FicWad

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He looked at the paper, disappointed with himself due to the lack of the word flow. He used to be able to write stories, in lyric form, and make them so poetic that all the kids in the crowd couldn't help but sing them back to him.

But why? Why after all these years did he become so afraid of something(s) that used to breathe life into his soul? How could he be afraid of what would make the fire burning in his heart, burn with full, hot, intensity? He was getting old, and he couldn't face his own words after what had happened.

But he had to, he had to write to them and tell them he was sorry. He had to tell them why he did it, why he pulled the plug on everything, and why he turned his back on them.

Truth be told, there wasn't a reason, but he still has a longing to apologize and, hopefully, get back together with them. Start the band again.

But the dark olive wrinkles that drew up the insides of his elbow, where the face of Jack Skellington once stood proud, were telling him that he couldn't do that. He wasn't as youthful as he once was. But he still wrote them. And after he thought about their faces, still holding smiles, laughing at his stupidity, the words spilled out faster than a tipped over ink bottle.

'I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry.'

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Months passed. He had recieved letters from Joseph, sending his concerns and asking if he was mentally stable because he said he couldn't speak to them ever again. Only if he knew why.

And he had recieved a few 'motherly' letters from Andrew, telling him that he was okay with it, and at least he didn't stay away forever. And Pete laughed to himself, because he knew it was true.

But a few more months past, and Joe and Andy still wrote, but his Mailbox must have been Patrick proof because nothing ever came in reply of Patrick. The last month of scorching summer weather, and the first month of fall past by and still nothing. He had come so close to giving up, so close he could feel himself falling over the edge...

But Pete Wentz doesn't give up that easy.
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It was mid-october in the city of Glenview, Illinois. The leaves that sat atop the trees were begining to turn a soft orange, and the air in the city was clear and warm. It was the perfect time of year, just the way he liked it, just the Patrick liked it.

After the break up of Fall Out Boy, about ten years before, Patrick decided he would stay in the music business. He went on and wrote, recorded, and produced many albums without the help of anyone else.

Him, Joe and Andy all stayed in contact, and never stopped being as close as brothers, but a hatred grew inside of Patrick, deep and dark, for Pete. After what he did, the last night Patrick saw him, he no longer could think about Pete without A.) Breaking into tears of anger B.) Throwing something against a wall or out of a window or C.) All of the above.

But there was a part of him that never wanted to believe Pete really wanted it. The part of him that still believed in Pete. But as Pete has said in the past, the best part of belive is the 'lie'.

When he recieved all 68 letters from Pete, all saying the same exact thing, he didn't read them. He threw them under his bed and forgot about them, but that part of him that still believed in Pete kept telling him to read them...For his sake.

He didn't.

And on the eve of October 23, 2020, Patrick had a knock on his door, and someone whom he really didn't expect to visit.
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He knocked, three times, and heard a loud, "I'm comming! Hold your horses!" from the other side. A smile spread across his face.

He heard the lock and the chain being undone on the other side of the door, and then it cracked open. "What do yo-" Patrick stopped mid-sentance and stared at the man at the door. He was short, as short as he's always been, with messy black hair that looked like it needed a washing, and black tattoos that looked painted on his skin.

There was a moment of silence, then the black haired man took his hand from behind his back and held up flowers, "For you." he smiled, expecting some form of sympathetic expression from the other man, but got nothing but, "What are you doing here Pete?" in reponse.

Pete looked nervously down to his shoes, "I'm here to make up for everything I've done. And you wont reply to my letters..." and the door slammed shut in his face. For a second, he could have sworn that he felt tears stinging at his eyes, and felt the weight of his heart. For the first time in a long time.

He knocked again. And again. "Please Patrick don't be like this. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Go away, Pete." There were still so many unanswered questions, and Patrick was afraid to open the door because of what the answers might be.

Pete leaned against the door and knocked again, more viciously, "Patrick, I came back because I...I love you! Okay? That's why I came back, and if you don't want to accept it, then fine, I'll leave you alone."

There was more silence, and then Patrick swore he heard footsteps walking down the hallway, walking away with sad defeat.

Patrick opened the door, and looked down the hallway, just as the doors of the elevator were closing. He looked down to the foot of the doorway, to see the flowers still sitting there.

He picked them up, and saw a card attached.

It said, "It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you, I'm supposed to love you."

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Pete was walking in the park, taking one more look around before he had to go back to california, to his 'home'. And for a second, he swore he heard footsteps, but he concluded that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Trying to ease his heartbreak.

"Is that why you left?" Pete was almost caught off balance when he heard Patrick's voice behind him. "W-what?" he turned to make sure it wasn't just his mind, and concluded it wasn't. Because there, in the middle of the sidewalk, stood an unusually short redhead, with a fancy hat on his head, on glasses that almost fell of his nose.

Pete looked down again, "I couldn't tell you. You were so young, and I didn't want you to think that I was just taking advantage of you, using you. I didn't have the guts to tell you..."

Patrick took a few steps closer, "But that break up, it hurt us, did you know that? It hurt Andy, Joe, and it really hurt me." Pete sighed and tried to make eye contact with Patrick, which failed. "Yeah, I know. But I was selfish back then. I only thought about what was best for me..."

And before he could finish, Patrick's lips were pressed to his. Lined with sweet, and utter shock. And for once, in a very long time, Pete felt like he had done something right.