching the outside of the pocket where he could feel the outline of his sidekick.
His fingers practically itched to reach in and wrap around the sidekick, tapping those familiar seven numbers that he knew all too well. He went over to his closet and reached up to the top shelf, fishing blindly for his journal. When he found it he sat down on his bed and flipped to the page he had been using for Patrick, a spot that was now between old and new entries, hiding it so that only Pete knew where to look for it.
He looked over the words from before, the two lines that now started to look somewhat like lyrics to him. He added his third set of lines and bit his lip softly, tapping his pen on the journal as he nodded to himself, some unspoken mental communication that he was indeed writing a song, kind of. He hadn’t meant for it to start out that way, but it made sense to him that it would happen that way, it did from time to time. He was only curious as to how this song would end up.
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
You almost pick up the phone
- - - - -
Pete yawned softly as he lazily tossed the ball for Hemingway, watching him dart across his mother’s back yard after the round item. His cell vibrating in his pocket, caught his attention and he slid his hand into the pocket and pulled out his sidekick. When he saw the name on the Caller ID, his heart skipped a beat and he almost didn’t answer it; but Pete could never ignore a call from Patrick. Pressing the call button, he brought the phone up to his ear.
“Hey Trick, what’s up?”
“Not much,” replied the voice on the other line, “haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, I’m just wondering if everything is okay.”
Pete chewed the corner of his mouth as he took the slobbery tennis ball with his free hand and threw it. “Sorry, I’ve been trying not to bother you,” he answered as he watched Hemingway chase after the ball. “I know you’re busy with producing, and the last thing I want to do is interrupt something.”
“Pete, you know I won’t consider it bugging me,” Patrick chided softly. “I always have time for my close friends, you know that. How’s the weather out in LA?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he answered as he made a face when Hemingway dropped the retrieved slobbery ball at his feet. “I’m at my parents’ home for the weekend.”
“So you’re in Chicago?” Patrick question, but his tone told Pete he was only confirming to make sure he had heard right.
“Yeah,” Pete replied as he threw the ball again, wiping his slobber-covered hand on his pants, making another face.
“Could I ask for a huge favor, Pete?”
“Yeah, sure, what is it?” Pete asked as he went to the door that led inside the house and opened it, walking inside. He waited at the door for Hemingway to run in and then shut the door before he laid down on the couch.
“Do you think you could make a run over to my apartment sometime and get my mail from the mail box? I don’t like the idea of my mail just piling up in the mailbox like that.”
“I’ll go check up on it for you,” Pete answered. “Is your key still at the front office under lock and key?”
“Yeah, but I’ll call ahead so they can give it to you,” Patrick answered and Pete could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. “I really appreciate this Pete, you have no idea,” Patrick said.
- - - - -
Pete walked around the apartment, biting his lip slightly at the weird feeling in his gut as he shifted his feet in the slippers he wore, the slippers from Patrick’s closet. He lightly tugged at the hem of the shirt he wore, another item from Patrick’s closet. He was at least decent enough to wear his own boxer-briefs as he walked around the empty place. He wasn’t happy about being alone, but he was glad that he was surrounded, completely surrounded, by Patrick’s scent. It was everywhere. In every room he walked into, on everything he put his nose to, he had practically melted into the recliner that Patrick chose over every other piece of sitting furniture he had.
He knew his girlfriend’s brown eyes would be rolling in their skull if she knew he was enjoying the overdose of Patrick’s scent. Then again, all she did was roll her eyes over any little detail lately. He couldn’t even remember why he loved her anymore, or if he even did love her. He knew he loved Patrick, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was head over heels in the most damaging way. If he tried and failed with Patrick, not only would he lose his friend, but it would cause an unbearable hole in his chest, and the band could fall apart. He would be putting the jobs of Joe, Andy, and Patrick on the line for the hope of a possible relationship with Patrick.
Besides, even if he did end up leaving his girlfriend for Patrick, it’s not like the feelings would be returned anyway. Yes, he just had to come to terms with the fact that although he could never have Patrick, it was better to have him in his life, even if only as a friend, than not have him at all.
He sat down on the couch with his journal, turning to the hidden page and tapped the end of his pen against the lined paper, chewing his lip as he tried to put his feelings into words. When he started the first line, he frowned and shook his head, knowing that Patrick, should he ever see this page, would know what he meant by “trade brown eyes for your baby blues” so he scratched out the line and chewed his lip harder, threatening to break the skin and draw blood. He really wanted to keep the line about the eyes, but how could he keep it without Patrick knowing the song was for him?
He started at the page, mulling the line over and over in his head until a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and his hand moved over the page.
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying,
I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
- - - - -
Pete paced the studio as he waited on Patrick to finish up with the phone call he had to take. He was going to do it, he was going to confess his feelings for Patrick, because he was tired of living his lie. He hated himself at he moment though, because he was actually hoping for the phone call to go on for as long as it could. His courage was long gone the moment he pulled into the parking lot of the studio Patrick was at, working with Gabe Saporta, who had taken a two hour beak because he wanted to go see his girlfriend, fiancé, whatever she was.
He was aware that Patrick had his eyes on him every step of the way, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He had tried this twice before, but failed, and right now he was leaning on the old saying, “Third time’s the charm,” in hopes that he could do it this time. When Patrick got off the phone, Pete looked over at him, hearing the device snap shut. He managed a weak smile as Patrick gave him a smile.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Patrick questioned, shifting in his spot to get more comfortable.
Pete swallowed the lump in his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I… I’ve been thinking about something for a while now, and I really want to tell you,” Pete managed to mutter as he turned his eyes to the floor, his spine turning to liquid under his skin.
“So, tell me Pete,” Patrick said softly as he got up and moved over to his friend, gently lifting Pete’s head so that the bass player was looking at him with his anxious brown orbs. “Whatever it is, you know I’m here for you…”
“I…” Pete bit his lip and tried to calm his heart rate, which accelerated when he took in just how close Patrick’s mouth was to his. I love you! “I want to marry Jeanae.” No! I love you! He screamed in his head as Patrick’s eyes took on a strange look and he slowly stepped back from Pete.
“But, you guys barely get along Pete,” Patrick spoke softly, but Pete could hear the sudden edge in his friend’s voice. “Why would you want to marry someone who makes you hate your life?”
Pete ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. “Sounds bad when you put it like that, Trick,” Pete replied, secretly rejoicing in his head that Patrick hadn’t stuffed his tongue in his cheek and just accepted him getting engaged. “Maybe I should give it more thought, huh?”
Patrick nodded, a deep frown creasing his features. “Yeah, you’re right,” Patrick answered as he reached up and lightly tugged the hair at the back of his head, just under the spot where his hat stopped, a tick he had picked up long ago when something was bothering him.
“I’m sorry Patrick, I should have thought that through more before I brought it to you,” Pete said softly as he watched his friend. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Patrick shook his head slightly as he looked at Pete. “No, it’s okay… You’ve just dropped a big bomb that’s all,” he said as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Just try to think that through a bit more next time, huh Pete?” Patrick asked, a small smile on his face as he tried to calm his own pounding heart beat. He would go to prison for murder before he saw that money-grubbing whore of human flesh called Jeanae marry his best friend.
Pete nodded and moved closer, hugging his long-time friend. “You can’t be mad at me Tricky,” he muttered into his friend’s neck as Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry Pete,” Patrick said as he rubbed a small circle on Pete’s back before they broke away from each other. He looked up when Gabe came into the studio, a noticeable pout on the “King Cobra”s lips. “What’s wrong with you?”
Gabe shook his head as he lightly slapped Pete on the back in greeting. “Girlfriend is on the rag, which means no afternoon delight for Gabe.” He looked at Pete. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone had to keep Patrick company while you ran off on a failed escapade,” Pete said with a shrug, an obvious sign to Patrick that he didn’t want Gabe to know what they were talking about before he arrived. “Sorry about your luck by the way.”
