Chapter Text
A door, slammed shut hours ago.
Empty soda cans and pages of old writing litter the floor.
A bottle of black nail polish, open and left forgotten on a cluttered desk.
Posters of bands and movies lining the walls. The orange glow of a sunset, shining through a half-opened window, bathing the room in a balmy glow.
Pete Wentz, laying on his bed, headphones cranked up loud, a sketchbook and various pens discarded on the floor next to him.
Today had been a particularly shitty day, minus the fact that it was summer. (Even then, Pete had always considered the season to be way over-hyped.) he slept till 11:42 AM, woke up, and... that was that. He hated to admit it, but a lot of his summer was usually spent like this: rotting in his bed and/or doing nothing for practically the entire day, or rotting in bed, getting dragged to the grocery by his mother, and doing nothing the whole day AFTER that.
It was inconvenient, really.
Pete was aware that he SHOULD'VE been spending his months off of school like a normal teenager. You know, hanging out with gigantic groups of friends, spending every day at the pool, enjoying himself and what not. The only problem was that his best friend had gone off to Ohio for the whole summer.
Patrick and Pete had been friends since forever. They both knew everything about each other, and could probably pass as twins if it weren't for the fact that they looked nothing alike. I mean, there were a lot of people Pete called friends, the ones he would joke around with at lunch during the school year, play soccer with, or partner up with for biology class, but in the end he would always choose Patrick over them. In fact, one of the reasons he didn't like summer was because Patrick always went to sleep away camp, two states away.
"well, whatever," Pete thought. Its not like he hadn't begged his mom to go with Patrick every year since he started going, but it was crazy expensive, and sleep away camp honestly wasn't really Pete's thing anyways. even then, he still would rather go there than to be stuck in his shitty Midwestern neighborhood where everybody was either three times his age or a total asshole.
where would I live if there was no such thing as the Midwest? I love Chicago, so probably nowhere, but- "PETE!"
Pete yanked off his headphones.
"MOM?"
"PETER! GET DOWN HERE!"
"OK!"
Pete stumbled down the stairs, still vaguely in shock from the reality check.
"Uhh.. Mom?"
"for the love of god, Pete. I've yelled for you 6 times!"
Pete mumbled something about blankets and headphone volume, wondering what was so important that it would cause his mother to call him down from his room.
"...I hate those damn things," she muttered before clearing her throat. "Pete, why do you never come out of your room?"
Pete stared, processing the sudden confrontation.
"Seriously. what is going on with you? you seem so distant these days. and..." she squinted. "...is that nail polish?"
Pete pulled back his hands.
"No, mom. stop. and I'm not being distant!" he said, trying to change the subject.
she sighed. "all i'm saying is, if you stay up there forever, you'll never have a life."
"I have a life."
"Then live your life outside, for gods sake!" she paused. "Be a teenager, Pete. Its summer. go outside."
"fine."
he grabbed some beat up converse and went to the door.
"If someone kidnaps me, its your fault," he said halfheartedly.
no response.
oh well.