Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > What a match, I am half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.
Chapter 1.
Little girl you got me staring odd,
Or was that just a telescopic camera nod?
He’d been watching her for a while. It was something he enjoyed, people watching. Just standing or sitting somewhere out of the way, somewhere people wouldn’t notice him, where he could blend into the background. It wasn’t something that was easy for him to do, obviously. You can’t really blend into the background if you’re in a band, as much as he’d like to half the time.
As grateful as he was for all the fame, fortune and getting to do what he loved whilst making a living at the same time, Pete couldn’t help but think how different his life would be if they’d never had their big break, never sold albums, never toured America. What would he be doing now? Probably sitting around at his parent’s place, writing songs that were never going to become anything, or maybe he’d have a job - some pointless, menial chore that he’d never be happy doing and would never enjoy.
Pete fixed his attention back on her. She’d changed position, he noticed, now her legs were crossed beneath her, guitar resting in her lap. What was her story? Why was she spending her afternoon sitting on the ground, strumming away at a beat-up guitar, singing the typical crowd-pleasing songs all buskers seemed to sing – Oasis, The Beatles, maybe a bit of Radiohead, sometimes Nirvana. Maybe she was a drug addict living on the streets, performing to be able to score her next batch of heroin? But no, he discarded that idea almost immediately. Her hair was too shiny and clean and her jeans, although ripped, weren’t dirty enough for her to have been living on the streets. Maybe she had a child, and couldn’t afford to pay for it with just her normal day job, or maybe she was even a spy or a detective or something just as exciting.
His mind was wandering once again. He watched as a distracted mother with two young kids, a girl and a boy, stopped in front of her. The kids seemed enthralled by the girl, their eyes wide as they listened to her voice. She noticed they were in front of her, and smiled at them. Pete was too far away to hear exactly what the girl said to the children, but couldn’t resist a smile appear on his face as she began to sing the familiar lyrics to Do-Re-Mi from that musical The Sound of Music. No one would ever put Pete down for a musical kind of guy, but there he was, humming along with the words and tapping his feet. His smile widened into a grin as the kids looked at each other excitedly at hearing the change of song, and he thought he could hear the shriller tones of the young girl joining in.
The family moved off, dropping a few coins into the open guitar case on the floor. She smiled her thanks and went straight into another song. Pete glanced at the watch on his wrist. He should probably be getting back home now; his friends would be waiting for him to order take-out for dinner. He glanced once more at the girl, and immediately decided to stay a little longer. She’d piqued his curiosity, this red-headed girl. How long would she play? When would she go home – if she even had someplace to call home? Before dark? Where? Alone? With someone else? Was someone waiting for her?
And then his head snapped up. “Joke me something awful, just like kisses on the necks of best-friends, we’re the kids who feel like dead ends.” His gaze focused on the girl again. She was singing one of his songs. One of the songs he’d spent time writing, during one of those nights he’d been lying wide awake for hours on end, wishing with every part of his body for sleep, but never quite reaching it. He always said he had his best ideas at ridiculous-o’clock in the morning, after a night of tossing and turning and fitful bouts of sleep. “And the record won’t stop skipping, and the lies just won’t stop slipping.” That line always struck a chord with Pete – it was a personal thing. All his songs and lyrics and poetry and whatever other crap he decided to scribble down, be it in a blog entry or on a napkin in a diner, were personal. They were his thoughts, just his, straight from his mind.
And before he knew it, he was up on his feet, heading over to the girl. She didn’t look up when he stood in front of her, towering over her seated figure, his shadow bathing her in half-light. She seemed lost in the music, completely and utterly in her own little world, not sitting on a cold pavement in some city. Just like he did. “Nice song.” His voice was quiet, with a hint of a smile. She still wasn’t looking up, but Pete noticed a small change in her body language. He closed his eyes briefly, letting her soft, sweet voice and the powerful lyrics wash over him.
She finished the verse, still strumming away at the guitar strings. “You know it?” Her voice was just as quiet as his had been, although she still wouldn’t look up. Pete frowned. He wanted to see what she looked like now, match a face to that voice – that stunning voice. And he wasn’t one to use adjectives like that lightly. She didn’t belong on the streets, singing for say, twenty dollars a day. No, she belonged in a studio, recording her own music. At least, she did in his opinion.
