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On January thirtieth, 2007, Pete Wentz kisses Patrick Stump.
It's not on the mouth or even on the face—it's the back of his hand, chapped lips catching a few knuckles as the pale appendage is raised to Pete's mouth. Patrick just laughs and rolls his eyes, patting Pete's shoulder like there's nothing weird about it. Because there isn't. Pete does this all the time. And they're in London, and he's pretending Patrick's the Queen of England and he's the Duke of Douchebags or something.
Pete kisses Patrick again the next day. This time it's on the wrist, which is kind of strange. He says, "I wanna' give you a bracelet. One of those ones with the beads. I'd make yours say 'PETE' and mine would say 'IS AWESOME.' Isn't that a good idea?" And then he kisses Patrick's wrist, who swats his friend away.
It isn't until February first that Patrick starts to notice a pattern. They're out at dinner celebrating their final day in London, and when Patrick reaches over to grab the salt on the other side of Pete, he leans down and kisses Patrick's forearm. Everyone stares at him for a moment, but he just ignores them and pretends he didn't do anything.
February second, they're on the plane to head back to the U.S. for their show on the fifth, and Pete's seated himself next to Patrick. He leans his head on Patrick's shoulder and closes his eyes, preparing to sleep. After a few hours—when Pete hasn't moved at all and Patrick is positive he has to be asleep because Pete Wentz staying still for that long? Unlikely—Pete turns his head and kisses Patrick's shoulder. He flinches and stares at Pete for a moment, who immediately pretends to be asleep.
When they're back in the States, they spend a few days at home. This for Pete, of course, means at Patrick's home. He lazes around in his boxers and it would make Patrick uncomfortable except for the fact that he loves mostly-naked Pete with all his heart and soul. It isn't difficult to love a shirtless, pantsless Pete on your couch.
"Come cuddle with me!" Pete whines as Patrick fixes them dinner, and the younger of the pair raises an eyebrow. Pete usually isn't so straightforward about it.
"Um. Okay." He goes over to the couch while he's waiting for the water to boil and sits beside Pete, who wiggles over and rests his head on Patrick's lap. Patrick absentmindedly cards his fingers through Pete's hair, who emits a small hum of pleasure. Patrick fixes his eyes on the television with as much intensity as he knows Pete is using to watch him.
He jumps when Pete pulls up his shirt a bit and presses a kiss to his pudgy stomach, shoving the nearly-naked man off the couch as he yelps his protests. Patrick stands and goes over to see that the water has boiled over the side of the pot multiple times and has put out the fire, which is definitely not good for his stove. Pete just grins at him through the couch like he can still see Patrick.
Pete is demoted to the guest bedroom that night, and he's totally fine with it. Patrick is happily sleeping the night away, peaceful in his own cold king-sized bed. What a shame, Pete thinks, that Patrick has no one to share it with.
What a shame he's the only one there.
Pete gets up around three in the morning on February fourth, goes into Patrick's room, shuts the door and climbs into his best friend's bed. He kisses the top of Patrick's head and tangles himself in Patrick's arms and falls asleep to the sound of Patrick's breaths. He leaves Patrick wondering all throughout the day where his Saturday kiss is.
It's hidden somewhere in his dreams, the ones we don't remember in the morning.
Later that same day, they fly to New York overnight. Patrick and Pete get split up, but during their layover in Pennsylvania, Pete plops himself next to Patrick in the seats outside their gate. He holds out a Hershey bar, whispers "Because it's the big P-A" into Patrick's ear, and kisses the skin just below. Patrick turns bright red, but is soon faced with a lapful of candy bar and no Pete in sight.
They perform on The Late Show With David Letterman the next day, and Pete blows a kiss to Patrick during the commercial break. He assumes that it doesn't count as an actual kiss—he'd already gotten his daily dose in a Pennsylvania airport at two A.M. No one in the audience knows who they are, and Patrick's pretty sure David doesn't, either. No video is posted on LiveJournal or YouTube or MySpace. Patrick is grateful.
Tuesday is spent playing at House of Blues back in Chicago, where Pete thinks it's funny to kiss Patrick's temple while Patrick thought they were just playing to each other. He burns crimson under his hat, but Pete has done worse things to him in front of hundreds of people.
The seventh is another plane ride where Patrick absolutely refuses to sit next to Pete, but in a hotel in California they end up in the same room. Pete keeps his distance, but when Patrick has a mental breakdown about how the ratio of Jimmy Kimmel's viewers to the number of times his voice cracks during shows is not as big as it should be, Pete climbs under the blankets next to him. He leaves the other bed abandoned.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay," he says softly, holding Patrick close. It's one minute before midnight when Pete gently kisses his best friend's eyelids and whispers that Patrick should sleep. He does. They both do.
Surprisingly (only for Patrick; Pete always has his bets on things going well when it comes to him), Jimmy Kimmel Live goes well. During Thriller, Pete presses up next to Patrick and pulls his head close and kisses his forehead after the final line, live on television. Patrick doesn't appreciate it.
