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Patrick looks all over his room for his favorite blue hoodie. It's soft and a little worn from washing, and it was there the night before last. Now it's raining outside and Patrick has to catch the bus back to school and he wants the damn hoodie. He starts pulling things out of his closet and scattering them all over the room. His mom is going to be pissed because Patrick doesn't have the time to put any of this away. In the end he doesn't find the hoodie, and he huffs the whole way to the station. The bus runs a little behind and the short trip to town is made even more unbearable by a screaming baby and a guy that smells like a hobo.
He waddles with a large duffel bag and a backpack strapped to him and stops short when he sees Pete waving at him from under the transit depot. He's getting soaked standing there looking stupid so he hurries under the over hang and wipes the water from his glasses.
"What are you doing here Pete?" Patrick asks with absolutely no malice.
"Your mom told me you rode the bus into town," Pete grins wide. "You should have told me you needed a ride. I could have come and got you."
"No thanks," Patrick shakes his head, "I've ridden in the car with you. I'd be better off walking along the highway with no shoes on."
"I don't drive that bad!" Pete protests. "So, you want a ride to your dorm?"
Patrick cocks his head to the side and looks at Pete for the first time in, well, ever. There are dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his smile looks like it's ready to shatter any minute. Patrick wonders if Pete's appearance has anything to do with the emo poetry on his blog.
"Yeah, okay," Patrick says, readjusts his bag and follows Pete to his car. They stuff his bags in the trunk since it's only got two seats and Pete zooms through traffic. Patrick's sitting on a lump of material and he leans to one side and yanks it out from under him. "Is this my hoodie!?" he shakes the offending garment at Pete.
"Oh, yeah, I meant to give that back," Pete says. "Your mom lent it to me the other day."
"What, when?" Patrick doesn't remember Pete being over the house the day before. Pete down shifts and almost side swipes a car attempting to park. He blares his horn like the driver is the one in the wrong and flips him off.
"When I took your mom to lunch," Pete sounds smug. "You were with some kid you know from high school. We spent the day in the city. Dude, your mom's got a huge crush on me."
"Don't joke about that," Patrick rubs at his forehead, thinking of exactly how creepy that would be.
Pete cuts a guy off for the last parking space in front of Patrick's building and jumps out and hurries to grab Patrick's bags for him. He carries them to the door and stands in front of him. "So," Pete says, "do you have any plans for tonight?"
"80's movie marathon," Patrick says offhandedly. "I have some homework to finish for tomorrow."
Pete's face falls, "You're going to come to the studio tomorrow, right? Apparently Brendon can play a zillion instruments. He's going to play the cello for that piece you were working on with the piano. It sounds amazing."
Patrick nods at Pete, "I'm in class until four thirty, but after that I'll be there. I already told Frank."
Pete nods again and scratches at his stomach. Patrick looks at the bags under his eyes again and says, "You want to hang out for a while?" He holds the door open wider for Pete to press in. Pete falls down on the top of the covers on Patrick's bed in the small small room and drops a hand over his eyes to rub them.
"When was the last time you slept?" Patrick asks as he drops The Princess Bride into the dvd player.
"I don't know. I think I slept for three hours the other day. Oh hey, good choice Buttercup," Pete says, sitting up with his back pressed to the headboard. Patrick curls up next to him on the small bed with his laptop. He's got another two pages he needs for his English 101 class. Pete's eyes are glued on the screen as he types, but then he leans forward and says, "Oh, hey, no, like this." And he takes the laptop and types furiously on it.
When he hands it back Patrick reads over what he wrote and is surprised that it's actually good. "That's cheating," he says, but he doesn't delete it. Instead he shuts the lid and shoves the computer under his bed. Pete falls asleep before they even get to the R.O.U.S.s. He's still propped up against the wall, his neck at a weird angle, and Patrick sighs.
He pulls Pete down until he's lying flat and folds the blankets up over him. Pete snuffles in his sleep and rolls over. Patrick stares at him for a long time before he climbs into the empty bed on the opposite side of the room. He falls asleep to the sound of Pete breathing.
Gerard loves Sundays, especially lazy Sundays where there is coffee and lazy smiles. Sometimes he’ll sit on a bench at the park a few blocks from Clan Industries and people watch.
His favorite are the little old ladies who feed the birds. Gerard wants to be a bird lady so bad, with bags, like in Home Alone 2.
He jumps when his phone rings and pulls it out glancing at it. It’s Mikey so he answers it instead of sending it to voice mail. He doesn’t even know why he has a cell, he never uses it. He’s not down with getting a brain tumor.
