‘… I Am Thinking It Must Be Love’
Title: ‘… I Am Thinking It Must Be Love’
Author: Viv
Genre: light angst, fluff
Rating: G
Fandom: Fall Out Boy [music - band]
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Disclaimer: *shakes head* of course they're mine, like, DUH!
Summary: Suddenly a line catches your eyes. [Standalone]
“Hey Patrick?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you check these out?”
His voice is unusually soft when you look up from the guitar you’re strumming and stare at him. You noticed him slightly fidgetting, twirling his pencil between his fingers in one hand, his notebook held in the other as he keeps his eyes on the blurry writing.
When you realize that he has no intention of moving you sigh and rise up from the lime couch where you were before walking the few steps that separates you from him and you plop down on the floor beside him, your guitar still in your lap.
“Yeah?”
You watch him dropping his pencil on the opened page. He then runs his hand through his hair and you watch him intently. You remember that he doesn’t do that often but you’ve learned from observing him that other then when styling his hair, he only does that when he is really nervous.
You grasp his knee, squeezing it lightly to stop the small continuous bouncing it was doing. Another nervous gesture of his.
He looks up at you but quickly diverts his gaze to somewhere on your guitar, nodding and smiling weakly. You frown but don’t say anything as you pick up the notebook and start reading what he wrote.
You smile at the words layed out before you and already your brain is in full motion as you try to remember as much as you possibly can, breaking some sentences into fragments, threading others into small stories.
Suddenly a line catches your eyes.
And then others follow it as you read on, your eyes wide.
Your eyebrows quirk up as your gaze slowly trails down the opened page, the stream of words that seem to fit together awkwardly yet perfectly.
Every break, each syllable seemed to have been carefully written out, and you look up at your band mate, speechless and completely taken aback.
“Where the hell did you get… this?”
He stares at you blankly and you suddenly see the light blush on his cheeks. It’s very faint, barely noticeable, but you were sitting close and have always been one to have a sharp sense of observation. You blink a few times at his silence before clearing your throat and nudging him.
He abruptly looks away, the red tint on his cheeks now clearly visible and you blink again, this time in confusion and bemusement. You have never seen him blush before and you don’t ever recall hearing of any events involving him being embarrassed or whatsoever that could cause him to act this way.
He rips out the page and hands it to you before going back to scribbling on his notebook again. Instead of waiting for an answer, you finally hunch forward, look back down at the lyrics and just concentrate on them, blocking everything else out including the nervous shuffling of your friend. Your guitar is now your only companion.
A few hours later and you sigh in frustration, taking your cap off and running a hand through your light brownish-blond hair before putting it back on but pulling the visor down over your eyes. You lean back against the lime couch, your neck bending so that your head rest on one of the seat’s cushion and your nose is turned up towards the ceiling though your hazel-greenish orbs are still hidden.
When you finally pull back your hat so that it no longer covers your eyes, your head is still resting as you turn it to the left to look at the older man beside you, frowning at him and his unusually quiet behavior.
“Um. So, how do you want me to sing this one?”
He glances at you before slowly reaching over and silently starts tugging on the strap of your acoustic guitar. It takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking for and you hunch forward as he pulls your guitar off of you, placing it in his own lap.
You eye him curiously, surprised by his actions as he starts strumming and humming for a few moments before finally making eye-contact with you and opening his mouth. You hear his voice, soft and low, for the first time since when he had handed you his recently written song some hours ago.
Why can you read me like no one else?
I hide behind these words
But I’m coming out
I wish I kept them behind my tongue
I hide behind these words
But I’m coming out
And suddenly everything just seems to fall into places as you watch him looking straight back at you, shades of brown meeting yours and you keep your gaze settled into his. ‘I’m coming out…’
Realization suddenly hits you and sinks in as your eyes widen.
Put your hand between my aching head
And an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them hate us
An aching head and an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them so jealous
Your hands, so far inactive, clenched and unclenched themselves repeatedly as his fingers brush against the strings.
