Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Patrick does his laundry on Sunday mornings.

But it’s not even ‘Sunday mornings, at 10am’, it’s more like ‘Sunday mornings, at 1am’.

Long story short, he doesn’t go out to parties, and he spends his Saturday nights working on his album, and he’s sort of a loser, and he doesn’t really like socializing. So, Sunday mornings, when everyone is still out partying, is the ideal time to do laundry.

He’s dressed up in his pajamas, some plaid pants and his MJ tee-shirt, and he’s balancing a basket of dirty clothes on his hip. He’s got his headphones in, and he’s listening to some old 80s rock, and it’s just a regular Sunday. He does this every week, he could do it in his sleep, so he doesn’t even really notice anything off.

He doesn’t really notice the one hundred or so green flyers pasted to about every surface in the laundry room. Not until he looks up from setting his basket on a free machine, and reaches to fill his cup with detergent.

“What the fuck?” He hisses to himself, and glances around the room a couple of times. He even rubs his eyes a little, just to make sure that he’s not dreaming. And he’s not, the entire surface area of the tiny laundry room, even the plastic chairs are covered in them. He even spots a lonesome one on the floor, but there are footprints on that particular one. Patrick leans down to read one of the flyers taped to the cover of one of the laundry machines.   

Wanted: Piano Lesson

Hi. I am Pete and I need to learn how to play the piano before next Saturday. My parents have been paying for me to get piano lessons every week for the last 15 years but I never actually attended any of the lessons and I spent the money on food instead. Now they want me to play Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony at their wedding anniversary next Saturday.

If you can teach me, be here on Sunday at 11:06am with a keyboard. I am a fast learner (I once memorized the entire rap to “Fergalicious” by Fergie ft Will.I.Am in less than 30 minutes) so I am pretty sure I will pick it up quickly. In return, I can teach you some cool soccer moves or tell you some facts about Edgar Allan Poe. Whichever you prefer. Not both, though.

Pete

Patrick’s pretty convinced that this Pete was on something when he wrote this- because Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony isn’t something that one can learn in a day, not to mention that Pete has never played piano in his life (even though, Patrick adds in his head, he did learn the rap to “Fergalicious” in 30 minutes)

And Patrick would continue to think about Pete, and how much of this Pete guy seemed like a total idiot, but then the laundry door swings open.

And Gabe Saporta walks in. Gabe Saporta in all of his shirtless glory. Patrick’s pretty much in love with Gabe Saporta, which is both embarrassing and unfortunate, because Gabe Saporta would never be into Patrick. Gabe Saporta, the guy on the soccer team, the guy who looks like he goes to gym every day, the guy who looks like a 21-year-old God.

Patrick gives him a small wave, and he watches as Gabe takes in the scene in front of him. “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know. I found it like this.” Patrick says airily, trying to sound flirty at 1 in the morning. Gabe’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants, and he’s got an entire basket of laundry at his side , and he’s got a soccer ball sitting on top of it, and it’s such a jock thing that it makes Patrick’s head hurt, just a little. Just another reminder that he’ll never be able to get with Gabe. Patrick sets his basket on the floor so that Gabe can use the machine next to his.

“I fucking hate Pete Wentz,” Gabe mutters under his breath, as he reads one of the many flyers, and Patrick’s eyebrows furrow. “You know this Pete guy?”

“Yeah, he’s the captain of my soccer team. He’s talented, I guess, but seriously. He’s such an idiot, he thinks that someone could teach him 15 years’ worth of piano in a day.” He sighs, pulling his hand through his hair. He looks over to Patrick and says tiredly. “You’d think that one flyer would be good enough.”

Patrick doesn’t have anything to really say, so he just gives Gabe a smile and nod, and a soft “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

He dumps all of his clothes into the machine and throws in his detergent, and then does the same thing in another machine with a load of towels. It’s silent, and it’s an awkward silence, but being in Gabe’s company is nice, as nerve-wracking as it is. Patrick hears Gabe drop his empty basket to the ground, and he hears the sound of the soccer ball hit the floor, so he looks over.

“You play?” Gabe asks, and before Patrick can answer ‘No’, Gabe kicks the ball over to Patrick.

And catching the ball with his feet shouldn’t be a difficult feat, but it is, because he’s Patrick Martin Stump, and he doesn’t work well with any sports, so he misses, and ends up kicking the air. He loses his balance, and he ends up having to clutch at the edge of the washing machine to keep himself upright. He’s fairly positive that his face is flushed red, and he grunts out “No, I don’t play.” as Gabe laughs.

Patrick prays that Gabe’s laughing at what Patrick did, and not how pathetic Patrick is, but he highly doubts it’s the former.

“Shit, sorry. You should play, it’s a lot of fun.” Gabe says, in between giggles, and Patrick can’t even be that mad, because Gabe’s laugh is really cute. Gabe’s laugh sounds like puppies and chocolate, and Gabe’s laugh is musical, and Patrick’s just really gay for him.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t think so…” Patrick trials off once he’s back on his two feet, and he walks over to retrieve Gabe’s soccer ball. He throws it over to Gabe, and Gabe catches it with his two hands. “First rule, don’t touch the ball with your hands.” He drops it back on the floor, and kicks it again, but this time Patrick doesn’t even attempt to kick it back.

“I’m not really athletic, er, sports aren’t really my thing.” Patrick admits sheepishly, and he suddenly feels a little self-conscious, because Gabe is fit, and Gabe is hot and good-looking, and he has abs, and what does Patrick have? None of that. He just has a 347 disc CD collection, and an intense, burning love for playing shitty covers of Blink-182 songs on his guitar.

“So, what is your thing?” Gabe asks, smooth and velvety, and he leans in a little closer to Patrick, and Patrick swears on his life that Gabe’s eyes darken a little. But Patrick can’t really think, what with his heart beating so fast.  

“M-music! My thing? It’s, uh, music. I like music. A lot.” Patrick stutters out, and Gabe laughs at him, again, and gets back to his laundry. “That’s cool. I like music too.”

‘We should have babies together! We should have gay babies together, assuming you’re gay too, and they’d probably like music too!’ Patrick thinks in his head, and he looks over to Gabe’s shirtless body once more before he walks over to some of the plastic chairs and sits down. He puts his headphones in, and stares at the machines, deep in thought.

Because Patrick could totally play soccer if he wanted to! He could… could totally master soccer by the next time Gabe does laundry with him and that’s a fact! Patrick’s not that athletic but he can probably run laps, and he could learn how to kick a fucking ball, and he’s a lot stronger than he lets on. He brings his hand up to his mouth and he starts biting at his fingernails as he continues thinking- it’s a little pathetic that he’d try to learn a sport for a guy, and a probably straight guy nonetheless, but… he imagines being out on the field, just playing soccer with Gabe. They’re not alone but it feels like they are, and Gabe’s glistening with sweat, and Patrick scores a goal, and Gabe’s so happy for him, and he just scoops Patrick up in his arms and kisses him passionately, and everyone cheers, and Gabe realizes that he was never straight in the first place, and…

The alarm on the washing machine goes off, and it takes Patrick by surprise, so much in fact that it makes him fall out of his chair, onto the ground. He can feel Gabe’s gaze on him, and he groans in pain as he pulls himself into a sitting position “Ow…” He brings a hand up to his forehead, and Gabe looks down at him. “Dude, you’re so clumsy.”

Patrick can only give him a grim smile. “Uh-huh…”

He glances at the paper next to his hand, on the floor, and for lack of knowing what to do with himself, he rereads the flyer again. But this time, something strikes an interest in him.

“I can teach you some cool soccer moves”

And well… who better to teach Patrick ‘how to soccer’ than the captain of the soccer team?

It doesn’t hurt that Patrick’s got 13 or so years of actual piano lessons under his belt, and it especially doesn’t hurt that Patrick’s 100% sure he has the sheet music to Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony framed up on his wall somewhere.

It’s still Sunday, but it’s Sunday at 11:15am, 9 minutes after Pete said to get there. Patrick’s sitting in the laundry room with his keyboard in his lap, and he feels so pathetic. He just wants to go home and write more love songs about Gabe Saporta’s hair… and he doesn’t even know why he’s still sitting here. More people are in the laundry room, and they look at the flyers, before looking back at Patrick like ‘Are you serious?’ and Patrick just sighs as a reply.

And he’s about to get up and go back to his apartment, just the door to the laundry room opens. Patrick looks up, and he stares into a pair of brown eyes, eyes that widen as they look down at the keyboard in Patrick’s lap.

“Oh fuck! Shit, I didn’t know that someone was gonna show up! And you know, I almost didn’t even come back and check,” Pete says (Patrick’s assuming this is Pete). He takes a bite out of his foot-long Subway sandwich and says with his mouth open “But this is fucking awesome, what’s up man? I’m Pete.”

Some of the people in the laundry room turn their heads to look at Pete, because this was the idiot that covered the laundry room with those dumb green flyers. Patrick just gulps, and holds his hand out. “I’m Patrick.”

Pete’s got the worst hair style Patrick’s ever seen in his life; it’s dyed red, but there are some patches that aren’t even dyed. He’s wearing eyeliner, and he’s got some mayonnaise smeared on his face, from his sandwich, and his ‘Taking Back Sunday’ tee-shirt is stained, and he looks like a complete mess. It’s such a perfect fit to the flyers, but Patrick really didn’t expect this.

“So, do you think you can help me?” Pete asks after he shakes Patrick’s hand, sitting in the chair next to Patrick’s. He looks over to the keyboard in Patrick’s lap, and he licks his fingers. Patrick’s heart hurt a little bit, and he imagines smudgy fingerprints all over his precious keyboard.

“Well, no… Not in a day, but I can teach you something so that you don't make a total fool of yourself.” Patrick says simply, and Pete makes a small pained noise. “Did you not read the flyer, I learned the rap to-“ “I know, I know, I read it, but… have you heard Beethoven’s 5^th symphony?!”

Pete shrugs, taking another bite. “Yeah, I did, and it looked like complete gibberish… in piano form. It just looked like someone was slamming their fingers on the piano, I just need you to teach me how to properly slam my fingers on the right keys, and that’ll be it.”

And Patrick doesn’t like assuming things about people, but he can’t help but think that this guy is a total dumbass. “…are you being serious?” Patrick asks with narrowed eyes, and Pete blinks a couple of times. “Well… yeah. Listen, my parents are assholes, and I don’t give a shit about them, and I don’t feel sorry for using their money to buy food, because they never helped me out my entire life. Like, were they there for me when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder? No. And were they there for me when I came out to them? No. So, no, I don’t really care, but my parents also paid for my books and they help me out with the rent because you can’t have a job when you’re on a team, so you see my dilemma here?”

Pete stares at Patrick a set jaw, and his eyes are both screaming with concealed anger and desperation, and Patrick nods slowly in understandment. “I… I see your dilemma, but I can’t teach you 15 years of piano in a day, I’ll just… teach you something simple.”

Pete sighs, and he sets his sandwich down in someone’s clean laundry to bury his head in his hands. He screams, loudly, and Patrick winces a little, but then Pete pulls his head out of his hands and looks back over to Patrick. “Okay. Okay, how about the rest of the week? Can you teach me for the rest of the week?”

Patrick bites on his lip- this week is their break from college, and he was going to take this time to write some more of his album, but he sort of feels bad for this Pete guy, and he’s giving him puppy dog eyes, and Patrick really needs these soccer lessons.

“Fine… fine, I’ll help you. But I need something from you.” Patrick says, and Pete nods quickly. “Dude, anything. I mean, I have no money, and I’m not willing to whore myself out, you gotta at least buy me dinner first, but anything else.”

“I need you to teach me how to play soccer.” Patrick says, and Pete blinks at him (he does this a lot) but he starts laughing. “That’s it? Okay, I’m down with that. Like, what, how to kick a ball?” Pete asks, and Patrick runs his fingers across the piano keys- nervous tick. “Yeah, kinda… I’m trying to… to, uh, impress someone, so I want to be good.”

“Alright, get it! Who’s the lucky lady?” Pete asks, and Patrick scrunches up his nose a little, but he doesn’t correct the pronouns, since he doesn’t really want Pete guessing Gabe. “You probably don’t know her, she doesn’t live here…”

“She goes to DePaul?” Pete asks, and Patrick nods in defeat. “I probably know her, but fine, you don’t have to tell me yet, Pattycakes.” Pete wiggles his eyebrows at Patrick with a grin, and picks up back his sandwich from the clean basket of clothes. He takes a big bite, and some food falls out of his mouth as he says “This is the start to a beautiful friendship, I can feel it! So, we starting or what?” He finishes off his sandwich, and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “Give me this keyboard, let me see what I can do.”

“Nothing, it’s going to sound like shit.” Patrick says, with a little laugh in his voice. “Plus, we have to go to your apartment, because my roommate Joe is gonna kill us if we make noise this early, and I’m not playing piano in the laundry room.”

Pete pouts, but he gets up out of his seat. “Fine, let’s go to my place. And hey, I know I said that I could only offer either some facts about my boyfriend, Edgar Allan Poe, or teach you some of my moves, but since you’re helping me for a whole week, wanna hear a fact?”

And Patrick opens his mouth to say no, but Pete beats him to it. “So, Edgar loved cats. But did you know that he often used to write with one of his cats sitting on his shoulders?”

Patrick decides in this moment that he’s either going to love Pete Wentz, or hate Pete Wentz.

Chapter Text

Patrick notices very quickly that Pete is very annoying.

Patrick realized once they had gotten up to Pete’s apartment that all of Patrick’s music equipment and his stand for the keyboard were all at his place, so he decided that he would go down by himself, and get it himself, and come back up.

“Hey, I wanna come with you, I wanna meet your roommate.” Pete says, even though Patrick sends him an exasperated look, and presses the ‘close door’ button. Pete narrows his eyes, almost like he’s challenging Patrick, and he sticks his foot in between the closing doors so that they don’t close, and he gets back into the elevator. He’s still holding Patrick’s keyboard from when Patrick asked him to bring it into his place, and Patrick’s suddenly regretting that decision, because Pete looks like he’s two seconds from dropping it.

And it’s not even that Patrick wants to dislike Pete, he’s just making it so easy for him. Patrick isn’t exactly the most sociable person on the planet, but even he gets social cues like ‘exasperated look from person you just met 10 minutes ago = leave them alone’.

“I feel like it’s only fair that we get to know each other and become friends. Plus, what am I supposed to tell my kids when I tell them that I mastered Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony in a week? That I don’t even talk to the guy who taught the entire thing to me anymore?” Pete shakes his head, like he’s trying to convince Patrick like that would be the worst thing on Earth. “That’s just sad, bro.”