“Hello?” He’s already grinning. Mikey is on the road scouting bands for Pete and he hasn’t seen him in ages.
“Hey Gee!” Mikey’s shouting and Gerard knows that he’s watching a band play where ever he is. “You have to hear these guys!” Mikey stops shouting and all he hears is the music. Mikey is right, the band is good. They stay on the phone like that for an hour, breathing back and forth to each other. It’s long enough that the ladies have disappeared and his coffee is cold.
“Gerard?” Mikey says finally and Gerard breathes out. “Mikey,” he answers, and that’s all it takes between them.
Later Gerard heads to the office Pete set up for him at Clan Ind. Gerard is technically only on retainer with Pete’s company, but Pete lets him run most of his business from Pete’s office building anyway.
Gerard is covered in paint, which isn’t a strange occurrence, but there’s a woman standing next to him staring. Gerard edges away from her and swallows the lump of embarrassment he suddenly feels. He plays with the cuffs of his jacket and jumps out quickly when he hits the right floor.
He’s not paying any attention to where he’s going, staring down at the sketchbook in hand and knocks straight into the hot guy who has an affinity for running around half naked.
“Oh hey, great,” he says, “I was looking for you. I’m Frank.” Gerard nods speechlessly at him. “Anyway,” Frank continues, “Pete said you drew a few of his tatts for him and I wanted to know if you’d do one for me. I want it right here.”
Frank grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it up to his armpits. Gerard stares at the birds already inked on his stomach and swallows. “Right here,” Franks says again, and runs a hand up from his navel to caress his chest. Gerard’s eyes are huge. He squeaks and runs away (in what he will later tell Mikey is a manly fashion).
Brendon stands in the doorway of the bedroom and stares down at Ryan. He'd taken off for a few days after the incident at the shop just to think. Jon had been understanding when he'd opened the door to Brendon crying. He'd let him camp on his couch, and called Ryan to let him know where he was. It had taken Brendon two nights of sulking to realize that he was being a big baby. It wasn't Ryan's fault that he'd been shunned by his family.
He kicked his shoes off at the door to the bedroom, pulling his shirt off over his head and climbing under the covers. The bed sinks down on his side, and Ryan rolls against him. He rubs at his nose, yawning, and looks up at Brendon. "Hey," he mumbles when he sees him. He wraps his hand around Brendon's arm to make sure he's really there. "I missed you."
"I wasn't blaming you," Brendon lies down next to him and sighs. Ryan smiles, humming, and turning his face into Brendon's chest. Brendon sighs when he realizes Ryan has already fallen back asleep.
After his last run in with Frank Gerard had decided it was best that he didn't leave his basement. He'd been sending everything to Pete through messenger, and doing all his meetings over Skype.
"This is getting ridiculous," Pete says pointing at Gerard through the computer screen. "I talked to your manager Brian, and he agrees."
"You told on me!?" Gerard shouts incredulously.
"Yes," Pete says matter-of-factually. "And Brian told Mikey."
"You guys told Mikey?" Gerard whines, "that's a little uncalled for!"
"Whatever Gerard," Mikey says, walking into the basement with two coffees in hand, "you're hiding in the basement again. Mom thinks you've slipped back into your vampire phase."
Gerard scowls over at his little brother. "I never had a vampire phase."
"Oh really? Then what do you call those five years where you didn't go out during the day, read Anne Rice novels, and had a fetish with leather pants?" Gerard mumbles something under his breath and Mikey holds a hand up to his ear. "I'm sorry, come again."
"I said I was a dark, disturbed child; leave me alone!" Gerard throws his hands in the air. Pete starts laughing his horse laugh, and it echoes out of the speakers. Gerard twists the knob on the volume until it turns off.
"Come on," Mikey says, steering Gerard away from the desk, "Pete's having a party in a few hours, and we're going."
"And we have to start getting ready two hours ahead of time?" Gerard rolls his eyes. Mikey makes a noise, "Dude, you smell like ball sweat and B.O. You're showering so people will actually talk to you."
Ryan's closing up for the night so he can get ready for Pete's party when a woman walks through the door. She stands awkwardly at the counter and Ryan wonders if he's met her before. She stares at him for a moment and says, "He never wears his coat."
"I'm sorry?" Ryan asks, leaning over the counter to hear her better. She repeats it louder.
"Brendon. He never wears his coat."
"I--maybe you should tell him," Ryan focuses on Brendon's mom. She frowns and shakes her head. "I'm not supposed to be here," she says. "My husband is--he's angry."