“Eh, I’ve got two hands to choose from,” Gabe said with a suggestive smile as he wiggled his eyebrows at Pete, who lightly slapped him upside the back of his head. “So, are you sticking around?”
“Nah,” Pete answered as he shook his head. “I was only here until you got back. I have some things I have to do.”
“Alright man, I’ll see you later,” Gabe said as Pete headed out the door.
As he got further down the hall, Pete frowned a little more at a time until he was full-fledged sulking in self pity by the time he got to his Lamborghini. He got in and sighed as he took out his sidekick, and opened an email, texting in the next line to go into his journal before he sent it and put the phone back in his pocket. Turning on the car and shifting gears, he headed back to his parent’s home, cussing himself out the whole way home.
I've already given up on myself twice
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm
Threw caution to the wind
But I've got a lousy arm
- - - - -
Pete stared into the night at the shadows dancing on his wall from time to time by the passing cars, his insomnia raging full on tonight. He stayed curled in his ball as he ran his fingers through his mind, wishing he was anywhere but here right now. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t even know why he bothered staying in Chicago, but in the end he knew damn well. He only stayed because it was only chance to see Patrick since he still lived in Illinois, while Pete had his home out in California. That place just wasn’t the same with the knowledge that he couldn’t just take a small drive and end up in Patrick’s apartment complex.
He closed his eyes and thought back to that day in the studio, and how he had almost told Patrick his hidden feelings. His creative side taking over as the memory progressed and made things take a different turn.
- - - - -
“I…” Pete bit his lip and tried to calm his heart rate, which accelerated when he took in just how close Patrick’s mouth was to his. He leaned in, closing the distance between their mouths in a soft, sweet kiss, his hands coming up to softly cup his friend’s face.
Patrick moved closer, his own arms wrapping around Pete as he returned the kiss, a soft moan welling up in the back of his throat. He tangled his fingers in Pete’s hair, earning a soft moan from the bassist as he gently tugged at the brown-black locks.
Slowly breaking the kiss, Pete stared into Patrick’s blue-green eyes. “I love you,” he whispered, his eyes searching Patrick’s, looking for something, anything to hint that he felt the same way.
A slow smile spread on Patrick’s face as he stared back into Pete’s eyes. “I love you too…”
- - - - -
Pete sighed softly as he opened his eyes and stared at the walls once more, wishing he could figure out what the Hell he was going to do. He sat up on the edge of his bed and reached down, picking up his bag from the floor before he fished around inside, pulling out the familiar book. Turning to his hidden page he added the next set of lines to the forming song.
And I've traced your shadows on the wall
Now I kiss them whenever I'm down
Whenever I'm down
Figured on not figuring myself out
- - - - -
“Why can’t you just be happy that you have someone who does love you!?” Jeanae demanded as she glared at Pete, who returned the glare with just as much ferocity as she was mustering.
“Because you don’t love me!” He yelled at her, his hands forming fists at his sides. “You’ve never loved me! You only love what I can give you! You love being able to say that you’re with a celebrity!”
Jeanae laughed, the same cruel condescending laugh he had grown so used to, yet tired, of hearing during the time they had been together. “You’re not a celebrity Peter,” she sneered. “You’re just a flash and sizzle in the fucking fame pan. You’re band is shit, plays shitty music, and you’ll never fucking make it past where you are now. How can I say my man is a celebrity when he isn’t even in a big name band? You’re only big in the underground, and the underground doesn’t bring in shit.”
“Fuck you! What the fuck would you know, Jeanae!?” He challenged, his teeth bared slightly as he sneered at her.
“I know I’m the only one who can fucking stand to be around a drama queen like you! Why do you think Patrick doesn’t love you Pete?” She questioned, smirking when her boyfriend blanched at her words, his eyes showing his hurt. “He doesn’t love you because he can’t stand you. Who the fuck could? Shit, I can barely stand your whiney ass.”
Pete’s chest seized over and over, the dull throbbing of his heartbeat felt like a knife stab with every contraction, as he stared at her. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth as he stared at her, taking in that snide smirk he hated so much. If she loved him she wouldn’t say the things she did. “Get the fuck out of my home Jeanae,” he said, his tone firm as he stared her down. “I want you out of my house now.”
Jeanae shook her head as she walked over to the safe couch and grabbed her purse before she made her way to the door. “I’ll call you later…”
“No, don’t call,” he said, cutting her off as he looked at her. “We’re through.”
Jeanae stopped in her tracks and lifted a brow at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, we’re through,” he repeated. “I’m done being with someone who doesn’t support me, and doesn’t love me. You said it yourself that you can barely stand me and if that is the case then I just don’t want you around.”
Jeanae glared at him, obviously about to say something, but she kept her jaw locked and her lips pressed tight together as she headed out the door, slamming it as hard as she could. Unknown to her, he was right behind her, locking the door before she could turn around and try to come back. He truly was done with her this time, too bad Pete just didn’t know it yet.
Pete tangled his fingers through his hair as the pressure built in his chest, steadily building until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Throwing his head back he screamed his anger, hurt, and frustration. He screamed until he ran out of breath, then inhaled and belted out another scream, not caring if neighbors heard, or anything of the sort. All he cared about was his frustration and how little he obviously meant to her. She knew what to say to push his buttons and he hated her for it.
This was one of those times he needed Patrick, but he knew that right now, with the fight being about him, he knew there was no way, no way in Hell, he could call his friend and vent about the fight to him. So he did the next best thing, he grabbed his journal and went to work.
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
I almost pick up the phone- - - - -
Pete grumbled softly as he sifted through Patrick’s shirts, hating how low he had sunk in the ocean of his life. Finally finding one, he pulled it on over his naked upper torso and headed to the living room, where he curled up on the couch and grabbed the remote. He winced when the TV lit up the dark room, temporarily blinding him before his eyes adjusted to the difference in lighting.
He was glad Patrick had gone out of town, yet again, because it gave him the chance he needed to surround himself with Patrick’s smell once more. Hs nerves had already lost the feeling of an adrenaline rush from the argument he had dealt with before he came over to the apartment, leaving him with a cold emptiness.
He knew Patrick would find it strange of him to be walking around in his shirts and slippers, but at the moment he didn’t care. At the moment the only thing that Pete was worried about was his comfort and making sure that he was wearing a shirt that smelled the most like his friend-slash-band mate. Other than that he was fine. He hated what all Jeanae had to go through, Hell he had hated her more than what she had done and said, yet he didn’t like her being caught in the wheel of drama that he was bringing her in to. He didn’t want any more people involved than what was already there, but he knew he did owe her an apology for all the stuff he was putting her through.
No, no he didn’t owe her an apology, because look at what all she had put him through the past few weeks, months, Hell, their whole relationship. All that she had put him through, should he really apologize for falling in love with someone, not her, that never treated him the way she made a habit of treating him? Why should he apologize? Pete frowned at his thoughts as new thoughts began to creep in. Why was he so selfish? All he had to do was straighten up and be the guy she wanted him to be and he could make her happy and he could keep away from the risk of hurting his friends.
He sighed as he eyed the journal on the page before he picked it up and turned to the usual page, scrawling the next repeat of words, forming another part of the bit he had already decided was going to be the chorus.
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
- - - - -
Patrick frowned deeply when he opened the door to his room to see a red-eyed, giggling Pete leaning on the door frame in the hallway of his hotel. Pete didn’t even have to be any closer to Patrick for him to smell the heavy stench of alcohol coming off of his friend. “Jesus Christ, Pete, what the Hell is going on?” Patrick questioned as he helped his friend into his room. He took a peak in the hall to make sure no one had seen him or followed him. Satisfied that no one was lurking in the empty hallway, Patrick shut the door and turned to Pete, who was slowly sliding down the wall by the table. “Pete, what happened? How much have you had?”
