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Pete sighed dreamily from the couch. “Imagine if we were in ‘The Princess Bride’.”
Looking up from his book, Patrick adjusted his glasses before they could slip off his nose. “Hmm?” he hummed.
Pete’s arm flopped over the couch’s arm just above his head. He sighed again. “Andy could make a good Fezzik,” he continued. “Big and strong. He’d be good with horses.”
Patrick smiled, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Pete nodded. “And Joe would make an alright Inigo. Y’know, I don’t think he’d be great at revenge though. Maybe he and Andy should swap. Yeah,” he agreed with himself, “Andy as Inigo Montoya, and Joe as Fezzik.”
Humming, Patrick marked his book carefully and set on his lap. “He’s got the hair for it.”
“Hmm!” Pete exclaimed. “True.”
Patrick tapped on his chin. He predicted Pete’s next moves with ease — casting Chris as Prince Humperdinck (the blowout still raw in their collective memory), Mikey as Count Rugen (in Pete’s own words, “Andy could take him,” and that was that), Travie as the miracle worker (“Duh.”), and cramming as many of their friends, past and present, into the roster as possible.
Eventually, Pete proclaimed a decree from his throne of couch: “And that’s the movie. The end.”
Patrick shook his head. “Woah, woah, wait a second.” He stared at Pete until he looked back. To enunciate his point, Patrick pointed a finger at him. “That’s not the end.”
Brows furrowed, Pete counted on his fingers, muttering just quieter than Patrick could hear. When he was done, he shook his head. “No, no, that’s everyone. I got Fezzik, Montoya, Humper-dick—”
“What about Westley?” Patrick rose from his seat. “And Princess Buttercup?” He smacked Pete in the head with his previously abandoned book. For both of their sakes, it was softcover. “C’mon, Pete, you can’t forget them!”
Pete looked up at Patrick, eyes full of an emotion Patrick couldn’t quite put the words too. The good news was it was about as far from “My name is Pete Wentz. You just hit me with a book. Prepare to die.” as an expression could get. A smile crept onto his face. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Patrick sighed, much less dreamy than Pete. “What? What don’t I get?” he asked.
Pete’s eye twinkled for a moment, which made Patrick’s heart skip a beat — in the “oh god no, Pete–” way — but it faded into the shaded brown of his eyes so fast Patrick swore he could’ve dreamed it. Pete sat up, grabbing Patrick’s bookless hand with both of his own. “Patrick.” He placed his best friend’s hand on his chest. “I am Westley.” Then he moved their hands, trembling ever so slightly, to Patrick’s heart. “And you are my Princess Bride.”
Patrick’s jaw opened slightly, his eyes wide and his face heating up. “You really mean that?” he asked softly.
Pete smirked, though it held no malice. “If you want me to.”
Nodding carefully, Patrick sat down next to Pete. “I…” Hesitating for a moment, he bit his lip, heart pounding in his chest. After a beat, he decided fuck regrets. “I think I do.”
Pete pushed a stray hair out of Patrick’s face, adjusting his glasses on the way back. He cupped Patrick’s cheeks in his hands and licked his lips. In a voice light as a feather, he whispered, “As you wish,” and fell into the sixth, maybe fifth, greatest kiss of all time.