All the ways you make my stomach turn
And all the long drives with my friends blur
I wish I kept them inside my mind
I hide behind these words
Your eyes are riveted to his and unable to look away. His voice, somewhat clumsy and slightly raspy, keeps you entranced.
Think of all the places where you’ve been lost and found out
In between my sheets
In between the rights and the wrongs
At this point you’re unsure of what to do anymore as his gaze softens and your heartbeat suddenly accelerates. You only sit there, unmoving, frozen, watching him sing... to you.
Put your hand between my aching head
And an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them hate us
Aching head and an aching world
Think of all the places where you’ve been lost and found... out
When he stops, you suddenly shift slightly, unsure of what to do. What are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve liked for the past of year or so now is suddenly practically serenading to you and seems to be waiting for some response from you? Maybe you were misinterpreting everything.
He’s practically five years older, absolutely gorgeous and with a personality that has broken yet mended so many hearts, so why would he have written these words for you?
Before you’ve realize what happens, he carefully lays the guitar down beside him and reaches over, pulling your glasses off as he leans in closer to you.
It takes a few seconds before it finally register in your mind that his lips just brushed over yours and there you are, trembling as he slightly backs away, his breath ghosting over your lips. He remains motionless, the tip of his nose touching yours.
Your eyes, which you didn’t even realize you had closed, suddenly open and you blink when he pushes the visor of your cap higher so that his eyes are now staring directly into yours.
For a moment you just look into his searching gaze, unsure of what to do. You feel his hand touching your left one before slowly trailing it up your arm and lightly gripping it at your elbow. His other hand is resting on your stomach as you take in a deep shaky breath.
“I like you. A lot. Over a year now. I- I think I’m in love with you, Patrick.”
You finally slowly tilt your head forward, meeting your full lips with his in a delicate, innocent, chaste kiss.
And you smile into it.
“I think I’m in love with you too, Pete.”
---
August 22, 2004
Author: Viv
Genre: light angst, fluff
Rating: G
Fandom: Fall Out Boy [music - band]
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Disclaimer: *shakes head* of course they're mine, like, DUH!
Summary: Suddenly a line catches your eyes. [Standalone]
“Hey Patrick?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you check these out?”
His voice is unusually soft when you look up from the guitar you’re strumming and stare at him. You noticed him slightly fidgetting, twirling his pencil between his fingers in one hand, his notebook held in the other as he keeps his eyes on the blurry writing.
When you realize that he has no intention of moving you sigh and rise up from the lime couch where you were before walking the few steps that separates you from him and you plop down on the floor beside him, your guitar still in your lap.
“Yeah?”
You watch him dropping his pencil on the opened page. He then runs his hand through his hair and you watch him intently. You remember that he doesn’t do that often but you’ve learned from observing him that other then when styling his hair, he only does that when he is really nervous.
You grasp his knee, squeezing it lightly to stop the small continuous bouncing it was doing. Another nervous gesture of his.
He looks up at you but quickly diverts his gaze to somewhere on your guitar, nodding and smiling weakly. You frown but don’t say anything as you pick up the notebook and start reading what he wrote.
You smile at the words layed out before you and already your brain is in full motion as you try to remember as much as you possibly can, breaking some sentences into fragments, threading others into small stories.
Suddenly a line catches your eyes.
And then others follow it as you read on, your eyes wide.
Your eyebrows quirk up as your gaze slowly trails down the opened page, the stream of words that seem to fit together awkwardly yet perfectly.
Every break, each syllable seemed to have been carefully written out, and you look up at your band mate, speechless and completely taken aback.
“Where the hell did you get… this?”
He stares at you blankly and you suddenly see the light blush on his cheeks. It’s very faint, barely noticeable, but you were sitting close and have always been one to have a sharp sense of observation. You blink a few times at his silence before clearing your throat and nudging him.
