Tenements (AU, R)

[dandy_fetish]

Title: Tenements
Fandom: Bandom (FBR plus gratuitous MCR)
Rating: R
Characters: Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz and an extremely large supporting cast
Author's Notes: This was just supposed to be something stupid and fun I was working on. It turned into a labor of love.
Summary: Patrick Stump moves into an apartment building. He didn't realize what else he'd moved in to.



Patrick Stumph (he was thinking of dropping the 'h' at some point, hadn't decided yet) had always heard horror stories from other college kids about slum lords and student housing. Landlords who just didn't give a shit about things, rats the size of your hand. So when he first moved into the DD Building (he had no idea what that meant, but the rent was cheap enough and it was fairly close to campus) he was wary. Scared even. He didn't want the first time he was living on his own to be an utter failure.

He'd pictured his landlord being some old guy who would be gruff, but loveable. Or utterly incompetent, which was what the sitcoms had let him to believe was the case. But here was this young (hot, his mind supplied for him, which made Patrick promise those brain cells they'd be meeting his friend Mr. Coors for that little sidebar) guy outside his door, smiling widely and extending his hand. Well, wiping it on a pair of grease covered jeans and then extending it.

"I'm Pete," the guy said. "I'm your landlord slash building manger slash handyman. You need anything let me know. It might not get taken care of right away, or at all, but it'll make you feel better to tell me."

"Patrick," Patrick said, shaking Pete's hand. "Patrick Stump." He dropped the "h," just to see how it felt.

Pete nodded. "Yeah, I know. I saw your name on the mailbox. But I thought it was spelled with an 'h.'"

"I've been thinking of dropping the 'h,' actually," Patrick explained, looking at the floor for a second. He was convinced he should not be this nervous.

Well, nice meeting you, Patrick Stump-with-an-h" Pete said, smiling at Patrick. "We'll grab dinner sometime next week, okay?"

"Huh?" Patrick said, flustered.

"It's cool," Pete said. "I like to know my tenants. You're all pretty cool." He turned and walked down the hall, pausing at a door to knock and yell loudly, "Hi Gerard!"

"FUCK YOU!" a voice yelled from behind the door.

Patrick began to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

Two days later, Patrick actually met one of the other tenants. He was in the mail room, going through the junk and wondering when all of his forwarding would kick in, if at all, when he saw another figure from the corner of his eye.

The kid looked like he'd taken a wrong turn at 1969 and just kept going until he slammed into the apartment building. He even had a headband looped around his curly brown hair, and the dazed expression Patrick could only assume meant, "I found where the party was at."

The guy opened his mailbox, went through a few things, and then made a squealing sound. He ripped open an envelope and suddenly let out a shriek of joy, surprising Patrick as he pounced on him.

"Sorry! Just gotta hug somebody!" he announced. He smelled like patchouli and clove cigarettes, but he was also an excellent hugger, as Patrick was quickly discovering.

"Oookay," Patrick stammered out.

The kid pulled back and waved a letter around. "I'm getting published! One of my poems! REALLY published!" He was smiling widely, and Patrick found himself smiling back.

"That's awesome," he said.

The kid hugged him again. "I'm Ryan, by the way," he laughed.

"Patrick," Patrick supplied.

"Oh, you're the new guy in 102!" Ryan said. "Pete mentioned you!"

"He did?" Patrick blushed.

"Yeah! Hey, we're gonna have to have a party! For this!" He shook the letter again. "You're coming, right? You're here, you're family!"

"Um...sure?" Patrick said. Honestly, a party with this kid and his friends didn't sound like the best idea ever, but he'd PROMISED to attempt to be social at some point this year. That's what college was for, right?

"Great!" Ryan hugged him again and then ran off. Patrick shook his head, then looked down to see what was apparently a discarded electric bill with "FINAL NOTICE" on it in red.

And then he wondered if all apartment buildings were like this, or if he was just extra lucky.

Sure enough, about two hours later there were signs plastered around the halls of the building advertising a party Saturday night to celebrate "Mr. Ryan Ross's arrival as a superb poet, along the lines of Keats." Patrick was studying one, laughing to himself at the amount of glitter dumped on it, when he heard a ripping sound from across the hallway.

