FicWad

Pre-note: SERIOUSLY SORRY for all the bad spacing. I copied this from pages and pasted it here and the website runs too slowly for me to go back and take out all the spaces.


When she awoke, her first thought was how much her head was pounding. A deep, sharp pain spread from the top of her head outwards.There was also deep aching in her jaw, she felt like she had been grinding her teeth all night. Fuck, what had she even done last night? She vaguely remembered the loud flashing of club lights and glow in the dark sticks, and she remembered hugging Dez goodnight, and for some odd reason the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Troi turned and snuggled by reflex and in the next split second, her eyes snapped open and she jumped out of her own skin to look at where she was and who she was with. She was definitely home, and this was definitiely her couch, but that was a boy laying next to her, and she definitely didn’t remember inviting him over.

Someone with reddish brown hair, perhaps it was once blonde, had their face buried into the side of the couch, tuffs of hair sticking up. Who the hell? Troi tentatively poked the stranger in the shoulder but he continued to snore softly. The girl was torn between waking this guy and letting him sleep a little longer. He looked so warm and peaceful whoever he was. But no, see, this was her house, and he was a stranger, so he had to wake up. STRANGER DANGER made her think twice. Who on earth had she brought home and what mistakes had she made the night before?

Poke.

At least if anyone had to do the walk of shame, it wouldn’t be her.

Poke.

Poke, poke.



He stirred, his left arm moving in reflex to have heartedly swat her away and Troi quickly got up, ready to defend herself, her fists up in boxing stance. A sleepy, but unmistakable Patrick Stump rolled over and reached towards her. He missed and she raised a brow, her arms crossing in denial as he opened his eyes. This was some crazy awesome joke or tragically ending dream. There was just no way, it couldn’t be him. Except that it looked like him, right down to that damn adorable fedora sitting on her coffee table.



“Who the hell are you?” Troi demanded rather forcefully. She was in last nights clothes (and tomorrow’s dreams), her dark, long hair a poofy and tangled mess. Her eyeliner was smudged, but hey, yesterday’s eyeliner could be today’s smokey eye if she really believed. She was short and tan and rather small, and she was absolutely, without a doubt, not intimidating at all. Sleep still lazily lounged under her intense greenish blue eyes. Patrick scrambled to stand, fumbling a bit in the process.



“Whoa--” He threw out his hands.



Troi grabbed the first thing her hands landed on: a thick leather bound book and she prepared to launch it his way. “Hello! Who are y---” Her words cut off mid sentence. Her eyes opened wide, her mouth dropping into a small “o.” Troi took a step back in disbelief. Yeah, that was him. Her stomach suddenly sprinted into what felt like a double sommersault.



Patrick held a couch pillow up in defense. The two stared at each other, the remnants of the night slowly forming together. Troi, obviously a having a technical malfunction, continued to stare. She looked like a deer in headlights, one arm paused in midair.



“Hey, whoa---My name is Patrick---you invited me---remember?” He asked quickly. “Last night?”



Troi narrowed her eyes and a flood of words left Patrick’s mouth. “YouInvitedMeOverLastNightWhenYouDidn’tHaveaRideHomeFromTheBar--” His words ran together, and her anger quickly dissapated into confusion. “....What?” She said.



Patrick lowered the pillow. “Last night, you called me thinking I was Farrah and you asked me for a ride home. Remember? Drinking, The Attic?” Troi nodded silently. Somehow, this was all making sense and it seemed to be real. She stared in disbelief. “Patrick...Stump....?” She said, unable to process who was standing in front of her.



“That would be my name.”



“And you picked me up?”



“Yup.”



“Why?”



“Because you called me, and you had no money and no way to get home.”



“But I didn’t call my friends?”



“Actually, you thought you were calling Farrah and I tried to tell you that I wasn’t her, but, you are rather talkative when you drink.” He grinned to her.



This was all too bizarre to comprehend. Was this some kind of a joke?



“....And then...I let you stay the night?”