“Yeah.” He replied simply. What else can you say in that situation? ‘Yeah, I do like it, I’m the one who wrote it.’ No way. That might work if she was just another one of the shiny-lipgloss, heavy-makeup girls that seemed to throw themselves at him, but he had a feeling she wasn’t one of those girls. She played a few more chords, then stopped playing all together. She stared down at Pete’s feet for a moment, almost as if she were waiting for him to leave, which he didn’t plan on doing any time soon.
Eventually, the girl’s eyes travelled from his feet up to his face, and Pete finally saw her. It was her hair – apart from her voice – that had caught his attention in the first place, those auburn waves that reached a little further down than her shoulders. She pushed a stray strand off her face, tucking it out of the way behind her ear, as she narrowed her eyes to get a better look at him. Her eyes were a dark green – the sort of colour Pete associated with cats’ eyes – and big and wide as she took in his features. It wasn’t that she was pale, there was a slight hint of colour on her bare arms, but it was the sort of complexion that would get burnt easily in the sun. Pete couldn’t help but notice the way her collar bones and shoulder blades jutted out, or the sharp lines of her cheek bones. She was skinny, almost too skinny. Just like him, he supposed. People were forever telling him he was too skinny, too little, too bony – but not to this extent.
Small frown lines appeared on her forehead and her expression changed slightly, eyes scanning over his full lips, wide grin, white teeth, dark eyes ringed with eyeliner. Pete had the feeling he was grinning like an idiot, and tried to tone it down a bit. Normally, he was good in social situations, but this one was a little out of the norm. She scrambled to her feet, red hair falling once again into her face. She pushed it back, eyes watching him warily. She had the expression of someone who didn’t trust people easily, and that she knew that from personal experience. “Do I know you?” Pete shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m pretty sure I do...” The frown deepened. Then Pete remembered the band, that he wasn’t just plain old Pete Wentz, just another random passer-by. But right then, he wished he was. “Uh, I-.” “Are you on TV?” She interrupted him. “Or on... you’re in a band.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Pete could do nothing but nod slowly. Suddenly, the girl’s attention switched from him to two people that had appeared around the corner. They wore police uniform.
“Crap, not again.” Before Pete could even act or do anything, the girl had shoved her guitar in its case and thrown the strap over her shoulder. She glanced back at him as she turned away and Pete thought he maybe saw a hint of a smile, but then she was gone, dipping and weaving at a fast pace through the crowd. The two men stopped beside him. “There she goes, off again.” One of them said, chuckling quietly. He sounded almost fond of her. “You know her?” Pete asked, attention immediately on the shorter of the two. They turned to look at him, noticing for the first time the little guy with the smudged eyeliner. “Oh, yeah. That’s Rose.” He shared a grin with his companion. “Yep, we have to move her on from here about three times a day. She says this is the best spot.” Pete frowned. “So she comes here a lot?”
The taller one nodded, speaking for the first time. “Yeah, pretty much every day.” “And will she be here tomorrow?” The policeman raised an eyebrow, possibly wondering why this strange young man was so curious about some girl that sang on the streets for a living. “Probably. Tomorrow’s Friday, she usually sings in this bar downtown. They have an open mic night.” He shrugged. “The place is called Charlie’s.” Pete nodded, taking it all in. He’d heard of Charlie’s before. “Hey, aren’t you in some band? Y’know, uh, I forget the name...” Pete nodded, already turning to walk away. “Yep, Fall Out Boy. Uh, thanks.” And with that, he was off, walking so fast he was practically jogging. He now had something to do on a Friday night other than stay in watching movies with the guys, or go out and get trashed while causing mayhem. Yes, he had something better to do – find out more about this girl with the beautiful voice, this Rose.
A/N: This is the first chapter of my new FOB/Pete Wentz fanfic, I hope it's okay and that people like it, I'd really appreciate the feedback because it's the first time I've ever written a FOB fanfic (apart from a One Shot but whatever) and yeah... I already have the next chapter written, I'll see how this one goes and then either post it or not! Thank you!