He turned to see a slim body ripping down one of the posters and discarding it. "Fuck Ryan Rossy!" it yelled, and Patrick became aware that yes, this was a boy in the hallway with him.

"JUST SHUT UP AND DO IT THEN!" the voice, Gerard, Patrick reminded himself, yelled from 105.

The boy in the hallway fumed. "Are you going to this?" he demanded from Patrick. "This celebration of...of...mediocrity?!"

Patrick shrugged. "It's just a party."

"It's not JUST a party," the boy argued. "It's a celebration of everything that is WRONG with art in the world today! It's capitalizing on what's popular rather than what is truly artistic! It's...it's..."

"It's free booze?" Patrick pointed out.

The other boy stopped, looked down at the poster, and smiled. "Oh, excellent point, my friend." He turned and headed up the stairs, pulling out a cell phone on his way.

Patrick retreated into his apartment and decided that somehow ordering Chinese in for the night was the right reaction to this situation. Maybe he belonged her more than thought?

The night of the party arrived quicker than Patrick really would have liked. He was totally unsure what one is expected to wear to a party celebrating a neo-Hippie's first publication, so he threw on jeans and a striped tee-shirt, figuring that worst case scenario he could pretend it was supposed to be ironic. He did go all out with the shoes, though, the limited edition purple Jordan's he'd spent his graduation money on.

The party was on the fourth floor, but there had been warning that it might spill out onto the roof if need be. Patrick found the door to 408 wide open, music blaring from inside and something that smelled like actual food from inside.

"Hey, you made it!" Ryan met him at the door and draped his arm around him. He walked Patrick into the living room and smiled. "Welcome to my and Spencer's place."

"Spencer?" Patrick asked. Ryan pointed out a bearded young man holding a conversation with several other people.

"My roommate," Ryan clarified. "Best friend, too."

"I thought I was your best friend," another voice interrupted. Ryan spun Patrick around to face an extremely tall, dark eyed man in a fedora that was actually making Patrick jealous.

"You're my best friend," Ryan said. "Gabe, this is Patrick, he's new. Patrick, this is Gabe."

Patrick extended his hand. "Which place is yours?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't live here!" Gabe said. "Some friends and I share a house. I'm here with my girlfriend."

Suddenly, a tiny figure with a taunting smile on her face latched onto Gabe's hips. "Introduce me!" she demanded.

"Patrick, this is Greta," Ryan supplied, before Gabe could. "She's in 203." He leaned in to Patrick to whisper, "She's kind of a sociopath."

Patrick blinked, unsure of what to say in response to that. Luckily, before he could, Ryan pulled him towards the kitchen saying "You've gotta try some of the hors d'oeuvres, man. I got one of the best caterers I could afford."

"By which you mean you're paying me in booze." A young man at the stove half smirked at Patrick and Ryan. "And that my housemate's girlfriend will slit my throat in the night if I complain."

"Alex, you're doing a great job," Ryan said. He left Patrick to go hug the other boy. "I really appreciate this."

"Well, you're lucky I need practice," Alex said, but he was smiling.

"Very lucky," Ryan agreed. "Where's your man?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "He and Victoria are probably off somewhere talking about that new video project they're working on."

"We attract artists," Ryan explained to Patrick. "Like, this place is some sort of weird magnet for those of us who hate real jobs."

Alex smacked Ryan with a dishtowel. "Excuse me?" he said.

"You're excused." Patrick heard the unmistakable sound of Pete's voice from behind him. Sure enough, the landlord was smiling at the assembled group. "You make that bread stuff I like?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Bruschetta, and YES, I did." He pointed to a plate on the kitchen table. "Take it out to the guests, would you?"

"No problem," Pete answered. He popped one of the slices into his mouth, smiled, and then picked up the tray. "Awesome."

"No, Delicious," another man supplied, ducking to enter the kitchen. "But that describes Alex in a nutshell."

"Ryland!" Ryan yelled. "There you are!"

"Of course there I am!" the tall man laughed. "And Jon is looking for you!"

"Oh, fuck, didn't realize he was here!" Ryan said. "Sorry, Patrick, I've gotta abandon you! Later!" He ducked past Ryland, moving faster than Patrick had seen before.