He nodded, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck and a crimson shade tinted his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t---I guess---I didn’t realize you might not remember. This is really awkward....do you want me to get out?”



“No!” She said a little quickly, and of course, instantly hated herself. Patrick smirked at the response.



“So...” she looked mighty confused. “Let me get this straight...last night I called you? And asked you for a ride because I couldn’t get home? Then I invited you to...stay?”



“Actually, you invited me in to smoke first. Then it got late, THEN you said I could stay.”



She eyed him warily, wracking her brain for evidence of the night before but all she got was dimly lit images of laughter and chatter. All at once, the color nearly drained from her face. “Did we...?”



Patrick didn’t understand at first. “Did we what? .........Oh...OH!” He said, lifting his brows. “No!” His eyes went wide. “I mean---not that I wouldn’t---I would, you’re really hot---I just--not that that’s what I was trying to--do---” He floundered for the words, red tinting his cheeks as he panicked. Troian smiled, enchanted by his lack of smooth talking and took a step forward, her shock slowly but surely beginning to fade. He was adorable. If this was his reaction, she couldn’t find a real reason to be worried. The raven haired girl grinned. She had so many questions, so many things to ask and not a single thing had to do with being in a band.



“Breakfast?” She said, shrugging a shoulder in suggestion. “I’m starving. How about I make some food and you can tell me all of the dumb things I said or did last night.”



“You didn’t do anything dumb last night,” he smiled.



“Uhuh, sure. I was so wasted that I can’t even remember the last fourteen hours but I didn’t do anything dumb? Please. Don’t be afraid to share.” She said, her words fading into laughter.



“Well, we did find out that you are a horrible comedian.”



Troi lazily flopped a hand. “Oh, that’s a given. I could have told you that!”



“I think you did, actually, but I goaded you into entertaining me anyway.” Troi let out a dramatic sigh that meant ‘I told you so’ and he followed her. As they spoke, they drifted into Troi’s decent sized kitchen and she began to rustle around in her refridgerator. Patrick took a seat at her kitchen bar and leaned into the counter. His hair was tousled from sleep, his skin warm and pink and his glasses slid towards the front of his nose. Troi set down a cup in front of him. “Drink?”



“Milk?”



Troi nodded and grabbed the half drunk gallon of milk, poured a glass and set it before Patrick. He lifted the glass silently and watched her over the rim of the glass as she began to turn knobs and start the stove. There was something awfully relaxing about the scene. The sound of butter on a heated pan sizzled in the air, and Patrick’s stomach growled with the hunger for more excitement rather than food. This was the first meeting he had had with someone interesting who wasn’t trying to readily get into his pants (or so it seemed). And not that Patrick had a real worry about people getting into his pants, he was quite fond of sex, but when that was what the majority of people who met you wanted, it got old, real fast. Okay, maybe it didn’t get that old. Sex was awesome, and he wasn’t gonna lie to himself about it. As she began to cook, Patrick tentatively pulled out his cellphone which he knew from experience alone was going to be littered up and down with messages from Pete.



Sure enough, nine messages were waiting affectionately. They went a little something like this:



Pete: Lunchy.

CB: 555-0461



Pete: Lunchbox.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: PATRICK.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: ???????

CB: 555-0461





Pete: WHERE DID YOU GO, I CAME TO CUDDLE AND YOU WERE GONE.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: HELLO???!!?!!111

CB: 555-0461





Pete: ARE YOU ALIVE?

CB: 555-0461





Pete: WHEN YOU COME BACK, CAn you stop and bRing me WAFFLES. K. THANKS.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: Okay, but it’s nearly one p.m and you are gone. I locked myself out of the house again, where is the spare key?

CB: 555-0461



Several rather irritated looking smileys followed. Patrick snorted to himself and began to text Pete quickly. “Sup?” He texted. He wondered if Pete had gotten into the house or if he had ended up turning to one of the guys for rescue. If he hadn’t gotten in, he had probably gone to Joe’s, unless Joe was still passed out. It was early in the day, so it was a possibility. Andy was definitely awake, though. He was an early bird. Six a.m. crunches and fruit medley was all the reason in the world that Andy needed to be up early. Patrick wouldn’t have minded going back to sleep, but breakfast with a pretty girl was nice, too.



