Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sets of Three, They Say...

What Goes Around, Comes Around.

by howshesews 3 reviews


Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Humor, Romance - Published: 2006-11-17 - Updated: 2006-11-18 - 1458 words

When Meg chose gray, it wasn't because Patrick seemed boring. Nor dull. Nor half-hearted. He reminded her of a shadow. Not someone struggling for the light, but a shadow content with being just that. A shadow. Not copying. Not mimicking. Not dying to be someone he's not. Just...resting in who he is. Keeping himself to, well, himself. Loving the spotlight, but not offstage. Patrick, gray. Gray, Patrick. Made perfect sense.

Meg stirred her Thai noodles, and rested her chin in her palm. Over. Under. Around. Patrick. Gray.

6:03. Buzz.

Meg felt the vibration of her phone against the coffee table, shaking her out of the funk she was in over hat boy, the no-show.


Meg ran her thumb over the screen. It was from Jake. The only barista she could talk to. Well, communicate with.

MSG: The guy with the hat came by. He left a note.

Meg closed her phone. She knew nothing about this guy. He wears hats. He has cool glasses, He's in a band. Definitely not substantial information. For all she knew, his credentials could easily read:

"Has been in jail twice."
"Beats women."
"Is being treated for bipolarism...unsuccessfully."

A person with any amount of logic would turn on "St. Elmo's Fire", set it to subtitles, finish their noodles.

So why was Meg grabbing her coat, preparing for the ten minute trek to Kennedy? Who needs logic when there are so many near-anonymous, hat-wearing musicians running around?

Not Meg, cause she knew that by "so many", I actually only meant one.

"You left the note?" Pete asked, breathing into his hands and rubbing them together.

"I left a note. And a ticket for tomorrow." Pete looked up and laughed.

"You don't even know this girl and you're breaking rules so she can watch you play? What the fuck?"

"I spilt scalding hot coffee on her. It's an apology. For that, and for not showing tonight over some bogus sound check that we're just going to have to repeat tomorrow." Pete sipped the hot chocolate he had stolen from Patrick's grasp.

"She's why you want to learn sign language, isn't she?" Patrick scratched his neck, laughing slightly.

"I don't know what would lead you to believe that since I just told you I gave her a ticket to one of our shows." He realized then that the gesture didn't make so much sense. Pete shrugged.

"She's deaf. You're interested. Don't deny it. I know." Patrick stole his hot chocolate back and looked at the sidewalk. "Don't worry. I'll teach you the fucking alphabet. It's kind of cool."

He didn't even know her. Patrick didn't know the story behind the light brown eyes. He didn't know anything about the freckles that resided upon her pink cheeks. For all he knew, she could be 17, or married, or...


She could be running from the police, or...


All at once, Patrick felt himself covered in seriously hot chocolate, falling to the cold angry concrete.

"Shit." He was angry. "People seriously need to watch where they're going." Pete extended a hand to Patrick, helping him to his feet.

Meg was mortified. She had collided head-on into the person who's note she was going to retrieve. Meg hurried to his side, wiping the coffee off of his face, his sweater, his glasses, which had fallen to the ground.

He looked at her, his anger fading, being replaced by a thick sense of karma. She was flushed, fumbling, embarrassed beyond belief. He actually started to laugh.

Meg was fixated on the glasses, making sure the damage was minimal. Patrick gently waved his hand in front of her face to get her attention. She looked at him. He pointed at his lips, then spoke.

"Meg, you're fine. I'm not mad." He didn't continue. Patrick looked at Pete. "Could you sign, maybe?" Pete laughed, sarcastically.

"The alphabet, dude. I know the mother fucking alphabet." Patrick waved his hand.

"Doesn't matter. Just say "hi". Let her know you can kind of communicate with her." Pete started to protest, but Patrick stopped him. "Just do it." Pete rolled his eyes, sighed, listed his right hand, carefully and slowly forming an "h", than an "I".

"Hi." Meg smiled at his rusty signing, and slowly replied, using only letters.