Little girl you got me staring odd,
Or was that just a telescopic camera nod?
He’d been watching her for a while. It was something he enjoyed, people watching. Just standing or sitting somewhere out of the way, somewhere people wouldn’t notice him, where he could blend into the background. It wasn’t something that was easy for him to do, obviously. You can’t really blend into the background if you’re in a band, as much as he’d like to half the time.
As grateful as he was for all the fame, fortune and getting to do what he loved whilst making a living at the same time, Pete couldn’t help but think how different his life would be if they’d never had their big break, never sold albums, never toured America. What would he be doing now? Probably sitting around at his parent’s place, writing songs that were never going to become anything, or maybe he’d have a job - some pointless, menial chore that he’d never be happy doing and would never enjoy.
Pete fixed his attention back on her. She’d changed position, he noticed, now her legs were crossed beneath her, guitar resting in her lap. What was her story? Why was she spending her afternoon sitting on the ground, strumming away at a beat-up guitar, singing the typical crowd-pleasing songs all buskers seemed to sing – Oasis, The Beatles, maybe a bit of Radiohead, sometimes Nirvana. Maybe she was a drug addict living on the streets, performing to be able to score her next batch of heroin? But no, he discarded that idea almost immediately. Her hair was too shiny and clean and her jeans, although ripped, weren’t dirty enough for her to have been living on the streets. Maybe she had a child, and couldn’t afford to pay for it with just her normal day job, or maybe she was even a spy or a detective or something just as exciting.
His mind was wandering once again. He watched as a distracted mother with two young kids, a girl and a boy, stopped in front of her. The kids seemed enthralled by the girl, their eyes wide as they listened to her voice. She noticed they were in front of her, and smiled at them. Pete was too far away to hear exactly what the girl said to the children, but couldn’t resist a smile appear on his face as she began to sing the familiar lyrics to Do-Re-Mi from that musical The Sound of Music. No one would ever put Pete down for a musical kind of guy, but there he was, humming along with the words and tapping his feet. His smile widened into a grin as the kids looked at each other excitedly at hearing the change of song, and he thought he could hear the shriller tones of the young girl joining in.
The family moved off, dropping a few coins into the open guitar case on the floor. She smiled her thanks and went straight into another song. Pete glanced at the watch on his wrist. He should probably be getting back home now; his friends would be waiting for him to order take-out for dinner. He glanced once more at the girl, and immediately decided to stay a little longer. She’d piqued his curiosity, this red-headed girl. How long would she play? When would she go home – if she even had someplace to call home? Before dark? Where? Alone? With someone else? Was someone waiting for her?
And then his head snapped up. “Joke me something awful, just like kisses on the necks of best-friends, we’re the kids who feel like dead ends.” His gaze focused on the girl again. She was singing one of his songs. One of the songs he’d spent time writing, during one of those nights he’d been lying wide awake for hours on end, wishing with every part of his body for sleep, but never quite reaching it. He always said he had his best ideas at ridiculous-o’clock in the morning, after a night of tossing and turning and fitful bouts of sleep. “And the record won’t stop skipping, and the lies just won’t stop slipping.” That line always struck a chord with Pete – it was a personal thing. All his songs and lyrics and poetry and whatever other crap he decided to scribble down, be it in a blog entry or on a napkin in a diner, were personal. They were his thoughts, just his, straight from his mind.
And before he knew it, he was up on his feet, heading over to the girl. She didn’t look up when he stood in front of her, towering over her seated figure, his shadow bathing her in half-light. She seemed lost in the music, completely and utterly in her own little world, not sitting on a cold pavement in some city. Just like he did. “Nice song.” His voice was quiet, with a hint of a smile. She still wasn’t looking up, but Pete noticed a small change in her body language. He closed his eyes briefly, letting her soft, sweet voice and the powerful lyrics wash over him.
She finished the verse, still strumming away at the guitar strings. “You know it?” Her voice was just as quiet as his had been, although she still wouldn’t look up. Pete frowned. He wanted to see what she looked like now, match a face to that voice – that stunning voice. And he wasn’t one to use adjectives like that lightly. She didn’t belong on the streets, singing for say, twenty dollars a day. No, she belonged in a studio, recording her own music. At least, she did in his opinion.
