First Son (5/7)

[cieluna]

Patrick had the misfortune of going through two of them in one night and he certainly hit the jackpot; one by a nutcase and another by a drunk.

Once he had gotten Jon off him, he was all too prepared to do the prerequisite chase scene where the dashing leading man runs after his wronged lady love and narrates a sappy apology speech while Elton John sings in the background. Apparently, his life was too boring on its own so Fate decided to turn it into a teen soap opera to nibble popcorn to.

Patrick had lost all faith in romantic comedies and Freddie Prinze Jr. when he reached the main doors and saw the customary black SUV leave in a huff of smoke and exhaust. After vowing to burn his DVD of ‘She’s All That’, Patrick tried to call Pete as muttered curses ran through his mouth.

Pete was on speed dial number one ever since Patrick started to have trouble sleeping due to the stress of prom night. The natural insomniac would rattle on about mundane topics like how their Economics teacher repeatedly asks him about what he had for breakfast, as if this will prove if his father was abusing his power and how Patrick was lucky that he always made a way to fit his nightly calls into his jam-packed schedule of memorizing names of Congress. There were many nights, Patrick had to admit, that he called Pete just for the sake of hearing his voice.

The shrill ring of the busy tone tightened the knots in Patrick’s gut. It was impossible that Pete didn’t have his Sidekick, it was stitched to his hand!

The metal lockers groaned as Patrick’s foot lashed out on one compartment, a sharp clang echoed through the hallways as he did the same again. Patrick was determined to see which would break first, the locker or his foot, but was hurriedly restrained by Brendon, who had just come back from the bathroom before he heard the noise.

The presence of someone else sapped all of Patrick’s energy and the only thing he would say, even after anxious questions by Brendon, was that he just wanted to go home. Patrick then felt a sudden appreciation for him, as Brendon slid his phone out of his pocket and ordered one of his drivers to get to school immediately.

A muttered thanks received a concerned smile before Patrick walked listlessly back out the main entrance to wait for Brendon’s car.

*

His mother was thankfully asleep, sparing Patrick from the mandatory interrogation on how prom went. His body felt like it was filled with a thousand sponges that were soaked with water and stuffed in the freezer, too heavy to lift itself up. He didn’t realize that he had maneuvered himself around the completely unlit house and into his room until he collapsed onto the bed face-first.

His shoes were left untouched and he lay immobile for a long moment before he remembered to call Brendon and thank him properly. He dragged his cellphone out from his back pocket and slowly pressed random buttons to bring out the number. They were all still at the school and Brendon was kind enough to have informed the others that Patrick had gone home because his costume was too itchy and that they shouldn’t bother bringing him back because MTV was doing a Prince tribute and everyone who still wanted full control over their limbs should know better than to interrupt Patrick and his Prince.

This made Patrick smile for the first time since the whole fountain fiasco and he genuinely thanked Brendon for all the help. He hung up the phone and held it loosely against his ear for a few more minutes before flicking it away with the back of his hand.

The next hour brought him three more phone calls; one from Jon, who extensively apologized for offending Patrick in any way, the other was a mock-hurt statement from Bill at the way Prince was first in Patrick’s life and the most curious call from Mikey, who wished him good luck with Pete.

He had expected the call from Jon; the guy was just human and susceptible to alcohol, just like anyone else. Patrick told himself that he had no right to blame Jon and that he could never have known that Pete was behind him.

A pained groan escaped from Patrick’s lips at the thought of Pete. Tomorrow was the last day of school before a two week break and he had that one sure way of having him listen to his explanations before Pete flew back to Washington.

Patrick rolled over to lie on his back and shove his glasses off his nose. His forehead hurt just a bit due to all the times he thumped it on the headrest in hopes that it would induce amnesia. It was the biggest understatement in his life to say that this night was so going to be mentioned in his epitaph.

*

Despite the way he repeatedly tried to contact Pete the other night, Patrick just wanted to stay home and have his mom make him some veggie pizza instead of going to school. He didn’t want to see Pete glaring at him or even spitting out insults his way, something that was sure to happen. It wasn’t because he believed that Pete was mean-spirited enough to do it, it was mostly due to the fact that Patrick deserved it.