“Um…” Pete squinted his eyes in heavy concentration as he held up the liter bottle of vodka that was three-fourths empty, frowning at the near empty bottle. “Um, this is the second bottle,” he finally answered, smiling proudly at Patrick, obviously very happy that he had figured it out on his own. “Oh, shit, I should have saved you some, huh Tricky?”
Patrick frowned in concern, wondering how on earth his friend was still alive after having so much to drink. How was he even conscious? Patrick knelt down by Pete, who was sitting fully on the floor now with his back to the wall. “Pete, I think we need to go to the hospital,” he said softly as he brushed some stray hairs from Pete’s face. “You might end up with alcohol poisoning, if you don’t already have it, and that would be bad.”
Pete frowned, looking confused and hurt. “Trick, why would you take me there? I’m fine, don’t take me to that place. It’s bad there Pa…trick.” Pete burst into a sudden fit of laughter, falling to the side and into Patrick, who had not been expecting the sudden collision of bodies. Both men went sprawling onto the floor, Pete falling over Patrick’s legs as his laughter increased.
Patrick groaned as he crawled out from underneath Pete, who was giggling as he cuddled the almost empty bottle of vodka to his chest. “Pete, I’m worried about you,” Patrick said as he stood up and then bent down, helping him stand up. “You’ve drank a lot of alcohol, and I’m not really sure how you’re even conscious right now. It would be in your best interest to go to the hospital so they can pump some of that alcohol out of your stomach.”
Pete pouted as the bottle slipped from his fingers. “Hey… That was mine,” he pouted as he tried to lean down, but was held up by Patrick. “Tricky…”
“Pete, if you won’t let me take you to the hospital, will you let me help you my own way?” Patrick asked him, holding his friend close so that he could keep him upright. When Pete gave a defeated sigh, he led him to the bed and helped him lay down, yelping in surprise when Pete pulled him down and snuggled into his chest.
“I loves my Tricky,” Pete mumbled into Patrick’s chest. “You’re always there for me, no matter what I get myself into… Where would I be without you?”
“I don’t know Pete,” Patrick said as he slowly stroked Pete’s hair and the back of his head. “But don’t worry about that, because I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what, okay?”
Pete smiled up at Patrick and snuggled into his chest again. “Can I stay with you Patrick?” He asked, looking at the shirt that he was laying his head on. “Can I stay the night?”
“I wouldn’t want you going anywhere else, Pete,” Patrick whispered, closing his eyes when he felt Pete snuggling closer to him, his body relaxing into his own.
- - - - -
When Patrick opened his eyes he could tell something was wrong. Something was out of place and it bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the blur from his eyes before he sat up, realizing Pete wasn’t in the bed with him. He quickly got up and looked through the hotel room, his heart rate increasing more with each passing moment that he couldn’t find his friend. He looked to his phone when he heard it go off on the night stand by the bed, and he quickly went over to it, picking it up. Hitting a couple of buttons he went to his text inbox.
tricky… im not happy tricky
hey! do you think its annoying to be around me?
youre passed out still arent you?
haha im so high tricky! i bet i could fly if i tried
Patrick frowned deeply at the last message and quickly sent a text to him, asking where he was as he rushed around, quickly grabbing his room card and his glasses. When the text came through, stating one word, “roof!”, he bolted from the room and took the elevator up to the top floor, running as fast as he could to the roof access door, hoping he wouldn’t be too late. As soon as he came to the door, he braced himself for the worst and pushed it open, sighing a heavy breath of relief when he saw Pete still on the roof, leaning against the wall that separated him from a long fall and a sudden stop.
When he heard the door behind him shut, Pete turned and smiled a sad smile at Patrick. “I thought I was going to have to die and never see you again,” he said as Patrick approached, but his words were so quiet that Patrick almost didn’t hear them.
“Pete, you’re not going to die,” Patrick said as he slowly moved closer, hoping to whatever was up there that Pete wouldn’t jump up and over the ledge before he could reach him.
“I thought the last time I would see you, you would be asleep,” he said softly as he let Patrick wrap his arms around him before he did the same. “But you were smiling, in your sleep, so it would have been worth it.”
“Pete, why do you want to die?” Patrick questioned as he slowly rubbed small circles on Pete’s back.
“Because no one loves me,” Pete slurred slightly as he frowned. His tone, what little Patrick could make out, stated that it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Why should I stay alive if I’m just wasting space here?”
Patrick frowned. “Because I love you Pete. You’re my best friend and I love you to death, don’t you ever leave me alone in this fucked up world. I can’t replace you with anyone, no matter how hard that person could try. You got that?”
Pete gave a lazy, drunk smile. “Do I really mean that much to you, Tricky?” He questioned, his glazed eyes begging.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me alone Pete,” Patrick said softly as he stared into Pete’s eyes.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, splinter from the headboard in my eye, Tricky,” he whispered as he buried his face in Patrick’s neck, losing himself in the scent that was best described as “Patrick”.
- - - - -
Pete sighed as he lazily sifted through the trash called fan sites, looking for anything that he might have to warn Joe about. He didn’t know why Joe bothered to read the trash when all he did was get depressed over it. He was as obsessed with reading what the fans had to say, as a straight man was obsessed with reading Play Boy or Hustler. Maybe it’s a reason to smoke some more weed, Pete thought to himself with a small chuckle as he clicked on a link that proclaimed, “PETE WENTZ CHEATING ON GIRLFRIEND, JEANAE WHITE, WITH LONG TIME FRIEND, PATRICK STUMP!”
On the screen that opened up was a picture of the kiss from the party they were at, when Pete had “saved” Patrick’s hat. He let his eyes skim over the words before he laughed, his boisterous laugh echoing in the small hotel room, startling Patrick who had just walked into the room. Pete, still laughing, turned when he heard the door open and shut. “Hey Trick,” he said through his laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Patrick asked as he set down the small bag of snack and drinks that he had run to the convenience store for. He went over to his friend and looked down at the open laptop as he pushed his frames up the bridge of his nose.
“Did you know I was cheating on Jeanae with you?” Pete asked, grinning for two reasons. One, the humor in the article, and the fact that Patrick was leaning up against him, pressing close enough for Pete to be engulfed by his friend’s intoxicating scent.
Patrick lifted a brow as he licked his lips before he read the words on the screen out loud. “Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump were caught getting pretty cozy with each other at a birthday party thrown for fellow Fall Out Boy, Andrew Hurley. The two shared the intimate kiss seen above after Wentz retrieved Stump’s fallen hat from the floor. But what about Jeanae White? She was nowhere to be seen at said party, but when confronted with the news, she laughed and said, ‘Everyone knows that Pete is gay for Patrick. Why does this surprise you?’” Patrick sighed and shook his head as he backed away. “Great, more PR we don’t need…”
“At least it’s not something that can’t be laughed off,” Pete said with a shrug as he closed off the link.
“So… When are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Patrick questioned, his voice quiet as he remembered sitting next to Pete at the toilet as Pete puked up the vodka. It had been a big relief in the long night when Pete first bolted to the bathroom. All night he had worried though, that Pete would pass out and not wake up, and he honestly didn’t know what he would have done if he had lost Pete.
Pete bit his lip as he turned to his friend, his chest tightening a little and his stomach flipping as the memory, or rather bits and pieces of the booze distorted memory, came back to him. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Patrick,” he said softly. “I got into it pretty bad with Jeanae, and I wanted to be numb. The first bottle wasn’t working fast enough, so I picked up the second bottle and it just went downhill from there…”
“You guys have been fighting a lot lately, haven’t you?” Patrick asked as he grabbed a drink from the bag and opened it, taking a couple of sips.
“Yeah, but we won’t be fighting anymore,” Pete answered as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I broke up with her.”