“Yeah.” He replied simply. What else can you say in that situation? ‘Yeah, I do like it, I’m the one who wrote it.’ No way. That might work if she was just another one of the shiny-lipgloss, heavy-makeup girls that seemed to throw themselves at him, but he had a feeling she wasn’t one of those girls. She played a few more chords, then stopped playing all together. She stared down at Pete’s feet for a moment, almost as if she were waiting for him to leave, which he didn’t plan on doing any time soon.
Eventually, the girl’s eyes travelled from his feet up to his face, and Pete finally saw her. It was her hair – apart from her voice – that had caught his attention in the first place, those auburn waves that reached a little further down than her shoulders. She pushed a stray strand off her face, tucking it out of the way behind her ear, as she narrowed her eyes to get a better look at him. Her eyes were a dark green – the sort of colour Pete associated with cats’ eyes – and big and wide as she took in his features. It wasn’t that she was pale, there was a slight hint of colour on her bare arms, but it was the sort of complexion that would get burnt easily in the sun. Pete couldn’t help but notice the way her collar bones and shoulder blades jutted out, or the sharp lines of her cheek bones. She was skinny, almost too skinny. Just like him, he supposed. People were forever telling him he was too skinny, too little, too bony – but not to this extent.
Small frown lines appeared on her forehead and her expression changed slightly, eyes scanning over his full lips, wide grin, white teeth, dark eyes ringed with eyeliner. Pete had the feeling he was grinning like an idiot, and tried to tone it down a bit. Normally, he was good in social situations, but this one was a little out of the norm. She scrambled to her feet, red hair falling once again into her face. She pushed it back, eyes watching him warily. She had the expression of someone who didn’t trust people easily, and that she knew that from personal experience. “Do I know you?” Pete shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m pretty sure I do...” The frown deepened. Then Pete remembered the band, that he wasn’t just plain old Pete Wentz, just another random passer-by. But right then, he wished he was. “Uh, I-.” “Are you on TV?” She interrupted him. “Or on... you’re in a band.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Pete could do nothing but nod slowly. Suddenly, the girl’s attention switched from him to two people that had appeared around the corner. They wore police uniform.
“Crap, not again.” Before Pete could even act or do anything, the girl had shoved her guitar in its case and thrown the strap over her shoulder. She glanced back at him as she turned away and Pete thought he maybe saw a hint of a smile, but then she was gone, dipping and weaving at a fast pace through the crowd. The two men stopped beside him. “There she goes, off again.” One of them said, chuckling quietly. He sounded almost fond of her. “You know her?” Pete asked, attention immediately on the shorter of the two. They turned to look at him, noticing for the first time the little guy with the smudged eyeliner. “Oh, yeah. That’s Rose.” He shared a grin with his companion. “Yep, we have to move her on from here about three times a day. She says this is the best spot.” Pete frowned. “So she comes here a lot?”
The taller one nodded, speaking for the first time. “Yeah, pretty much every day.” “And will she be here tomorrow?” The policeman raised an eyebrow, possibly wondering why this strange young man was so curious about some girl that sang on the streets for a living. “Probably. Tomorrow’s Friday, she usually sings in this bar downtown. They have an open mic night.” He shrugged. “The place is called Charlie’s.” Pete nodded, taking it all in. He’d heard of Charlie’s before. “Hey, aren’t you in some band? Y’know, uh, I forget the name...” Pete nodded, already turning to walk away. “Yep, Fall Out Boy. Uh, thanks.” And with that, he was off, walking so fast he was practically jogging. He now had something to do on a Friday night other than stay in watching movies with the guys, or go out and get trashed while causing mayhem. Yes, he had something better to do – find out more about this girl with the beautiful voice, this Rose.
A/N: This is the first chapter of my new FOB/Pete Wentz fanfic, I hope it's okay and that people like it, I'd really appreciate the feedback because it's the first time I've ever written a FOB fanfic (apart from a One Shot but whatever) and yeah... I already have the next chapter written, I'll see how this one goes and then either post it or not! Thank you!
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