He couldn’t stop blaming himself for what happened; Jon was drunk and definitely not in his right mind but Patrick was. He should’ve shoved the guy away as soon as he touched him but instead, he had to be the idiot who waited for the knife to drop before pulling his hand away.

Patrick looked sick enough for his mother to consider leaving him home but his friends ‘just happened’ to pass by and offer him a ride so he wouldn’t have to walk. It wasn’t a pretty sight; his friends narrated a list of supposed exams for today and that Patrick wouldn’t dare miss them. He had to endure a withering glare from his mom when she heard about it, thinking that Patrick just wanted to skive off class. With a defeated sigh, Patrick grabbed his backpack and stormed off to wait in the car of traitors and turncoats.

*

Jon showed up by Patrick’s locker to personally apologize and even bought a bag of gummy worms as a peace offering. Patrick’s small smile was dismal but he was touched by the gesture and gave Jon a quick hug before digging in to the gummy worms.

They were walking over to Patrick’s next class, talking about how they missed playing instruments just for the heck of it, when Pete emerged from one of the classrooms. He was alone, which was unusual, but he had on a look of indifference at the sight of the pair. Patrick’s impulsively stared at Pete and hoped that he would at least look his way.

He did more than that. A few meters away from them, Pete put on a bright smile as he said ‘Hey, Patrick, Jon,’ and nodded a quick hello to the people behind them before continuing his walk as if nothing happened. Jon’s eyes widened at the lack of hostility and even quirked a brow at Patrick, as if to ask what the fuck had just happened.

This casual greeting struck Patrick as something even worse than anger or disappointment. His jaw was hanging slightly open at the quick brush-off. It was the lack of emotions that affected Patrick so much; Pete wasn’t ignoring him, he was treating Patrick like he did everyone else.

And for once, Patrick deeply regretted the fact that he was now normal.

*

A few days into their vacation, Patrick wanted to write a letter.

Not an e-mail, not an elaborate txt message, not even a quick scribble on torn notebook paper; he wanted to write a real letter, minus the scented stationary.

“Guys, I don’t think I need five people to-”

“But the art of correspondence, Patrick, is one that-” Patrick sighed and tuned out Spencer’s marriage vows to the ‘art of correspondence’.

He was lying down on the carpet of his bedroom, facing the window where the Way twins sat on the large windowsill. A stack of thick letter paper was next to him and an even bigger pile of crumpled paper was beside it. Andy would hang his ears up on a flagpole if he saw the way he was wasting paper but Patrick was just going to run a hand over them later to flatten them out and he’d use them for his History essays.

Bill and Spencer were sprawled out on his bed, which wasn’t all that unusual. Patrick was just too used to them whining about his lack of comfortable furniture so he automatically takes his post down on the carpet while the two stuck their faces in the comforter.

Gabe was-well, Patrick wasn’t sure where Gabe was. But he thinks he’s downstairs trying to raid his pizza-deprived kitchen or guffaw at the yearbooks Patrick’s mom insisted on placing below the living room table.

Ryan was at an art show with Brendon, they weren’t actually there to gape and point at the paintings but it was actually a new habit they had; silently mocking the fake artist names that wannabe painters took on in an attempt to sound French.

“-artistic intervention that we could offer,” Patrick knew that Spencer had reached the end of his speech, everything he talks about has to end with an unsaid statement that he’s better than whoever was talking and that if he contributed, everything would come out sunshine and kittens.

Patrick sighed before going back to his thinking.

Dearest Pete. ‘Fuck’, Patrick thought, ‘I’m not a fucking Shakespearean sonnet’, before he crossed out that line and starting another.

Hiya Pete. ‘Apparently,’ he gripped his pencil harder, not caring if it would break, ‘I’m a hillbilly and wrote Pete to ask for some cows.’

Pete. Patrick sighed, this was actually the best he could come up with without sounding like he was either dying or mocking him.

I just wanted you to know that-Patrick paused, what did he want Pete to know, anyway? That he was sorry for not being able to push away Jon? That he wanted to impersonate not-so-straight rock stars with him again?-I’m sorry if I hurt you.