"Ah, young love," Ryland observed, laughing. Then he extended a hand to Patrick. "I'm Ryland, obviously. And you are?"

"Short and very pale," Patrick replied. Then, snapping back to himself. "Patrick."

"Enough with the introductions!" Alex snapped. "How about instead of standing around, crowding my kitchen, you two take those veggie trays out to the guests?"

"I live to serve," Ryland said, hoisting a tray. "Come on, let's join the actual party and leave the mad scientist to himself."

"You'll thank me when you taste the mushrooms!" Alex yelled after them.

"So," Ryland asked Patrick as they worked through the party, "what do you do?"

"Huh?" Patrick asked.

"You know, your artistic skill," Ryland smiled as he set the veggie tray down on the coffee table, careful to avoid a small smudge of questionable origins. "Everyone here has one."

"I'm just a music student," Patrick said. "And I play around sometimes. Mostly with beats, composing, stuff like that. I'd like to produce some day, but it's a crazy dream."

"We've all got those," Ryland laughed. He looked over at Gabe and laughed harder. "Some of us more so than others."

"What do you do?" Patrick asked, figuring it was the safer route of conversation.

"A little bit of everything. Theatre, music, musical theatre," Ryland explained. "Actually, Gabe's talking about all of us in the house starting a band."

"Awesome," Patrick said, not sure whether to pursue that line of questioning or not. Before he could, though, he spotted Pete heading straight for him.

"Pleasure Ryland!" Pete yelled, smiling. "Glad to see you made it!"

"Do you know EVERYONE?" Patrick asked, suddenly.

"Just the people that matter, Patrick-Stump-with-an-h," Pete smirked. "How are you liking the building?"

"It's...good?" Patrick replied. Then he looked around at the party, the people smiling and having a good time, and he relaxed. "Yeah. It's good."

"I'd better go check on the kitchen diva," Ryland announced, laughing. "See you both later," he promised.

As he walked away, Patrick looked at Pete. "So..."

Pete laughed and sat down on the couch, patting the spot beside himself for Patrick. "Come on," he said. "We should talk." Then, as quickly as he'd sat down, he jumped back up. "Holy shit."

Patrick turned to see what Pete was looking at. A very pale (and for Patrick to think someone was pale was saying something) man with dark hair and sunglasses was walking into the room, hands in his pockets.

Pete ran over to him. "Gerard?" he said, sounding surprised. "You left your room."

"Yeah, needed to talk to you, figured you'd be here," the guy said. "Look, I know I'm a little short on rent right now...the whole thing with..."

"It's cool!" Pete said. "But at some point you've gotta start paying in full again. Can't cover you forever, man."

Gerard shook his head. "Next month, I promise. I actually have a new roommate."

"That's awesome," Pete said, happily. Patrick watched him react to everything Gerard said, his face was always animated and he always managed to look like he was really listening.

"Yeah, well, nothing big," Gerard said. "My brother's friend Ray's been looking for a place."

"I'll stop by and meet him," Pete promised. "Glad it's working out. You should stay, say hi to some people."

"Nah," Gerard said. "I'm gonna retreat to my cave." He turned and left, as suddenly as he'd showed up.

"He's a good guy," Pete told Patrick. "A little weird, but a good guy. One hell of an artist." He took Patrick's hand and pulled him towards the door. "Come on, I want you to meet the gang on the roof!"

The roof was like most apartment building roofs, exciting because it was the roof of your building and less exciting because it was JUST the roof of your building. But gathered near the edge were a crowd of guys, surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"Hey guys!" Pete announced, pulling Patrick along with him. "This is Patrick, he's the new guy!"

One of the guys held up a pack of cigarettes and offered them to Patrick. "No, thanks," Patrick said, hoping the guy wasn't offended.

"'Sno problem. You do you, I'ma do me," the guy replied. He smiled widely and Patrick couldn't help but smile back. "I'm Travis McCoy, my friends call me Travi, my enemies don't call me at all 'cause I blocked their numbers."

One of the other guys punched Travis in the arm. Patrick looked and realized it was the skinny guy from the hallway. "We've kind of met?" Patrick said.