“Jesus, Pete,” Patrick frowned as he went over to his friend and gently pulled him up from the chair, hugging him tightly. He knew how much she had meant to Pete, so for his friend to leave her, he could only imagine how upset Pete was. “I bet your parents aren’t helping any…”
“No,” Pete said as he returned the hug, subtly inhaling Patrick’s scent as he laid his head on Patrick’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you stay at my place for a little? Until I get back to town?” Patrick suggested as he pulled back to look at Pete, who gave him a small smile.
“I’m starting to think you like having me as your house-sitter,” Pete said with a play pout as Patrick rolled his eyes and lightly shoved him. “Well it’s true, but yeah, I’d really like that, if it’s okay with you.”
“You haven’t burnt down my apartment yet, I think you’re safe,” Patrick said with a smile as he adjusted his glasses.
- - - - -
Patrick yawned as he walked into his apartment, being quiet since he didn’t want to risk waking Pete up with how late it was. He shut and locked his door as he set his bags down, cursing softly when one fell, making a little bit of noise when it hit the floor. He stayed still, listening for any noises that would indicate he might have woken Pete up, and when he heard nothing he gave a soft sigh of relief and moved to the bathroom. He did his business, which he had been holding since the airport a half hour away, and headed to his bedroom, not wanting to go into the guest room and wake up Pete.
He had gotten home a couple hours early, since his flight had been pushed up, so he knew Pete would still be out cold since he was supposed to pick him up from the airport at the original time. He knew that when Pete woke up, he would see the bags in front of the door and put two and two together, so he decided to not bother leaving a note. Jet lag was killing him and his bed was calling his name.
When he opened his bedroom door, he stopped at the sight before him. Curled up in the middle of his bed, with a familiar note book laying on his chest, was Pete, in one of Patrick’s shirts. A small smile crept on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, looking at the sight that was lit by the moonlight filtering in through the window.
Slowly, and as quietly as possible, Patrick crept over to the bed and picked up the journal, about to close it for Pete, but the words caught his eyes. He easily recognized them as lyrics, but they were lyrics he had never seen before, and he knew Pete was okay with him reading songs, so this one wouldn’t make a difference. If Pete was looking at it when he fell asleep, then he was probably thinking about having Patrick look at it anyway.
I've loved everything about you that hurts, so
Let me see your moves,
Let me see your moves
Lips pressed this close to mine,
True Blue
But the prince of any failing empire knows that
Everybody wants, everybody wants
To drive on through the night
If it's a drive back home
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
You almost pick up the phone
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying,
I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
I've already given up on myself twice
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm
Threw caution to the wind
But I've got a lousy arm
And I've traced your shadows on the wall
Now I kiss them whenever I'm down
Whenever I'm down
Figured on not figuring myself out
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
I almost pick up the phone
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
Born under a bad sign, but you saved my life
That night on the roof of your hotel
"Cross my heart and hope to die
Splintered from the headboard in my eye"
Photo-proofed kisses I remembered so well
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
Lifting his eyes from the page, to the still sleeping Pete, who was in his shirt, with the house slippers by the bed, Patrick’s eyes skimmed the lines of shirts and shoes. Slowly the wheels turned in his head until he realized what the song was, and he found himself closing the journal, before he set it on the nightstand and walked out of the room.
- - - - -
The next morning, when Pete slowly opened his eyes, he was vaguely aware of the sunlight streaming in the room and he frowned as he moved to sit up, only to find that he couldn’t. He looked down at Patrick, who was curled up against him, snoring softly, and frowned in confusion. He didn’t remember picking Patrick up from the airport, and if the sun was up that meant Patrick’s flight had come in a couple hours ago. He gently shook his friend, fighting off a smile when Patrick groaned as he opened his sleepy eyes.
“Did you take a cab home?” Pete questioned softly, hoping he hadn’t sleep drove.
Patrick nodded and rubbed his eyes as he turned over and stretched as Pete turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “But you didn’t miss picking me up,” he said as he snuggled back into Pete’s side. “My flight came in early and I didn’t want to wake you when I could just catch a cab… Pete?”
When Pete looked at Patrick, the singer’s mouth softly captured the bassist’s mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. When their lips finally parted from one another, Pete fixed a confused look on Patrick. “What was that for?” He questioned softly.
“I saw the song,” Patrick replied, gently cupping Pete’s cheek. “You should have just told me,” he whispered before he kissed him softly again, sighing into the kiss when Pete returned it, pressing his body closer after turning over.
[Author's Note: This a one-shot that one of my readers on fanworks, mistress'of'stump238, asked for when I offered her a reward for pointing something out to me. She said she wanted an explaination as to where Pete got the song lyrics from and that it might be hard, and she gave me an option if I couldn't, so I did it to prove I could lol. I had to prove I could do it to myself and her lol. Hope you guys liked it, reviews are loved as always =)]
Even though he had seen his friend’s face for years, he still couldn’t get over how gorgeous Patrick was, and he frowned when he caught himself taking in every little detail one by one again. He knew it was wrong for him to feel this way, but he couldn’t help himself. Who could truly control their feelings and emotions? This was one person that couldn’t, and it hurt to know that he could never have this boy the way he wanted so desperately to. The kiss last night only worked against him, deepening his sorrows as the teasing thought of Patrick’s lips against his own wrapped itself around his mind, refusing to leave.
- - - - -
Pete and Patrick giggled as they leaned into each other’s shoulders, thoroughly amused by Joe running around a few minutes ago with part of his fro on fire after a friend had hugged him with a lit joint in their hands, easily catching the fro on fire. Luckily someone finally got him with a glass of water, putting the small fire out, leaving everyone, sans Joe, laughing.
Patrick gasped for air through his laughter as Pete leaned down, still laughing, to pick up the trucker hat that had fallen from the singer’s head when he was curled over himself laughing. Pete sat up and put the hat on Patrick’s head, giving him a drunken, proud of himself smile.
“I goted your hat for you, Tricky,” Pete giggled as Patrick adjusted the hat, his own laughter dying to giggles as he smiled back at Pete.
He reached out and pulled his friend closer, a strange smile on those gorgeous lips. “Let me give the one that saved my hat a thank you,” he murmured before he pressed his lips to Pete’s, their lips melting together as Pete put his arm around Patrick. A testing tongue moved out to touch Pete’s lips, lightly brushing against them before it was met with Pete’s lips parting, his own tongue coming out to touch with Patrick’s.
- - - - -
Pete sighed as he moved from the bed and made his way to his suitcase, taking out his journal, and pen, before he moved to the table in their hotel room and sat down in the chair. Turning to a blank page in the book, his chicken scratch hand-writing scrawled the words on the page that his dream had caused. He frowned as he looked them over, hating once more how Patrick unknowingly succeeded in making him feel. How badly did he wish that him and Patrick hadn’t been drunk when they shared their kiss? There wasn’t enough pain to describe it.
I've loved everything about you that hurts, so
Let me see your moves,
Let me see your moves
Lips pressed this close to mine,
True Blue
- - - - -
Pete paced the hotel room he was in, suddenly feeling claustrophobic as he took in the walls, his eyes for a moment straying to the balcony before he tore them away from the sight. A chill took his spine as he realized that he had actually found the balcony, and the fall from it, tempting. He grabbed his bag and his phone before he left the hotel room, making a bee line for the stairs since the elevator just didn’t move fast enough for him. He had to get where he was safe from his own mind, he needed to be where he felt safe from everything. He needed to be back in Chicago with Patrick.
-12 hours later-
A loud, obnoxious banging on his door, accompanied by the non-stop ringing of his doorbell made Patrick grumble to himself as he made his way to the door of his apartment. What he saw when he opened the door made his chest tighten. Pete was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes bloodshot and his skin looking pale. He quickly pulled Pete into a hug, frowning when the hug was returned as hard as it was given, if not harder.
“Pete, what’s wrong? I thought you were in New York?” He questioned as he kicked the door shut with his foot and rubbed slow circles on his friend’s back.
“I just made a thirteen hour drive in eleven hours,” Pete muttered into Patrick’s shoulder as he discreetly took in the comforting scent of his long-time friend. “I would have been here an hour ago, but it took the guy at the rental agency almost an hour to find a fast car that had no governor in it.”