Patrick huffed out a breath before throwing away the sheet of paper. It was conceited of him to think that he could have hurt Pete, what importance was he to him? ‘Frankly’, Patrick thought, ‘maybe Pete wasn’t hurt at all and just got tired of being his friend?’

He slammed down his pencil and took off his glasses, causing Spencer to shriek at the sudden sound.

Patrick mumbled a quick sorry before he dug the heels of his hands on his eyes until bright bursts of light shone upon the insides of his eyelids.

“This is so not working,” he muttered mostly to himself. Bill stood up to throw him a small eraser he found by his bedside.

Patrick snorted at how he didn’t just think of that earlier. He shook his head roughly before replacing his glasses and grabbing the pencil to continue.

Pete, I’m sorry-

“Hey, Patrick, got some dip around here?” Gabe yelled for him from the kitchen. It actually sounded like he was right behind him, his voice having its own amplifier.

A frustrated sigh and a worried bite of the lip, Patrick decided that he needed the distraction.

“There’s some French Onion over at the-”

“No, that won’t do, he likes Green Onion-” Bill interrupted from the bed, his voice plain and factual resembling that of a concerned parent.

One of Mikey’s spirit friends could have entered the room and everyone would have heard it. That was how quiet the room became. Patrick hummed softly while he was trying to recall if he had any, and also as a way to pretend that there wasn’t anything awkward in the room.

“Umm-I think there’s some of that too-” Patrick’s voice was unsure but his mom loved dip and pretty much stocked her own mini-grocery filled with it.

“Gabe! Green Onion, leftmost cabinet, second shelf!” William bellowed out before facing Patrick and giving a nod to ask if he got his food compartments right.

Patrick nodded jerkily before he returned to absently tapping the lead of his pencil.

Pete, please talk to me. ‘I am your stalker and want to watch you pluck your nosehairs,’ Patrick dropped his head on the carpet with a loud thump; he either sounded like an idiot or a psychopath, two options without a lesser evil to choose from.

“You could tell him you like the way his gums show when he laughs,” Gerard suddenly put in, head bopping enthusiastically to a rhythm that strangely resembled the beat that Patrick was tapping out on his pencil.

“-Fuck this, I’m going to get some gummy worms.”

*

As a child, Patrick hated having his picture taken. He would always cower behind the refrigerator or hide under the covers whenever someone would take out a camera. Years later, this fear still didn’t have the chance to properly grow out of Patrick’s system.

If possible, his nerves heightened even more as random people snapped photographs of him in random places. The instant recognition was something he could blame on the government; they insisted that Patrick continue ‘serving his country’ by attending charity events and volunteer opportunities because his clean image bolstered the youth aspect of the current administration.

The volunteer time was something he could accept, he even liked it from time to time, but if it came with people arbitrarily jumping out and taking pictures of him, that was a whole different story. The most bizarre thing was that there were hardly any photographers during the fundraisers but hundreds of them sprung out whenever he was out with his friends.

One particularly slow day, Ryan showed up at his doorstep with a stack of tabloids in his hands. Patrick gave a sharp exhale before trudging to the living room and plopping down on the couch.

“Show me,” Patrick’s voice was haggard, his eyes never leaving the front cover of the newspaper on the top of the pile that Ryan was carrying.

Ryan had on a rare look of hesitation, he was usually blunt and impassive but today he wore something that resembled intense sympathy. He sat down right beside Patrick before he gently fanned out the tabloids on the table.

Patrick’s eyes immediately shot to the pictures and the various memories of the specific day captured on film rushed back to him. He and Jon weren’t going out more than usual, Patrick spent even more time with his other friends but the way that his relationship with Jon was focused on, it looked like they were together daily.

In truth, things were getting somewhat strained between them. It wasn’t Jon’s fault at all, Patrick knew that the former was trying his hardest and he really liked him but something kept holding him back.

It all watered down to a state where they were like those talentless Hollywood couples that went out just to be photographed and noticed by the press. The only thing different was that Jon was actually grateful for it, people were now starting to take notice of his music and all press, for him, was good press.

That was one other reason why Patrick could hardly complain to everyone about the constant attention. He didn’t have the heart to shoot down the rare chance at free advertising for Jon and so he treated the intrusion to his privacy with just a small grimace and quick tip of the hat.