"Oh, yeah," the guy extended a slender hand. "I'm William Beckett. And this," he gestured to a young kid sitting on the roof ledge, "is Adam T. Siska."

"Sisky Biz," the kid laughed, waving at Patrick.

"Travis is on the third floor," Pete explained. "Right beside Bill."

"And Bill's right under Ryan!" Siska announced, quickly bowing his head off of William's angry look.

Okay, Patrick realized. So there WAS genuine drama between William and Ryan. Good to know. Better to avoid.

Pete cleared his throat in the silence that followed. "Well, I should, um, get Patrick back to the party," he announced, grabbing Patrick's arm and pulling him towards the door. "See you guys later. And Travis?"

Travis looked at Pete, a little surprised.

"Mine," Pete announced.

As they headed back to the party, Patrick looked at Pete, confused. "Yours?"

"Yeah, stupid game we play," Pete said, sounding anything but convincing. "So, those are the guys. Glad you're here."

"Me too?" Patrick said. As they walked back into the apartment, he could see Ryan hanging off the shoulders of a guy who was clearly proud to be seen with him. Patrick noted the boy's flip flops and figured, wow, okay, that's kind of a match made in heaven.

Another boy, with the largest smile Patrick had EVER seen, snuck up behind Ryan and his flip flop friend and threw his arms around them. The three laughed, looking over at Spencer, Ryan's roommate, who shook his head, sighed, and came over to join them.

"And the circle is complete," Pete joked, watching the four of them. "I think if polygamous gay marriage were legal in this state? Those would be the four happiest guys in the world right now."

As the party wore on, Patrick helped himself to some of Alex's cooking (and the fucker had been right about the mushrooms, dammit) as well as some of Ryan's stockpile of booze. After a few hours, he was feeling the effects, swaying a little as he made conversation with Gabe and Greta.

"So...so I had this vision," Gabe told him, obviously having had a few himself. "I'm in the middle of the fucking desert and I have this fucking vision."

"We know, dear," Greta said, sipping at her own drink daintily. "Of a Cobra."

"Yeah, this Cobra! And it bites me! Right in the motherfucking neck!" Gabe continued. "Anyway, long story short, it tells me I have to pursue a fucking music career."

"I've heard worse excuses," Ryland laughed.

"Hadn't you been smoking a lot of peyote at that point?" Greta asked him.

"Can you even smoke peyote?" Spencer inquired, petting Ryan's head as it rested on his shoulder.

"Yeah, you can," Jon assured him. Ryan's legs were sprawled across his lap and he reached down to stroke his right knee protectively.

"What I may or may not have been smoking isn't important! The important thing is an Astral Cobra from the future told me to start a fucking band. So I offered to let a bunch of musicians stay with me for cheap rent. Problem is, I can't find somebody to help put the sound together," Gabe said, leaning forward to talk to Patrick. "So if you know anybody, you know, let me know. No?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," Patrick said, a little alarmed at how slurred his words were. "You know, I should...I should go. To my apartment."

He stood, and hey, when did standing up get so hard? Before he knew it, Pete was beside him, looping Patrick's arm around his shoulders.

"Let's get you home, Patrick Stump," Pete said, walking him towards the door. "Wave goodbye to your friends."

Patrick waved, sloppily, and then let Pete lead him down to his apartment.

When they reached Patrick's door, Pete pulled out his master key and slid it into the lock carefully. "Just a little further, okay?"

Patrick laughed. "'m fine," he said. Pete finally got the door open and walked Patrick to his bed, laying him down.

"Get some sleep," Pete ordered, trying to sound authoritative.

"'Could stay here," Patrick suggested, snuggling down and pressing his face into the pillow. And it was a GOOD suggestion, because then Pete would stay here and Pete, well, he didn't really smell good, but he felt good, and hey, feeling good was a good thing, right?

Pete instead just reached down and patted Patrick's shoulder. "Thanks, but I gotta get back to the party. Make sure everyone behaves."

"Have fun," Patrick muttered, drifting off to sleep. But not before he managed to say, "You have a great ass. Perfect applebottom. Just so you know."

The next day, he woke up with a killer hangover and the distinct impression he'd hit on his landlord.