He picked a thirteen hour drive over a 3 hour flight? Patrick thought to himself as he tried to figure out what was going on. “Pete, why didn’t you fly? You could have gotten here sooner,” Patrick continued the slow rubbing as Pete’s hold loosened slightly, but the older male stayed close, his head laying on Patrick’s shoulder now. When he got no answer, he decided to give up for now and let Pete relax from an eleven hour drive. He rested his head softly against Pete’s to let him know it was okay, something he had picked up over the years of being there for Pete when he needed it.
“I just wanted to get here without the crying babies and nasty stewardesses,” Pete finally answered after a long, heavy silence. “I knew I couldn’t just wait around in an airport, waiting for my flight. It was hard enough sitting in the rental agency waiting for the guy to find me the car I wanted.”
Patrick nudged Pete’s head with his own before he slowly pulled away, but didn’t let go, and looked at his friend, whose eyes already shone a little more than when Patrick had first opened the door. “You hit a dip, didn’t you?” Patrick asked softly, even though he already knew the answer. Ever since the parking lot overdose Pete hit dips in his emotional roller coaster that would make it hard for him to be alone. Patrick had seen enough of the dips to know when Pete was trying to come back up from one. When Pete’s slow nod confirmed his fears, Patrick’s mouth pulled downward.
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” Pete whispered, hating that he had his friend worrying about him again. “I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he said as he started to pull away. “I’ll go.”
Panic seized Patrick as he thought of Pete, in the middle of one of these dips, driving down the highway in a car with no governor, which meant no speed limit for Pete. How many turns could his friend purposely take too fast? “Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third you sit your ass down on my couch and get that fucking thought of leaving out of your head,” Patrick commanded, his tone oozing concern for his friend. “Don’t apologizing for coming to me when you need me.”
Pete felt the tightness in his chest slowly evaporate as he looked to his friend, a small smile forming on his lips. He slowly pulled away and went to the couch, taking a seat in his usual spot. He watched as Patrick went to the kitchen, disappearing from his sight, but he knew by the sound of clinking glasses that Patrick was getting them something to drink. He bit his lip and took out his sidekick, pressing a couple of keys until his notes area was opened. His thumbs moved on the qwerty keypad as lyrics left his mind and showed on the screen.
But the prince of any failing empire knows that
Everybody wants, everybody wants
To drive on through the night
If it's a drive back home
- - - - -
Pete slowly paced his living room, toning out the sounds of the snoring Hemingway, who was collapsed on his “chosen” couch. His girlfriend was out, doing who knew what with whoever, and it was so late his time that he knew Patrick would be asleep in Chicago. Pete was stuck out in California because in a couple of hours he had an interview and it was one he couldn’t miss out on. He had ditched these people back in New York when he had his break down and had driven to Chicago from New York, so he knew he couldn’t bail on them again.
Walking from his living room to his bedroom, he grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on, zipping it all the way up before he pulled up the hood and stuffed his hands in the pockets. He sighed as he stared down at his feet, trying to fight off the urge to pick up the house phone. His right hand moved from the hoodie pocket to his pants, touching the outside of the pocket where he could feel the outline of his sidekick.
His fingers practically itched to reach in and wrap around the sidekick, tapping those familiar seven numbers that he knew all too well. He went over to his closet and reached up to the top shelf, fishing blindly for his journal. When he found it he sat down on his bed and flipped to the page he had been using for Patrick, a spot that was now between old and new entries, hiding it so that only Pete knew where to look for it.
He looked over the words from before, the two lines that now started to look somewhat like lyrics to him. He added his third set of lines and bit his lip softly, tapping his pen on the journal as he nodded to himself, some unspoken mental communication that he was indeed writing a song, kind of. He hadn’t meant for it to start out that way, but it made sense to him that it would happen that way, it did from time to time. He was only curious as to how this song would end up.
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
You almost pick up the phone
- - - - -
Pete yawned softly as he lazily tossed the ball for Hemingway, watching him dart across his mother’s back yard after the round item. His cell vibrating in his pocket, caught his attention and he slid his hand into the pocket and pulled out his sidekick. When he saw the name on the Caller ID, his heart skipped a beat and he almost didn’t answer it; but Pete could never ignore a call from Patrick. Pressing the call button, he brought the phone up to his ear.
“Hey Trick, what’s up?”
“Not much,” replied the voice on the other line, “haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, I’m just wondering if everything is okay.”
Pete chewed the corner of his mouth as he took the slobbery tennis ball with his free hand and threw it. “Sorry, I’ve been trying not to bother you,” he answered as he watched Hemingway chase after the ball. “I know you’re busy with producing, and the last thing I want to do is interrupt something.”
“Pete, you know I won’t consider it bugging me,” Patrick chided softly. “I always have time for my close friends, you know that. How’s the weather out in LA?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he answered as he made a face when Hemingway dropped the retrieved slobbery ball at his feet. “I’m at my parents’ home for the weekend.”
“So you’re in Chicago?” Patrick question, but his tone told Pete he was only confirming to make sure he had heard right.
“Yeah,” Pete replied as he threw the ball again, wiping his slobber-covered hand on his pants, making another face.
“Could I ask for a huge favor, Pete?”
“Yeah, sure, what is it?” Pete asked as he went to the door that led inside the house and opened it, walking inside. He waited at the door for Hemingway to run in and then shut the door before he laid down on the couch.
“Do you think you could make a run over to my apartment sometime and get my mail from the mail box? I don’t like the idea of my mail just piling up in the mailbox like that.”
“I’ll go check up on it for you,” Pete answered. “Is your key still at the front office under lock and key?”
“Yeah, but I’ll call ahead so they can give it to you,” Patrick answered and Pete could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. “I really appreciate this Pete, you have no idea,” Patrick said.
- - - - -
Pete walked around the apartment, biting his lip slightly at the weird feeling in his gut as he shifted his feet in the slippers he wore, the slippers from Patrick’s closet. He lightly tugged at the hem of the shirt he wore, another item from Patrick’s closet. He was at least decent enough to wear his own boxer-briefs as he walked around the empty place. He wasn’t happy about being alone, but he was glad that he was surrounded, completely surrounded, by Patrick’s scent. It was everywhere. In every room he walked into, on everything he put his nose to, he had practically melted into the recliner that Patrick chose over every other piece of sitting furniture he had.
He knew his girlfriend’s brown eyes would be rolling in their skull if she knew he was enjoying the overdose of Patrick’s scent. Then again, all she did was roll her eyes over any little detail lately. He couldn’t even remember why he loved her anymore, or if he even did love her. He knew he loved Patrick, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was head over heels in the most damaging way. If he tried and failed with Patrick, not only would he lose his friend, but it would cause an unbearable hole in his chest, and the band could fall apart. He would be putting the jobs of Joe, Andy, and Patrick on the line for the hope of a possible relationship with Patrick.
Besides, even if he did end up leaving his girlfriend for Patrick, it’s not like the feelings would be returned anyway. Yes, he just had to come to terms with the fact that although he could never have Patrick, it was better to have him in his life, even if only as a friend, than not have him at all.
He sat down on the couch with his journal, turning to the hidden page and tapped the end of his pen against the lined paper, chewing his lip as he tried to put his feelings into words. When he started the first line, he frowned and shook his head, knowing that Patrick, should he ever see this page, would know what he meant by “trade brown eyes for your baby blues” so he scratched out the line and chewed his lip harder, threatening to break the skin and draw blood. He really wanted to keep the line about the eyes, but how could he keep it without Patrick knowing the song was for him?
He started at the page, mulling the line over and over in his head until a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and his hand moved over the page.