“Okay, one, I’m not guaranteeing that you’ll be able to play it, and two, I don’t think you’d want to be my friend, I’m just a loser.” Patrick admits, and he doesn’t really feel sad about it, because a wise Finn Hudson once said “I’m not afraid of being called a loser, because I can accept that’s what I am”. But then he remembers that he just quoted Glee to himself, and he hates himself for it, just a little.

“You’re not a loser, who said you’re a loser? You’re not a loser. And hey, just because I’m an athlete doesn’t mean we can’t be friends plus I’m going to quote unquote teach you how to play soccer, thus making you can athlete so… how about that?” Pete asks, and apparently he’s a very expressive person, because he almost swings Patrick’s keyboard forward into the doors for emphasis. Patrick has to count down from 10.

“I don’t know how to reply to that… so I’m not.” Patrick finally replies, and Pete just reaches over to playfully pinch his cheeks. “Trust me, we’re gonna be great friends.” and Patrick doesn’t trust him, but he already got himself into this mess, and he already made a commitment, so he might as well do it.

They reach Patrick’s floor shortly after that, and Patrick pulls his keys out of his pocket to open his front door. His apartment, for the most part, is very plain and boring looking, save for a bunch of posters on the walls. Patrick’s CD collection is up against the wall, organized into categories onto shelves, and there’s sheet music all over the coffee table. Joe is also passed out on the couch, a bowl of cereal balancing on his belly. Patrick turns around to tell Pete to not make noise, and Pete actually complies for once.

“Let’s just go to my room, I think I have my stuff in there. And my sheet music, although I doubt we’re gonna get there today.”

Pete jumps into Patrick’s bed after he puts down the keyboard, and he buries his head in his pillows. His “So, what are you gonna teach me today?” comes out muffled, and his leg jerks and kicks out when Patrick shoves him so that he can sit down next to him. He’s got two small stuffed animals in one hand, and he has a notebook in the other.

“Well, the trick to good piano playing is positioning your hands properly and fingering-“ “Haha, fingering!”

It’s silent for a few seconds, and then Pete looks up to Patrick. “Continue, please.” And then he goes back to burying his head in one of Patrick’s pillows, groaning as Patrick continues to explain piano techniques, and whatnot. “Well, yeah, fingering, because-“ “Haha, fingering!”

“Shut up, oh my God, shut up.” Patrick sighs, before bringing his hand to his forehead. “I can’t continue this if you’re going to keep doing that.” Pete flips over so that he’s facing Patrick, and he says “Patrick, you’re teaching me ‘proper fingering’, sue me for thinking about sex… hey, what’s that in your hand?” He reaches for the two little stuffed animals in Patrick’s hands, but Patrick pulls it away from him.

“But we’re never going to get anything done if you don’t shut up and listen to me!” Patrick says, but it comes out more like a whine, so it’s not really as intimidating as Patrick intended it to be.

There’s a knock on the door, and the both of them jump at the sound. It’s a little compromising, a stranger (Pete) sprawled on Patrick’s bed, but before Patrick can pull Pete up into a sitting position, Joe walks in.

“Who’s this?” Joe asks, eyeing Pete, and Pete waves to him. “Sup, I’m Pete. Patrick’s teaching me Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony and I’m teaching him soccer so that he can impress his girlfriend.” He elongates ‘girlfriend’, probably to embarrass Patrick, but Joe looks over to Patrick, confused. Because, of course, Patrick isn’t straight, he’s gay. Patrick shakes his head, and Joe shrugs in half-understandment. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess. I’m Joe, by the way.”

He walks over to one of Patrick’s drawers, and pulls out a random shirt. “I’m wearing this now. Nice meeting you, Pete.” He glances over to Patrick and sends him a ‘we’re talking about this later’ look before walking out.

“Nice dude. His hair looks like it was hand-crafted by Jesus.” Pete says, before he brings a hand up to his pin-straight hair. He frowns a little, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, so Patrick just ignores it.

“I guess we can work here now, but we should work at the table. You need good posture, or else your hand positioning gets fucked, and-“ “Is my fingering affected by this?” He asks with a grin on his face, and Patrick shoves Pete off of his bed for real. Pete yelps in pain, and he quickly gets up and glares at Patrick from his position on the floor.

“I hate you, why did I ever agree to this?” Patrick says to himself, but it’s intentionally loud enough for Pete to hear.

“Cause you need me to teach you how to kick a soccer ball?” Pete offers, and he reaches for the keyboard that’s next to him. He picks it up, and he pulls himself up, until he’s standing over Patrick. “Let’s go learn some fingering.”

“So, this is Beethoven Bear, and this is Mozart Mouse” Patrick places the stuffed animal Beethoven Bear on Pete’s left, and the stuffed animal Mozart Mouse on Pete’s right.

Pete’s sitting at Patrick’s dining room table, although his chair is some distance away from the table itself. His arms are outstretched, and his fingers are on top of the keyboard keys, and he’s staring at the two stuffed animals more than anything else. Patrick’s sitting next to him, although he’s mostly leaning over Pete so that he can fix his hands.

They’ve been working for about half an hour- in that time, Patrick labeled all of the keys on the keyboard, so that Pete wouldn’t have to memorize which key was which note. Patrick also wrote out the C Scale, since Pete’s playing it in the key of C, and he described the different acronyms Pete could use to figure out which note is which on sheet music. (Pete tried to come up with his own saying for the line notes in Treble Clef, but he gave up after Patrick shut down “Edgar, Gay Boyfriend, Died For (Our Sins)”)

But back to Beethoven Bear and Mozart Mouse- Pete looks absolutely mortified at the sight of them, and he says to Patrick “Why do you have these? And… er, why did you name them?”

“I didn’t name them! My piano teacher used to use them to teach me piano, maybe you would have met them if you had actually, uh, attended your lessons.” Patrick snaps at him, and Pete brings a hand to his heart and says in mock horror “Oh, I’m so offended!” before he rolls his eyes.

“It’s just an easy way to get you to remember. And it’s a way to fix your hands so that they aren’t lying like that.” Patrick picks Beethoven Bear up, and stuffs him under Pete’s palm “If you suffocate Beethoven Bear, you’re doing it wrong.”

“What?!” Pete exclaims, but then he places his hands in such a way that Beethoven Bear is just underneath his palm as opposed to being smushed. Patrick watches the borderline amazement in Pete’s eyes as he shapes his hand so that it’s in the correct position, and then does it with the other hand.

“As long as you’re playing in a way that you wouldn’t be smothering Beethoven Bear to death, you’re good to go.” Patrick explains, and then he pulls Beethoven Bear away from under his palm.

Patrick’s never taught anyone how to play the piano (he’s taught his cousins how to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, but that’s different than fucking Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony), but he sort of thinks that he’s making progress. Pete is a fast learner, he wasn’t lying about that, and he’s actually willing to learn despite his many “Teach me how to finger, Patrick” comments, so at least he has that going for him. Patrick thought that Pete was going to bullshit his way through this and… well, he’s bullshitting his way through it, but at least he’s putting an effort in making that bullshit seem legit.

“Oh…” Pete says quietly, and then he slams his fingers down on the keys. But he does it properly, even if Patrick jumps at the sound. “I’m playing the piano, what the fuck!” He says, to himself mostly, but then he looks over to Patrick “Hey, did I ever thank you? Cause… thanks, man. You’re the only straight man that I genuinely like being around, for the most part. I mean, Edgar Allan Poe was technically straight, but we’ll never know for sure, so let’s just say he was bisexual.”

And Patrick feels really bad for not telling Pete the truth, but the risk in Pete knowing that it’s Gabe, his teammate, that Patrick’s trying to impress would be too big, you know? And plus, Gabe didn’t sound too fond of Pete (even though he sounded tired), so Patrick wasn’t even sure if they were friends or not. And if he told Pete that wasn’t straight, then he would annoy Patrick until Patrick eventually gave in, and it just mostly sucked, because Patrick didn’t necessarily mind being in Pete’s presence, even if he was annoying a lot of the time. This is like being in the closet all over again, Patrick thinks bitterly.

“Right…” Patrick trails off, but Pete suddenly pulls his hands off the keys and he looks at Patrick seriously. His voice comes out a little timid, which is so uncharacteristic that it makes Patrick a little worried. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I don’t wanna do that, I’m sorry, it’s-“

“What? No, I don’t care that you’re gay, if that’s what you’re asking.” Patrick says back, just as serious, and he holds Pete’s gaze. “I, uh… have gay friends, so…” He opts for, and Pete raises his eyebrows. “You have gay friends.”

“Yeah! Tons… and tons of gay friends…” Patrick trails off, and then he coughs uncomfortably. “Patrick, c’mon, I’ll stop being an idiot if you really want me to.” Pete says, and then he runs a hand through his stupid red hair so that he can scratch the back of his neck, probably doing it because he doesn’t really know what else to do.

“I mean, you’re sort of annoying, but I like that you don’t hide anything about yourself. And I’m serious, I don’t mind you being gay. I watch Glee.” Patrick says seriously, but this seems to break the tension, because Pete suddenly bursts into laughter “You watch Glee?!” He says, through giggles, and Patrick groans.

“Yes, okay, let me live my life! And come on, we gotta learn some more before we can take a break.” And then Pete says, a little cautiously “So, we’re learning fingering now?” and then Patrick replies with “Yes, if you must put it so delicately, we’re learning fingering now.”

It’s a couple of hours later, and the sun’s about to set.

After another two excruciating hours of teaching piano, Pete decided that he was done for the day, and that he needed a “fucking nap”, which Patrick was all in favor for. But they actually made even more progress, and Pete got fingering down, for both hands! Patrick was all too excited, but that, in turn, made Pete more enthusiastic, so it ended up being a win-win situation.

Does Patrick think that Pete can master Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony by Saturday? No. But Patrick thinks that Pete will be able to play and master something else, and it’ll sound equally beautiful. Patrick has a motto about challenging yourself, but it’s not a challenge to learn Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony in a week with no experience, it’s a fucking death sentence.

But now, it’s around 6 in the afternoon, and Patrick’s sitting in the park. To meet Pete.

Pete had told him to bring a bottle of water and to wear shorts, because they were going to get “down and dirty with the soccer field” and Patrick was going to “make that soccer ball his bitch”, which Patrick didn’t really appreciate, but he was thankful for any help he could get.

“Patrick!” He hears that annoying, nasally voice call out, and Pete’s running towards him. Pete tackles Patrick once he gets to him, and Patrick falls to the ground with a thump. “Ow! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Patrick yells once he’s done howling in pain, and Pete rolls off of Patrick’s body with a grin. “You need some better reflexes. Cause what if I were a soccer ball? Then you would have been knocked down by the soccer ball when you’re supposed to be kicking it, and running after it.” Pete says, but Patrick only scowls at him. “Well, you’re the size of soccer ball, so you’re halfway there.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re rude?” Pete asks, but there’s no heat behind it, so Patrick sticks his tongue out at Pete very maturely. “Whatever. So, what are you gonna teach me?”

“Well, I was thinking that we could do a couple of laps to start off. And then we can just kick the ball back and forth.” Pete explains, but Patrick looks around. “Uh, there’s no soccer ball here.”

“Yeah, I know. I went back to your place and got Joe to keep it there. So, we have to run there and get it.” Pete says, with a mischevious smile that only widens when Patrick groans. “That’s… that’s so much!”

“You gotta be fast, and to be fast, you gotta practice. Plus, exercise increases stamina, and you’re gonna need a lot of that when you get your girl, if you know what I’m sayin’.” Pete smirks, and then he explains when Patrick gives him a blank look, even though Patrick knew exactly what he meant. “I’m talking about when you’re fucking her, and-“ “I know! God, shut up.”

Pete pulls himself off of the ground, and he holds a hand out to Patrick. Patrick takes it, and he sighs once he’s back on his feet. “So… how many laps are we talking?”

“I usually do 4 miles as a warm-up, which would 16, but let’s just try 2 miles for now, since we gotta run back to get the ball, yeah?”

Patrick really hates his life. He really hates his life, but then he remembers his fantasy about beautiful Gabe Saporta, and making out with Gabe Saporta, and having hot sex with Gabe Saporta with his newfound stamina, so he musters up all of his frustration into a weak smile and he says “Ready when you are.”

And Pete takes that as ‘I’m ready right now’, so he starts running. Patrick stares at him for a couple of seconds, before he starts running after him.

About 3 minutes later, Patrick regrets this decision deeply, because he eventually gives up, and he lies down in the grass. He can barely see Pete’s bright red hair, and he follows it with his eyes as he sighs.

Why did he think this was going to work? Playing the piano is different than running laps, because it doesn’t matter if you’re in bad shape if you want to play the piano. But Patrick has asthma (his inhaler is in his pocket- he had to use it), and he’s not as lean as Pete, and realization hits him like a truck when he realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than he thought it was.

“Dude… have you been here the entire time?” He hears Pete call out, and then Pete runs over to him. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

“No, I gave up.” Patrick says pathetically, and Pete leans down so that he’s looking into Patrick’s eyes. “Don’t be a pussy, come on, you-“ “Don’t call me that.” Patrick narrows his eyes at Pete, because he’s… he’s not being a pussy, okay.

“Why not? Come on, I’ll run with you this time, and we’ll go a little slower. If I can try to attempt Beethoven’s dumbass 5^th fucking Symphony, you’re going to do this, and you’re impress that girl, and then it’s gonna be a great time for us all! Come on, get up.” And when Patrick doesn’t budge, Pete starts pulling Patrick up by his arm. “Get up, get up, get up, get up,” Pete continues to chant, until Patrick eventually growls and stands up. “There! Are you happy?”

“Yes, actually! Come on, we can start off super slow, I promise.” And Pete looks like he’s being genuine, and he waits for Patrick to start running first, before he follows suit.

And it’s sort of weird, because they’re just running with each other silence, besides the occasional remark from Pete, but it feels nice. Patrick can imagine doing this with Gabe every night, just running next to each other, side by side, in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence, and they’re with each other, so it doesn’t even matter.

The ache in Patrick’s lungs and legs is suddenly numb, and Patrick feels like he can do this forever, just run around. They only pause to rest their legs a few times, and the 8 laps around the track at the park fly by before Patrick even notices it. The sun is setting now, and Pete lies down in the grass after he finishes gulping down his drink.

“Dude, I’m proud of you, that was dope!” Pete says, and Patrick goes to sit next to him. He takes a sip of his water, and he takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out.

“Yeah, thanks.” Patrick says, and then he lies down next to Pete when he sees that Pete’s staring at the sunset in the sky.

It’s sort of intimate in a weird way, considering they just met each other. But here they are, sweaty and staring up at the sunset. And it’s really nice, and sweet, until Pete says “Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe invented the word ‘tintinnabulation’? Cause he did. He’s so talented, I love him.”

Chapter Text

Patrick supposes that he shouldn’t be too surprised that Pete Wentz showed up at his workplace with a box of half-eaten pizza, wearing yet another stained tee-shirt... (This one says ‘Love Can’t Save You’)

But Patrick is surprised anyways.

