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There’s a routine to opening the cleaning shop. Ryan unlocks the front door, steps inside. He turns to the left and turns on the lights. He slips his jacket off and hangs it on the coat hanger to the right of the door.
In the back there are two rooms, and a bathroom. The first room is where the large revolving clothes rack moved from the back room to the front. The second room holds two machines, side by side. Its just Ryan working the shop since his grandmother had passed and left it to him, but Ryan is okay with that. Mostly he likes being left alone.
Of course, he’s rarely alone nowadays. Pete still comes in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. They still go through the lost and found. That hasn’t changed. Now, though, Brendon visits every day during lunch, and will sometimes help out if Ryan is too busy to run the shop himself. Often times Brendon does his homework at the counter while he waits for Ryan to get ready to go home.
Ryan’s new routine is so much better.
What has changed is that now Ryan is often times late opening the shop in the morning. He’s been finding it harder and harder to climb out of bed in the morning with Brendon lying next to him, snuffling into the pillow and humming in his sleep.
Ryan unlocks the register and sighs. He drops a pen and curses leaning over to pick it up. He sees something shining under the counter and reaches back to grab it when the door chimes.
“Ryan?” Patrick calls from above him and Ryan stands quickly.
“Yeah?” Ryan asks giving the boy a once over. Patrick looks around the front of the shop nervously, as if expecting Pete to jump out at him at any time. He holds a suit up and sighs, “I need this by Friday. There’s a choir performance on Saturday and we have a dress rehearsal on Friday.”
Ryan takes the suit and writes out a slip. He staples it to the hanger and hangs it up behind him. Patrick looks around again and smiles a little, “Could you call me when it’s done? That guy is still bothering me and I don’t want to run into him.”
“Pete?” Ryan nods in understanding, “I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He’s mostly harmless. But if you don’t want to see him you better go now, he’s usually in about this--.” Patrick is gone before Ryan can even finish his sentence.
Pete comes in not even ten minutes later. He leans on the counter and grins. “What do you have today? Anything from Patrick?”
“Just a suit,” Ryan says just so he can watch Pete’s face fall when he realizes he missed the boy.
“Patrick was here?” Pete’s eyes are wide.
“Was,” Ryan confirms, “Ten minutes ago.”
“Which way did he go?” Pete asks, and then doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s out the door and down the street.
“Well damn,” Ryan sighs, tapping at the counter, because now he has nothing to do.
Pete's an asshole, but he knows how to get what he wants. And right now, this second, he wants Patrick Stump to sign to his label. And maybe marry him. He's still a little iffish about that, what with how hard Patrick can actually punch. Pete is using all his questionable methods to make this a reality.
This explains why Pete has been sitting outside Patrick's classes for the last week. Patrick doesn't stop to talk to him when he sees him. He doesn't acknowledge Pete's existence at all; he just hitches his bag up higher on his shoulder and storms away.
Pete will not be deterred.
Brendon has a free period before lunch so he stops at the shop to get food with Ryan. They lock the shop and walk through the park together. They don’t hold hands even though Ryan knows Brendon wants to. Ryan doesn’t touch Brendon much at all, to be honest. They kiss, they cuddle. Sometimes Ryan thinks it’s too much, and sometimes he thinks that it will never be enough.
They eat popcorn and questionable hot dogs from a street vendor. Brendon tips most of his out to the ducks in the park and chases them like a kid while Ryan hides his smile and tries not to laugh.
Brendon stops short at the curb a block away from the shop. Ryan bumps him while Brendon cranes his neck to stare at a woman across the street. He calls, “Mom!” and her eyes flicker their way for a millisecond before she climbs in a cab and it speeds away.
“Maybe she didn’t see me,” he whispers quietly, and Ryan nods next to him, wraps his arm around Brendon’s middle and pulls him back into motion. If lying to himself is going to make it easier on him Ryan can support that. He just wants Brendon happy.
The next day Pete waves cheerily at Patrick through the window in the door and gestures with a cup of hot chocolate. He leaves it sitting on the rail directly outside the doors. When the class dismisses he pauses in front of the cup. Pete hopes that it’s a sign he's wearing the student down. Then Patrick cocks his head sideways, shoots one finger out and shoves the cup off the rail. Hot chocolate insides splatter over concrete steps and spreads like a pool of blood.
Pete dies a little inside.
"Honestly Pete, what did you expect?" Ryan asks bored, picking dirt out from under his fingernails. "You are stalking the guy."
"I'm not stalking him," Pete insists with a cheesy grin, "I'm scouting."