"Fuck," he muttered, downing another glass of water. He'd hidden in his apartment all day, trying to kill his headache with aspirin and Miles Davis, but so far it was a losing battle.

The knock on his door startled him, and Patrick was suddenly terrified that Pete was here to evict him out for the most un-suave seduction attempt EVER. When he finally got the guts to open it, he was instead faced with a smirking Greta holding a covered plate.

"Food," she suggested, entering his place without being invited. "Figured you'd need some after last night. And you probably don't feel like cooking."

"Um, yeah," Patrick said, shaking his head a little. "So, how long did it keep going?"

"Awhile," Greta shrugged. "I mean, there was a lot of joking and fooling around. Most of us crashed at Ryan's place, actually. Oh, except for Pete. He got a call from Mikey and had to run off."

"Mikey?" Patrick asked. He uncovered the plate and smiled. Mac and Cheese. The good, deli kind. He popped it in the microwave and turned back to Greta.

"Yeah, Gerard's younger brother," she clarified. "They met when Mikey was moving Gerard in. And I'm pretty sure Mikey's the reason Gerard gets away with late rent payments." She sighed. "But you didn't hear it from me."

"Oh," Patrick said, looking at the floor. Great, he'd used the world's most un-suave line on the TAKEN landlord of his building.

Fuck.

"So...so you and Gabe, huh?" Patrick stammered out.

"Yeah, me and Gabe," Greta sighed dreamily. "He's amazing."

"I wouldn't have pictured you two together," Patrick confessed. "I mean, he talks about astral cobras and you...don't?"

Greta laughed. "Gabe's quirks are one of the reasons I love him," she said. "He's really passionate, too, but he never forgets to have fun. It's a nice balance."

"Sounds like it," Patrick said, taking the plate from the microwave and grabbing for a fork. "Who all does he live with?"

"Oh, Ryland and Alex, who you met," Greta said, sitting down at Patrick's table. "And Nate, he couldn't make it, something about an aquarium? I don't know. And Victoria. I don't think you two ran into each other."

Patrick searched his memories until he caught a flash of a long legged, dark haired woman who'd smiled at him while they were sitting around chatting the night before. "Oh, Victoria," he said.

Greta smiled, knowingly. "Yeah. And she's single."

Patrick blushed. "I...but...there's..."

Greta laughed. "Don't worry about it. Just let Doctor Greta work her magic." She poked Patrick in the center of his forehead before he could move to stop her. "I promise, you'll end up happy when it's said and done."

Patrick started to say something in response, but Greta's phone began ringing. She flipped it open quickly. "Yes, Gabe?...what?...No, I...Goldfish can't walk, Gabe...I don't know where Monty is...maybe he's with your pennies, I'll be right over, dear."

She hung up and rolled her eyes. "Fish emergency. Talk to you later."

And Patrick was left staring at his Mac and Cheese.

When he got back from class a few nights later, he was greeted by the sight of about three guitars sitting outside Gerard's apartment. "Hold on, Gee!" a voice yelled. "I'm gonna get the next load!"

The guy who stepped out of the apartment had wild, curly hair hanging to about his shoulders and a look of pleased exasperation on his face. "Oh, hey!" he said, a little startled by Patrick's appearance.

"Hey! Sorry!" Patrick said. He gestured to the guitars. "Just saw those and was admiring them and..."

It was the other guy's turn to blush. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me!" Patrick said. "Those are gorgeous Les Pauls."

"I'm Ray," the guys said, extending his hand. Patrick shook it eagerly.

"Patrick," he said. "So I'm gonna ask you the annoying music question. Influences?"

"Brian May and Randy Rhoads," Ray said, automatically. "You?"

"Prince," Patrick confessed. "My love for Prince knows no bounds."

Ray laughed and Patrick glared at him. "Okay, if liking Prince is geeky..."

Ray shook his head. "Geeky? Have you met my roommate?"

"Only briefly..." Patrick confessed.

From the doorway to his apartment, Gerard called out, "If liking Liza is geeky, then I suppose I am some kind of geek!"

"Liking Liza IS geeky," Ray teased back. "And you are some kind of geek."

"Why am I letting you live here again?" Gerard asked, but he had a smile on his face.