“So apparently vegans can’t eat pizza if it isn't vegan. Who would have guessed?” is what Pete greets him with, and he slides the pizza box over to Patrick. 

“How, uh, exactly did you find me here?” Patrick greets him back, but he opens the box of pizza and his mouth practically waters. The downside to only working part-time at a music store is that Patrick can’t really survive off anything that isn’t ramen, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He grabs a slice, he leans over the glass counters to listen to what is inevitably going to be Pete babbling.

“Well, okay, so yesterday you told me you worked at a music store. And there’s only one music store near DePaul, so I, like, guessed. Plus, I’m not doing anything right now, and I wanted to go on an adventure. Anyways, you’re welcome for bringing you lunch.” He says, and Patrick rolls his eyes. “You only brought it because vegans can’t eat pizza.” And then he looks up and adds, a little sheepishly, "But thanks anyways.”

Pete reaches over to tug at Patrick’s sideburns, and he shrugs, “No problem, man,” and then he glances around the music store briefly “Cool place. I’ve been in here, like, once or twice. I’m more of an MP3 guy.”

And that’s sort of the worst thing Patrick’s ever heard in his life, because he likes being pretentious and dumb, so he gasps. “What the hell?! You don’t like CDs? What about vinyls?”

“I mean… you can’t really bring around your three hundred and something CD collection around with you all the time, right?” Pete asks, with a little grin, since he saw Patrick’s extensive collection. And then Patrick rolls his eyes at him again, and continues to eat his pizza. “Whatever.”

Urie Electric is sort of Patrick’s second home. And the owner’s son, Brendon, is like the little brother that Patrick never had, because Brendon’s the most annoying, yet most endearing person Patrick’s ever met in his life. He likes lounging around the music store and giving his boyfriend, Ryan, free CDs, and playing the piano in the back of the store.

Like right now- Brendon’s soft voice and the notes of the piano float into the air, and this sparks Pete’s attention. He looks over to the back, and he raises his eyebrows. “Is that piano real?”

“No, it’s not real. It’s a fake piano.” Patrick tries to deadpan, but Pete flips him off, before he follows the sound to the back of the store. And Patrick grabs another slice to carry with him.

The piano in the back of the store wasn’t initially there to begin with- but, Brendon Urie is the laziest person when it comes to doing things that he doesn’t want to do, so his parents just stuffed a piano in the back so that Brendon would come into work. And it actually works, sort of, because that’s all Brendon does. Not that it sounds bad though- it actually always sounds amazing, even when he’s doing covers of songs like “Fuck Her Gently”.

Brendon finishes whatever he’s playing soon after Pete and Patrick get there, and Pete says breathlessly “Dude, that was so good, what the fuck?!”.

And Brendon loves praise, so he spins around in his piano bench and he beams at Pete. “Thanks!” and then he turns to Patrick “Is this your boyfriend?”

Aaaand Patrick totally wants to stab himself. Repeatedly.

He narrows his eyes at Brendon and says “No, this is not my boyfriend. This is Pete, he’s my friend.”

And then Brendon crosses his arms. “Right, and Ryan Ross is my friend.”

“I’m being serious!” and then Patrick glares at Brendon extra hard, so Brendon backs off. “Alright, fine, whatever you say.”

Patrick glances over to Pete, but he mostly looks convinced that it’s just Brendon being an idiot. Pete gazes back over to Patrick and shrugs.

“So, uh, Brendon! Do you think Pete and I can maybe borrow the piano for an hour?” Patrick asks, and Pete nods quickly. “Yeah! I’m trying to learn Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony by Friday."

“Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not sure if you’re gonna be able to do that, but...” Patrick mumbles under his breath, but Pete thankfully doesn't hear that.

“Ooh, I know how to play that!” Brendon says, in relation to Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, and Patrick grits his teeth “I know, Brendon, but can I use the piano so that Pete can also play it?”

“So what am I supposed to do? Work?” and Pete laughs a little at that, but Patrick has to calm himself down for a couple of seconds before he says in a leveled voice. “Yeah since, y’know, you are getting paid to work here. And I’m supposed to be on my break anyways.”

“You’re really bossy.” Pete observes, and Patrick wants to hit him over the head for it, because he’s definitely not helping. But Brendon actually pulls himself of the piano bench and sighs. “Yeah, I guess I should do work. But I’m eating all of your pizza.” and then he waves to Pete before walking to the front of the store.

Sometimes Brendon can cooperate- those moments are very rare, so Patrick is pleasantly surprised. “That was easy? Alright, sit.”

And Pete situates himself on the piano bench, and he runs his fingers over the keys. “I looked up some videos yesterday and tried to memorize the notes. But I’m not sure if I have them down yet.”

Again, Patrick really admires Pete’s dedication. Pete looks over his shoulder to Patrick, and Patrick nods as a sign of reassurance, and then Pete lets out a shaky breath. And then he plays all of the scales perfectly with both hands, on the correct notes and everything. And his fingering was perfect, Patrick adds in his head, before he shudders at the wording.

“Fuck yeah!” Pete screams a little loudly once he’s done, and Patrick shushes him. But he’s grinning wildly, because Pete’s actually making a lot of progress for someone who didn’t know how to play yesterday.

“That was, like, really good! I’m sort of amazed.” Patrick says, because he is. Maybe Pete could master Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony. Master it in the sense of that he’s playing very slowly, but maybe he could.

“Don’t flatter me, I still have to get the entirety of this dumbass symphony down.” Pete says, but he says it with a smile, like he’s proud of himself too.

“Yeah, but you got fucking scales down! And you played them well! And your fingering was good!” and then Pete’s eyes light up and he says teasingly “I got my fingering right?! Wow!”

“Shut up.” Patrick says half-heartedly, and Pete turns back to the piano and he presses on random notes as he says “So, what am I learning next?”

And honestly, Patrick didn’t really have a plan because he figured that Pete had forgotten a lot of what he learned yesterday, so he planned to reteach him everything and to play scales properly, but since Pete already has that down, Patrick’s sort of at a loss.

“Wait, can you wait here? I’m gonna go ask Brendon something. Just practice the scales again.” He says, and Pete nods, before going back to it. His tongue is peaking out of his mouth in concentration and his eyes are narrowed a little, and just for a flash second, Patrick think it’s super cute.

He walks to the front of the store, where Brendon’s stuffing his face with pizza. He’s also talking on the phone with ‘Ry-bear’.

“Wait hold up, babe, Satan Stump is coming my way.” Brendon says loudly and Patrick says monotonously “Hilarious," before he says in his 'I-need-a-favor' voice. "Listen, I need you to do a favor for me.” 

“Did you hear that, Ry-bear? He wants me to do a favor for him.” Brendon says into his phone, and then he suddenly frowns at Ryan's response. “I know that he always does favors for me, but that doesn’t that I have to do them back. Hold on.”  And then he makes a face when he looks up at Patrick’s amused expression.

Ryan Ross is actually one of Patrick’s favorite people.

“Alright, what would you like me to do?” Brendon asks, and Patrick points up to some of Beethoven sheet music in the shelf behind Brendon’s head. “Can you get me 5^th Symphony for piano?”

And Brendon grabs the book and flips to the pages with 5^th Symphony in it. He holds it out for Patrick, but Patrick winces. “Actually… you’re better at sheet music than me, and I know this is a lot to ask for, and I definitely owe you for this but… do you think you can write out the letter notes on top of the piano notes? Pete doesn't know how to read sheet music but he knows which note is which.”

“It’ll take you 3 minutes, Bren,” Patrick hears Ryan through the phone, and Brendon sighs “I know, Ry-bear, but still.”

But when Brendon grabs a pencil, Patrick knows he’s won. Brendon says reluctantly “Fine, I’ll do this for you. But only because your boyfriend seems really eager to learn it.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! He thinks I’m straight, so,” Patrick begins to say, but then Brendon’s eyes widen “What, why? You’re climbing back into the closet?”

“Patrick’s climbing back into the closet?” Ryan asks, and Patrick brings a hand to his forehead, because it’s suddenly throbbing. “It’s a long story.”

“Is he straight too? Because with those jeans…” Brendon says, shaking his head just thinking of it. “He’s not really fooling anyone. What’s up with all of that eyeliner?”

“What’s wrong with eyeliner?” “Nothing, Ry-bear. I love your eyeliner, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure straight people can wear eyeliner, but no, he’s gay. It’s just a long story, okay? I gotta go back.” Patrick says, before he starts walking back. And then Brendon throws pizza crust at his back, but Patrick just yells “You’re the one who’s working, so you have to pick it up.” and he smiles impossibly wide when Brendon screams in frustration.

Once again- Patrick’s relationship with Brendon is very brotherly… if that brother is an annoying brat who calls their boyfriend “Ry-bear” unironically.

When Patrick finds Pete, he’s still playing the scales. And they’re still coming out pretty well, besides the occasional finger slip-up.

“So, I think I’m gonna teach you chords now. Because chords are super important in the symphony, y’know? And, uh, I got Brendon to work on the sheet music, and he’s gonna write the letter note on top of the actual notes for you, so that you can read it better.” Patrick explains, and Pete nods in understanding.

“So you think I’m gonna actually be able to play it?” Pete asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and Patrick nods. Slowly.

“Well… listen, if you practice enough, I think you’ll be able to play it enough for it to be distinguishable. Because, okay, if you’re looking at the music, and the notes are right there for you, you just have to… well, it’s not as easy as that, kinda, but you have to just, uh,”

“Patrick, dude, what the fuck are you trying to say?” Pete asks, amused because Patrick doesn’t know how to spit out his point for his life.

“Okay, hold on. So, it’s not going to be easy, but it’s sort of a pattern, a lot of it repeats itself. So once you have a section down, you have another one down too. And if the notes are right in front of you, you just have to play them. And it doesn’t matter how slowly you play, because you’re still paying in the end. And a lot of it is just dynamics too, you’re either slamming your fingers down on the piano or you’re playing softly. You know what I mean?”

Pete shrugs. “I guess so. I just wanna be able to play it well, but I looked it up again last night and all it really did for me was give me a major fuckin’ anxiety attack, so I don’t really know what I’m gonna do. But that sounds reassuring... I guess. If I just read the notes, I can just play them. I mean, I already mastered scales… haha…” He looks like he’s going to throw up now, so Patrick takes a deep breath and rests his hand on one of Pete’s shoulders to try to calm him down. He’s never really dealt with someone as ‘on and off and up and down’ as Pete, but he’s going to try.

“You’ll be fine. If you just practice, I’m positive you’ll be able to play some of it. I’ll even lend you my keyboard so that you can practice at home!”

“Really?” Pete looks shocked, because Patrick seemed to be really fond and protective over his keyboard.

“Yeah…you just have to promise to not eat or drink on it or near it.” Patrick says with a frown, remembering yesterday when Pete almost spilled a glass of water all over his precious keyboard.

“I promise!” Pete says quickly, before he holds out his pinky finger. “Wanna pinky swear on it?”

“Do I look 5 years old to you?” Patrick asks, and Pete scoffs. “Alright man, but if I drop some soda on your keyboard, it’s your fault because you didn’t pinky swear.”

And that thought scares Patrick more than death, or having to listen to another one of Brendon’s conversations with Ryan, so he reluctantly holds out his pinky finger. Pete intertwines them, and he says “I pinky swear that I won’t eat or drink anywhere near your keyboard.” before he lets go.

“I feel like an idiot.” Patrick says under his breath, and Pete just bumps his shoulder with Patrick’s. “It’s a guarantee, man. What kind of person breaks a pinky promise? Bad people, probably. I bet fuckin’ Dolores Umbridge broke a bunch of pinky promises.” He shudders with disgust and says “I hate Umbridge. Anyways, so you were gonna teach me those chords?”

It’s a lot later in the day, long after Patrick finished his shift at Urie Electric. In the time between Patrick giving Pete another inspirational speech and now, Pete learned about a page of the right hand notes of Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, and he moreorless got his chords down. And Brendon even helped explain some things that Patrick had a difficult time with! After that, Pete dragged Patrick to his apartment, made him put on clothes to go running, and then they ran laps.

And Patrick hasn’t died yet, so he considers it a miracle.

“Are you ready to actually use the soccer ball today?” Pete asks, twirling the soccer ball on his finger as he looks over to Patrick.

Yesterday didn’t go so well, because by the time that they ran back to their apartment complex, Patrick passed out on the couch after he found where Joe hid the soccer ball. But Pete was better prepared today, and he brought the soccer ball with him.

“Yeah, I’m ready, let’s fucking do this.” Patrick says, mostly to himself, and then he starts daydreaming again about Gabe Saporta being shirtless and twirling a soccer ball on his finger the way that Pete ways. He continues this train of thought for a while, until Pete throws the soccer ball at his head.

“That was uncalled for.” Patrick says, rubbing a sore spot on his forehead, and Pete shakes his head “You were staring at the empty space behind me for, like, 3 minutes bro. What if you’re trying to impress that girl, who, by the way, I don’t know the name of yet? I’m a little offended. Anyways, what if you’re trying to impress that girl but you’re too busy thinking about her to even function to impress her? Huh? Whatcha gonna do then?” Pete taunts him, and Patrick throws the soccer ball back at him. He aims for Pete’s head but Pete catches the ball.

“Fuck you, I don’t know! Just teach me how to kick the ball.” Patrick crosses his arms, and Pete sets the ball on the ground before kicking it lightly over to Patrick. And Patrick stops it by practically stomping on it, and Pete laughs at him for it. “Don’t deflate my ball! You don’t have to stomp on it to stop it. Here, kick it back to me.”

And then Patrick kicks it back with his toes, and Pete flinches. “Also... don’t kick with your toes either, kick with the inside part of your foot.” He sort of kicks his foot out and points to the curved part of his foot at the side. “Here. So that you don’t break your toes or something.”

“Have you ever broken your toes?” Patrick asks, catching the ball properly when Pete kicks it over to him. He kicks it back the right way, and Pete smiles at it. “No, not really. My parents got me into soccer when I was really little, so I think that was drilled into my head.”

They continue to kick the ball back and forth and they carry a conversation for a while. They talk about Harry Potter (Patrick’s a Slytherin, and Pete’s a Gryffindor, which amused Pete a lot more than it should have), and they talk about dumb injuries that they’ve gotten (Pete jumped off of his friend’s roof on a dare and broke his arm, and Patrick broke his ankle when he fell down some stairs) and it’s just really nice and casual mostly. Patrick can’t even get distracted by thinking about Gabe because Pete never stops talking, and there’s always something to add.

“When do you have work tomorrow?” Pete asks, running and kicking the ball over to Patrick. And then Patrick runs to catch it, and then he kicks it back. “Really late, actually.”