Patrick stifled laughter and quickly responded, hoping it wasn’t too late.



Patrick: It’s under one of those fake rock things. IDK which one.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: I got it. Joe let me into his house.

CB: 555-0461





Pete: Alright, I broke in, but he’ll be okay.

CB: 555-0461





He rubbed his eyes with balled fists and yawned, and she couldn’t help it. She stared like he was the ninth wonder of the world; her face in awe. Patrick laughed sheepishly and set his phone down. “What?”



Troi lifted her index finger. Patrick’s eyes followed her hand and she slowly leaned into him and pushed his glasses up his nose, a tiny smile dancing on her lips. Patrick’s breathing went shallow and he stared up at her blankly. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in that position but after what felt like an enternity and she pulled away. “You’re cute.” She said, smiling. The color red painted his cheeks. Patrick ducked his head and looked away from her. “I am?”



It was usually her asking that question, searching for assurance, for affirmation that she was worthy of someone’s else desire. For the first time, she heard the question being direction to her, instead of coming from her, and a jolt of adrenaline shot her in the gut. Whatever she said, it had to be good.



Ha. Hahahahaha. Troi be smooth? In his presence?



She gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re the lead singer of one of the biggest pop punk bands in the world and you have to ask?”



He looked at her innocently and hot damn, she melted.



She broke into a grin. “Well YEAH,” she with a smile. “Of course! Come on!” She tugged his fedora over his eyes and laughed brightly. His picked his hat back up, focusing on his glass of milk so he wouldn’t blush more. Sure, girls gave him compliments all the time. Usually it was something along the lines of “Ohemgee, I love you! Hey, you’re in the band, right, fall out boys? ---Oh my god, are you Jonah Hill?”



“You’re like...a really sexy carebear---” Patrick suddenly looked worried. “I’m kidding!” She said quickly and giggled. Patrick swatted in her direction.



“That’s not what you said last night.”



“Oh, yeah? What did I say last night.”



“Pretty sure you called me the sexiest man alive.”



“Pretty sure that’s not something I would say.” She teased.



They both laughed loudly.



*



4:52 pm



They had been hanging out in her living room, when Dez finally walzted in, still looking at good as she had the night before. It was amazing the things she could do. She was a like a vampire that never aged, never looked out of place. Except she didn’t sparkle like a 14 karat diamond, and Troi was partcularly glad. She turned to look at her biff who was throwing her long jacket over the mail table by the door rather than hanging her coat on the designated coat rack.



Patrick was heavily invested in the film and murmuring the words along with Al Pacino. He narrowed those green eyes of his and leaned forward, his hand balled into a fist as he spoke to the T.V.



“What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of fuckin' assholes.” Patrick scowled at an insivible audience. “You know why You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin' fingers and say, "That's the bad guy!” He pointed his finger with faux hardness in his eyes but his moment was stolen by a vixen wearing four inch stilletos.



“LUCY, I’M HOME!” She announced at the top of her lungs and turned to the room. Troi grinned from her spot on the couch next to Patrick.



“Ricky, you got some ‘splanin’ to do,” Troi told her best friend and shot her a look that she meant was obviously trying to figure out where Dez had gone last night by simply staring at her hard enough. Nothing. Fuck, her EPSN was off. Dez shook her head because she knew exactly what Troi was trying to do and grinned. “Ooh, we’ve got company?” She said asked excitedly, rounding the couch for a better view. Troi never brought guys home, this would b a fun roast.



Patrick shot her a smile and lifted his hand to wave and Dez shrieked loudly, falling backwards onto the single person sofa. Patrick’s eyes went wide. Dez’s hands came up to her chest. “Holy buttery niples, you’re P Steezy!” Dez stood with excitement and found herself sitting between Troi and the musician.