He finally thought it was time to actually read the garbage and tried to skim through the various tabloids first before deciding if he should restart his paper airplane collection.

First Son, Ditched and Dumped

Bye-bye, First Boy

Presidential Son, Royally Replaced

Hat-wearing Hero and Local Lover; Exclusive!

The headlines were getting worse by the issue; Patrick glared at the banal attempts at catchy alliteration and made to shove them off the table when Ryan gripped his arm tight. The comforting gesture made Patrick let out an uneven breath and forced himself to calm down. This wasn’t real, tabloids made up shit all the time, Patrick thought.

This was the constant thought he kept repeating in his head whenever he came upon the words ‘Pete Wentz’ and ‘heartbroken’ in one sentence.

*

Going back to school meant going back to the same old routine; Patrick running away at the mere sight of Pete. It was ridiculous; he had planned conversations, plotted ‘accidental meetings’ and even dreamt up some scenarios in his head where Pete just grins and says he developed selective amnesia over the break and doesn’t remember anything.

But whenever he saw Pete, actually seeing him in person, made Patrick want to pretend that he was an ostrich and bury his head in the sand or at least a clean trash bin.

This was the first time he was grateful for the fact that he didn’t share a class with Pete; it made hiding easier. What Patrick particularly dreaded, however, was lunch period. He was already preparing a mental list of witty asides that he could offer, if the opportunity presented itself, as a way for Pete to take notice of him again.

The plan was shot down as early as first period, when Jon met him at his locker to remind Patrick of their group study session during lunch. It wasn’t exactly ‘group study’ seeing as they were just two people but Jon tended to focus more with less people. He gulped down an excuse and gave Jon a smile in confirmation.

Bill just rolled his eyes and shoved Patrick’s shoulder when he came to tell the guys that he wasn’t going to sit with them today. Patrick could still hear him muttering something about a subject he’d like to teach them when he turned around to rush like a scared rabbit over to Jon’s table.

*

Patrick was moodily slurping through a pretty sour batch of cabbage soup when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone who looked strangely like Pete walking towards them, manila envelope in hand.

He thought he must have snorted too much curry powder because it wasn’t possible for Pete to be walking their way. There’s a higher chance of Pete walking over just to open the windows himself, than of him actually talking to Patrick.

‘Maybe he finally broke and wants to insult my taste in shoes,’ Patrick was having just the tiniest panic attack, this wasn’t in one of the scenarios he envisioned and had no idea what to do.

A sudden jolt of heat and pain pulled him away from his imaginary conversation. His body gave an impulsive jerk as he looked down to see a now-empty spoon in his grip and a rapidly spreading stain on his jeans.

“Fuck,” Patrick dropped the metal spoon with a loud clatter; his first impulse was to hurriedly pat at the stain on his crotch area lightly, he hated getting blisters and it felt like a huge one was just around the corner. It stung like hell and his face probably reflected it because Jon was looking at him with a concerned expression.

Jon peered over from across the table and made a small ‘tsk’-ing noise with his mouth.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon muttered softly. He grabbed the nearest tissue and stood up to lean over the table. Patrick jumped back in his seat when he felt a hand dab carelessly on his inner thigh.

A blush creeped up his cheeks before he swatted away Jon’s hand, a nervous stutter on his tongue. It was highly unnecessary, Patrick was used to being a klutz and didn’t need someone else to share in the anti-grandeur.

“Stop it,” Patrick hissed, “I can do this, Jon.” The last thing he needed was for someone to see Jon touching his jeans while his face was flushed and his jaw was literally dropped.

A curt cough from across Patrick was just the fucking cherry on his sundae of roasted rat heads and roach tails. He initially refused to look up but the way Pete kept tapping his foot meant that he was in one of his infamous cheery moods and that ignoring him would be the equivalent of dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood for your yearly bullfight.

He took a deep breath and bit hard on his bottom lip before looking up. Patrick didn’t want to blurt out a gibbering apology speech before Pete’s third round of insults, that would be uncharacteristically rude of him.

There wasn’t a chain of curses or taunts regarding his fashion sense, or pretty much anything else. Pete wordlessly handed over a slip of paper from the envelope he was carrying and waited for Patrick to accept it.