“So, how about we practice this in the morning, and then you can teach me after work? Maybe I can try to practice some more with your keyboard, the one I swore not to eat and drink around, and then I’ll show you what I need help with?” Pete says, kicking the ball back over, but Patrick falters a little bit, and almost ends up slipping.

“How early is early?” “Uh… well, I’m normally up at 6 to practice with my team when we’re practicing, so-“ Patrick’s face pales (even more than it already is) and his eyes widen. 6 in the morning?!

“6am… 6am in the morning…” He says to himself, and Pete laughs. “Yeah, no, 6am in the night.”

“I’m not really, er, a morning person.” Patrick confesses, but Pete tsks at him. “Tricky, Tricky, Tricky. Let’s say that the girl you have a crush on is a morning person. What are you gonna do?”

“Why are you asking me all of these hypothetical questions, like, what if she’s not?!” If Gabe practices with Pete, then he’s probably a morning person just because he’s always up and practicing, but he tries to push that thought to the back of his mind.

“Okay, but what if she is?” Pete asks again. And Patrick feels like chucking the soccer ball at his stupid red-dyed head again, but he refrains.

“Okay, fine, I’ll be up at 6. Can we go home now, I’m really hungry, and I gotta catch up with, um… Glee.”

Pete picks up the soccer ball, and wraps one arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “I fucking love you Patrick, no homo. Your love for Glee fuels me.”

(The walk home is mostly exhausting, but not because Patrick’s tired. It’s because Pete wouldn’t stop telling Patrick more Edgar Allan Poe fun facts. “So, you know my boyfriend’s poem, “The Raven”, right? Well, he originally wanted to use a parrot instead of a raven, but he thought it didn’t evoke the right tone. Can you imagine? “The Parrot”)                                                                                              

Chapter Text

“Would an Edgar Allan Poe fact make this morning better, perhaps?” Pete asks, and Patrick turns around to glare into Pete’s eyes “No. No, it wouldn’t make this morning any better.”

Unbeknownst to Patrick, when Pete said “I get up and go to the park at 6 in the morning,” he actually meant “I get up at 5 in the morning and then get ready to be at the park at 6 in the morning.” Either way, Patrick’s sitting in his living room while it’s still dark outside, wearing his batman pajamas, and he looks like a fucking idiot. It’s super dark, and all of the lights are off, but he swears he can see Pete’s stupid grin.

“Come on, Ricky!  Nothing will better prepare you for your day more than some good ol’ exercise! Now, hop in the shower, and I’ll get you a bowl of cereal. Go.”

“What if I don’t wanna go, what if I just kick you out of my apartment and get my peace and quiet?” Patrick asks, but he’s already turning on his heel to head to the bathroom, so Pete doesn’t even reply to that; he just asks “Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Lucky Charms?”

“Surprise me!” He yells, before he closes the door shut.

He could probably rant for literal years about how shitty waking up early feels, but he can barely feel his face, nevertheless muster up any energy to complain. So he just does what Pete says, and he turns the hot water on in his shower, and brushes his teeth, and he pretends that Pete isn’t sitting in his kitchen, eating all of his cereal.

In a couple of minutes (like, 30, because Patrick likes singing in the shower), Patrick finally emerges from the bathroom, wearing one of Joe’s shorts and a tee-shirt. His hair is still dripping wet, but the smell of burning something fills his nostrils, so he rushes back to Pete before he can burn down his apartment.

“I tried making some toast…” Pete trails off, and then he points to burnt toast sitting on top of the counter. Patrick just sighs, and sits down in front of his bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch mixed with Lucky Charms. “It’s fine, I guess it’s the thought that counts, huh?”

“Would you have said that if I burned down your apartment?” “Probably not.”

The light in the dining room is on now, and there’s something so weirdly enduring about seeing Pete’s red hair and his sharpied black nails that Patrick doesn’t feel so gloomy and gross inside anymore. Plus, the smell of burnt bread does nothing more than make him feel more alert.

“I’m an indecisive fucker, so I couldn’t really choose between Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the Lucky Charms, so I just mixed them together,” Pete says “and also, how do you not own any orange juice? You need some Vitamin D-“ He pauses to giggle a little at ‘Vitamin D’, but he carries on “-and a person can’t just survive off of expired milk and soda. Like, that’s not possible.”

“Orange juice has vitamin C, moron. And I hate orange juice, anyways. Ugh, pulp.” Patrick notes, and then he shudders at the thought of drinking orange juice pulp. There’s just something so unsettling about drinking stringy stuff.

“Dude, same! But, like, there’s such thing as 'pulp-free orange juice’, you know?” Pete says sarcastically, and Patrick looks up from his bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch-Lucky Charms to narrow his eyes at Pete.

“I know that, but still. Orange juice only tastes good when it’s mixed with alcohol,” Patrick says, and Pete says way too loudly “Oh, big shot!” before he says “You look like you’re 12, man. I don’t really take you as the kind of person to go wild at parties.”

“I’m not 12,” Patrick says through his cereal, and Pete reaches over to steal one of the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms and says “You look like it, though.”

“You look like a fucking idiot, but I don’t say anything about that, do I?” Patrick says, but he says it almost endearingly, so Pete sticks his tongue out at him “Whatever, man. You’re the one who drinks fruity drinks.”

“Cause they’re good, okay?! I like beer too.” Patrick crosses his arms over his chest defiantly, and it makes Pete laugh obnoxiously loud.

“Okay, big guy. And hey, I think your hair is dripping into your cereal.”

The next couple of minutes consists of very “couple-like” bickering, and it takes Pete a whole 10 minutes to drag Patrick by the wrist out of the apartment, but in the end, they make it out.

“-so anyways, I was practicing last night, but the thing is, I don’t know how to play it, like, properly. I can’t play it without you sitting next to me.” Pete says, as they’re walking down the street. The sun is rising, and it looks oddly beautiful, if Patrick could appreciate beauty at 5:45 in the morning.

“What do you mean?” Patrick asks, and Pete sighs. “Like… when I play it, it sounds so boring! I mean I only got, like, the first 3 pages down, but it’s so… monotone. If that’s even the right word

“You mean there’s no rhythm?” Patrick doesn’t remember teaching Pete about quarter notes, or half-notes, and all of that, and Pete nods wildly “Yeah! Yeah, that! So, I think once I get that shit taken care of, I’ll be okay. It’ll be super slow and dumb, but I’ll be okay... I’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. I actually have some faith in you, so…” Patrick says, and Pete nudges him with his elbow and grins “Thanks, Ricky. And see, the same way you have some faith in me, I have some faith in you. And your crush.”

And okay, Patrick’s only known Pete, for like what? 3 days? And he still predicts almost the exact moment and wording when Pete inevitably goes “So, tell me about your crush because I feel, in my heart, truly, that I deserve the right to know about her.”

“You don’t” Patrick rolls his eyes, but he can see Pete’s puppy dog eyed look from the corner of his eyes, so he sighs in defeat. “I know that you know her, and it’s embarrassing and dumb and I hate myself for it.”

“If it makes you feel better, I once hooked up with Mikey Way, which is dumb and embarrassing in itself, so…” Pete trails off, and Patrick tries to look surprised, even though he’s really not; Mikey’s cute in a really nerdy way, he could see how that would work out.

“Yeah, but Mikey Way is cute… er, no homo though.” Patrick says, and Pete snorts “That’s kinda gay, Patrick. And he’s an asshole, so not really. And hey, stop trying to change the subject!”

“Well… okay, well, she’s really athletic.” Patrick says, and Pete wiggles his eyebrows “Hot.”

“Um… well, she has really curly hair, but it’s short right now… and, uh…” Truthfully, it’s sort of hard to come up with real reasons why Patrick likes Gabe; not to sound artificial, but Gabe’s mostly really hot, and funny, and he has the abs of a God. But in reality, Patrick doesn’t necessarily know the first thing about Gabe, besides the fact that he likes rap music and he walks around shirtless.

“I don’t really know anyone like that…. is it Ashley Frangipane? Her hair is super short now and she seems like the athletic type… Patrick and Ashley, sitting in a tree! K-I-“

“Shut the fuck up. And no, it’s not her.” He replies, and Pete tosses the soccer ball back and forth between both of his hands when he says back “But I wanna know! I feel like I could play match-maker and make this happen, you know?!”

“Why don’t we make a deal… how about you learn Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, and at the end of the week, I’ll tell you her name, if things work out.”

“If things work out, then I’m gonna see you guys making out around the school anyways. But fine, deal. Pinky promise?” “Not again.”

Becoming friends with Pete was something that Patrick did not anticipate, no matter how often Pete would go on about how ‘his kids will forever remember Uncle PatPat as the man who taught their father Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony in a week’.

Like, it wasn’t that Patrick really hated Pete, but Pete’s Pete, and he’s really overwhelming, but once Patrick got used to it, he realized that Pete’s just mostly really nice and down to earth. And he likes Fergie, a lot. And he likes Harry Potter even more, but not as much as he loves Gorillaz.

“I think that ‘Feel Good Inc.’ changed my fucking life. Either that song, or ‘Fergalicious’… or, wait, okay this is embarrassing, but my little sister was religious into Hannah Montana, and ‘See You Again’ is such a bop. I love Hannah Montana.” Pete says, as he kicks the ball far past Patrick. He flashes Patrick a grin when Patrick grits his teeth and runs after the ball. He kicks it with force, and the ball actually goes past Pete, although not by much.

“Yes, Patrick! Fucking progress!” He cheers, before he grabs the ball back. “How about we go get some breakfast, huh? We’ve been practicing for, like, 4 hours.”

The time tends to fly by with Pete, just because they’re always talking about nonsense and joking with each other, but 4 hours seems a little excessive. “4 hours?!”

“Yeah, it’s like 10. Come on, I’ll buy you some hash browns or something, with the money that my parents gave to me to spend on piano lessons.”

The thought of a 7 year old Pete Wentz walking down the street with 30 dollars in his hands, going to get ice cream every day after school instead of getting piano knowledge still horrifies Patrick a little, but he doesn’t say anything. He just shrugs, and grabs his water bottle.

“Okay, I like hash browns. Then, do you wanna practice a little? I’ll teach you your rhythms, and we’ll work a little on the left hand. And then I’ll go to work, and then you won’t bother me till tomorrow, correct?”

“Asshole. And yup, that’s correct. Although I might come in to just hang out with Brendon, I kinda like him a little. I guess us gays just clan together, huh?”

No, Patrick thinks, I’d rather die choking on my own vomit than hang out with Brendon. (which is not true, because Brendon frequently comes over to Patrick’s apartment to smoke with Joe, and to watch 80s movies). But Patrick just smiles and hums in agreement “Uh-huh…”

“Have you ever had gay thoughts before? Because some guys I know tell me that they’ve never had gay thoughts, and I’m like ‘bitch, where’, because how do people just not have gay thoughts? To quote Ben from Parks and Recreation, who hasn’t had gay thoughts?!” Pete exclaims, and it’d be useless to lie to him, so Patrick says half-heartedly “Yeah, I’ve had gay thoughts before.”

And just as anticipated, Pete perks up. “Oh, really?! About who? What’s your type?”

“Certainly not tattooed soccer captains who are obsessed with ‘Roonil Wazlib’” Patrick jokes, and he doesn’t notice it, but something that looks a lot like disappointment flashes through Pete’s eyes momentarily. But he just laughs it off, and he shoves Patrick over gently “Again, you’re such an asshole.”

“I think that, uh, Chris Evans is an attractive man… er, also maybe Cory Monteith from Glee, he’s really hot. Was… I keep forgetting he died. When Cory Monteith died, I think part of my soul died too. Like, okay, Finn wasn’t my favorite character, at all, but I feel like Cory was everyone’s big brother, like-“

“Patrick,” Pete says seriously “This is gay.”

“Stop! It’s not gay, okay, Glee is a good show! Sure, it’s problematic at times, and they almost completely erase bisexuality, but overall, it was a good show until season 4.”

“It’s really rare to find straight guys who care so much about issues like that… like no other straight guy would care that Glee erased bisexuality.” Pete says, and it’s a little sad because Patrick’s not even straight, but he sighs. “I don’t know. It’s just fucked up.”

“True that. I’ve never dated anyone that was super obsessed with Glee, but Darren Criss was in ‘A Very Potter Musical’, and I’m a slut for Harry Potter, so…”

Patrick thinks about Pete being a boyfriend, but it’s just mostly weird. He thinks about Pete dating Mikey Way, because he actually knows what Mikey Way looks like, and he can imagine them dating in theory, but he can’t imagine what their conversations would sound like, and he can’t even imagine them holding hands. And then his mind wanders to Pete and Mikey fucking, but then he imagines Pete stopping in the middle to tell Mikey a fun fact, and then he pushes that out of his head.

“Who have you dated?” Patrick opts for, and Pete sighs. “Mikey Way. That was fun, I guess. I personally love feeling like shit all the time, y’know? Uh… well, I don’t know if you know him, but I dated this guy named Jon Walker kinda briefly, and I also dated this dude who reminded me of Daniel Radcliffe. And Frank Iero and I had a strictly sexual relationship, but-“

“TMI.” Patrick winces, and Pete raises his eyebrows. “You’re funny with sex?”

“I don’t wanna think about you having sex, that’s all.” Patrick says, but it’s with a hint of a blush, so Pete just rolls with it. “I’m a total cockslut, I’d gladly swim in a bathtub full of semen, and-“

“Pete.” “I’m kidding! What, you a virgin or something?”

“No,” Patrick replies, because he’s not. “but I don’t feel the need to divulge in all of my sex experiences with you.”

“Sex is interesting,” Pete says, but Patrick shakes his head “I don’t know. Sex is just sex.”

“So you don’t like it?” Pete asks, and then Patrick shakes his head again. “I just think I’m not the kind of person that likes talking about it openly. There’s just things I like keeping to myself.”

And then Pete nods in understanding, so Patrick thinks that they’re done with that topic. But then Pete smirks, and Patrick groans inwardly, because Pete is so not done.

“That means you’re into some kinky shit. But that’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He says, and then he wiggles his eyebrows again, and then they’re done with that topic.

The next hour becomes a blur of hash browns and accidentally sitting in ketchup, so when they finally reach Pete’s apartment, it’s almost like coming home.

Even though Patrick’s never been inside of Pete’s apartment before.

“Patrick got his period.” Pete tells his roommate, a guy who’s wearing sunglasses indoors and sipping a cup of coffee. Andy (that’s his name) just grumbles, and tells Pete to stop being an asshole, and Patrick likes him already.

“I hate ketchup.” Patrick sighs miserably, peeling off Joe’s basketball shorts when they reach Pete’s room. Pete’s room is all that Patrick could have imagined it to be. He has about 7 copies of the Harry Potter series, and on his wall is “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” –Edgar Allan Poe

“That’s kind of depressing.” Patrick says, and then Pete snorts “Then I guess it’s sort of fitting for me. Nice underwear, by the way.”