Ryan rolls his eyes. "You're going to get arrested," he deadpans. Pete scoffs because he's Pete Wentz and he isn't afraid of doing a little jail time.
Brendon comes in from the back rubbing his eyes and yawning. He hadn't been sleeping all that great since the other day. He’d tried to get in contact with his parents, anyone in his family, but they were shunning him with the ferocity of an entire community. Ryan wonders if Brendon wishes he'd never said anything. He's too afraid to ask, and Brendon doesn't talk about it. But he calls, every night, like clockwork and leaves a message on his home machine. Ryan's not sure if it kills him or Brendon more each time they don't pick up.
"Pete!" Brendon shouts happily when he sees him. He and Pete chest bump each other, followed by pats on the back. Ryan rolls his eyes again.
"Why do you two insist on doing that every time you see each other?" he asks in his monotone, but the corner of his mouth turns up just the slightest bit.
"Because we're men. Manly men," Brendon sings with a grin. "So, what are we talking about?"
"Pete's tendency to stalk college kids," Ryan is oh so bored.
Brendon scoffs. "He's not stalking; he's scouting for the label."
"I'm pretty sure you are spending too much time hanging out at decaydance after school," Ryan intones with a frown over at where Pete's laughing. Pete sobers instantly. "Hey hey Ross, don't pick on the intern. I need him."
"He's not an intern, he's a slave. Maybe you should pay him. He does have to spend three hours straight with you," Ryan stares Pete down. Pete would take exception to that, except it's kind of the truth.
Ryan talks to Spencer at three am. “I don’t know what I’m doing Spence,” he admits.
Spencer makes a noise in his throat and says, “Since when is that any different from any other time in your life?”
“I guess it’s not,” Ryan concedes, “But now it involves someone else. Their life.”
“It may not seem like it,” Spencer says, “But Brendon knows what he’s doing.”
“Sometimes its hard to remember he’s more mature than he acts,” Ryan sighs. Spencer makes another noise. This is when Ryan misses him the most. When Spencer is away at school Ryan always feels just that much more confused about life in general.
“So—how’s Jon?” Ryan’s pretty sure he’s lost Spencer’s interest.
Pete doesn't get arrested.
He doesn't get arrested but a large guy named Charlie punches him and throws him off campus. Pete resolves himself to getting creative.
Brendon wakes up to dry mouth and a headache. He peels his eyes open and coughs hard enough to feel it in his lungs. He groans in pain.
“Brendon?” Ryan’s head pops out of the bathroom, his tooth brush still stuck in his mouth. Brendon groans.
“’S hot,” he whines, sniffles, and coughs again. “I think I’m dying.”
Ryan presses his wrist to Brendon’s forehead. He’s burning up, shivering, and Ryan mutters, “Shit.”
“Wha’?” Brendon yawns, eyes slipping shut.
Ryan leaves long enough to stop by the shop and post a sign saying Closed for the Day. He hits the pharmacy on the way home and stocks up on necessities. He has to prop Brendon up and pour the Robutussin down his throat. He rubs Vicks Vapor Rub on Brendon’s chest, dropping the boy’s shirt to the floor. He pulls Brendon close and falls back asleep.
Brendon wakes up for the second time that morning by leaning over the bed and throwing up. Ryan sits up straight at the sounds of the retching. He scrambles to help Brendon into the bathroom before the second bought. It’s nine am now and his phone is flashing thirteen missed calls five messages. Three of them are from Patrick about his suit. The dress rehearsal is at noon and Patrick really needs to hear back soon.
Pete left two demanding to know why Ryan broke their morning date and then wanting to know if he was avoiding him. Sometimes Pete’s logic doesn’t always make sense. Ryan rolls his eyes because he’s got better things to worry about.
He calls Pete and asks him to do him a favor. He gives Pete the keys to the shop and instructs him to drop Patrick’s suit off to him at the school. “Take the suit to him, Do not harass him, and do not lose my keys.”
“Captain,” Pete salutes him and skips out of their living room. Brendon’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, pale and sleepy.
“Patrick won’t like that.”
“Get back in bed babe,” Ryan says sternly, and pretends he never uttered the term of endearment. Brendon smiles at him and crawls back into bed. Ryan settles behind him and whispers “Go to sleep” into his neck. Brendon shivers, closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Pete carries Patrick’s suit carefully in an attempt to not wrinkle it. Brendon once told him that he needed to use Patrick speak on him if he wanted to get any where with the boy. He’s not sure what Patrick’s language is exactly, but if he wrinkles his suit he’s sure there is a good chance Patrick will kill him before he gets a chance to find out.