"He'll get over it," Ryan says, "And if he doesn't it shouldn't matter to you anyway. Brendon's your son. You're supposed to love him no matter what."
"I know," Grace Urie whispers. "I do love him. Will you tell him?"
"That you love him?" Ryan frowns, he's not really following her. She smiles, and when she does she looks so much like Brendon that Ryan has to smile back.
"No," she's still smiling, although not as brightly, "tell him to wear his coat." She turns and walks away, the shop door closing behind her. Ryan shakes his head and goes home to Brendon.
Ryan showers and stands in the center of the room while Brendon bounces around changing shirts rapidly. "That one," Ryan tells him, pointing to the shirt Brendon has on. It's a plain white t-shirt a little on the tight side, but Brendon shrugs and bounces down onto the bed. He hums while Ryan gets dressed.
When Ryan's finished he holds his arms out and Brendon grins. "You look like a gay cowboy," he says happily. Ryan frowns. "A hot gay cowboy."
"Shut up," Ryan says with a laugh.
"Ready to go?" Brendon asks, making to walk out the door and Ryan pauses. "Hey Bren? Wear a coat, yeah?" Brendon grins over at him and grabs a hoodie, shrugging into it. "Okay, let's go!"
"Hey Ryan Rossy," Gabe Saporta drapes over his lap, "where's your friend with the hips?" Ryan frowns for a minute before he realizes he's talking about Spencer.
"Spencer is at school," Ryan shoves Gabe off of him. He cracks his elbow on the edge of a coffee table and yelps. Ryan smirks above him because Gabe deserves it, the dick, for digging his ass bone into Ryan's pelvic.
"That is absolutely no fun, Ryan Ross, no fun at all."
"I hear William Beckett is here," Ryan makes shooing motions at Gabe, "Go tell him how unfair it is."
"I didn't know The Academy was in town!" Gabe says gleefully. "Butcher owes me money, the dick." Gabe pulls his six plus feet up from the floor, flashes a peace sign at the inhabitants on the couch and dances off. Ryan shakes his head and wonders how this is his life.
Gerard is hiding in the darkest corner of Pete's kitchen and hoping that no one finds him. It's been working so far, because all the booze is in the bar, but the door swings open and he sucks in a breath. Frank Iero cocks his head to the side and grins at Gerard.
"Are you hiding?" he grins wider. "Dude, it's a party!"
Gerard does his best to not flail and fall off the counter he's precariously balanced on and swallows. "I'm not hiding, I'm just--eating," he reaches behind him and grabs the first thing he finds. He brandishes a can of spray cheese at Frank, who raises and eyebrow and nods.
"Right," Frank's still smiling at him, and Gerard wonders if he's mocking him. "Come on then," Frank gestures, "Take a shot."
"A shot?"
"I don't see any crackers," Frank supplies, "so you must be eating it straight from the can, right?" Gerard can feel his cheeks heating, but he tips his head back and squirts the cheese in his mouth in the interest of not looking stupid. Of course, he's forgotten one very important fact: Gerard hates the processed cheese. The taste, the texture, the fucking--way it slides down his throat in a cement sized lump. His face wrinkles up and he starts coughing, his eyes watering.
Franks laughs at him with this high pitched giggle, and Gerard stares at him balefully. "You know," Frank says when he's finally sobered up, "you wouldn't have had to eat that if you'd just admitted that you were hiding in the kitchen."
Gerard mumbles, swiping at his mouth. He leans down and rinses his mouth out in the tap, the can of cheese still clutched in his hand. "Fine," he assents, "I'm hiding. In the kitchen."
"Come on," Frank's laughing at him again, "Mikey's in the living room besmirching your good name." Frank wraps an arm around Gerard's shoulders and tugs. He has to bend a little for Frank to be able to reach him properly, but he doesn't mind all that much.
Gerard drinks so much at Pete’s party that he can see three Mikeys. The world would be so much better with three Mikeys in it. He’s just saying. It should be his super power. Gerard squints his eyes and thinks maybe it is.
“Mikey,” Gerard attempts to tap his brother, mostly missing all three of the swaying shoulders. Mikey snorts at how ridiculous his brother is. “Mikey,” he’s says completely seriously. “You’re a super hero.”
“Yeah, I am.” Mikey rolls his eyes. Gerard’s giggling because Mikey’s voice has no soul.
He giggles again, harder and leans heavily on Frank’s shoulder. “He’s all yours dude,” Mikey pawns his brother off easily and ambles off with Pete.
“You’re tiny and awesome,” Gerard breathes out with a laugh.