He blows up at Pete backstage, yelling until his face is blue and Pete's is pink with embarrassment, which never happens. "I'm sorry, 'Trick. It won't happen again," he says quietly. Patrick immediately feels guilty.
He knows Pete is lying, which does make him feel better.
They have a free day to do whatever they want in California on Friday after their interview in the morning. Andy and Joe are at some vegan café while Patrick and Pete are forced to endure more brain-numbing questions. Pete seems to actually enjoy interviews, though, and he makes things more bearable for Patrick.
But Pete climbs into Patrick's lap on the couch when they sit down after introductions, and Patrick is left bewildered as Pete presses a warm kiss to his collarbone. Pete bites, quite possibly leaving a bruise. Patrick makes sure to cover his neck with his hood as much as possible.
He doesn't bother yelling at Pete after that. Just ignores him. Patrick knows he'd stop being mad if he has to look at that embarrassed blush again.
They play almost a dozen songs at The Roxy the following night, and Patrick sees Pete approach from his peripheral vision during Gin Joints. And on "now I only waste it dreaming of you," Pete whispers the words against his jaw and kisses them away, and Patrick should probably pull away but instead he tilts his head to give Pete better access. Pete just grins and spins away, playing his stupid basslines and singing very, very poorly.
Finally, on the eleventh, Patrick is alone at home. He takes a day to sleep and eat and jerk off and miss Pete, but then his phone rings. He picks up without looking. "This is Patrick."
"I know, silly goose," Pete says with a giggle, and he's definitely drunk.
Patrick sighs, sitting up and already getting his shoes on. "What do you need?"
"You," Pete whispers into the phone. "I need you to come get me."
And then Patrick is in his car, driving to Pete's house at nine P.M. He knocks on the door, and it's a few moments before it opens, closes a bit and then flies all the way open as Pete trips backwards into his own house. "Come in!" he chirps happily.
Patrick rolls his eyes and steps inside, grabbing Pete's wrist as he struggles to stay upright. "Hey. How much did you drink?"
"A lots. A lot. Many."
Closing the door with a sigh, Patrick finds himself being dragged over to the couch and shoved down onto his back with quite a lot of force. Pete's on top of him now, leaning down and pressing his mouth to Patrick's neck. He bites and Patrick gasps and writhes and shoves Pete away. "Dude! What the fuck!"
"Needed to kiss you, dude. 'fore midnight. It's a thing I'm doing, like a diet but for kissing you," Pete explains with a grin.
Patrick just gapes at him. "You're so weird, dude. That's so weird."
Pete shrugs. "Cuddle me? I'll watch a movie with you and I promise I won't kiss you anymore. Also, pretty hickey you got there," he said, pointing to the one already forming on Patrick's neck.
He slaps a hand over the skin, glaring at Pete. "You've given me two in three days, dude. It's not even funny anymore."
"It was never funny," Pete says as he stands to pop in a DVD.
Patrick ends up sleeping over. Pete pecks his nose sometime after midnight. Patrick can't even be bothered to roll his eyes anymore.
He doesn't see Pete the rest of the day after he goes home, but the band goes downtown on the thirteenth to prepare for their show at Metro. Patrick hangs out on the bus and stretches out across the couch, flipping through a magazine with Pete's face on the cover to count how many times he brought up Patrick during the interview. It's a full-page spread and he said Patrick's name seventeen times. Which is a lot, even for him.
Pete settles on top of Patrick's stomach, but he's been violated so much recently that he doesn't even flinch. He just sets down the magazine. "Yes?"
Slowly, like he's nervous, Pete leans down and presses a soft, gentle kiss to Patrick's cheek, who stares at him with wide eyes. Pete just gets up and goes back to his bunk.
They play the show at Metro on Valentine's Day. Pete wouldn't try anything on Valentine's Day, right? Surely not.
The show is going great. Patrick has gained newfound confidence, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the way Pete is looking at him across the stage and how close Pete is pressing and how many times Pete stops playing his bass to wrap his arms around Patrick's neck. Except that it does have everything to do with all of those things, as well as Patrick's recent acceptance that he is definitely in love with Pete. He always has been—this was just the final of the five phases: denial, anger, angrily denying it, anger part two, and acceptance.
These things used to bother Patrick, the closeness and the affection. It used to be like a little tease of everything he couldn't be, just a taste of all the love Pete poured out onto his girlfriends and the boys Pete would deny having any romantic attachment to. The Mikey Ways of the world, if you will.
But when Patrick started paying attention and listening to Pete shouting at his phone, he heard his name come up. 'But Patrick's my best friend.' 'Because Patrick doesn't cheat on me!' 'Patrick is my number one and you knew that coming into this.' And, occasionally, the very quiet, 'But I love Patrick.'
Everyone always left Patrick and Pete because they were 'too close.' How are you 'too close' to your best friend? He understood the jealousy, though; he felt it all the time. But then Pete would do something adorably stupid to remind Patrick that he belonged to him. Whoever is behind the 'he' and the 'him' doesn't matter. They belong to each other.