He winds his way through campus and to the auditorium. He finds the instructor inside, with students milling about. Pete pastes his most charming smile on his face and goes to ask about Patrick. The instructor points him backstage and Pete goes with the flow, shrugs and goes.
Patrick is backstage pacing, phone in hand. Pete clears his throat, and Patrick stills automatically. “What are you doing here?” he demands after a minute. Pete waves the suit at him.
“Thank fuck!” Patrick moans, grabbing it from him. “Why do you have this?”
“Brendon has the plague,” Pete chews on his bottom lip. He feels young and awkward inside his skin. “Ryan is home taking care of him, so he asked me to bring it to you.” Patrick’s nod is only a little grudging.
“I—we haven’t really met,” Pete says,” I’m Pete Wentz.” He holds his hand out to shake Patrick’s, but Patrick takes a step back with wide eyes.
“You should go,” he says after a minute, pushing Pete out the door. “I have to get ready.”
“Wait,” Pete tries, “I want to—“
“Bye,” Patrick says, and snaps the backstage door in his face.
“Shit,” Pete says, and wonders how he fucked it up that time. He shrugs to himself and heads to the office, because he has actual work to do, and sulking on a college campus is so three years ago.
Patrick flips his shit when he comes home for the beginning of Christmas vacation and sees Pete sitting at the kitchen table with his mom looking at his baby pictures. Pete's whole face lights up when he sees him and Patrick does not understand it at all. He frowns and drags Pete upstairs to the bedroom he used to share with his brother.
A lot of yelling ensues.
Pete maybe kisses him to shut him up and gets kneed in the balls for the effort. Patrick looks murderous from under the bill of his hat. "What are you even doing here?" Patrick asks, his fists clenched at his sides.
"I want to sign you," Pete coughs out, giving more cringe than smile. Patrick stops yelling and just blinks at him. "And maybe marry you," Pete says as an after thought.
"Out!" Patrick roars, "Get out!" He has no idea what he’s supposed to do when Pete starts saying shit like that.
Pete gets out, but not because Patrick told him to. He goes because Patrick looks like he's three seconds from ripping Pete's face off. And Pete may not think it's all that great a face, but it is his, and he kind of likes it anyway. Patrick's mom sends him home with a tin of brownies so he counts it as a win.
Ryan sometimes lets Brendon run the counter when he's got errands to run. Usually he doesn't regret that decision. Usually. But Ryan walks into the shop and stops short. There is a very foul, strange odor permeating through the whole building.
"Brendon?" Ryan asks slowly, "Did you let a hobo in here?"
"Uhm--no?" Brendon blinks sleepily from the counter. It's almost closing time and Brendon has already had a long day. "You have a new customer though. Pete brought him in."
Ryan looks into the back to see what the new customer dropped off and makes a face. "Holy shit," he complains, "It's the suit!" Ryan wonders how pissed Gerard Way would be if his suit gets "lost" before he can pick it up
They open the windows and doors to let the air filter the smell out but Ryan swears he can taste it, and Brendon teases him for the rest of the night.
Patrick goes to decaydance to tell Pete to fuck off, but by the time he actually makes it back to the city he's talked himself into at least hearing him out. He's a little embarrassed, because his mom thinks that he and Pete have had a "lovers tiff", but he steels himself and presses forward into the lobby. The receptionist at the main desk shoots Patrick down with the go to movie cliché "no meeting without an appointment". Patrick swears to himself and tries to give her his most winning smile. It would figure that the one time he actually wants to see Pete he's nowhere to be found.
"Look," Patrick tries again, "Pete said--"
"Yes, I'm sure Mr. Wentz said so much when he was signing an autograph for you," she snipes, "But if you don't have an appointment I can't help you. Sorry." She doesn't sound sorry at all. Patrick grits his teeth and reminds himself that he's not in the habit of hitting women.
Pete steps out of the elevator before he can rethink the rule. When he sees Patrick his face breaks into a wide grin. “Patrick, what are you doing here?”
Patrick is beginning to get used to the somersault his stomach does every time he sees Pete. When he’d introduced himself to Patrick, Patrick had immediately recognized the name from a band he’d listened to when he was in middle school. Patrick had hero worshiped this guy’s words for years.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Patrick says with a shrug and Pete wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Perfect. I’m just on my way out for lunch.”
Patrick would normally protest the touching but the secretary is staring after them in equal parts disbelief and jealousy and he’s feeling slightly smug.
“You’re a dick,” Ryan deadpans when Pete pulls Patrick into Ryan’s shop.
“What, pray tell, did I do now?” Pete asks disinterestedly, picking at dirt under his fingernails.