“Hey there,” Patrick said, clearly embarrassed, but smiling nonetheless. It didn’t matter if fans did this to him on the daily or how many times he was on T.V, girls fawning over him was never going to be a feeling he got used to.



“PATRICK FUCKING STUMP.” Deizin shouted in his face.



He nodded, smiling again, but Troi could tell he was a little afraid. Dez had that effect on people. She was bost mesmerizing and terryfing. Like a cyclone of unicorns.



Dez turned to her best friend in utterly disbelief, her jaw dropping. “Patri----”



“Fucking Stump,” Troi concluded calmly but in amusement. “Actually, I think, thanks to you, he’s not going to have a problem remembering his name.”



Patrick smirked and put out his hand. “Hi, you must be Dez.”



“Ahh, word travels up the ladder, I see.”



“Actually Troi told me.”



“Same difference.” She shrugged. “Sooo, guyyys,” she put both of her arms around both Troi and Patrick. “What’s up, what are we doing tonight?”



Troi shook her head. Patrick would about to find out alllll about Dez. Find out just how pursuasive she was, and that when she asked what someone was doing later, it was code for, you’re hanging out with me.



**



Dez was pouring up another shot. Troi was sure she wasn’t yet finished with recuperating from the last drinking session and so everytime Dez collected the room for shots, Troi pretended to be too caught in conversation to hear. In the living room, Deizin and the (now famous) Farrah were chatting awake, tall glasses of mojitos in hand. Their friend Dallas was around too, watching the boxing match on T.V while he sipped on a beer. Patrick and Troi had found solace in the kitchen but it was only matter of minutes before they were caught again and had to find a new spot. Pete was supposed to be here any moment and Patrick knew what that meant. It meant a hell of a party was about to happen. Patrick hadn’t even finished describing the idea when Pete had cut him off.



“I’m there,” Pete announced. “But I’m bringing Brendon. And Joe,” Pete made a shuffling sound like he was covering up the phone and talking then he reappeared. “Andy says he’d rather watch Vegan Showdown. We’ll probably head over in---Oh, hey, Sisky is here, fuck yes--Sisk----SISKY!”



“AY-OH!” Adam had just walked in. He highfived Joe then took his beer.



Joe pouted.



“Party?” Pete said, holding up his phone.



“Party!” Sisky said throwing the Bud Light back.



*



Half an hour later there was a very loud and ominous knock at Troi’s front door that made Dez turn down Biggie Small’s “Juicy.” Someone pounded on the door with a heavy hand and Troi lifted a brow to Patrick who shook his head. “That’s Pete. Being Pete.” He rolled his eyes. They watched from the kitchen as Dez opened the door and Pete breezed in, true to Patrick’s prediction, like he owned the place. He spread his arms wide as he sauntered in and gave Dez a look up and down. “Now this is a party, someone hook up the Jungle Juice cause it’s going down!” He was immediately followed by Brendon, Joe, and Sisky, and the time for awe and shock was lost. The boys left no time for Dez or Troi to be amazed at the musicians that filled the room; instead they all headed straight to their respective spots like they had walked this apartment before---like they weren’t all strangers---Joe wandering the room and saying hey to everyone, ---Brendon immediately pulling out two bottles of Everclear and dumping them into the nearest public beverage smiled an evil smile--and Pete---well he found Patrick like he was a bloodhound and pulled the man into a tight hug. “I went into your room this morning and you weren’t there and I was so worried.” He rested his head on Patrick’s chest and sighed. Patrick wrinkled his nose and patted Pete awkwardly on the back. Wentz didn’t let go.



“Pete, this is Troi. Troi, this is my best friend Pete.” Patrick mostly just motioned to Pete because the guy was hanging onto him so tightly it was all he could. Troi stared at Pete in awe. He was a beautiful as he was in gifs on tumblr. TV, too. He had great hair. Furious and pink. Holy shit, holy fuck, holy fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s Pete Wentz.