He hoped he was the only one to notice how his hand was shaking as he reached for it, his bottom lip still stuck in between his teeth. Patrick opened it and saw it was a formal letter of some sort, an invitation letter, to be exact.

Battle of the Bands

Dear Mr. Patrick V. Stump,

This is to cordially invite you to take part in our annual event to promote musical harmony and community unity as a member of the prestigious panel of judges…

Patrick’s heart-rate sped up as he quickly skimmed through the entire document. He could swear that everyone could hear how hard it was pounding through his chest and dearly wanted to stab it just so he wouldn’t get any more embarrassed.

“I’m a judge?” Patrick croaked out the only sensible vocabulary words that he remembered from all his years of formal education, he couldn’t get any deeper than that at the moment.

Pete snorted and crossed his arms over his chest; he wasn’t looking at Patrick but more at his hat than his actual face. It was understandable; the question effortlessly meant that Patrick had no comprehension of the letter at all.

“I think that’s what it said in about 500 words, yeah,” Pete mumbled effortlessly, like he was talking to one of the freshmen who won’t stop following him around the campus.

Patrick’s gut clenched when he heard Pete’s voice, speaking to him, finally. Sure, it wasn’t in all that friendly a tone but it was still, technically, talking. And it made Patrick want to believe that rainbows and leprechauns really do exist.

Jon asked him if he could read the letter. Patrick turned to look at Pete for approval but the latter looked determined to stare down the discarded spoon. With a twinge of disappointment, Patrick limply handed over the piece of paper.

“Umm-” Patrick thought that this was one of the very few chances that he would be able to actually talk to Pete without any of them running away so he decided to jump after it, “-will you be a judge too?”

An uneven breath from Pete was the first response to his question; the whole conversation obviously pained them both too much to be able to breathe properly.

“Can’t. Father’s going to sponsor,” Pete’s voice was clipped and he still refused to look at Patrick, instead focusing on random objects, like the soup bowl or Patrick’s shirt.

“So, anyone can join?” Jon brazenly interrupted; he was still in the middle of chewing through his burger when he asked the question, some words coming out somewhat unintelligible.

To say that the tension was palpable was like saying that rain makes the grass wet. This, in other words, is something short of nonsense.

A memory of the early days of prom decoration swam at the forefront of Patrick’s memory. He certainly didn’t want a repeat of the ‘Patrick wars’ but he couldn’t let go of the small voice in his head that wished for Pete to want his attention again.

Pete’s small smile was cold. He opened the brown envelope again, slipped out a short poster and handed it over to Jon.

“Knock yourself out,” Pete chirped, giving Patrick the feeling that he meant it literally.

He knew that Pete was about to leave but Patrick had one more question and he wouldn’t be able to remember which way his house was, let alone his Trigonometry exam, if he didn’t get it off his chest.

“Why me?” It was a simple question, quite like the one Pete had asked him after the incident at the bookstore. Had it really been that long? Patrick was amazed that more than four months had passed since his first real encounter with Pete, but now, those four months just faded away. It was back to Patrick staring at Pete, wishing he could just get a closer look.

Pete took a few seconds before fully raising his gaze to stare Patrick in the eye. It was striking, how Pete’s face could embrace such a stony expression yet his eyes flared with a muddle of lights and shadows. Patrick almost missed his answer due to his glee at Pete finally looking him in the eye.

“I’m giving this to you because I trust your taste in music,” Pete’s voice was distant and impassive, there was an unspoken statement of ‘nothing else’ somewhere there, one thing that Patrick couldn’t deny.

Pete turned to walk away as Jon began a lively narration about all the grand ideas he had for the band he wanted to form for the contest. All Patrick could do was nod along and slip in a random ‘that’s great’ every now and then, he wasn’t too keen on doing much else now that his last chance of getting things right was burst by a bowl of cabbage soup.

**

The first day of rehearsal for Jon’s band was quickly scheduled on the upcoming Saturday. Bill and Gabe left an ‘imprint’, as Gabe said, on a lot of people during their prom night and were chosen as hosts of the whole event. They were cheerfully giggling and discussing their planned on-stage banter beside Patrick, who was sitting on one of the cardboard boxes in Jon’s garage.