He abruptly looks away, the red tint on his cheeks now clearly visible and you blink again, this time in confusion and bemusement. You have never seen him blush before and you don’t ever recall hearing of any events involving him being embarrassed or whatsoever that could cause him to act this way.
He rips out the page and hands it to you before going back to scribbling on his notebook again. Instead of waiting for an answer, you finally hunch forward, look back down at the lyrics and just concentrate on them, blocking everything else out including the nervous shuffling of your friend. Your guitar is now your only companion.
A few hours later and you sigh in frustration, taking your cap off and running a hand through your light brownish-blond hair before putting it back on but pulling the visor down over your eyes. You lean back against the lime couch, your neck bending so that your head rest on one of the seat’s cushion and your nose is turned up towards the ceiling though your hazel-greenish orbs are still hidden.
When you finally pull back your hat so that it no longer covers your eyes, your head is still resting as you turn it to the left to look at the older man beside you, frowning at him and his unusually quiet behavior.
“Um. So, how do you want me to sing this one?”
He glances at you before slowly reaching over and silently starts tugging on the strap of your acoustic guitar. It takes you a moment to understand what he’s asking for and you hunch forward as he pulls your guitar off of you, placing it in his own lap.
You eye him curiously, surprised by his actions as he starts strumming and humming for a few moments before finally making eye-contact with you and opening his mouth. You hear his voice, soft and low, for the first time since when he had handed you his recently written song some hours ago.
Why can you read me like no one else?
I hide behind these words
But I’m coming out
I wish I kept them behind my tongue
I hide behind these words
But I’m coming out
And suddenly everything just seems to fall into places as you watch him looking straight back at you, shades of brown meeting yours and you keep your gaze settled into his. ‘I’m coming out…’
Realization suddenly hits you and sinks in as your eyes widen.
Put your hand between my aching head
And an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them hate us
An aching head and an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them so jealous
Your hands, so far inactive, clenched and unclenched themselves repeatedly as his fingers brush against the strings.
All the ways you make my stomach turn
And all the long drives with my friends blur
I wish I kept them inside my mind
I hide behind these words
Your eyes are riveted to his and unable to look away. His voice, somewhat clumsy and slightly raspy, keeps you entranced.
Think of all the places where you’ve been lost and found out
In between my sheets
In between the rights and the wrongs
At this point you’re unsure of what to do anymore as his gaze softens and your heartbeat suddenly accelerates. You only sit there, unmoving, frozen, watching him sing... to you.
Put your hand between my aching head
And an aching world
We’ll make them so jealous
We’ll make them hate us
Aching head and an aching world
Think of all the places where you’ve been lost and found... out
When he stops, you suddenly shift slightly, unsure of what to do. What are you supposed to do when the guy you’ve liked for the past of year or so now is suddenly practically serenading to you and seems to be waiting for some response from you? Maybe you were misinterpreting everything.
He’s practically five years older, absolutely gorgeous and with a personality that has broken yet mended so many hearts, so why would he have written these words for you?
Before you’ve realize what happens, he carefully lays the guitar down beside him and reaches over, pulling your glasses off as he leans in closer to you.
It takes a few seconds before it finally register in your mind that his lips just brushed over yours and there you are, trembling as he slightly backs away, his breath ghosting over your lips. He remains motionless, the tip of his nose touching yours.
Your eyes, which you didn’t even realize you had closed, suddenly open and you blink when he pushes the visor of your cap higher so that his eyes are now staring directly into yours.
For a moment you just look into his searching gaze, unsure of what to do. You feel his hand touching your left one before slowly trailing it up your arm and lightly gripping it at your elbow. His other hand is resting on your stomach as you take in a deep shaky breath.
“I like you. A lot. Over a year now. I- I think I’m in love with you, Patrick.”
You finally slowly tilt your head forward, meeting your full lips with his in a delicate, innocent, chaste kiss.
And you smile into it.
“I think I’m in love with you too, Pete.”
---
August 22, 2004