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying,
I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
- - - - -
Pete paced the studio as he waited on Patrick to finish up with the phone call he had to take. He was going to do it, he was going to confess his feelings for Patrick, because he was tired of living his lie. He hated himself at he moment though, because he was actually hoping for the phone call to go on for as long as it could. His courage was long gone the moment he pulled into the parking lot of the studio Patrick was at, working with Gabe Saporta, who had taken a two hour beak because he wanted to go see his girlfriend, fiancé, whatever she was.
He was aware that Patrick had his eyes on him every step of the way, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He had tried this twice before, but failed, and right now he was leaning on the old saying, “Third time’s the charm,” in hopes that he could do it this time. When Patrick got off the phone, Pete looked over at him, hearing the device snap shut. He managed a weak smile as Patrick gave him a smile.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Patrick questioned, shifting in his spot to get more comfortable.
Pete swallowed the lump in his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I… I’ve been thinking about something for a while now, and I really want to tell you,” Pete managed to mutter as he turned his eyes to the floor, his spine turning to liquid under his skin.
“So, tell me Pete,” Patrick said softly as he got up and moved over to his friend, gently lifting Pete’s head so that the bass player was looking at him with his anxious brown orbs. “Whatever it is, you know I’m here for you…”
“I…” Pete bit his lip and tried to calm his heart rate, which accelerated when he took in just how close Patrick’s mouth was to his. I love you! “I want to marry Jeanae.” No! I love you! He screamed in his head as Patrick’s eyes took on a strange look and he slowly stepped back from Pete.
“But, you guys barely get along Pete,” Patrick spoke softly, but Pete could hear the sudden edge in his friend’s voice. “Why would you want to marry someone who makes you hate your life?”
Pete ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. “Sounds bad when you put it like that, Trick,” Pete replied, secretly rejoicing in his head that Patrick hadn’t stuffed his tongue in his cheek and just accepted him getting engaged. “Maybe I should give it more thought, huh?”
Patrick nodded, a deep frown creasing his features. “Yeah, you’re right,” Patrick answered as he reached up and lightly tugged the hair at the back of his head, just under the spot where his hat stopped, a tick he had picked up long ago when something was bothering him.
“I’m sorry Patrick, I should have thought that through more before I brought it to you,” Pete said softly as he watched his friend. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Patrick shook his head slightly as he looked at Pete. “No, it’s okay… You’ve just dropped a big bomb that’s all,” he said as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Just try to think that through a bit more next time, huh Pete?” Patrick asked, a small smile on his face as he tried to calm his own pounding heart beat. He would go to prison for murder before he saw that money-grubbing whore of human flesh called Jeanae marry his best friend.
Pete nodded and moved closer, hugging his long-time friend. “You can’t be mad at me Tricky,” he muttered into his friend’s neck as Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry Pete,” Patrick said as he rubbed a small circle on Pete’s back before they broke away from each other. He looked up when Gabe came into the studio, a noticeable pout on the “King Cobra”s lips. “What’s wrong with you?”
Gabe shook his head as he lightly slapped Pete on the back in greeting. “Girlfriend is on the rag, which means no afternoon delight for Gabe.” He looked at Pete. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone had to keep Patrick company while you ran off on a failed escapade,” Pete said with a shrug, an obvious sign to Patrick that he didn’t want Gabe to know what they were talking about before he arrived. “Sorry about your luck by the way.”
“Eh, I’ve got two hands to choose from,” Gabe said with a suggestive smile as he wiggled his eyebrows at Pete, who lightly slapped him upside the back of his head. “So, are you sticking around?”
“Nah,” Pete answered as he shook his head. “I was only here until you got back. I have some things I have to do.”
“Alright man, I’ll see you later,” Gabe said as Pete headed out the door.
As he got further down the hall, Pete frowned a little more at a time until he was full-fledged sulking in self pity by the time he got to his Lamborghini. He got in and sighed as he took out his sidekick, and opened an email, texting in the next line to go into his journal before he sent it and put the phone back in his pocket. Turning on the car and shifting gears, he headed back to his parent’s home, cussing himself out the whole way home.
I've already given up on myself twice
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm
Threw caution to the wind
But I've got a lousy arm
- - - - -
Pete stared into the night at the shadows dancing on his wall from time to time by the passing cars, his insomnia raging full on tonight. He stayed curled in his ball as he ran his fingers through his mind, wishing he was anywhere but here right now. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t even know why he bothered staying in Chicago, but in the end he knew damn well. He only stayed because it was only chance to see Patrick since he still lived in Illinois, while Pete had his home out in California. That place just wasn’t the same with the knowledge that he couldn’t just take a small drive and end up in Patrick’s apartment complex.
He closed his eyes and thought back to that day in the studio, and how he had almost told Patrick his hidden feelings. His creative side taking over as the memory progressed and made things take a different turn.
- - - - -
“I…” Pete bit his lip and tried to calm his heart rate, which accelerated when he took in just how close Patrick’s mouth was to his. He leaned in, closing the distance between their mouths in a soft, sweet kiss, his hands coming up to softly cup his friend’s face.
Patrick moved closer, his own arms wrapping around Pete as he returned the kiss, a soft moan welling up in the back of his throat. He tangled his fingers in Pete’s hair, earning a soft moan from the bassist as he gently tugged at the brown-black locks.
Slowly breaking the kiss, Pete stared into Patrick’s blue-green eyes. “I love you,” he whispered, his eyes searching Patrick’s, looking for something, anything to hint that he felt the same way.
A slow smile spread on Patrick’s face as he stared back into Pete’s eyes. “I love you too…”
- - - - -
Pete sighed softly as he opened his eyes and stared at the walls once more, wishing he could figure out what the Hell he was going to do. He sat up on the edge of his bed and reached down, picking up his bag from the floor before he fished around inside, pulling out the familiar book. Turning to his hidden page he added the next set of lines to the forming song.
And I've traced your shadows on the wall
Now I kiss them whenever I'm down
Whenever I'm down
Figured on not figuring myself out
- - - - -
“Why can’t you just be happy that you have someone who does love you!?” Jeanae demanded as she glared at Pete, who returned the glare with just as much ferocity as she was mustering.
“Because you don’t love me!” He yelled at her, his hands forming fists at his sides. “You’ve never loved me! You only love what I can give you! You love being able to say that you’re with a celebrity!”
Jeanae laughed, the same cruel condescending laugh he had grown so used to, yet tired, of hearing during the time they had been together. “You’re not a celebrity Peter,” she sneered. “You’re just a flash and sizzle in the fucking fame pan. You’re band is shit, plays shitty music, and you’ll never fucking make it past where you are now. How can I say my man is a celebrity when he isn’t even in a big name band? You’re only big in the underground, and the underground doesn’t bring in shit.”
“Fuck you! What the fuck would you know, Jeanae!?” He challenged, his teeth bared slightly as he sneered at her.
“I know I’m the only one who can fucking stand to be around a drama queen like you! Why do you think Patrick doesn’t love you Pete?” She questioned, smirking when her boyfriend blanched at her words, his eyes showing his hurt. “He doesn’t love you because he can’t stand you. Who the fuck could? Shit, I can barely stand your whiney ass.”
Pete’s chest seized over and over, the dull throbbing of his heartbeat felt like a knife stab with every contraction, as he stared at her. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth as he stared at her, taking in that snide smirk he hated so much. If she loved him she wouldn’t say the things she did. “Get the fuck out of my home Jeanae,” he said, his tone firm as he stared her down. “I want you out of my house now.”
Jeanae shook her head as she walked over to the safe couch and grabbed her purse before she made her way to the door. “I’ll call you later…”
“No, don’t call,” he said, cutting her off as he looked at her. “We’re through.”
Jeanae stopped in her tracks and lifted a brow at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said, we’re through,” he repeated. “I’m done being with someone who doesn’t support me, and doesn’t love me. You said it yourself that you can barely stand me and if that is the case then I just don’t want you around.”