Jon picked a curious choice for the vocalist of their group; Brendon. It certainly wasn’t because of lack of talent; in fact, his voice had this very distinct tone that anyone could recognize due to its uniqueness. There was a tiny voice ringing inside Patrick’s head that wanted to believe that Jon did it as a form of peace offering. But he couldn’t help hearing a much more dominant one scream that Jon was in it to win and it definitely showed with all his choices.

He accepted that he was a natural bass player so there was no question regarding that position in the line-up. Vocalist was already spoken for; he heard Brendon do one of his ridiculous limerick-slash-serenades for Ryan one day and an enormous light bulb lit up in his head.

There was the question of lead guitar and percussion but it was quickly answered by Ryan and Spencer, respectively. Band camp left a good impression of the two on Jon so it wasn’t difficult to decide.

The band already had a song, one that started way back during their camp days and only recently completed by the arrival of Brendon. Patrick had to admit that he wasn’t going to be able to watch the guy on stage the whole time; he was practically suffering a seizure during every stanza. ‘The electrocuted dolphin’, that was the name Spencer gave Brendon’s so-called rock band move.

Patrick rolled his eyes as the two then proceeded to give outrageous names regarding actions that are in no way connected to music. Ryan was supposedly a ‘Rabid Turkey’, per Brendon’s words, and Patrick had no desire to know what that meant when he saw the way Ryan’s face flushed before kicking Brendon in the shins.

Jon aimed one of the spare drumsticks at them to try to break them up but it only caused an even bigger tickle-fight, mostly because Brendon thought it was Ryan who threw the drumstick.

The beleaguered bass player shook his head and went over to sit next to Patrick. They had to admit that their time together was growing less and less, sometimes letting silence take over their conversations to the relief of them both.

“Hey, Pat, the judging thing-” Jon slipped an arm carefully around Patrick’s waist, gripping it softly so as not to make him uncomfortable.

Patrick expected a question regarding the mechanics or the other judges on the board, it was something everyone kept asking him repeatedly, even though he maintained the fact that everything would be explained to him only on the day itself.

“-should I be worried?” Jon asked with a calculated look darting across his eyes and an anxious grin in place.

This, Patrick wasn’t expecting. He knew Jon was determined to succeed and had dreams that were perched up on the highest shelf of musical standards but this wasn’t proper.

“I-umm-do you mean-” it was absurd, Jon wanted Patrick to give away the contest? He’d never stoop that low! Patrick could feel a sense of unease zigzagging its way in between them, his throat wanting to spill out a mouthful of disapproving sentences and upset expectations.

“I’m not saying that you bully the other judges to vote for us,” Jon tightened his hold on Patrick and inched himself closer, his distance close enough for them to be able to reply in whispered phrases, “just that I hope we have your vote, alright?”

Patrick’s mouth was forming random shapes of the starts of various words but never got to speak them because Jon leaned in quick to press his lips to Patrick’s. Jon let out a breath that made Patrick shut his mouth as a shudder rushed up his spine. The taller of them bit down slowly but deliberately on the other, heightening each other’s senses as anything outside of them ceased to be. Hands fumbled as both wanted to decrease the already non-existent space between them. Patrick can taste the request in Jon’s lips and runs his tongue over the smoothness that Patrick had never felt on Pete.

The thought of Pete left a bitter taste in his throat and Patrick bit down sharply to mask his resentment with that of the iron trace of blood and Jon. A small sigh escaped from Jon’s lips as he is both surprised and pleased with Patrick’s newfound aggression. They continue that way, Patrick lashing out all his hostility while Jon submissively, even appreciatively, receives it.

The garage may not be able to fit three cars but one step inside it and you could feel how there are a hundred kilometers worth of distance between the light-hearted bonding of the group of five and that of the lost pair in the corner, draped in the confusion of ambition and responsibility.

*

Patrick wouldn’t miss this rehearsal for anything else in the world, even his own wedding.