“Hey, how’s it going?” Troi asked casually to own surprise, putting out her hand. Pete just eyed her warily and locked his arms around Patrick’s neck like a girl refusing to go anywhere without her boo.



She wasn’t sure how to react to him. Was he being funny? He looked funny. She wanted to laugh. But if he was being serious and she pissed him off, it might look really really bad for her. It was hard to react. It was Pete Wentz. Instead Troi looked to Patrick for an answer and Patrick, in turn, glared at Pete. “Stop being a dick. Say hi.”



“Hi,” Pete sighed and crossed his arms. “Look, let’s just be upfront okay?”



“You’re apartment is the shit. I’m down to party. Let’s have a good time.” He leaned into Troi and spoke very seriously. “But If you break his heart, I will punch you in the face.” Troi stared at Pete wider.



“PETE!” Patrick said, sounding surprised.



Pete smiled at Troi who just looked around in confusion. Was this foreal?



“Dick!” Patrick rolled his eyes.



“Whaaaat?” Pete whined. “I’m just sayin’. It’s my job, that’s what the best friend does---”



Troi blinked. She had known Patrick for what? 24 hours? His heart was nowhere near her vicinity. As if he would ever go for her, especially in a serious way. Patrick shook his head but he smiled.



“It wouldn’t be Pete if he didn’t threaten you.”



“It wouldn’t be Pete if it wasn’t over you.” She smiled.



“He’s protective.”



“Cool. Good friends are.” She smiled and so did Patrick, his face curving into a soft smile.



*



“Guys!” Joe called, throwing out his arms. He beamed at Troi and Patrick until he was in Patrick’s face, then he frowned like an old man. “Hi, hello, wanna introduce me?” He said pointedly to Patrick. “You finally find a chick who will get you to smoke and you say nothing? I am so dissapointed in you. I’ve been here almost two hours and haven’t met the hitcher.” Joe Trohman shook his head then he turned to Troi, not waiting for Patrick’s late intro. Troi could not wait to hear what he had to say. She grinned.



“Hi!”



“Joe.”



“Troi.”



“Heard you can roll.” This was an understatement.



“Heard you have mad guitar skills.” This was an understatement as well.



“I dig the whole operation get Trick stoned.”



“I dig the jewfro.”



“I try.”



“Nice work. Can I touch it?”



Joe bent his head forward as permission and she bounced her fingers in his curls, feeling the bounce in his hair.



“So fluffy.” She patted his head then he stood up straight.



Joe raised a brow, deciding to hit her with a round of randoms and see how she faired.



“Rocky vs. Rambo?”



“Rambo, OBVIOUSLY.”



“Ghostbusters or Star Wars?”



“Star Wars.”



“Coke or Pepsi?”



“Sprite.”



“Cats or Dogs?”



“I like them both, but I don’t do animal hair all over my clothes.”



“Lover or fighter?”



“Lover.”



“The Avengers or The X-Men?”



“X-Men.”



“Who’s your favorite?”



“Definite tie between Jubilee and Rogue.”



He narrowed his eyes as if somewhere in his brain he was really calculating the outcome of this quiz and then nodded casually as if this happened all the time.



“Last one, you got a room we can hotbox?”



“Si, roll it up, We’ll come find you. First door to your right down the hall.”



Patrick watched with crossed arms. Was he jealous? Yeah. Yeah he was. Was he gonna say anything? Uh? Hello? No? He just smiled away and pretended to enjoy their conversation until Joe was turning the corner. That was one of his best friends right there, but he needed Joe to be gone with his charming personality and bad boy extorior. He wasn’t exactly making it easy for Patrick. Then again, if she wanted to flirt with him, that was her business.



Troi crossed her arms and pursed her lips into an amused smiled as Trohman disappeared then she turned to Patrick who had fallen quiet. It was an odd thing to like someone so quiet. Now she knew what it felt like for other people who interacted with her. She sometimes lacked words; fell silent in observation though she could not help it. Talking to other people gave her anxiety, and here she was talking to someone she actually liked. People thought it was weird she was so silent and it was. She had the words in her head but she was never sure of them and so they ended up getting spoken. And yet, if she knew you, if she was comfortable, she could somehow end up being a chatterbox and the most odd times. Then those who knew her wished she actually were silent.