Jeanae glared at him, obviously about to say something, but she kept her jaw locked and her lips pressed tight together as she headed out the door, slamming it as hard as she could. Unknown to her, he was right behind her, locking the door before she could turn around and try to come back. He truly was done with her this time, too bad Pete just didn’t know it yet.
Pete tangled his fingers through his hair as the pressure built in his chest, steadily building until he couldn’t stand it anymore. Throwing his head back he screamed his anger, hurt, and frustration. He screamed until he ran out of breath, then inhaled and belted out another scream, not caring if neighbors heard, or anything of the sort. All he cared about was his frustration and how little he obviously meant to her. She knew what to say to push his buttons and he hated her for it.
This was one of those times he needed Patrick, but he knew that right now, with the fight being about him, he knew there was no way, no way in Hell, he could call his friend and vent about the fight to him. So he did the next best thing, he grabbed his journal and went to work.
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
I almost pick up the phone- - - - -
Pete grumbled softly as he sifted through Patrick’s shirts, hating how low he had sunk in the ocean of his life. Finally finding one, he pulled it on over his naked upper torso and headed to the living room, where he curled up on the couch and grabbed the remote. He winced when the TV lit up the dark room, temporarily blinding him before his eyes adjusted to the difference in lighting.
He was glad Patrick had gone out of town, yet again, because it gave him the chance he needed to surround himself with Patrick’s smell once more. Hs nerves had already lost the feeling of an adrenaline rush from the argument he had dealt with before he came over to the apartment, leaving him with a cold emptiness.
He knew Patrick would find it strange of him to be walking around in his shirts and slippers, but at the moment he didn’t care. At the moment the only thing that Pete was worried about was his comfort and making sure that he was wearing a shirt that smelled the most like his friend-slash-band mate. Other than that he was fine. He hated what all Jeanae had to go through, Hell he had hated her more than what she had done and said, yet he didn’t like her being caught in the wheel of drama that he was bringing her in to. He didn’t want any more people involved than what was already there, but he knew he did owe her an apology for all the stuff he was putting her through.
No, no he didn’t owe her an apology, because look at what all she had put him through the past few weeks, months, Hell, their whole relationship. All that she had put him through, should he really apologize for falling in love with someone, not her, that never treated him the way she made a habit of treating him? Why should he apologize? Pete frowned at his thoughts as new thoughts began to creep in. Why was he so selfish? All he had to do was straighten up and be the guy she wanted him to be and he could make her happy and he could keep away from the risk of hurting his friends.
He sighed as he eyed the journal on the page before he picked it up and turned to the usual page, scrawling the next repeat of words, forming another part of the bit he had already decided was going to be the chorus.
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
- - - - -
Patrick frowned deeply when he opened the door to his room to see a red-eyed, giggling Pete leaning on the door frame in the hallway of his hotel. Pete didn’t even have to be any closer to Patrick for him to smell the heavy stench of alcohol coming off of his friend. “Jesus Christ, Pete, what the Hell is going on?” Patrick questioned as he helped his friend into his room. He took a peak in the hall to make sure no one had seen him or followed him. Satisfied that no one was lurking in the empty hallway, Patrick shut the door and turned to Pete, who was slowly sliding down the wall by the table. “Pete, what happened? How much have you had?”
“Um…” Pete squinted his eyes in heavy concentration as he held up the liter bottle of vodka that was three-fourths empty, frowning at the near empty bottle. “Um, this is the second bottle,” he finally answered, smiling proudly at Patrick, obviously very happy that he had figured it out on his own. “Oh, shit, I should have saved you some, huh Tricky?”
Patrick frowned in concern, wondering how on earth his friend was still alive after having so much to drink. How was he even conscious? Patrick knelt down by Pete, who was sitting fully on the floor now with his back to the wall. “Pete, I think we need to go to the hospital,” he said softly as he brushed some stray hairs from Pete’s face. “You might end up with alcohol poisoning, if you don’t already have it, and that would be bad.”
Pete frowned, looking confused and hurt. “Trick, why would you take me there? I’m fine, don’t take me to that place. It’s bad there Pa…trick.” Pete burst into a sudden fit of laughter, falling to the side and into Patrick, who had not been expecting the sudden collision of bodies. Both men went sprawling onto the floor, Pete falling over Patrick’s legs as his laughter increased.
Patrick groaned as he crawled out from underneath Pete, who was giggling as he cuddled the almost empty bottle of vodka to his chest. “Pete, I’m worried about you,” Patrick said as he stood up and then bent down, helping him stand up. “You’ve drank a lot of alcohol, and I’m not really sure how you’re even conscious right now. It would be in your best interest to go to the hospital so they can pump some of that alcohol out of your stomach.”
Pete pouted as the bottle slipped from his fingers. “Hey… That was mine,” he pouted as he tried to lean down, but was held up by Patrick. “Tricky…”
“Pete, if you won’t let me take you to the hospital, will you let me help you my own way?” Patrick asked him, holding his friend close so that he could keep him upright. When Pete gave a defeated sigh, he led him to the bed and helped him lay down, yelping in surprise when Pete pulled him down and snuggled into his chest.
“I loves my Tricky,” Pete mumbled into Patrick’s chest. “You’re always there for me, no matter what I get myself into… Where would I be without you?”
“I don’t know Pete,” Patrick said as he slowly stroked Pete’s hair and the back of his head. “But don’t worry about that, because I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what, okay?”
Pete smiled up at Patrick and snuggled into his chest again. “Can I stay with you Patrick?” He asked, looking at the shirt that he was laying his head on. “Can I stay the night?”
“I wouldn’t want you going anywhere else, Pete,” Patrick whispered, closing his eyes when he felt Pete snuggling closer to him, his body relaxing into his own.
- - - - -
When Patrick opened his eyes he could tell something was wrong. Something was out of place and it bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the blur from his eyes before he sat up, realizing Pete wasn’t in the bed with him. He quickly got up and looked through the hotel room, his heart rate increasing more with each passing moment that he couldn’t find his friend. He looked to his phone when he heard it go off on the night stand by the bed, and he quickly went over to it, picking it up. Hitting a couple of buttons he went to his text inbox.
tricky… im not happy tricky
hey! do you think its annoying to be around me?
youre passed out still arent you?
haha im so high tricky! i bet i could fly if i tried
Patrick frowned deeply at the last message and quickly sent a text to him, asking where he was as he rushed around, quickly grabbing his room card and his glasses. When the text came through, stating one word, “roof!”, he bolted from the room and took the elevator up to the top floor, running as fast as he could to the roof access door, hoping he wouldn’t be too late. As soon as he came to the door, he braced himself for the worst and pushed it open, sighing a heavy breath of relief when he saw Pete still on the roof, leaning against the wall that separated him from a long fall and a sudden stop.
When he heard the door behind him shut, Pete turned and smiled a sad smile at Patrick. “I thought I was going to have to die and never see you again,” he said as Patrick approached, but his words were so quiet that Patrick almost didn’t hear them.
“Pete, you’re not going to die,” Patrick said as he slowly moved closer, hoping to whatever was up there that Pete wouldn’t jump up and over the ledge before he could reach him.
“I thought the last time I would see you, you would be asleep,” he said softly as he let Patrick wrap his arms around him before he did the same. “But you were smiling, in your sleep, so it would have been worth it.”
“Pete, why do you want to die?” Patrick questioned as he slowly rubbed small circles on Pete’s back.
“Because no one loves me,” Pete slurred slightly as he frowned. His tone, what little Patrick could make out, stated that it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Why should I stay alive if I’m just wasting space here?”
Patrick frowned. “Because I love you Pete. You’re my best friend and I love you to death, don’t you ever leave me alone in this fucked up world. I can’t replace you with anyone, no matter how hard that person could try. You got that?”
Pete gave a lazy, drunk smile. “Do I really mean that much to you, Tricky?” He questioned, his glazed eyes begging.