Patrick sat down at his little keyboard and played Golden and Pete came up behind him and hugged him so tight that Patrick couldn't breathe, but if Pete was around, Patrick would sing for him. And he did. And there were tears in the pit, tears in the balcony, tears on the stage. Tears on the keyboard and in the back of Patrick's hoodie.
Gin Joints was, once again, the song in which Pete thought it would be appropriate to come up next to him and nuzzle his neck and, okay, but where's the kiss? Patrick couldn't help but wonder.
Pete comes up and smacks his ass durning Sixteen Candles, and Patrick is about ready to punch him. At some point during Growing Up, Pete sticks to Patrick's side and stays there, crotch-to-hip, bass tossed over his back.
He whispers the words to Saturday in Patrick's ear, who is grateful that his guitar is actually important (unlike Pete's—let's be real, he doesn't even play that thing) because it covers up some pretty private areas. He pays no mind to the hardness in Pete's jeans as he ruts against Patrick's hip—the high energy in the room is enough to turn anyone on.
Patrick thinks Pete's going to bounce away and back to his mic when he has to do his stupid vocalizations that Patrick refuses to refer to as 'screaming.' But he doesn't, just yells into Patrick's mic and he wrinkles his nose as he sings because Pete's right in his ear and it's quite distracting.
When the song ends, Pete turns and smiles his beautiful smile and Patrick smiles back, numb to how close their faces are because of how close Pete had been for the entire show. It barely registers when Pete leans forward and presses his mouth to Patrick's, up on the stage in front of everyone. Patrick's so stunned that he thinks it happens lightning-quick, but by the time he regains his composure, Pete's still kissing him. Eyes open. Waiting for him to kiss back.
Patrick steps away as the crowd is roaring in front of them. The lights go down and he runs off the stage and shoves his guitar into someone's arms and Pete doesn't follow as he hurries to the bus.
He cries in his bunk, curled under a pile of blankets and face shoved under a pillow. He's squished against the wall and it doesn't occur to him why until Pete's already climbing in next to him. Patrick can't bring himself to protest. He's too exhausted defending himself.
"Hey," Pete says quietly. "Are you okay?"
Patrick says nothing.
"I didn't mean to—I'm sorry."
"Oh, so you accidentally kissed me? Good to know."
"That's not—" Pete sighs. "That's not what I meant."
It's silent for another few minutes. Patrick just keeps crying. He feels anger and embarrassment and something that seems like shame curl in his stomach, and he's not really sure why. He just should have known better than to believe Pete had a reason for this. He thought that if anything, if Pete really wanted to kiss him for something other than a publicity stunt, he would've done it in private.
Pete lays down. "I'm sorry," he whispers again. It's not enough but Patrick takes it for what it's worth.
"Don't."
"But I want a chance to explain myself. I shouldn't have done that in front of all those people. I know you see it differently than I do, you think it's just some shit for the fans. You think the private moments count. But for me, when I'm up on the stage and I'm touching you and...That's when I feel like me. And that's why I kissed you. You make me feel like me."
Patrick is quiet.
"I...I wanted to do something for you. For Valentine's Day. I thought it would be cute. One kiss every day, you know? And then I figured I'd end it with a bang, but. But I know you don't...I'm sorry."
Patrick moves the pillow out of the way. "You know I don't what?"
Pete fidgets, staring at the ceiling. "I know you don't like me that way."
Blinking, Patrick shifts to lean up on his elbow and look at Pete. "And you do? Like me that way?"
Dark brown eyes shift around as Pete gives him an embarrassed smile. "Dude, I'm literally in love with you. Everyone knows that."
Patrick blinks again, face burning scarlet. "You are?" he asks, voice a weak croak.
Pete nods sheepishly. "And I'm not even joking this time. I never was. I never do."
And then soft, plump pink lips are pressed against Pete's, whose eyes stay open for a moment to make sure Patrick's really there and this isn't some fever dream. But then Pete fists a hand in Patrick's hair, pulling him closer, and now all they are is Pete and Patrick and nothing between them, and now Pete's struggling out of his shirt and Patrick is laughing at him and he breaks the kiss.
"Dude, dude, calm down. I still...Pete."
Pete blinks up at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, did I—did I misread the situation? Was that a pity kiss?" he asks, cheeks pink again.
Shaking his head fervently, Patrick leans down to kiss Pete's cheek. "No. Definitely not. I just...I wanted to say my piece. Since you got to say yours." He clears his throat nervously. "You know me. I just...I thought you'd know I would've wanted you to...I would've wanted you to kiss me in private. Because I love you. And it's totally fine because now we've done both, but I was just shocked and...yeah."
Pete's grinning at him. "You love me?" he asks, shirtless and eyes sparkling.
"Well, that seems to be the only thing you picked up on in that whole speech, so I guess so, yes."
Pete pushes Patrick down onto his back and climbs on top of him. "I love you," he says, leaning down to mark up Patrick's neck because Patrick is his now and everyone needs to know that.
Patrick blushes brightly. "I love you too."
Pete gives him hickeys all over his whole body, just to make sure. Patrick can't find it in himself to protest.