Gerard and Mikey gamely decided to participate; they had significant experience in music and felt that the contest would make them feel more at home in their community. It was a noble gesture, forming a band when the competition was less in two weeks. But, as they said, the group had the support of their ancestors and would surely win once they fulfill all requirements. Patrick had the sense to not inquire further about said requirements, he just ate his lunch and wasn’t all that eager to lose it prematurely.

The Way twins invited two of their ‘cousins’ from their home country, a place which the brothers still refuse to reveal. Everyone was introduced to Frank Iero and Ray Toro; they played rhythm guitar and drums and by their first rehearsal, Patrick was definitely hooked. They had a sound which gave listeners a morbid curiosity; something that people would never admit to liking but would listen to until the wee hours of the morning.

“Hey,” Patrick couldn’t resist asking a question that silently tugged on his mind ever since introductions were made, “so you three are cousins on different sides of the family?”

They were practicing on the lawn of the sprawling villa of the Way family. At first glance, no one would say that the twins were from a well-off family but the truth was they could even rival the Uries in wealth.

Mikey walked over to him, holding a silver pick that blinded Patrick even when there was no sunlight. He sat beside him, the grass felt warm and comfortable and Patrick would just love to lie back and hibernate for the whole month.

“We are all cousins in spirit,” Mikey used his sage-like voice whenever he wanted to impart some values on the group, which was very common nowadays. The younger twin flipped the pick over and over in between his fingers and Patrick had to look away to stop the light from shining in his eyes. Patrick had to stop and think for a few seconds, remembering that there was something slightly wrong.

“-Isn’t the saying, ‘we are all brothers’?” Patrick wasn’t as good as Ryan was in the mechanics of the English language but he was pretty sure of this one.

Mikey looked at him in confusion, as if Patrick was suggesting that the twins should refrain from their ritual of chasing around two chickens before formally giving a prediction about tomorrow’s weather. They had just performed it earlier and Gerard was ecstatic at the fact that there would be nothing but sunshine, cool winds and small rain showers over by the South-Eastern Pacific.

“No, Patrick, only Gerard’s my brother,” Mikey muttered, as a look of concern flickered across his eyes, “you alright?”

Patrick groaned and flopped back down on the grass. There was absolutely no way of dealing with these two, he thought frustratedly.

*

Patrick was standing in the middle of the grand stage that was set up at their city stadium. He was allowed in early because of his status as a judge but he didn’t really go there just to internalize his role or some other phrase that he might have stolen from Spencer.

A breeze picked up and Patrick chose to crouch over by the edge of the platform, more than five feet high from the ground. The sunlight cast down a dazzling reflection on the drops of dew that littered the grassy field. It twinkled out at Patrick in its own dance of excitement at the event later in the day.

‘Too bad everyone’ll step on you guys,’ Patrick shook his head jerkily, just a few months after getting concussed and now he was talking to blades of grass. Amazing development, Patrick Stump.

Everyone has gone through a time when they set out to pick something up but once they leave the room, the memory of what they were supposed to do just disappears. It leaves one frustrated and anxious; you knew it was important and that you had to do it but… It’s gone. You can’t remember what it was and, chances are, even if it was on one of your theories of ‘things you could have forgotten’, you would just skip over it.

That was the exact thing on Patrick’s mind and the main reason why he came in early. He could clearly remember what Jon told him during their first rehearsal, he even had some souvenirs left over from that day, but there was something there that he knew he had to keep in mind.

He readjusted his hat before settling in to sit with his knees up and feet flat on the platform. The anxious feeling that he had during the afternoon before prom was back in full fighting form, making Patrick dread it even more.

What should he expect? That was a thick question, and something that he could never answer. When it came to his life, someone always had to break the fire alarm whenever a spark lit up, washing away all the progress he had made and leaving him with something worse.

He looked up to the sky, or the tarpaulin roof, at least, in an act of asking for guidance. There wasn’t a chorus of angels to point him in the direction of the nearest pot of gold but there was a clear, headlining banner that served just as well.

Let the Battle Begin.

~End Chapter 5.
A/N: I know I might turn some people off with how I portrayed Patrick in this chapter but I really believed that he should be as human as the rest of us screw-ups people. So, sorry if you didn't like it :(
2 more to go, guys! Hang in there with me :D

Comment and Concrit are loved.

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