“Dude,” Frank protests, “you’re maybe, maybe, four inches taller than me.”
“Four inches is a lot,” Gerard says seriously, his little nose all squished up.
“Not in my book,” Frank quips at the same time Brendon shouts, “That’s what she said!” from the couch. Half the room groans while Gabe first pumps and whoops.
Gerard rolls his eyes over to Frank, “You see what you started?” Frank giggles high pitched and loud.
Frank rolls over, his arm splaying out, and plants a hand in something soft. He peeks an eye open and finds Gerard curled up in the bed next to him. He's got all the covers from the bed rolled into a ball, with his body wrapped around them. His t-shirt has ridden up so far Frank can see the knobby bones in his spine. He rubs a hand over his eyes and groans. He definitely drank too much the night before. His stomach feels like it's shriveling in on itself, and he's got a fierce headache playing Megadeath in his head. On bongos.
Gerard is breathing slow and steady next to him and Frank does his best to slide out of the bed without waking him up. He straightens out his shirt and bumps down the stairs. Pete's already sitting on the counter in the kitchen, waiting while the coffee pot percolates.
Pete hands him two mugs when it's finished and says, "Take one to Gerard." With the way Frank feels that second cup is going to be lucky to make it up the stairs at all.
He pours another two and takes one upstairs to Mikey. Pete pokes him in the forehead. Mikey blinks owlishly up at him. "It's nine in the morning dick."
"I brought coffee," Pete waves the steaming mug. Mikey eyes him suspiciously for a minute before waving at the bed. "You may enter."
Pete climbs into the bed and drops against a pillow. "How long are you planning to stay?" he asks. Mikey is a rep for the label and spends most of his time traveling around looking for new talent. He'd been given the job after he had a disastrous break up with Gabe. Pete thought about making a no fraternizing rule after the fact, but had decided against it. The day would be infinitely more boring without the fist fights and drama the relationships with-in the label caused.
"I'm not sure," Mikey shrugs after a minute, with some thought. "I think I might want to hang out here for a while," he says after another minute.
"Alright," Pete nods, and it's as easy as that. They lay there silently for awhile.
"So," Mikey says, "Patrick."
"Yeah," Pete grins, "Patrick." He smiles wider over at Mikey, and that's as easy as that, too. He's amazed by exactly how much he's missed Mikey in the last year.
The first time Patrick kisses Pete it’s mostly by accident. Not one of those shitty accidents in movies where they turn in to each other at the same time, but one where he doesn’t think about it, and doesn't mean to do it. Patrick’s talking about bass lines and his need of a ukulele and Pete’s grinning at him. Patrick’s lips graze Pete’s before it registers that he’s even moved. He pulls back just as quickly but the smile that threatens to spill off Pete’s face lets him know it was real.
There’s a ukulele already waiting for him in a gift box when he gets back to the dorm room that night. His stomach drops when he sees it and his breath stutters out. “Shit,” he whispers, but he doesn’t mean it in the way he normally does when it comes to Pete.
Brendon and Ryan don’t talk about it because it would require that they both act like adults. They do, however, both silently acknowledge that they’re moving on from it. They’ve forgiven each other; it’s over. They head to Jon’s place for beer and pizza, and a little Jon Walker time because it’s been too long.
Jon swings the door open for them in a pair of basketball shorts. He’s got a pair of rolled up socks in his hand and Dylan is clawing at his toes. “Damn it, Dylan,” Jon throws the sock ball and waves them in. He’s got claw marks all over his feet.
“We’re in a death match,” Jon informs them. “The loser cleans the litter box.”
Ryan and Brendon grin at each as Dylan pounces back with the socks in his mouth. Jon reaches down for the makeshift ball and snatches his hand back; it’s bleeding a little. He snatches the socks again and throws it as far as he can down the hallway.
“He really doesn’t want to clean the litter box. Lazy bastard.” Jon takes the pizza from Ryan and they sit down at the couch. Dylan drops the sock at Jon’s feet, flicks his tail up, and stalks away.
“I think he took my sitting down as an admission of defeat,” Jon says sadly, taking a large bite out of a piece of pizza. Brendon snorts. Dylan watches them from the top of a bookshelf, his tail flicking back and forth. Jon’s face switches from a pout to a wide, lazy smile.
“Have you talked to Spencer lately?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. The question sounds so much more important than it should, but Ryan barely takes notice.
“No?” he replies belatedly and fixes Jon with a look. “Why?”
“Nothing,” Jon says, and if Ryan were a little less oblivious he’d notice that it wasn’t quite as innocent as it sounds.