And then Patrick scowls at Pete as he rummages through some drawers. He throws Patrick a pair of sweatpants, and he flops down on his bed, which is covered in crumbs and some vaguely sticky tissues.

“Have you ever heard of professional cuddlers? I think you should become one, you’re really squishy and soft.” Pete says to Patrick, a couple of minutes after Patrick hopped into bed next to Pete. Patrick’s scrolling through Pete’s Instagram (@edgarallanpoeismydaddy), and he looks up to Pete and narrows his eyes “I’d strangle you in your sleep.”

“Good, I welcome death with open arms.”

And normally Patrick would just ignore him, but this time he doesn’t. “Do you?”

“Yeah, kinda. It’s whatever though. I’m staying alive to spite my parents.” He says, and it’s supposed to be a joke, but that doesn’t even sound like a joke to Patrick. That just sounds really sad.

“I’m kind of fucked up,” Pete admits, and then he rolls over so that he’s lying on his stomach. He looks up to Patrick and says “but I think that if I weren’t, then I wouldn’t be me. I write lots of depressing poetry and I read Edgar Allan Poe, and then I listen to Hannah Montana and then go out and party with my soccer buddies. I don’t know. I think I’m just used to it. I take meds for it and see a therapist sometimes, but before it used to be really bad.”

“Really?” Patrick asks, and Pete nods. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll probably tell you more about it later, but yeah,” and then he switches topics again “anyways, we gonna practice or what?”

Patrick leaves Pete’s apartment just before 6; again, the time really passes when he’s with Pete. In that time, Patrick taught him all about time-signatures and about the importance of measures and about rests and quarter notes, and all of that fun stuff, and Pete made even more progress with the actual song itself. It’s only surprising, because Pete stopped every 5 minutes to try to tell Patrick some more fun-facts about Edgar Allan Poe, but that’s to be expected, so in reality, it’s not even that surprising.

Chapter Text

Even though slow mornings can be, well, slow, Patrick kind of likes them. Since Patrick is surrounded by music, his favorite thing, slow mornings at the shop are nothing less than luxurious. When he’s home, he mostly sleeps and pretends like his only friends aren’t just Brendon, Joe, and maybe Ryan Ross.

Oh, and Pete.

Pete came in around 9 to work on his song on the piano in the back. Patrick was a little worried that Brendon was going to make a big deal about it, but then Ryan came in, and now they were probably off making out in the storage room. 

Now that Pete had gotten his rhythms down, everything he was playing sounded more like Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony and less like gibberish. And although it still sounded a little too loud for Patrick’s taste (every time Pete started the song again, slamming his fingers down on the keys, Patrick jumped in fear), and Pete was playing immensely slow, it actually sounded… good? Since he was reading the note names from the sheet music that Brendon had written for him, all Pete had trouble with was playing fast, and playing the different notes on different hands. But if he had gotten fucking Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony down in 3 days, he could probably fix the rest of that in the 3 days left, and be able to play it all. Which was still shocking.

“I don’t understand why this song is so long.” Pete cries, leaning down to bang his head on the keys. Patrick quickly pushes Pete’s shoulders back, and he sighs. “It’s just because you just learned it, and putting the left and right hand together takes a lot of time to perfect. I know that you memorized Fergalicious in, like, an hour-“ “Less than 30 minutes, actually, but,” “-but Fergalicious is different than this.”

“I know, but it’s still a long song either way! I need a nap, or something.” Pete slides off of the piano bench, and he grabs the sheet music. “I’m going home to take a nap, and then I’ll come back to your apartment when you get off work so we can go running.”

“So where’s my nap time?” Patrick asks, and Pete shrugs “You’re not the one who’s been practicing the most annoying song ever written practically nonstop. My fingers, Ricky. My fingers feel like they’re going to come off!”

Pete waves goodbye to Patrick after that, and he walks out of the store, but not before he stops to say goodbye to Brendon and Ryan, who were making out in front of the front window now.

“Young love.” Pete says endearingly, before grinning at Patrick’s frustrated “How many times do I have to tell you guys not to do that?! It scares away the customers!”

There are many pros and cons of living in an apartment complex with your crush. One of the pros is that you can run into them at any given moment and be graced by their flawlessness. One of the cons is that you can run into them at any given moment while they’re holding hands with someone else.

Between constantly having to remind Ryan and Brendon that they drive customers away with their nonstop slobbering, and having to cheer Hayley (one of the other girls that work at the store) up when some asshole yelled at her for something that wasn’t her fault, Patrick was a little more than ecstatic to come home. Granted, he was going to go home and get dressed and then have to go running with Pete, but Pete always seemed to lift his spirits.

But then… he ran into God’s gift of a human being, Gabe Saporta, holding hands with a woman.

Okay, they can just be friends, gay guys can have friends that are girls that they hold hands with, right? ...Right?

“Hey Patrick!” Gabe says, before he smiles at Patrick. His smile seems to brighten the dully lit hallway, and Patrick can’t help but smile back, even though he’s staring pretty hard and Gabe and his friend’s hands intertwined.

“H-hi Gabe! Um…” He stammers, glancing over to the woman. She’s really pretty too, which makes this a lot harder. Patrick doesn’t really like judging people for their looks, like, at all, he’s always yelling at Brendon for doing that, but if she was ugly at least Patrick could feel a little better about himself. But she’s really pretty, and she looks really happy- like, I’m dating Gabe Saporta happy.

“Oh shit, I don’t think I ever introduced you to Vicky! Vicky, this is Patrick, he’s my laundry buddy. Patrick, this is my girlfriend, Vicky.”

And just like that, all of Patrick’s hopes and dreams are crushed. It sort of feels like all of the walls of the building are crashing down on top of him, and on top of him only.

“Oh, hi.” Patrick says timidly, and he holds a hand out to shake Vicky’s hand, because he’s pretty much acting on autopilot. And Vicky smiles at him, and shakes his hand “Hi! Gabe’s always talking about you, you’re the really clumsy friend, right? Don’t worry, I’m like that too!”

I’m the really clumsy friend, Patrick thinks. Getting stabbed in the chest repeatedly would hurt less than this.

“Haha, yeah…um, I gotta… gotta go! It was nice meeting you.” Patrick says hurriedly, and then he flashes them a brittle smile, just because he doesn’t want to seem like an asshole. Gabe and Vicky wave goodbye to him, and then they continue walking the other way. Patrick’s eyes suddenly burn with tears that threaten to fall, and he drags his feet all the way to the elevator.

He feels like a huge fucking idiot- because of course Gabe Saporta would have a girlfriend, of course Gabe Saporta would be straight. And even if he wasn’t, why would he ever like Patrick? Patrick, who’s clumsy, and who's really grumpy and who's always yelling at people for being idiots, and who's hardly ever even nice anymore; what happened to Patrick being the sweetest guy on the planet? Patrick’s not nice, he’s totally grumpy and everyone hates him, right?!

He continues on this tirade as he steps into the elevator, staring up down at the floor, praying that no one finds him in this state- angry, sad tears fall down his face, because…. because he’s totally ugly, and everyone hates him, and he’s not fit and cute like Vicky, he’s, like, fat, and no one will ever want to date him, and he can’t even be a lonely cat person because he’s allergic to cats, so he’s really going to die alone, and no one is going to find his body and he’s just going to rot and that’s going to be his destiny, because he’s ugly and everyone hates him, and-

The elevator doors open, and Patrick, still acting on auto-pilot, steps out, still internally cursing himself. And he walks straight into Pete Wentz, because Pete Wentz has impeccable timing.

“Ricky, dude, we’re on the wrong floor, are you good?” He says jokingly, pulling on Patrick’s arm, walking back into the elevator.

So, Patrick has concluded that if God exists, He most definitely hates Patrick.

“You know, it’s hilarious how we always run into each other, it’s like we’re destined to be in the same place and the same time, y’know? And… hey, whoa, are you okay?” Pete asks, finally taking in Patrick’s appearance. Since Patrick didn’t even bother to wipe away his tears, his entire face is wet, and his face tends to get super red when he cries, so he looks like a wet tomato; he doesn’t even bother to make up a lie, because it's obviously that he's been crying.

“No.” He says wetly, and before he can protest, Pete wraps his arms around Patrick’s chest, and pulls him in for a hug. “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay. What happened?”

And Patrick can’t even tell Pete what’s wrong, because Patrick’s a dirty liar who deserves death- or so he thinks, anyways.

“I can’t… I can’t even tell you!” Patrick says, muffled against the material of Pete’s shirt. Pete smells like sweat and peanut butter jelly sandwiches, and it’s a lot more comforting than Patrick would think. But still, it doesn’t change the fact that Patrick has virtually no one to talk to this about, Pete included.

“Why not?” Pete pulls away to look down at Patrick, concerned. Patrick brings his hand up to wipe away more of his tears, and he scoffs at himself “I’m just a stupid piece of shit that will die alone and my corpse will be eaten by maggots!”

The elevator finally stops on Patrick’s floor, and Pete takes Patrick’s hand in his, and walks him to his door. “That’s not true, alright? You’re not going to die alone, because you can’t get rid of me now, and I’ll definitely notice if you died because I’ll have no one to bother.” He says, and it’s supposed to be in a joking manner, but he still has a very concerned look on his face.

“Come on, tell me what happened. I can’t make you feel better if you don’t tell me what happened, right? Here, give me your keys.”

Patrick sniffles, and he reaches into his pocket to hand Pete his keys. “I can’t tell you, because I lied to you…” He gulps, and he says quietly, almost to himself, “See, this is why no one will ever like me, because… I’m a liar, and no one likes people who are liars! And who are ugly and fat, and-“

“Patrick,” Pete says, reaching over to shake his shoulders a little so that Patrick will look at him in the eyes “You’re not ugly and fat, and I’m sure there’s a reason why you had to lie, I guess…” and he doesn’t really look upset upset, but he looks a little hurt. Which Patrick can understand.

“You’ll hate me,” Patrick says, shaking his head. Pete opens the front door to Patrick’s apartment, and he walks in before Patrick can tell him not to, not that Patrick would.

“I won’t hate you, come on, just tell me, and then I’ll take you out for ice cream, and maybe we’ll run into the girl that you like, and-“

“The guy that I like, Pete. It’s… it’s a guy, the person I like.” Patrick says, and Pete’s jaw drops, almost comically. Patrick would laugh, but considering the circumstances, it only makes him more sad, and angry at himself.

“Oh,” Pete says finally, and Patrick nods “You can leave if you want, I’ll understand, I’m just mad at myself, for, like, thinking I had a chance. It’s really stupid, really, just-“ “I won’t leave, unless you want me to, do you want me to leave?”

And then Patrick shakes his head- because he really doesn’t want him to leave.

Patrick kicks off his shoes, and he motions to his bedroom with his head, so Pete follows him there. And even though Patrick falling face first into his pillows wasn’t an invitation for Pete to do the same, he jumps into Patrick’s sheets as well.

Pete watches as Patrick lifts his head out of his pillows after a couple of minutes of sheer silence, and Patrick finally says “I lied because the guy I like is your friend. Gabe.”

“Gabe Saporta? But he has a… oh.” Pete finally realizes what the catalyst to Patrick’s breakdown was. He reaches over to pat Patrick’s back, as some sort of consolation and Patrick leans into the touch. He's not crying anymore, but he's positive that his face is still blotchy.

“I know. I thought…” He gulps. “I thought that if I got more in shape, and if I weren’t so clumsy, and if I were more athletic, I could get his attention, you know? And I didn’t tell you because a part of me wanted to believe that I could do it, you know? I didn’t want to hear that Gabe had a girlfriend, or that he was straight, because I wanted to believe that I had a chance. And now I realize that it was just fucking stupid, and that I’m an idiot.” He sighs miserably, and goes back to burying his head in his pillows.

“Oh, Ricky,” Pete says, and he curls in a little closer to Patrick “I think all gay guys have gone through that, you’ll be okay, I promise. We all fall in love with straight guys, for a second I thought I was.... okay, nevermind, that’s not the point, the point is that you’ll be alright, man. You’ll get over him in no time, don’t worry.” He says, and Patrick looks up again.

“The point is that I’m an idiot, Pete!” “The point is that Gabe's just a dumb guy, and there’s many guys, gay guys might I add, that would totally dig you! Who doesn’t dig guys who are obsessed David Bowie and Michael Jackson, huh?” He says, but Patrick really isn’t having it.

“Who digs guys that find a problem in everything? I’m always bitching about something, and I’m so grumpy, and I’m mean, and-“

“Everyone has their faults, but Patrick, you’re, like, the most selfless person I know! And you’re…. grumpy, sure, but that’s because you don’t take any bullshit, which is all that I give you. And anyone would be grumpy if they had to deal with bratty Brendon all of the time! You’re the only person that decided to help me, even though my situation is pretty helpless, and okay, yes, you also did it because I was gonna teach you my super awesome soccer moves, but you didn’t have to put half as much effort as you are. You lent me your keyboard to practice, your keyboard! And you actually believe in me, and no one really believes in me. You’ll be fine, Patrick, I promise.”

Patrick blinks at Pete a couple of times, comprehending everything, before nodding slowly “Okay... I’ll be okay.” “Yeah man, you’ll be okay.”

It’s quiet for a couple more moments, before Pete says “So… you’re gay, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” “So, are you a top or a bottom?” “Pete, if you don’t shut the fuck up…”

When Patrick wakes up, the first thing he feels is something very wet and warm on his neck. And when he looks over his shoulder, he notices that it’s Pete’s drool. All over him.

“Ugh, Pete!” Patrick shrugs away from Pete, and Pete rolls over, still asleep. And when he looks at the time, his eyes widen.

7:58 blinks in bright red in the dark room.

Thinking about it, he doesn’t really even remember falling asleep. He just remembers talking about something with Pete, and then the next thing he knows, his neck is covered in Wentz drool. But still, he slept with Pete for hours. Which isn’t weird, he guesses, but it sort of is.

He grabs a shirt from the floor, and he wipes his neck with it, before he walks out of the room to go get some water. And when he walks into the kitchen, he finds Joe sitting on the counter eating some ice cream “You’re a filthy liar, Patrick Martin Stump.”

Yeah, tell me about it, Patrick thinks.

“That Pete guy is totally your boyfriend, he was practically on top of you, man.” Joe continues, and Patrick rolls his eyes “Can’t two gay guys sleep with each other and it be totally platonic?”

“No?! I’m guessing?!” Joe jumps off of the counter, and ruffles Patrick’s hair “You don’t have to hide your boyfriends from me, man. I think I kinda deserve an eyeful of butt sex after what you had to witness last week with Marie.” He pauses for a minute, and then he chuckles at the memory “Shit, that was awesome! I gotta ask her if we can do that again. Anyways,” He reaches into the freezer for another container of ice cream, and he walks off to his room without finishing his sentence, just as Pete walks out of Patrick’s room.