“What’s up, you got all serious?” She asked him and he stood up straighter, instantly smiling. “Nothing, just day dreaming about music.” He shrugged. “So you guys gonna hotbox?” He felt stupid just trying to say it.



“We are,” she said tugging on his hand in a burst of confidence. Liquid courage again. She wanted to master this feeling while sober. She wasn’t much of a big drinker anyway. Definitely a smoker like Joe; every damn day, buy she was smart about it. She functioned well, she aced her classes and she was on the hunt for a better job than the one she currently had. His wrapped his fingers in hers and squeezed her hand as he was led from the kitchen. It felt good, her hand entwined with his, warm; a perfect fit. As they passed the living room, Pete was howling with Troi’s friend Dallas who was taping two beers to Pete’s hands as they prepared to make him play Edward Fortyhands. Dez was blasting music. She and Farrah were messing with the radio and dancing in the living room.



Patrick smiled to himself, the heat rising in his cheeks, the color of mess, of youth, and innocence and he too caught whatever fire had sparked for her. As they turned the corner of the hall and headed to the door of her bedroom, he tugged her hand back and she turned in surprise. “What?” She smiled curiously, and he hesitated, unable to do anything but smile. He took a step forward, hand still wrapped in hers and she turned square to him, smiling rather coyly when her bedroom door opened. The two immediately jumped away as if they had been caught doing something frowned upon and both smiled a little too hard at Joe who was followed by a mushroom typ cloud of haze. Troi inhaled and stepped in to see her room occupied with a lot of smoke and Sisky, too. Troi smiled and nodded for Patrick to follow her and leaned against him casually as they sat on the edge of her bed. Sisky was sitting in her desk chair and Joe had slid her bean bag chair next to him.



“Sup?” She smiled at Sisky. “I’m Troi.” Adam T. Siska. Of The Academy Is... Yeah, this was happening.



“Ohhh, you’re the one making drunk calls and stealing Pattycakes.”



“Dude, don’t call me Pattycakes.”



Sisky rolled his eyes and waved a hand at Patrick. “Let’s play a game let’s play never have I ever.” A blunt began to make it’s way around the group. Sisky started everyone off. “If you have, you take a hit. Okay, let’s see....Never have I ever....had boobs.”



Troi made a face that can only be described as this face: EJcfpGX



“Really?” She said, taking a good hit. “That’s a cheap shot, I see how you play Sisky.” The boy wiggled his eyes.



Troi sighed. “Never have I ever played on stage.” Bam. She stuck her tongue out at the guys. All three of them rolled their eyes and passed the smoke between themselves.



Joe began, eyeing Sisky like he was preparing to attack.. “Never have I ever worn an alligator suit while riding a---”



Someone burst in through the door. Pete took up the doorway. “CHRIS IS HERE AND WE’RE GONNA SHOOT TOMATOS AT EACH OTHER. COME ON.”



Both Joe and Adam (Sisky) jumped up without hesitation. Patrick smirked and gave Troi a look that meant this happened all the time and he held a hand out to her to follow.



Dez and Farrah protested immediately. Blink had just been put on and this was HER SONG, Dez argued. “But, nooo, I love this song--” Pete grabbed her by the waist and pushed her forward, smirking.



“Come on,” He said, “I’ll sing it to you!”



“Oh God, no,” Dez said sounding scared. Pete laughed. Within minutes everyone was trooping out of Troi and Dez’s apartment, some with beverages in hand. and filing out and started down the hall to the stair exit. Farrah giggled and began humming, falling into step with Pete as they led the group, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. Dez bobbed her head as they moved, then. Dez began to sing.



“I took her out. It was a Friday night,”



Troi grinned as she followed her friends, smiling at Patrick.



“I wore cologne to get the feeling right...” Dez sang.