“Gerard Way,” Ryan tries to muster enough inflection in his voice to make his tone accusatory. It doesn’t work.
Pete grins. “All I did was refer a friend.”
“Dude, his clothes don’t need to be cleaned, they need to be burned.”
“The smell’s not that bad,” Pete says, but honestly, what does Pete know, he showers twice a week. Maybe.
“Hey Patrick,” Ryan nods at his frequent customer, “What are you doing with this asshole?”
“I don’t even know,” Patrick sighs. He sounds a little over-whelmed, and Ryan nods. It’s Pete they’re talking about, after all.
“Patrick is going to sign with me,” Pete is the cat who ate the canary. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
Gerard Way stands in the lobby and paces in front of the receptionist’s desk. He glances down at his wrist, realizes there’s nothing but paint splatters there, and sighs. He’s pretty sure, now that he thinks about it, that he’d lost his watch two weeks ago.
“Pete’s really not here?” he asks for the umpteenth time. She shakes her head. Gerard pats his pockets, looking for his phone to call him. All he finds is a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. He considers for a minute and decides that he doesn’t care that Pete’s late. He has his Marlboro reds. Life is good.
He steps outside to smoke, leaning against the building. Pete’s hiding in his office, purposely fucking with Gerard. He sends Brendon out to let the man in as soon as he lights up, because he’s that much of a dick. He’s planning to call Patrick later, but for now he’s going to have a little fun with the shut-in artist.
Pete’s waiting outside Patrick’s last class of the day. He shouts to get his attention when he sees him. Patrick narrows his eyes at him when he sees him, but he doesn’t say anything. Charlie pauses next to Patrick, but the small boy just waves his friend on.
“What are you doing here?” Patrick asks in exasperation. Pete hands him a hot chocolate from Starbucks and falls into step next to him
“Your mom wants us to come to dinner.”
“Oh Jesus,” Patrick rubs his temples, under his hat. “You realize she thinks you’re my boyfriend, right?”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Pete’s eyes are twinkling, and Patrick would swear that Pete did this on purpose. “It’ll be easier for her to accept our marriage if we date first.”
“We’re not getting married,” Patrick groan.
“Anything you say, Patty Cakes,” Pete wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him closer.
“Don’t call me that,” Patrick sighs. He can feel a migraine coming on, and he’s pretty sure he just lost an argument.
Gerard is a freelance artist that Pete keeps on retainer. The day he meets Frank Iero, the studio guitarist who just moved to Chicago from Jersey, he drops his sketch books, spills his coffee all over himself, and walks into a wall simultaneously. Pete’s snickering from above him because he’s an asshole who maybe knew Frank would walk out of the studio shirtless at the precise minute he’d lead Gerard past it.
“Dude,” Frank grins, stepping over Gerard’s legs, “That was one hell of a wipe out.” He steps over the pile of shit spread out over the floor, and leans down to take a drink from a nearby water fountain. Gerard watches with wide eyes and a scarlet face. Frank hops over Gerard’s shit and disappears back into the studio.
“Don't sweat on the mixing board!” Pete shouts after him. Frank flips him off and shuts the door behind him.
“Oh my god,” Gerard squeaks in embarrassment. He lets himself fall completely to the floor and flings an arm over his eyes.
He finally scrapes himself off the floor and books it to Pete’s office. He mourns his coffee and his Maiden shirt while he sulks in the bean bag chair in Pete’s office. Pete’s the most unprofessional person Gerard works for. If he weren’t his kid brother’s good friend he wouldn’t put up with half the shit Pete does. Pete’s still giving him the look so Gerard grimaces and says, “Shut up.”
Pete cackles for twenty minutes and then makes Brendon bring Gerard coffee so they can actually start their meeting.
Patrick finally gives in to curiosity and Googles Pete. After slogging through two pages of results on Pete’s dick he manages to find a forum about Pete’s old band. The last post says, “Arma Angelus as an experiment has failed.” It’s signed Panda, and when Patrick slides his cursor over it a hidden link pops up.
It connects to a livejournal, which connects to a buzznet, to a website that holds a puzzle and finally to a journal with the username XO. This is apparently Pete’s personal journal. The whole time Patrick had known Pete he'd assumed that he was this ridiculous guy with no interest in anything outside of his immediate view. But Pete's journal is filled with everything from literature to politics. Patrick has to shut the page when he reads "I don't cry because the walls are too thin and I don't want anyone to hear me being human" about a trip Pete took to Africa the year before.