“Pete, my man! Want some ice cream?” Joe asks, and Pete shakes his head. Joe shrugs, and continues to go his way.

“Hey, uh, sorry I fell asleep in your bed. I like cuddling, I’m a cuddler.” Pete explains, grabbing Patrick’s glass of water, and taking a sip “And I told you, you should be a professional cuddler! I fell asleep in an instant, you’re really squishy.”

Patrick looks at his glass in Pete’s hands, and he sighs, before grabbing a new glass “Yeah, I know.”

It’s quiet, save for the sound of Patrick filling up his glass, until Pete says “So… are you feeling a little better?”

“I guess, I mean I still feel stupid, but I guess I’m feeling a little better. Once I start thinking that I’m useless, I kinda just run with that train of thought so… thanks for stopping it, I guess.” He pauses, and then he says sheepishly “And I’m sorry that I lied to you.”

“It’s okay, I know why you did it.” Pete waves him off, and then he hops up onto the counter where Joe once was. “And I totally feel you on that self-deprecation level, but I think you’re one of the coolest guys, like ever. And come on, who wouldn’t love those sideburns?”

“Shut up,” Patrick says, although it’s through a smile. Pete smiles back, and then he kicks his legs out “So, I guess no more soccer lessons?”

“Probably not. I wouldn’t mind running with you for the hell of it, but… I have no one to impress now.” Patrick says, and Pete shakes his head “Nah man, but you should do it for you! It’s like ‘Treat yo self’ with more suffering.”

“That sounds like fun.” Patrick says sarcastically, and Pete shrugs “To me.”

After that, Pete and Patrick go out for ice cream (since Joe ate the rest of it), and it might just be the light, or something, but suddenly Pete looks somewhat attractive to Patrick, red hair and eyeliner and all. But then, Patrick dismisses it for rebound feelings. Plus, Pete stops Patrick in the middle of the sidewalk and says in a very serious voice “Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe’s hair is a collector’s item? I think I’d like to own some of his hair…”

And, well, Patrick’s not really sure if he could necessarily date someone who wants his own share of Edgar Allan Poe’s hair. Still…. Pete’s slowly becoming Patrick’s favorite person to be around, and that’s something to think about.

Chapter Text

It’s sort of pathetic that Patrick kind of misses Pete already, considering the fact that they were hanging out not even 12 hours ago. Without Pete, Patrick just feels… bored. Work is just work- Brendon’s back to playing the piano perfectly, and there's no one royally fucking up, and cursing at the top of their lungs when they get their fingering wrong, and there's no one to tease Patrick or cheer him up when a customer is an asshole, and there's no one to crack stupid jokes and make Edgar Allan Poe references and… well, the list goes on.

“Hey, your boyfriend isn't here today. What happened?” Brendon asks, around noon. Patrick looks up from leafing through a catalog for new instruments, and he glares at Brendon, hard. ‘Ry-bear’ is next to him, and he frowns a little at Patrick’s reaction to ‘Brenny-boo’’s question.  

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my friend.” Patrick says, before going back to his catalog. But because Brendon is Brendon, and Brendon never shuts up about business that isn't his, he rolls his chair a little closer to Patrick, and snatches the magazine straight out of Patrick’s hands. “Talk to meeeeee! There's no fuckin’ way you guys aren't dating, Joe told me that you guys were cuddling last night!”

Patrick grits his teeth a little, and he says through his teeth “We took a nap cause we were tired . Plus, he didn't even know that I was gay until yesterday.”

Surprisingly, things didn't drastically change between him and Pete after he told him that he was gay. Like… Patrick didn't notice the way that Pete looked at him a little differently, the way that Pete’s eyes lingered on his lips a little longer than they would have if he thought that Patrick were straight. Patrick’s sort of an oblivious guy when it comes to people taking an interest in him.  

“Oh yeah, you were playing straight! How’d you tell him?” Ryan asks, and Patrick laughs nervously, averting his eyes as he says “Er… through some unfortunate events.”

“Like?” Brendon and Ryan say at the same time, and then they turn towards each other and coo at one another. Patrick throws up a little in his mouth.

“It’s a long story,” Patrick waves them off, before rolling his eyes. “and I don't think you guys would necessarily care either.”

“Excuse me?!?” Brendon truly looks scandalized, which only makes Patrick even more aggravated, and pissy. This is where Pete comes in with a witty comment that makes Patrick laugh a little to himself… but Pete isn’t here right now, so Patrick’s on his own.

“I’m actually offended that you would even say that, I’m your friend!” Brendon gasps, before kicking Patrick in the shin, watching as Patrick moans a little, in pain.  “You’re mean!”

“You just kicked me! And you called me ‘Satan Stump’, like, not even 2 days ago. And either way, Pete and I aren't dating so there's nothing to say. I just told him that I liked a guy, a guy who, by the way, turned out to be straight in the first place, and that's how he figured out, and then we went on with our day, there’s nothing more to say!”

It’s still really embarrassing to Patrick that he didn't realize Gabe was straight any sooner, and he still feels like a total idiot for lying to Pete, considering the fact that if Patrick hadn’t lied in the first place, Pete probably could have saved Patrick the trouble on the very first day. But there's no use crying over split milk, and what's done is done. It just mostly sucks a lot. But Pete forgave him, and they’re fine now, maybe even more so. They did go out for ice cream and they walked around for a while talking about which Disney Princess Pete relates to the most, so, yeah, Patrick’d say that they’re fine now.

“But I think that you and Pete would be cute.” Ryan says, from his spot on top of the glass counters, despite all of Patrick’s warnings and fussing about breaking it. “Why don't you like Pete? You guys get along really well, and he's cute! Not as cute as Brendon, but,” Ryan says, and Brendon beams at him.

“Aw, Ry-bear, you’re so sweet!” He reaches over, and he kisses Ryan for a second, before he turns to Patrick “But yeah, what he said- why don't you like Pete? Pete’s nice, and he brought pizza that one time! Granted I ate almost all of it, but…”

“It’s not what I don’t like about Pete… it’s just that I don’t like him! Plus, I can’t like him, I already liked the straight guy, and it’d be too soon.” Patrick says, and Brendon and Ryan turn to give each other glances, before saying at the same time “Huh?”

“I-It’d be rebound feelings if I just started liking Pete, I liked Gabe for, like, 4 months, and-” “Gabe Saporta? The straightest man in all of the galaxy?” Brendon asks, and Patrick buries his head in his hands, his “Yes,” coming out muffled.

Again- Patrick feels like an idiot. He liked ‘the straightest man in all of the galaxy’, apparently.

“First of all, you’re an idiot. Second of all, who said you can only like one person? Ryan, cover your ears please.” Brendon says, and Ryan pouts a little as he places his hands over his ears. Patrick stares at him with an open mouth, shocked that Ryan actually listened to him without questioning it, and also because Ryan looks fucking ridiculous. Although it’d be the pot calling the kettle black, considering Patrick’s about to listen to whatever nonsense Brendon has to spew.

“Alright, so before Ry-bear and I started dating, I used to like his friend Spencer. Like, a lot! I used to dream about having his babies, I used to imagine all the hot sex we would have, him thrusting deep into my gaping-”

“Brendon, can you get to the point, please ?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, right, so anyways, I used to come up with all of these fantasies of us getting married, and the whole 9 yards, but you know what else? I liked Ryan too, at the same time! Because you can, wait for it… like two people at the same time! It’s not a matter of rebound feelings, you can like literally multiple people at the same time, no one is going to judge you if you move on from one guy to another, because that’s just human nature! If that’s the only reason why you don’t like Pete, your subconscious needs to realize that it’s okay! It’s not that big of a deal, and that society only tells us that it’s wrong because the government is being run by lizards that want the human race to die.”

Brendon takes a deep breath after his speech, and he gives Patrick a huge smile. “So, you have nothing to worry about! Go get your man!”

And, alright, besides the whole ‘the government is being run by lizards that want the human race to die’ spiel, Patrick guesses that Brendon has a point… maybe that flash moment where Pete looked cute to Patrick wasn’t just how he looked in that moment, but it’s not even a matter of not wanting to like Pete because of any stigmas about liking multiple people at the same time… Pete’s just Pete! Pete’s just Patrick’s goofy friend that Patrick loves spending time with, cuddles a lot with, goes running with, eats ice cream with, goes on ‘dates’ with, and plays piano with! ... Duh .

“It’s not about any of that, though! I just… Pete’s my friend, but I can’t see myself dating him! He seems like the type to, uh, be into super angsty guys that write poetry and mosh at shows, and dye their hair crazy colors, and have a bunch tattoos, and I’m not that guy, and I don’t care, he’s my friend!”

Brendon shakes his head at Patrick as Ryan removes his hands from his ears, looking momentarily lost. “No, Patrick Stump, stop it! I refuse to let this die! You’re always in a better mood around him, not that that’s saying much, but whatever, and I’m not letting PETERICK die because you liked a straightie for too long, and you’re too blind to see what’s right in front of you! What the hell did you even see in frat-boy Gabe Saporta?”

So that’s how Brendon forces Patrick into making a T-Chart- it reminds him a little of that episode of FRIENDS when Ross makes a Pros-and-Cons list in regards to dating Rachel, so Patrick makes sure to change the names on the top of the list. On one side it says ‘Reasons Why I Liked You-Know’ and on the other it says ‘Hypothetically Speaking, Hypothetically, What I Would See In The-Other-You-Know’.

And yeah, okay, all that Patrick really saw in Gabe was that he was: hot as hell, an athlete, built like a God, very funny, he sometimes talked to Patrick, and he sometimes acknowledged Patrick in the hallways , and yeah, sure, Patrick’s list for Pete had a lot of genuine responses like: he’s really nice, he’s good at cuddling when he’s not drooling on me, he said that he liked my sideburns and my MJ obsession, he cheers me up, he makes me laugh, he encourages me… but still. That list was hypothetical anyways.

“Now you’re just saying that because you want to spite me, because you’re mean!” Brendon turns to his boyfriend and he says “Ryan, you fix this. I have to finish my homework and I’d rather not do it in the presence of the devil himself!”

And with that, Brendon forcefully pushes his chair off to the other side of the counter, not even 10 feet away from Patrick, and his head is turned so that he can clearly hear everything that Ryan and Patrick are saying. He takes out a textbook, and he doodles in said textbook as Ryan sighs “I think what Brendon wants to say is that he wants you to find love so that you can be as happy as me and Brendon are, and that he wants you to stop being mean to him, and he wants you to date Pete because he came up with wedding plans the other day in homeroom, and he said that he wants to be the best-man, and-”

Ryan drones on and on about Brendon’s imaginary wedding set-up for him and Pete (apparently it’s going to be a spring wedding and the theme is emo), for what seems like hours. Just as it becomes unbearable, Hayley walks in for work. Patrick’s eyes brighten immediately, and he says “Woah, I almost forgot… I have, er, a dentist appointment! Hayley, you’re good around here?”

And Hayley looks between Ryan and Brendon and she opens her mouth to say no, but she just smiles grimly at Patrick, a silent ‘You owe me one’ in her eyes- “Sure thing, Patrick!”

Patrick ruffles Brendon’s hair on his way out behind the glass counter, and he says jokingly “Pete doesn’t have abs, Brendon. Abs are like… the best.”

So, Pete doesn’t have abs. But he looks good shirtless, and, oh yeah, he has this sort of reverse tramp stamp, and Patrick can’t stop looking at it. It’s probably the ugliest thing Patrick has ever seen, but then his eyes trail up, and he’s seen a glimpse of the thorn necklace once, but it looks so good against Pete’s dark skin, it’s still so stark there, and Patrick can’t stop staring. He guesses that somewhere in downtown Chicago, Brendon Urie is really happy and he doesn’t know why.

“We should… we should get back to practicing.” Patrick says, his eyes still trained on that fucking tattoo. It’s like a car crash, he can’t stop looking at it. Pete’s hip bones protrude a little, and it makes his tattoo look like a presentation, the tip at the bottom of the bartskull pointing down where a trail of hair leads. He can almost imagine pressing open-mouthed kisses over it, licking and moving down, and-

“My fingers hurt, Patrick!” Pete sits up, and he wiggles his fingers in front of Patrick’s face, and Patrick’s fantasy ends abruptly. Patrick rolls his eyes a little, and Pete bares his teeth at him. “I practiced for, like, 12 hours straight! I almost have it down, you know.” He pokes Patrick’s leg with his toe, and he grins madly. “Also, you’re not good at subtly.”

“It’s kinda hard to miss it.” Patrick says, before poking Pete’s lower stomach, on the tattoo, hard. Pete jolts, kicking his legs out ‘What the fuck!”

“Why’d you get it? Were you drunk?” Patrick asks, and Pete recovers from the minor attack by flipping over on his stomach, so that Patrick can’t poke him anymore. Pete shrugs, and he starts kicking his legs up in the air, back and forth, as he says “Yeah, actually. My friend got it tattooed on his ass, though.”

Pete has interesting friends, it seems- first there’s crossfit vegan, now there’s bartskull ass. He wonders where he fits in there… maybe sideburn boy?

“But… why?” Patrick stresses, and Pete says with a smirk “The better question is why not.”

And Patrick can’t really argue with him there, so he settles for defeat. Pete frowns a little after a moment of silence. “Also, people find it hot. They don’t poke it!”

There’s no way in high hell that Patrick would tell Pete that he was thinking about making out with his tattoo, so he just places his hand over Pete’s and says through a genuine smile “Your tattoo looks fine. If there were any of them that I thought were truly horrific, it’d be… the one on your ankle, Jesus. That looks like it hurt, I can’t even imagine tattooing over bone like that.”

“I did it myself when I was, like, 14.” Pete says through a wince, even though he manages to crack a smile at Patrick’s horrified reaction. “What, you seriously don’t have any? Lame. We should get matching ones, like-” “Yeah, no thanks.”

“Are you afraid?” Pete asks, before pulling on Patrick’s right arm. “You’d look so cool with tattoos, your skin is so, like, pale. Everything would be so bright and vibrant, you know? It’d be beautiful .” Pete says, looking back up at Patrick.

And there’s something in Pete’s eyes that Patrick can’t place, a little flicker of arousal, almost, and then Pete drops Patrick’s arm, and laughs awkwardly, bringing his hand back to scratch at his neck nervously.

“Um… yeah. Er… tattoos are awesome though. Have you seen Andy shirtless? Dude’s entire chest is covered in them, sometimes when I don’t have my contacts in, I can’t even tell if he’s wearing a shirt with, like, nipples on them, or what!” And Patrick shakes his head, no, and Pete rolls out of bed.