Farrah “whooo’d very loudly despite the time of evening. Troi joined took the next lines, grinning widely.



“We started making out, and she took off my pants,

but then I turned on the TV!”



The group hummed like a really bad, off key, unorganized version of the Pitch Perfect girls with the exception of Patrick and broke out into song.



“And that's about the time she walked away from me

Nobody likes you when you're 23!” They cheered.

“And are still more amused by TV shows

What the hell is ADD?”



Pete and Dez sang to each other. Joe sang into his iPhone.



“My friends say I should act my age

“What's my age again?”

Everyone sang loudly. Brendon air guitared, Dallas played the drums.



“What's my age again?” Everyone laughed at the fact they actually got the first verse, their boisterous and youthful laughter filling up the stair well until they reached the back exit and spilled into the Alley way. The group was buzzing with all kinds of chatter until someone brought up who was going to get pelted first.



“I vote Pete,” someone said and Pete whipped around looking to see who had uttered such a devious idea.



“I vote Dirty,” Pete said back.



“He’s not even here, damn, let him get here, Pete.” Brendon laughed. Pete made a face at Brendon and laughed.



“I vote Pete, too,” Joe said grinning.



“Fuck you guys, you I vote Brendon and Chris, when he gets here.” Pete said with a huff. Brendon shook his head quickly.



“Team Pete,” Troi put a fist in the air and soon everyone in the group was doing the same.



“That’s not fair,” Pete whined. Patrick stifled giggles and Pete narrowed his eyes. “I vote you and I will fucking get you,” he vowed to the singer before looking at his friends who’d just arrived. “Dirrrrt, HEYChris!” Patrick looked scared for a moment and retreared farther into the group. Pete was so good at getting his way. Two familiar faces joined the circle, and the collective volume went up and everyone welcomed Chris and Dirty who were quick to catch on. They too put their fists in the air though they weren’t sure why.



“What are we doing.” Dirty said waving to everyone though a heavy bag of tomatoes hung from his wrist.



“Pete’s gonna get shot first.”



“No I’m not!”



“PETE’S GETTING SHOT FIRST!” Dirty snickered.



“Hell YES!” Chris said excitedly. “Look at this slingshot I got. This bitch is AWESOME.”



Pete’s eyes grew the size of saucers as Chris pulled the large slingshot from his backpack.



Brendon giggled. “Let’s do this shit, Pete get up on the wall and drop your pants!”



“NO!” Pete whined.



“You can be next to shoot---” Dirty began, and several chortles filled the air as Joe pushed Pete playfully. Pete grinned and shoved Joe towards the wall, laughing. “Go, Joe!”



“No, you’re going!”

Troi stopped just one foot behind the group, casually and Patrick came up beside her, his hand finding hers. She grinned to herself but kept her eyes on Pete who was going to get his ass tomatoed. This was so exciting. Pete. Tomatos. A slingshot. Asses. Aw yeah.



Dirty laughed as Pete tried to run to him for protection and he and he put his hand out to hold Pete back. “Pete--Pete! You can be---” He sniggered. “You can be next to shoot someone but you’re going first!” He said putting a tomato in the slingshot. Pete groaned and nodded. There was no escaping this fate. He only had but to walk the warrior’s walk and take the pelting with pride. Pete Wentz strutted to wall, huffing as he shot the group one last look over the shoulder. In that moment, she was more than sure that Pete had caught their little handle thing. He turned around and throw his hood up, spread legs apart, and put his hands on the wall.



Chris and Sisky giggled as they readied the slingshot and just the sound of their chuckles gave Pete chills. Just who did she think she was? Patrick was his best friend. His cuddle buddy. His damn person to flirt with. He shook in his spot, waiting for it. The Chicago air was still and cool. They alley echoed with nothing but Dirty’s giggles.




“Okay, it’s coming!” Dirty howled. “Oh, man, this is gonna be so good!” The group held it’s breath. Sisky and Chris were holding the sides, Dirty pulled the pouch as far back as it would go and let it rip with a rebel yell.



