FicWad

The irony of this situation killed me. Which really only made me want to kill myself. Funny how that works.

I looked around quickly for an exit strategy. What's that thing opossums do when they need to bail out of potential situations? Play dead? Maybe I could pull that off. I had a pet opossum once. Actually, I didn't so much as have one as I simply told everyone I did. His name was Rupert and I decided he was British. I told a lot of lies when I as seven. Why the fuck were they getting closer to me?

Patrick's eyes shifted to Pete as if to make sure he was okay, which confused me. Pete seemed to be fine with situations that involved me. In fact, he seemed beyond fine. He seemed down right fucking cool with it. He seemed to enjoy frustrating and confusing me, but he seemed cool with it none the less. Too cool with it, actually. Which only served to frustrate me, but I'm sure he was cool with that as well.

They were both doing that odd slow motion thing again. Perhaps my brain was just working in slow motion to allow me time to come up with an exit strategy. I needed something that wouldn't look as if I were bailing. Jesus christ. They were beginning to look a bit ridiculous now. Slow motion and all. Perhaps my brain could speed things up. Just a little. What I wouldn't give for life to come with a remote. That way I could avoid this situation all together.

They were closer now and I couldn't decide if they were heading for me or for the door. The door. Of fucking course. That would have been a perfect exit strategy. Goddamnit.

"No boots today, Ley?" Pete was the first to speak. He smirked as he said it, which left my body temperature in disarray. Was it just me or was this boy always acknowledging my attire? Not that it's a big deal or anything. I'm just grateful that he didn't label them as nice. I mean is he unaware of other adjectives? Why does he continue to subtlety bring up our past? Why is he always confusing me?

"Tell the guys I'll be there in a minute." Pete called to Patrick who was opening the door, all the while looking me dead on.

"I swear to god, Pete." Patrick mumbled passionately and angrily under his breath. He disappeared behind the metal door and let it slam behind him.

"Do you always hang around outside of record labels?" He had that same smirk that I labeled him infamous for.

"Do you always converse with people that hang around outside of record labels?" I avoided his eyes as I spoke. Usually I looked people dead on enjoying that it made them uncomfortable, but I wasn't in the mood at the moment. Not right now. Not today. Not with him.

"Only the pretty ones." Pete moved to take a spot next to me on the concrete picnic table.

I said nothing in return, only stared at the sky in the opposite direction of my ex. That's what Pete had become to me. Simply an ex. Although right now, he seemed to be an ex who was sitting too close to me on a picnic table. By the way, why was he sitting so close to me on a picnic table? Why was he sitting so close to me at all? Why was this picnic table concrete? Everyone knows picnic tables are wooden. No one had ever decided to have a picnic on concrete table. That's absurd. Although, I suppose no one decides to have a picnic outside of a record labels either. This table is completely unnecessary. Stupid fucking table.

"It's good to see you fully clothed." He spoke casually. Who says that casually? Seriously. And why is it so good?

"It's good to be fully clothed." I took a drag off of my cigarette and wondered why Pete always put me in the most uncomfortable situations. Why was he even at the record label? And more, if he really was meant to be here at the record label, why was he instead sitting outside on a mock picnic table with his ex?

"Why are you here?" I broke. I couldn't casually converse with him anymore.

"This is my record label." He looked at me uniquely as if he was surprised I was unaware of this this obvious fact.

"You're so famous, they gave you your own record label? Jesus fucking christ."

"Mhm. Maybe one day, they'll give you're your own salon." Pete laughed at his own clever statement. I had always told him to leave the jokes to me. It's apparent he never heeded my advice.

"Why are you out here sitting on a picnic table with me." I clarified for him. Although, I suspect he knew what I meant in the first place.

"Talking to a friend." Pete said innocently.

"Friend?" I questioned. Since when were Pete and I friends? Certainly not in the last two years when we weren't speaking at all. I think there has to be a level of communication to be considered friends. We no longer had that level. There also has to be a certain amount of respect. We lacked that as well.

"That's what we are, aren't we?"

"Are we?" I was still choosing not to look at him. Pete may have been the only person I'd ever met who could read my every thought through my eyes.

He grabbed my chin gently and forced me to look at him. Not merely in his direction, but into his eyes completely.

"We are." He said sincerely. He wasn't smirking this time. His face was sure and sincere and I almost didn't recognize it.

We held that position for a few moments. I was searching his eyes, trying to read them. He looked sincere, but was he? Does this mean he was going to make an effort? Why now after all this time? Why the hell were we so close? Why is he touching me? God, his hands were soft.

The door opened up and Patrick stuck his head out.

"Pete! We need you!" He shouted unhappily from behind the door.

Pete broke our intense stare quickly and dropped his hand from my chin.

"Yea, dude. I'm there." He stood to follow Patrick who was waiting faithfully and impatiently at the door. It was then that I realized that through most of this Pete's and my conversation I had been holding my breath. When he got up, I exhaled and lit another cigarette.

Once Pete was within arms length from the door, Patrick turned and went back into the building. Pete opened the door with one arm then turned back to face me.

"I miss those boots." He winked at me then disappeared.

Exhale.