“Here, let’s go, I think he’s in the living room. And we could practice, my fingers don’t hurt as much anymore. I also corrected my fingering, by the way.” Pete wiggles his fingers in Patrick’s face again, grinning as Patrick shoves him out of the door. The last thing that Patrick needs is a shirtless Pete talking about fingering, seriously.

“Can you play the instrumental to ‘Fergalicious’ by Fergie featuring Will.I.Am?” “No.”

Somehow, Patrick teaching Pete how to play the piano turned into Pete pestering Patrick to play him something. Truthfully, Patrick figured it was only going to be a matter of time.

“How about… if you play the entire thing through, slowly, but using the proper dynamics, I’ll play you something?” Patrick raises an eyebrow and smiles smugly at Pete glaring at him. “Evil!”

It’d be a hefty request, but Pete wasn’t lying when he said he had been practicing a lot. Patrick’s almost positive that Pete isn’t real, because he had actually almost gotten the entirety of “Beethoven’s 5th Symphony” down in 5 days. Like, all 7 minutes of it. The only thing he had trouble with was playing it at speed, but he actually had gotten through it, for the most part, and he had trouble with the dynamics. And turning the pages of the book, since technically he was reading off all of the notes.

“You played it last night, didn’t you?” Andy asks, from his spot on the couch. He’s munching on some cookies that he made earlier for Pete and Patrick, and he’s reading his comic book, but he looks up to (still shirtless) Pete. “Did you?”

“Yeah, Pete, did you?” Patrick asks, a little confused since Pete was only playing in portions for him. Pete turns around to bare his teeth at Andy, who looks like he couldn’t care less, and then he turns back to give Patrick a shy look “Well.. yes, several times actually. But it sounded like shit, and I want to play it well for you.”

“But… but I’m your teacher, you’re supposed to sound shitty in front of me, so that I can make it better!” Patrick says, but Pete rolls his eyes “I know, but I wanna, like. I don’t know, make you proud, I guess. Like, I don’t know. Forget it, I’ll play it now,” and then he shoves Patrick over on the bench with his shoulder playfully as he smiles “and then you’ll play me something.”

Patrick sighs, mumbling out an agreement as he makes his way over to the couch to listen. Andy moves his feet a little so that Patrick can sit. He can see from the couch that Pete’s whole back is tense, and his shoulders are practically up to his ears, since he’s hunched over.

“Here, why don’t you stand and, like, introduce yourself and the song, and then when you sit, fix your posture. That way you can pretend that we’re actually at your parent’s party.” Patrick suggests, and Pete groans, but he pulls himself off of the makeshift bench and says “So, if we’re doing that, can we get drunk and slash or stoned right after this? Because that’s what I’m doing on Saturday after I finish the song from Hell.”

“Haha, you’re funny.” Patrick says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, before beckoning Pete closer. “Come on, hurry up! The sooner we finish this, I can play you my song, and you can put on a shirt.”

Pete makes a face at Patrick, scrunching up his nose a little, but then he stands up a little straighter and looks at Andy, who put his comic book down, and Patrick.

“My name is Cock Slut-” “Pete, don’t even finish that sentence.” Patrick growls, and Pete giggles a little, before steadying himself. “Okay, okay, my name is Pete, and I’ll be playing Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. Here you go, fuckers.”

Pete and Andy both shoot each other exasperated glances, before turning back to Pete. And then… for 10 minutes... Pete plays Beethoven’s motherfucking 5th Symphony. The whole way through- Patrick almost cries at it. It’s super slow, and Pete still can’t flip the pages, but the dynamics are fucking perfect. If Patrick closes his eyes, he could imagine it’s Brendon playing it, if Brendon were on some sort of sleeping medication… but still, he compared Pete’s piano playing to Brendon’s!

“Pete, oh my God!” Patrick screams, as Andy claps enthusiastically “Yeah, Pete!”

Pete laughs, and he hurries off of the piano bench and jumps in between Patrick and Andy’s bodies, screaming “FUCK YEAH!”. Both Patrick and Andy groan in pain at the impact of Pete’s body, and Patrick gets stabbed in the gut by Pete’s elbow, but then Pete presses a fat kiss to the side of Patrick’s face, on his cheek, and then Patrick doesn’t mind, at all. Pete looks so happy, even though he still has a ways to go, and he says “It’s your turn, Patrick!”

Pete ends up getting Patrick to play “Baby” by Justin Bieber- Patrick’s not sure what’s worse; the fact that he did it, or the fact that he had the entire song memorized, so he played it perfectly. Andy laughs hysterically at Pete’s screamo rendition of it, and Pete and Patrick both rap Ludacris’s part, and Pete gets pushed to the floor after he tries grinding on Andy’s lap, to a piano version, and it’s so fucking dumb, and stupid, but Patrick feels really happy. Like… extremely happy. Like this is where he was meant to be, playing “Baby” in Pete’s shitty apartment, listening to Pete’s atrocious screaming.

When he eventually glances at the time, and says that he has to leave, Pete hugs him so hard that Patrick’s sure that all of his internal organs are being severely injured, and Patrick looks into Pete’s eyes when they pull away, this weird chocolate brown in the dark light, and then suddenly, he comes up with a hundred reasons to add to his list of reasons why he would like Pete.

Chapter Text

After he gets home from work, Patrick likes to usually take a shower, work on some more music, maybe watch an episode of Scrubs, do his homework, etc. etc. That list doesn’t normally include going on runs with Pete Wentz, but if Patrick had learned anything in the past week, it was to expect the unexpected. (And he learned that Gabe Saporta was straight and had a girlfriend but… whatever.)

“I’m tired, Pete,” Patrick tries to argue, even though he’s not really, and Pete pouts even harder, and tugs on his hoodie sleeve “Patrick, please! You don’t even have to do it for ugly Gabe Saporta, just do it because you love me!”

Patrick’s face flushes a shade of pink, and he pries Pete’s fingers off of his sleeve with his free hand. Pete continues to pout, but there’s some amusement in his eyes when he catches Patrick’s blush. “Get your grimy hands off of me. And let me at least eat first, okay?” Patrick hisses, and Pete cheers. “Yes!”

Not even 5 minutes after Patrick stepped into his apartment, Pete came running down, claiming that he needed to go on a run right now, and that he missed Patrick and that he hadn’t seen him all day and he had a lot of sugar, and okay, Patrick would usually kick him out, but Patrick missed Pete too. A lot, actually. It’s going to suck when Pete doesn’t need him anymore, and when Pete inevitably forgets all about Patrick and goes on with his life without Patrick. Technically, Pete doesn’t need Patrick after tomorrow, and Patrick would like to say that they’ve grown close, but Pete is all over the place. Patrick’s not sure where he fits into Pete’s mess of angst and soccer drama and drunken tattoos.

But Patrick tries not to think about that too much… key word, try.

Patrick reaches into his refrigerator and grabs a container full of pancake mix (skipping past the one that says ‘SPIKED PANCAKES 420! BRENDON WAZ HERE!’), just as Pete jumps up onto the counter. “I hate breakfast for dinner.”

“Why? Breakfast is the best meal of the day… and the most important!” Patrick says, before he reaches down to get some butter and a pan to cook everything in. He hears Pete huff above him, “Pancakes are gross, I like waffles more. But pizza is the best, I’d rather have dinner for breakfast.”

“You’d eat dinner for breakfast? But… why?!” Patrick thinks back a little to his childhood; he can’t really imagine eating meatloaf for breakfast, but Pete’s weird. That’s the only thing that Patrick can really use to justify Pete.

“Because pizza is good.” Pete swings his legs back and forth and then he says a little quieter “So… tomorrow is Saturday.”

“And the next day is Sunday.” Patrick replies back. Pete kicks him in the middle of his back, and Patrick turns around and pretends to hit Pete with his stick of butter. “Asshole.”

“Mmm, ass. Anyways, yeah, I know, but tomorrow is Saturday. The day that I’m going to give you your keyboard back, and there will be no reason for me to be around you anymore, and then you’re going to forget me.” Pete says, and Patrick rolls his eyes, even though he can’t help but feel a little relieved that Pete was thinking the same thing as him. “I could never forget you. And you live, like, how many floors above me?”

Patrick turns the stove on, and he says with his back facing Pete. “If anyone is going to forget about anyone, it’s you about me. I don’t… I don’t do the party thing, and I don’t play sports, or do any of that. I’m boring.”

“Yeah, but you’re not annoying. You’re going to get annoyed, that’s what happens with me.” Pete sighs miserably, and he buries his head in his hands “My only real friend is Andy, everyone else is just… there. Like, they hate me, you know? They hate my Edgar Allan Poe references and they hate how much I talk about… I don’t know, anything! I’m annoying, and you’re gonna get tired of me.”

Patrick puts a little butter on the pan and then dumps his pancake mix in before he turns back to look at Pete. “I’m not going to get tired of you. If I still love Brendon even though he’s the most annoying person on the planet, then there’s no way in hell that I’ll get too annoyed with you, okay? There’s, like, no one I’d rather waste my time with. Seriously.”

Pete gives him a small smile in return, and he says “Aw, Ricky. You’re the love of my life, really.” and he laughs when Patrick flips him off, but there’s some sincerity in his voice, like he really appreciates that Patrick would say that, true or not.

But honestly, it’s sort of true. There’s something comforting in Pete’s voice and his red hair that reminds Patrick of, like, coming home. It’s even comforting when Pete screams at the top of his lungs when Patrick forgets all about the pancake, and it catches on fire.

Running in the dark isn’t as bad as Patrick thought it was going to be- now that it’s dark outside, it’s not so hot outside, and there’s no screaming kids around,  it’s just Pete and Patrick, and the sound of Patrick’s labored breathing, and it feels weird in the way that being alone with someone in an empty space feels. He feels like it’s him and Pete together, like no one else exists.

“Are we done yet?” Patrick asks, and Pete says it back in a mocking tone, laughing when Patrick narrows his eyes at him. “Hilarious.” He deadpans, and Pete nods. “I know!”

They find a bench to rest at, and Pete hands Patrick his water bottle “I love the park at night… it’s literally perfect for night picnics. Except sometimes they put the water sprinklers on, like High School Musical 2, and then it’s even better.” Pete says, and Patrick shrugs, taking a sip of the water before handing Pete his water bottle back. “I’ve never been on a night picnic. Or an actual picnic.”

“Night picnics are different, cause you bring alcohol and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and when the pollution doesn’t suck, you can see the stars, and then you can make out under the stars. It’s fuckin’ romantic!”

“So what if a spider starts crawling on you, but you can’t even see it?” Patrick asks, and Pete raises his eyebrows. He says slowly “Who cares about the spider when you’re making out with someone who tastes like cherry wine coolers under the sprinklers?”

“I care about the spider.” Patrick says, just to be difficult. He also thinks about trying out cherry wine coolers.

“Of course you care about the spider. Alright, then, what’s your idea of a perfect date? I bet I can add a spider in that equation.” Pete challenges, and Patrick looks up to the sky, just to think a little.

“I think… a perfect date would be me and a guy, right, obviously, and we’d be just on a road trip. We’d have to be close, or else it wouldn’t work, but we’d be driving, and there would be a sunset, and we’d have a playlist on, and the windows would be open, we’d just talk, and it’d be, like, beautiful.” Patrick says, and Pete rolls his eyes a little, but there’s no heat behind it, he just does it to get a rise out of Patrick. “Sounds gay.”

“It is gay.” “So, what if a spider crawls through the open window?” Pete asks, and Patrick crosses his arms, huffing “Whatever. I still think that the night picnic with the sprinklers is a bad idea.”

“You’re making out with someone on the grass, on a towel,” Pete says, “and the water makes everything a lot more sensitive, you know, and their hair is in your eyes, and your clothes are getting soaked, and it’s cold, so you cling to the other person a little closer, to get that heat, and you’re laughing with them, because the water’s fuckin’ ruining the food. How could that be a bad idea?”

Patrick gulps, and tries his hardest not to think about him and Pete like that. But he can’t help it; he’s never been more thankful that it’s dark, so that Pete can’t see the pink in his cheeks. He can imagine that so perfectly, Pete laughing in his ear, and his hipbones digging into Patrick’s. He blames this all on Brendon.

“Um,” Patrick says, and Pete sing-songs “I win. The only downside is that my hair gets all curly because of the water, and then I have to straighten it all over again.”

“Your hair is straightened?” Patrick asks, but yeah, looking at it, it definitely looked like Pete did something with it. Besides dye it atrocious red.

“Yeah, my mom is Jamaican.” Pete brings his hands up to his hair, and smoothes it out a little “It gets really unruly and crazy, and I have to keep up with my emo angst image, duh.”

“What, the eyeliner and poetry didn’t do the job?” Patrick asks, and Pete clicks his tongue “Shut up.”

It’s the thought that Patrick can so easily imagine him and Pete dating that scares him a little. What does that mean now? Does that mean that Patrick likes him, does that mean that he wants Pete to like him back? He can imagine Pete sitting in the passenger seat, singing his lungs out to ‘Thriller’, and he can imagine being underneath Pete with the sprinklers, and he can imagine waking up to drool on his neck every morning, and he can imagine burning pancakes and settling for Cinnamon Toast-Lucky Charms, and the whole fucking 9 yards.

Like, suddenly there’s this desire to kiss Pete so bad that it makes Patrick’s insides burn. But he doesn’t do it, mostly because Pete wouldn’t feel the same way, it’d be a Gabe situation all over again. He wonders why he does this to himself, builds up all of these fantasies in his head, when he knows none of them will come true.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Pete asks, and then Patrick realizes he’s been quiet for a while. Patrick shrugs, cursing himself in his head. “Stuff.”

“Yeah, I figured, but what kind of stuff? I loooove deep talks in the park.” Pete says, and Patrick’s eyes flicker from his hands to Pete’s eyes. “It’s dumb. Can we go home now? I wanna hear your song and then go to bed, or something.”

Whether it’s Patrick’s tired expression, or the fact that he’s digging his fingernails into his palms, Pete gets the memo, and he nods. “Alright, let’s go home.”

‘Home’ ends up being Patrick’s apartment, since Andy was studying in Pete’s living room. Which, Patrick didn’t necessarily mind, even though it made the whole ‘giving you your keyboard back’ even more real. Pete winces a little when he unplugs it from the wall, and then Patrick winces when Pete almost crashes it into Patrick’s front door.

Now, Pete’s back in the same seat he was in on Sunday, back when Patrick hardly even knew who he was. It’s like they’ve come full circle, if Patrick wants to get symbolic with it. Pete shifts a little under the phone books Patrick stuffed under him, and he plays a couple of scales just to show off.

“I think the only thing you have left to do is just bullshit,” Patrick explains “if you mess up, you just have to pretend like you meant to do it. I doubt anyone there knows Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony the whole way through, so even if you mess up, just skip over it, and keep going. If you go back and try to fix it, that’s where it starts to start jumbled up.”