Pete clenched his body and jumped as he heard the teryfing splat of a tomato hitting the wall next to his head. It dripped, dark and gooey in the evening night, barely shining from the street lamp. “HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO CLOSE TO MY FACE!” Pete cried, laughing hard.



“Oh, fuck. Do it again!” He said through laughter, and got ready again. All he heard was whispering and this time he was not prepared as a tomato hit him square in the right ass cheek, a sharp sting clawing at his ass. Pete howled and jumped, grabbing his butt for dear life.



Troi snorted and Patrick lost it, they took one look at each other and cracked up.



“HOLY FUCK---HOO MY GOD--” Pete yelled, tears pouring from his eyes.



“WHAT DO YOU SAY!” Dirty shouted. “WHAT DO YOU SAY!”



“I LOVE--MY--LIFE!” Pete cried and moaned out loud at the same time.



“I LOVE MY LIFE!” Dirty yelled into the night.



The boy sat down on his knees and then gradually fell to the ground in laughter, his hands holding his ass. “Ow---Owwhow---” He moaned and laughed at the same time. The group bubbled with laughter and they all began to cheer, Farrah throwing her arms up. “Yeeeah, Pete!”



He couldn’t stop laughing, it was the only thing making his ass hurt less. He stood, limping towards Dirty to replace him, and high fived Chris. “Oh, God---” Pete grinned. “Okay, who’s next...” He looked at Patrick, an evil smile on his face. “Patrick.”



“Oh, no! No, I am not getting pelted in the ass with fruit.” Patrick shook his head. Brendon booed and grinned.



“Come onnn, come on Patrick!” Brendon sang. “No, pelt Dirty!” He said, laughing and taking a step back so no one would force him into the violent delight of the night.



“DIRTYYY!!!” Joe howled. Dirty threw his arms into air. “I’ll do it! I’m not scared! I LOVE MY LIFE!”



*

One hour later they had all managed to file back into the complex quietly and up to Troi and Dez’s apartment. Everyone began to slowly drape themselves onto the couch, first losing shoes and jackets, some gaining bottles of water and blankets. Someone turned off the lights and Dez turned on Netflix, scrollong to a movie she didn’t catch. Troi ran to the bathroom, already debating whether she could manage to stay awake through a movie so late at night. Maybe she would knock out in her room. Or maybe she could talk to Patrick some more, that would be nice. To hear him simply speak, she’d stay awake all night. Okay, well not all night. She needed a tiny nap.



She wiped her hands dry on her jeans, heading back into her living room, eyes scanning the room for Patrick---who to her suprise was cuddled up with Pete, eyes half shut from exhauston. Pete was draped over his lap and whispering something in his ear, one hand reaching up to rest on Patrick’s shoulder as they chatted to each other. Patrick nodded, his head falling towards Pete sleepily. Pete lifted his head, his eyes meeting Troi’s in the light of the T.V for just a clear moment. There was something in his eyes, something smug that said ‘I can do this, and you cannot.’ Then he turned his head again and whispered something to Patrick again then kissed his cheek. What the hell? Troi stared again, her stomach dropping. Peter was making her do that a lot. Was Pete trying to send her more than the average best friend message of violence? Oh, come on, you saw that coming. Like you had a chance. She took a step back, falling into the darkness of the hallway and retreated to her room to lie on her bed. Had Pete Wentz and her just become enemies?





***



A/N: Hey there, guys! Thanks so much for coming back for another chapter. Who knows, maybe they will all end up being ridiculously long. W(hat can I say, I love character dialogue.) Anywhoo, hope you enjoyed this. More humor and romance to come. It’s really only getting started. Please, please, please review And tell me what you think! it really helps! Are Pete and Patrick a thing? Is Pete sending Troi a message? Will Mermaid man and Barnicle defeat the Dirty Bubble? Stay tuned...



XO
Smokes





Music Referenced:

Blink 182’s - What’s My Age Again

Biggie Smalls - Juicy