Chapter Text
Pete Wentz was strangely popular.
Not the loud, universally adored kind, and not the golden-boy quarterback type. His popularity was something different. Most kids at Westbrook High thought he was a little unhinged, unpredictable. He got into fights more often than he probably should have, and his mouth moved faster than his judgment.
But people watched him.
He had a decent-sized friend group, too. Patrick Stump, Andy Hurley, Joe Trohman, Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross, and Spencer Smith. Jon Walker drifted over sometimes, mostly to hover at Spencer's side in a way that wasn't subtle at all. They were totally in love, but Pete tried to stay out of it.
They were loud, they took up space. Their lunch table always felt claimed. Nobody else would even try to sit there.
But Pete wasn't looking at any of them.
He was staring across the cafeteria,
at an empty seat.
It wasn't anything special, j ust molded plastic and metal legs like all the others. A table diagonally across the room, third chair in from the aisle. Usually, there was a dark hoodie slouched in it. Usually, there were pale boney hands wrapped around a soda can. Usually, there were eyes hidden behind rectangular frames, glancing around like the room might turn dangerous at any second.
Mikey Way.
Mikey Way — Gerard Way's younger brother.
Gerard was an outcast. Not aggressively, not dramatically — just firmly placed outside the invisible lines of cafeteria hierarchy. Mikey and the rest of their small orbit followed the same gravitational pull, and Pete's group crossed paths with theirs sometimes. Hallways, group projects, the occasional awkward overlap at lunch. But mostly, they stayed separate.
Which made absolutely no sense, considering how completely and hopelessly Pete had fallen for him.
It had happened quietly, without permission.
Maybe it was his puppy eyes, wide and dark and uncertain. Or maybe it was the glasses that slipped down his nose when he read, or the sharp cut of his jawline, the way his hair fell into his face like it belonged there. Maybe it was the way he always looked like he was bracing himself for something.
God, Pete thought
He subtly dragged a hand down his face.
He was pathetic.
The worst part was the not knowing.
Pete had never seen Mikey with anyone. No lingering touches, no whispered hallway confessions, no rumors. Absolutely nothing. He could be straight, he could be gay, he could be somewhere in between. Pete had no clue.
But he was determined to find out.
"What are you staring at?"
Patrick's voice cut through his spiral like a record scratch. Patrick had been his best friend since middle school. They dated for a while back in the 8th grade, but they decided they were better off as friends. They still had the occasional quick kiss and fuck, though.
Pete blinked as he remembered the question, "Nothing." He muttered
Patrick didn't look convinced, he knew Pete better than that. He followed Pete's line of sight anyway, across the cafeteria, to the empty seat.
Pete sighed.
"Okay, fine," he muttered, shoulders slumping over subtly, "I think I like this guy... but I don't know if he even swings that way."
Patrick raised an eyebrow, slowly. "Who?"
Pete hesitated for a second. He knew he could trust Patrick, but he was still nervous.
"Mikey."
Patrick's expression changed immediately. "Like, Mikey Way...?"
"...Yeah. Why are you saying it like that?"
"Dude." Andy leaned in, overhearing their conversation, "You like Mikey...? He's kind of an asshole."
Pete frowned. The word didn't fit, not in his head.
"What do you mean?"
"He doesn't talk to anyone. And when he does, it's weird. Remember that freshman who tried to sit next to Gerard? Mikey scared him off in thirty seconds flat." Joe shrugged. "Don't build him up in your head." Patrick added.
"I'm not," Pete said immediately.
He absolutely was.
"Pete."
"I don't care if he's quiet," Pete insisted, voice dropping. "That doesn't make him a bad person."
There was something defensive in the way he said it, something almost protective. Patrick recognized that tone.
Before he could respond, though, Joe's voice drifted in from across the table.
"Are we talking about Mikey Way?"
Pete went still.
He looked up from his food, talking with a mouth full of cheeseburger, "Wait. Why are we talking about Mikey Way?"
Joe didn't hesitate. "Because Pete has a crush."
Andy's mouth actually fell open. "On Gerard's brother?"
"Can you not say it like that?" Pete groaned, heat quickly creeping up his neck.
Patrick was looking down at his plate of food, suddenly not feeling quite as hungry.
Anyway, Joe followed Pete's gaze across the room. His eyes also landed on the empty chair.
And then he grinned.
"Oh my God. That's why you've been staring at his seat for, like, ten minutes."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have," Andy said. "Since when have you liked him?"
Pete picked at the edge of his tray. "I don't know. A while."
"And you didn't tell us?" Joe pressed, mock wounded.
"I didn't tell anyone," Pete muttered softly, "I barely admitted it to myself."
That softened something at the table.
Andy studied him more carefully now, his teasing expression drained just a bit. "You really like him."
Pete's eyes drifted back to the empty seat.
He imagined Mikey there. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, head slightly bowed, listening more than speaking like he always did.
"...Yeah," Pete said.
The table, usually loud and obnoxious, fell into a brief and unusual silence.
Joe nudged him with his elbow. "Well. If you're going to fall for the weird, quiet kid, we're at least going to watch it happen."
Andy nodded. "And if it blows up in your face, we don't say we didn't warn you."
Pete rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah."
Across the room, the seat remained empty.
He was still waiting.
And now everyone at this table knew exactly why Pete couldn't stop looking at it.
Pete was in love,
it felt a lot like standing on the edge of a ledge that could either save him
—or ruin him completely.