“Promise me you’ll never leave me alone Pete,” Patrick said softly as he stared into Pete’s eyes.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, splinter from the headboard in my eye, Tricky,” he whispered as he buried his face in Patrick’s neck, losing himself in the scent that was best described as “Patrick”.
- - - - -
Pete sighed as he lazily sifted through the trash called fan sites, looking for anything that he might have to warn Joe about. He didn’t know why Joe bothered to read the trash when all he did was get depressed over it. He was as obsessed with reading what the fans had to say, as a straight man was obsessed with reading Play Boy or Hustler. Maybe it’s a reason to smoke some more weed, Pete thought to himself with a small chuckle as he clicked on a link that proclaimed, “PETE WENTZ CHEATING ON GIRLFRIEND, JEANAE WHITE, WITH LONG TIME FRIEND, PATRICK STUMP!”
On the screen that opened up was a picture of the kiss from the party they were at, when Pete had “saved” Patrick’s hat. He let his eyes skim over the words before he laughed, his boisterous laugh echoing in the small hotel room, startling Patrick who had just walked into the room. Pete, still laughing, turned when he heard the door open and shut. “Hey Trick,” he said through his laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Patrick asked as he set down the small bag of snack and drinks that he had run to the convenience store for. He went over to his friend and looked down at the open laptop as he pushed his frames up the bridge of his nose.
“Did you know I was cheating on Jeanae with you?” Pete asked, grinning for two reasons. One, the humor in the article, and the fact that Patrick was leaning up against him, pressing close enough for Pete to be engulfed by his friend’s intoxicating scent.
Patrick lifted a brow as he licked his lips before he read the words on the screen out loud. “Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump were caught getting pretty cozy with each other at a birthday party thrown for fellow Fall Out Boy, Andrew Hurley. The two shared the intimate kiss seen above after Wentz retrieved Stump’s fallen hat from the floor. But what about Jeanae White? She was nowhere to be seen at said party, but when confronted with the news, she laughed and said, ‘Everyone knows that Pete is gay for Patrick. Why does this surprise you?’” Patrick sighed and shook his head as he backed away. “Great, more PR we don’t need…”
“At least it’s not something that can’t be laughed off,” Pete said with a shrug as he closed off the link.
“So… When are you going to tell me what happened last night?” Patrick questioned, his voice quiet as he remembered sitting next to Pete at the toilet as Pete puked up the vodka. It had been a big relief in the long night when Pete first bolted to the bathroom. All night he had worried though, that Pete would pass out and not wake up, and he honestly didn’t know what he would have done if he had lost Pete.
Pete bit his lip as he turned to his friend, his chest tightening a little and his stomach flipping as the memory, or rather bits and pieces of the booze distorted memory, came back to him. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Patrick,” he said softly. “I got into it pretty bad with Jeanae, and I wanted to be numb. The first bottle wasn’t working fast enough, so I picked up the second bottle and it just went downhill from there…”
“You guys have been fighting a lot lately, haven’t you?” Patrick asked as he grabbed a drink from the bag and opened it, taking a couple of sips.
“Yeah, but we won’t be fighting anymore,” Pete answered as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I broke up with her.”
“Jesus, Pete,” Patrick frowned as he went over to his friend and gently pulled him up from the chair, hugging him tightly. He knew how much she had meant to Pete, so for his friend to leave her, he could only imagine how upset Pete was. “I bet your parents aren’t helping any…”
“No,” Pete said as he returned the hug, subtly inhaling Patrick’s scent as he laid his head on Patrick’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you stay at my place for a little? Until I get back to town?” Patrick suggested as he pulled back to look at Pete, who gave him a small smile.
“I’m starting to think you like having me as your house-sitter,” Pete said with a play pout as Patrick rolled his eyes and lightly shoved him. “Well it’s true, but yeah, I’d really like that, if it’s okay with you.”
“You haven’t burnt down my apartment yet, I think you’re safe,” Patrick said with a smile as he adjusted his glasses.
- - - - -
Patrick yawned as he walked into his apartment, being quiet since he didn’t want to risk waking Pete up with how late it was. He shut and locked his door as he set his bags down, cursing softly when one fell, making a little bit of noise when it hit the floor. He stayed still, listening for any noises that would indicate he might have woken Pete up, and when he heard nothing he gave a soft sigh of relief and moved to the bathroom. He did his business, which he had been holding since the airport a half hour away, and headed to his bedroom, not wanting to go into the guest room and wake up Pete.
He had gotten home a couple hours early, since his flight had been pushed up, so he knew Pete would still be out cold since he was supposed to pick him up from the airport at the original time. He knew that when Pete woke up, he would see the bags in front of the door and put two and two together, so he decided to not bother leaving a note. Jet lag was killing him and his bed was calling his name.
When he opened his bedroom door, he stopped at the sight before him. Curled up in the middle of his bed, with a familiar note book laying on his chest, was Pete, in one of Patrick’s shirts. A small smile crept on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, looking at the sight that was lit by the moonlight filtering in through the window.
Slowly, and as quietly as possible, Patrick crept over to the bed and picked up the journal, about to close it for Pete, but the words caught his eyes. He easily recognized them as lyrics, but they were lyrics he had never seen before, and he knew Pete was okay with him reading songs, so this one wouldn’t make a difference. If Pete was looking at it when he fell asleep, then he was probably thinking about having Patrick look at it anyway.
I've loved everything about you that hurts, so
Let me see your moves,
Let me see your moves
Lips pressed this close to mine,
True Blue
But the prince of any failing empire knows that
Everybody wants, everybody wants
To drive on through the night
If it's a drive back home
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
You almost pick up the phone
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying,
I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
I've already given up on myself twice
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm
Threw caution to the wind
But I've got a lousy arm
And I've traced your shadows on the wall
Now I kiss them whenever I'm down
Whenever I'm down
Figured on not figuring myself out
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights, they get so bad
I almost pick up the phone
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
Born under a bad sign, but you saved my life
That night on the roof of your hotel
"Cross my heart and hope to die
Splintered from the headboard in my eye"
Photo-proofed kisses I remembered so well
Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes,
You know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying
That I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
Lifting his eyes from the page, to the still sleeping Pete, who was in his shirt, with the house slippers by the bed, Patrick’s eyes skimmed the lines of shirts and shoes. Slowly the wheels turned in his head until he realized what the song was, and he found himself closing the journal, before he set it on the nightstand and walked out of the room.
- - - - -
The next morning, when Pete slowly opened his eyes, he was vaguely aware of the sunlight streaming in the room and he frowned as he moved to sit up, only to find that he couldn’t. He looked down at Patrick, who was curled up against him, snoring softly, and frowned in confusion. He didn’t remember picking Patrick up from the airport, and if the sun was up that meant Patrick’s flight had come in a couple hours ago. He gently shook his friend, fighting off a smile when Patrick groaned as he opened his sleepy eyes.
“Did you take a cab home?” Pete questioned softly, hoping he hadn’t sleep drove.
Patrick nodded and rubbed his eyes as he turned over and stretched as Pete turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “But you didn’t miss picking me up,” he said as he snuggled back into Pete’s side. “My flight came in early and I didn’t want to wake you when I could just catch a cab… Pete?”
When Pete looked at Patrick, the singer’s mouth softly captured the bassist’s mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. When their lips finally parted from one another, Pete fixed a confused look on Patrick. “What was that for?” He questioned softly.
“I saw the song,” Patrick replied, gently cupping Pete’s cheek. “You should have just told me,” he whispered before he kissed him softly again, sighing into the kiss when Pete returned it, pressing his body closer after turning over.
[Author's Note: This a one-shot that one of my readers on fanworks, mistress'of'stump238, asked for when I offered her a reward for pointing something out to me. She said she wanted an explaination as to where Pete got the song lyrics from and that it might be hard, and she gave me an option if I couldn't, so I did it to prove I could lol. I had to prove I could do it to myself and her lol. Hope you guys liked it, reviews are loved as always =)]
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