Pete bites on his lower lip, nodding a little before he looks back to Patrick “Okay, but I don’t think that’s physically possible for me to do, because I do that thing where I scream expletives when I mess up.”

“So… don’t do it?” Patrick offers, and Pete exhales deeply, shakily “Okay, okay, fine. And no one will notice, right?”

“Probably not, and even if they do, you would have played 7 whole minutes of piano; you can just blame it on being tired, or studying too hard, that way you can make it seem like you were putting all of your energy into your studying! And voila! You’re good to go, and then you’re officially done!”

“Ooh, deception! I like it!” Pete says, before he cracks his knuckles and puts his hands into position. He takes a deep breath, and he looks over to Patrick to give him a small smile. “Okay. I’m gonna do it.” He says, before he closes his eyes, and then opens them back to look at the sheet music when he starts playing.

Thanks to the many, many, many hours Pete probably spent practicing this song, he didn’t have much trouble turning the pages, seeing as how he memorized some of it. And no, it wasn’t perfect, but it nearly was. He stayed focus, and he flipped the pages without fumbling, and the dynamics were perfect, they weren’t too loud, or too soft, and when he messed up, he kept going, which was probably the most important part of it all. It was still a little slow, but considering the fact that Patrick thought he wouldn’t even be able to make it through a much simpler song, Patrick didn’t give a shit. Pete Wentz had learned and (pretty much) mastered Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony in 6 days. Pete learned fingering, and chords, and scales, and all of that stuff, and he actually put his fucking heart and soul into it, and Patrick was almost bursting with pride.

Pete finishes the song off with a flair, and he takes a deep breath in and out. Patrick’s just staring at him in awe, but when Pete turns back to him, probably to ask how he did, Patrick grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses him.

Patrick’s glasses knock straight back his face, and they dig into the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t care; Pete kisses back almost immediately, closing his eyes and cupping Patrick’s face as he licks into Patrick’s mouth, eager. Patrick’s hand on Pete’s collar tightens a little as Pete moans softly into the kiss, licking over Patrick’s teeth and pulling him impossibly closer.

When they eventually pull away, Pete’s hands move away from Patrick’s face, but he keeps one hand planted right over Patrick’s heart. He’s still facing Patrick, so it’s not uncomfortable when Pete buries his head in Patrick’s neck and says in a soft, gentle voice “Patrick...  I didn’t think you weren’t into guys like me, and I figured that… that, I don’t know, I don’t know, but I’m so happy, Patrick.” He moves back up to kiss Patrick again, sighing contently when Patrick kisses back. Pete's moved, so that he's not so much next to Patrick as much as he's practically sitting on top of him, and he says almost tearfully "I didn't think you would like me, Patrick, I thought-"

"Stop thinking so much," Patrick says, and then he adds "I like you, Pete, fuck, I really really like you, and it took me fucking forever to realize that, but I like you, I like everything about you. I wasn't... wasn't lying when I said that there's no one I'd rather waste my time with, you make my entire life less boring and I love your Edgar Allan Poe references and when you talk about Roonil Wazlib, or you rant about your parents, and just everything, everything about you is fucking magical." He says, before he sighs. "I thought that you would be the one who wouldn't like me back, actually."

"For someone who wears glasses, you're blind as fuck." Pete says, grinning a little when Patrick rolls his eyes. He shifts a little in Patrick's lap, and he says "I've liked you ever since I saw you with your keyboard in the laundry room, seriously. I think your sideburns are adorable." To emphasize this point, Pete runs his hands over Patrick's sideburns, before cupping his face and leaning down to kiss Patrick again, grinning when Patrick's hands roam over the sides of his body until they rest on his ass. Pete rocks into Patrick's lap appreciatively, biting down on Patrick's lower lip playfully. "So, I'm guessing that my piano playing was good?" Pete asks, muffled against Patrick's lips, and Patrick hums into the kiss, "yes".  

And that's the way that Joe finds them, Pete grinding slowly in Patrick's lap, and Patrick kissing him until they run out of breath, and then they make a comment about how they can't believe that this was happening, and then they swoop back in for another kiss. And Patrick hears the door open, but then Pete licks a stripe down his neck and starts sucking on pressure points, so he doesn’t even bother pulling away. "Okay, you can't deny the fact that you and Pete are dating now!" Joe exclaims. Pete looks up and grins "Hey, Joe."

"We are now, but we weren't before!" Patrick says, letting his head fall back a little so that he can see Joe’s reaction, even though he’s upside down, and Pete hums in appreciation, snuggling a little closer to Patrick. "Mmm, Ricky's my boyfriend now."

“Well, that’s nice… I guess. Congrats. Don’t come on the table, please.” He says, reaching into the fridge and pulling out the spiked pancake mix. “Want weed pancakes?”

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Pete asks, out in the hallway, in front of the elevator. It was nearing midnight, and normally that would constitute as ‘early’ in Pete’s books, but Pete had to get up super early to wash out all of his semi-permanent dye, and whatnot. He had to look “presentable”, even though Patrick thought that Pete looked like… well, like Pete. He looked perfect, even with his patchy, red hair.

“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. And the day after that, and any day you want. We still have to have our night picnic with the spiders, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pete grins, “it’s gonna be awesome. We’ll pick a day that I know the sprinklers are going to be on, and we’ll roll around in the mud and get all dirty, and-“ “Pete, please.”

Pete waves him off, and he presses the elevator button. “So, do I get a goodnight kiss? Or would that be too early in the relationship?” He asks, stifling his laughter when Patrick’s cheeks flush red. Patrick doesn’t need to be reminded of their less than classy make-out session in his bedroom.

The elevator doors open, and Patrick pulls Pete in for a short, sweet kiss that still leaves Pete breathless when he steps into the elevators. “Goodnight!” Pete yells, although half of it gets cut off by the elevator door closing.

How did Patrick get so lucky? He’s not sure. He skips back to his apartment, and when he closes the door, he can still feel a tingle in his lips. So, Pete’s his boyfriend. That’s something Patrick didn’t expect, but something that he couldn't be happier about. Seriously, he was skipping.

Chapter Text

Patrick can’t say that he was surprised to see Pete at the front door, holding a red silk tie in his hands. Like, Patrick was surprised that Pete stopped by, but not knowing how to tie a tie was such a Pete thing, that it didn’t strike him as odd.

“I tried looking up YouTube tutorials, but then I kept getting distracted, plus I wanted to practice a couple of times before I went, and I wanted to see your face, cause I really like your face, Ricky,” Pete says, before grinning “your face is awesome.”

Patrick rolls his eyes playfully, and steps over to the side so that Pete can walk into the apartment. He looks a little different, now that all of the red dye was washed out of his hair, but he looks good. His hair is straightened again, and he’s wearing fancy clothes that aren’t covered in stains, and he looks so dapper that it almost takes Patrick’s breath away.

“Thanks. I like your face too.” Patrick says, before taking the tie from Pete’s hands and setting it to the side. “You practice first, and then I’ll tie it, okay?”

Joe was studying at the dining room table with his headphones in, so he just moves over a little so that Pete could sit. He takes his headphones off, and says to Pete “You look fancy.”, and Pete shrugs “Yeah, my parents said black and white attire.”

“But your tie is red…” Patrick begins to say, before he catches Pete’s smirk “I know! I’m still bitter about the whole ‘ignoring my sexuality' thing, that’s the least I could do.”

“Adult rebellion. Sounds great.” Joe says, before he pops his headphones back in, and goes back to burying his head in his calculus textbook. Pete makes a sound of approval, and he takes out the sheet music to the song.

“I’m gonna shower now, okay? Try not to burn down anything.” Patrick says, and Pete scrunches up his nose before yelling out “It was only one time! And hey, your pancake caught on fire yesterday, so I’d say that we're even?!”

An hour had passed, an hour in which Patrick had taken his shower, gotten dressed, and had given Pete some more pointers, and soon enough, it was time for Pete to walk down to catch his bus to go to the hall in which his parent’s anniversary party took place.

“I don’t wanna go,” Pete whines. He looks like he’s two seconds away from stomping his feet in a childlike manner so Patrick quickly shushes him. “You’re gonna go, and you’re gonna play your song, and it’s going to be amazing, and everyone will love it, and afterwards you can get drunk with your cousins. Now c’mere, let me tie your tie for you.”

The red against Pete’s caramel skin looks so inviting, and the whole ‘tying Pete’s tie’ thing feels a lot more intimate than it probably should be. Pete’s head is titled towards the ceiling, and his Adam’s apple is so prominent that Patrick can’t help but press a kiss to it after he ties the tie for him.

“I’ll teach you how to tie it, seriously. You can’t depend on me to do it for you forever.” Patrick says through a grin, and Pete rolls his eyes “Mean. Wanna walk me down to the bus station? I feel like I’m gonna run away and, like, hide out in a Subway, and eat 12 sandwiches.”

Patrick feels tempted to say no, only because he trusts Pete enough to not actually hide out in a Subway and eat 12 sandwiches, but then he sees Pete’s shy smile, so he complies. “Only because I like you.” Patrick says sweetly.

“Does Brendon know about us? I feel like Brendon deserves to know, he would die of happiness. I almost died of happiness.” Pete says, and Patrick shakes his head. He leans down to put on his sneakers, and he says “I did not tell Brendon, mostly because Brendon would ask me a bunch of sex related questions, and he would make me thoroughly uncomfortable.”

“You don’t give Brendon enough credit, man. He predicted us before we predicted us.”

Yeah, that’s true; Brendon called Pete and Patrick from the second he saw the two of them on Monday at the music store. Some people would claim that they have ‘gay-dar’, but Brendon has like… ‘couple-dar’.

“He predicted that we would have a spring wedding, and the theme would be emo,” Patrick says, coming back up once he finishes tying his shoelaces. “He’s insane.”

“Hey, that sounds awesome!” Pete says jokingly, opening the front door. As they walk towards the elevators, Pete says “I could put an individual Edgar Allan Poe quote on each invitation.”

Patrick ignores that, mostly because the thought of marriage is so crazy and foreign. So, they stand in silence for a couple of moments, and they step into the elevator before Pete says “Patrick, I didn’t even know you a week ago. Isn’t that weird?”

“Weird.” Patrick agrees nonchalantly, and Pete makes a small noise in the back of his throat “No, I’m serious! Like, what if I never met you? Like, what if you didn’t read any of the flyers, and you never showed up that day? Like… holy shit, I would be totally hopeless right now!”

“Pete, it would have been very hard for me not to look at any the flyers, considering you covered the entire laundry room with them,” Patrick begins to say, and Pete looks at him sheepishly “I had to make sure someone noticed! Desperate times call for desperate measures!”

“I know, I know. But I think about that too, I probably would have still had a crush on Gabe. Or, I would have noticed that Gabe had a girlfriend, and then I would have had no one to talk me off the ledge.” Patrick says jokingly, but something dark flashes in Pete’s eyes momentarily, before Pete laughs awkwardly. “Right…”

Patrick’s eyebrows furrow, and he asks “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Pete says, still smiling a little uncertainly, “I was just thrown off for a second.” He clears his throat just as the elevator doors open to the lobby, and he says “Er, remember that thing I said on, like, Tuesday? Really emo stuff about death, and whatnot?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, following Pete out of the lobby, and out onto the streets. It’s a little cloudy, and Patrick thinks momentarily that he should have brought an umbrella, but then he’s brought right back to reality when Pete says “Long story short, I like… tried to kill myself once. It’s not that big of a deal, kinda, I guess, but sometimes I get thrown off a little?” Pete says, and then he smiles again, except it’s not Pete’s usual Cheshire grin.

It looks like the kind of smile that isn’t a smile at all. Patrick’s stomach practically does somersaults, and Pete catches Patrick’s slightly horrified expression, so he says quickly “No, no, don’t freak out, seriously. I see a therapist about it sometimes, and it happened right after a bad break-up, and a lot of shit was happening.”

“Pete,” Patrick says, a little breathless, because he’s not sure what to say, other than the fact that he’s really fucking thankful that Pete’s alive, and an idiot, and everything else. He’s so thankful that Pete’s loud and he likes complaining sometimes, because he’s not sure what he would do without Pete, now that he got to know him. It’s sort of like everything was kinda dull in his life, and suddenly light was added in there.

“Patrick,” Pete says back, and he gives him a genuine smile this time. He tugs on Patrick’s hand a little, so that they keep walking. “I’m really glad that you’re concerned, but I’m okay now. It just kinda threw me in for a loop because you mentioned that, and I’m still really fucking anxious about playing in front of my family, so it was just a knee-jerk reaction.”

“I’m glad you’re alive, Pete,” Patrick says, his eyes still wide. “Fuck, I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah, trust me, me too.” Pete says, before he reaches down to hold Patrick’s hand. Patrick grips it tightly, and he says sincerely “Thanks for telling me,” he pauses for a second and resumes “like, I’m glad that you trust me enough to tell me that.”

Pete goes back to his shy smiling, something that makes him look a lot more innocent than Patrick knows he is, and he says “You’re like… one of my best friends, Ricks, of course I trust you. And, okay, not to get even more quote unquote emo, but seriously, you believed in me when no one did. Like, okay, you know those like black and white fan edits where it’s like ‘He was there when no one else was’, yeah, that’s you! You were there when no one else was!” Pete says eagerly, and Patrick rolls his eyes, all in good nature, and he bumps Pete’s shoulder with his. “Idiot.”

But then Patrick leans his head a little on Pete’s shoulder as they continue walking, so Pete doesn’t retaliate.

It’s something that Patrick sort of never envisioned; he imagined hot, steamy sex with Gabe and… well, that’s all he imagined when he used to think regarding Gabe. But nowhere in that Gabe fantasy was walking down the busy streets in Chicago, hand-in-hand, on a cloudy day. The sky looks gray, and Patrick swears he feels a few drops on rain on his shoulder, but it’s perfect. Pete’s hand is on his, steady and grounding, and his shoulder is a little bony under Patrick’s head, but Patrick wouldn’t trade it for the world.

When they finally reach the bus station, the bus was already pulling in. So Patrick lets go of Pete’s hand, but then he acts on an impulse and pulls on Pete’s tie to bring him in for a kiss. It’s nothing grand, it’s short and simple since Patrick definitely doesn’t want Pete to miss the bus, and Pete smiles into it before he pulls away.

“Hey, Ricky?” Pete asks, walking backwards towards the front of the bus. Patrick prays that he doesn’t fall or something.

“Yes, Pete?” Patrick asks back, and Pete gives him one last smile before he yells out “Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe’s first name starts with an ‘E’?”

Patrick’s not sure if Pete caught his exasperated look before he hopped into the bus, but he has a gut feeling that Pete probably did, and he was now probably laughing hysterically to himself. And Patrick's not exactly sure how he landed a boyfriend so eccentric and goofy, but he can't say that he's not grateful.