"Hi. I'm Meg." Pete got it, and started his reply.

"Pete." He pointed at Patrick. "He's sorry." He said, almost forgetting the "r".

Meg nodded, and mouthed, "I know." The, she got an idea.

"Come to my house. Get warm." Pete was nodding to let her know he was following. "It isn't far."

Pete nodded, turning to inform a clueless Patrick.

"She invited us to her place. Got any other plans?" Patrick shook his head. Meg noticed his negative reply to Pete, and looked away. Bummer. As she was finding interesting places to look elsewhere, Pete tapped her shoulder.

"Lead the way." Meg smiled. A big smile. Not halfway. She turned, and made her way toward her apartment, simultaneously texting Mal.

MSG: Come to my apartment. Play interpreter.

Mal was sitting on her couch eating a ridiculously delicious healthy choice meal when her phone buzzed, signifying the message from Meg. She read quickly and started a reply.

MSG: I'm on my way down.

Good thing they were neighbors.

When Meg opened the door to her apartment, she laughed, due to Mal's relocation from her own couch, to Meg's, Healthy Choice, and all. Mal looked up, recognizing Meg's friends. She signed.

"How did you manage this?" Meg was confused.

"Manage what?" Mal pointed at Patrick and Pete. Wow. They didn't feel uncomfortable at all, especially after that little gesture.

"Them. They're kind of famous. Wanted by millions of women. They're kind of in your apartment, and that's kind of a big deal." Meg rolled her eyes and looked at the two men, and then at Mal.

"Ready?" Mal nodded. "Welcome. I know this is kind of weird, but it's the least I could do after covering Patrick with hot chocolate." Mal repeated after Meg.

Patrick was having a hard time paying attention to Mal. His focus was on Meg, and her eloquent style of signing. No forethought seemed to be involved. Only action. It was graceful, animated, sincere. Pete noticed his friends lack of attention, and nudged him. Patrick joined reality. Pete spoke.

"We really appreciate it. Really. Thanks a lot." Mal signed, and Meg smiled. Patrick broke in.

"Did you get the ticket for tomorrow? It was the best I could do as far as replacing you sweater goes." Mal signed, slightly confused. Meg looked at Patrick, not really understanding.

"I bought tickets online earlier today for Mal. I don't think I actually know what you're talking about. Sorry."

"I left you a ticket with my Kennedy. But even if you had gotten it, it sounds like you would have had a ticket already." Meg smiled.

"Yes. I never actually made it down there, though. I ran into this guy. Covered him in hot chocolate. Can you believe some people?" Patrick laughed. Pete smiled.

"I'm really excited about tomorrow, and I really appreciate the free ticket, but it's almost 8, and that's when I go into work. 2 jobs. Sucks." Meg finished signing and began to button her coat.

"What do you do?" Pete asked. Mal answered for Meg.

"She helps deaf children learn to lip-read. The special-case kids. She's incredible. They love her." Patrick noticed Meg placing some paper back books into a bag.

"How old is she?" He found that the words had left his mouth a little against his own will. Oh, well. Mal eyed him knowingly.

"Twenty-two. Almost Twenty-three. She's a genius. It's amazing what she has accomplished. Meg does things everyday that I wouldn't even consider trying, and I have 2 perfectly good ears. Courageous. That's what she is." Patrick admired her all the more.

So did Pete.

"Okay, if she's a teacher by day, then what is she doing going into job number two at eight at night?" Mal smiled, standing.

"Call your friends. Meet me at Déjà vu." Patrick was confused.

"Isn't that that dueling pianos place?" Mal smiled and followed them out.

"8:30. See you there."

A/N: okay, so i noticed that i have this horrible habit of typing "hate" instead of "hat", and since word recognizes it as a...well...word, it stays, and i don't proofread cause i'm stupid. anyway. i went through and fixed them all so if you want to go back and not laugh everytime i call Patrick "hate-boy" feel free. i really wasn't doing that on purpose. i pretty much had a good laugh over it myself.

"He adjusted his hate."

that's too good. i love my inability to type.
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