He wonders how much his opinion on Pete will change after reading the journal. Two days later, when Pete puts him in a head lock and drops a wet kiss to his forehead, knocking his hat off, Patrick punches him and realizes not very much. He still hasn't admitted to anyone that he'd been obsessed with Pete when he was an untattooed kid screaming in a microphone. It had never even registered that that kid had grown into Pete Wentz the twenty-four year old entrapraneur.
He rubs his forehead and readjusts his hat. He and Pete are already butting heads about how to proceed with Patrick's career. Pete wants him to front a band, but Patrick doesn't want to be a rockstar. He doesn't want to be famous or be recognized. He just wants to make music. He wants to emphasize his skill with the piano, Pete wants him to play the guitar. Pete is a pushy bastard. Patrick is going to kill him soon.
Right now he's sitting in the practice space with a guitar player named Frank. He's great at what he does, but it isn't Patrick's kind of music. "I'm going to kill Pete," he mutters. Frank snickers next to him.
"And here I thought we were getting along so well," he re-tunes his guitar and stands, peering out the door and down the hallway. Stepping back he pulls his shirt off and grins, slinging his guitar behind his back. "Be right back."
Patrick sits down at the piano in the small room and starts playing. Frank's tendency to get half naked would be more worrying if it wasn't so hot in the practice room. He's still playing when Frank comes back, and Frank nods encouragingly.
"I like that, you planning on using it for anything?"
"I might," Patrick nods, "You planning on actually talking to that guy that's with Pete?"
"I talk to him," Frank protests, "He's just, you know, too busy staring at me to talk back." Frank swipes his hair back from his face.
"Well, you know, maybe if you left your shirt on he might not find it so hard," Patrick suggests, rolling his eyes over to Frank. Frank grins wide.
"Probably not, Pete told me he's like that without the skin show. Atleast this way I get to have a little bit of fun with him."
"God help us all," Patrick mutters, "Pete's insane. I wouldn't put too much stock into what he says."
"You know Pete says you're God, right?" Frank asks with a smirk. "He thinks you're perfect."
"Yeah, well he's wrong about that too," Patrick says with an eye roll. He starts playing again.
Brendon helps Ryan clean the shop on sunday when it's closed for business. Ryan's in back sweeping and mopping, while Brendon sweeps up front. Ryan's bent over scooping up lint, dirt, and spare thread into the dustpan when Brendon starts talking. He's standing in the doorway, fist clenched tight over something.
"Does anyone ever claim the lost and found stuff?" Brendon asks, this strange look falling over his face.
"No, never," Ryan says truthfully, watching Brendon's face slide through six different emotions before settling on a stark sadness.
"Oh," he sighs. His hand slowly relaxes until he's not clenching his fist anymore. He strides over and drops something shiny into the metal dustpan. It makes a small clink and bounces out to the floor.
He looks down at the palm of his hand, where a small bead of blood was welling. "It pricked me," Brendon says surprised. He turns and walks away, and the front door closes softly behind him. Ryan stares down at the Church of Mormon pin. "Fuck!" He picks the pin up and throws it; it's been ruining his life since the first time he saw it.
Pete sits next to Patrick at his mother's dinner table. Patrick is grimacing at him over the baked chicken and mashed potatoes. Pete nudges him with his elbow and whispers, "Honor thy mother and father, Patrick Stump."
"Shut up," Patrick bites out, but he's smiling when he takes a bite of chicken.
"So, how did you guys meet?" Patrick's mom asks, cutting a piece off her chicken breast.
"I stalked Patrick," Pete grins over at him when his mom starts laughing.
"He's not kidding," Patrick says evenly, dropping his mom a level look. She stops laughing and narrows her eyes at Pete. "Well, you have excellent taste," she says after a minute. Pete smiles his wide horse smile and drops an arm around Patrick's shoulders.
"For the love of God, mom," Patrick says, "We're not dating."
"We're not," Pete agrees, "We're getting married." Patrick rubs at his head as his mom lets out a startled bark of laughter. She's oddly charmed by Pete, Patrick can tell.
"Pete owns a record label," Patrick tells his mom, taking another bite for something to do.
"Among other things," Pete reassures her, "Don't worry, I'll take good care of your boy."
Patrick's mom starts laughing again, and he lets his head fall to the table with a heavy thud. This can't get any worse.
"Pete Wentz Pete Wentz," Patrick's mom taps at her chin, "Didn't you use to have his picture on your wall?"
"No!" Patrick denies hotly. His mom purses her lips for a minute and then nods, "No, yes you did, you cut it out of that local section of the news paper, remember?"
Patrick was wrong, it totally could get worse.
Pete wraps his hand around Patrick's wrist under the table and smiles at him. Patrick readjusts his hat to hide his return smile.