"Because Marvel isn't paying you enough to make rent?" Ray replied.

Gerard actually scowled at that. "Oh. Right."

"You work for Marvel?" Patrick asked, surprised.

"As a fucking proofreader," Gerard said. "You're not living with any celebrities, trust me."

"I keep telling you, Gee, you should send that superhero thing to Dark Horse," Ray said, grabbing a box and carrying it into the apartment.

"And I keep telling YOU it's not ready yet!" Gerard replied, shaking his head.

"Whatever," Ray said. He turned back to Patrick. "Hey, we've gotta get moved in, but if you ever wanna jam, let me know." He smiled. And the strange thing was, when he smiled, so did Gerard.

"Awesome," Patrick replied. "I might take you up on that."

"We're going bowling," Greta said when she met Patrick in the mail room.

"What?" Patrick asked.

"Bowling. Us. Triple date," she explained. "Me and Gabe. Alex and Ryland. You and Victoria."

Patrick shook his head. "No. No, if there's anything I'm worse at than dating? It's sports."

"Bowling's not a sport," Greta defended. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"You have a very strange definition of fun!" Patrick argued. "Ryan said you were a sociopath, but I didn't realize how true it was!"

Greta sighed. "Look, Gabe's goldfish died and we need to cheer him up. So we're going bowling because he likes the funny shoes. You're coming along to spend time with Victoria."

And when she put it like that, Patrick realized, it was clear that he had no choice in the matter.

It turned out that bowling with Gabe really didn't qualify as a sport, but instead as some kind of crazy dance adventure. Patrick mentioned this to Victoria and she'd just laughed and said "Anything involving Gabe is some kind of crazy dance adventure."

They were seated on the uncomfortable plastic orange and red chairs at the bowling alley, watching Gabe try and seduce the ball into not going into the gutter by swinging his hips. When that failed, he let out a string of curses in Spanish...or at least what Patrick was assuming was a string of curses. He'd taken German in high school.

He'd managed to go most of the night without making a total fool out of himself. He wasn't bowling well, but neither were the others. Except for Greta, who seemed to have some kind of killing bowling instinct, andRyland , who actually seemed to know what he was doing. Mostly for Patrick that meant he could relax and talk to Victoria, rather than stress about looking manly.

"So you're a music student?" Victoria asked before taking a sip of her bottle of beer.

"Yeah," Patrick said, trying not to fixate on her mouth. "I do a lot of production."

"That's awesome," she said, smiling. Then, her face lit up. "Oh! OH!"

"What?! What?" Patrick asked, alarmed.

"Gabe needs somebody to do production for us!" she squealed. "Patrick, you should!"

"Nah, I..." Patrick looked at Gabe, who had come running when Victoria started squealing.

"Gabe!" she said. "Patrick can produce a few of our tracks! Help us out!"

"I don't have a studio!" Patrick argued.

"I have a basement!" Gabe said.

"That's not a studio!" Patrick argued.

"We'll work something out," Victoria promised. Then, pleading, "Please?"

Patrick sighed. "Fine. I'll help."

Gabe slapped him on the back. "I knew it. The Cobra said you would."

Patrick blinked, confused.

"The Cobra works in mysterious ways," Gabe taunted, before hissing.

Patrick was suddenly strangely okay with his new friends.

It was one of those crisp autumn nights when Patrick met up with other kid in the laundry room. He was wearing a pair of bright pink gym shorts and singing loudly. It took Patrick a second to place the song as "Hey Bulldog."

The kid finally looked over at Patrick and smiled. "Hey!" he said. "You're Patrick, right?"

Patrick looked at the boy and stifled a laugh. "Yeah. I think I saw you at Ryan's party a few weeks back?"

"Yep!" the kid said, excitedly. "I'm Brendon!" He closed the lid of the washing machine, popped a few quarters in, and then climbed on top of it. "I like the rumbling!" he explained.

Patrick went to the other washer and began pouring his whites into it. "So," Brendon asked, loudly, "how do you like it here?"

"I kinda love it," Patrick confessed. He finished loading the machine and measured his detergent, then started the wash. He turned to Brendon and smiled. "It's really nice."

"I like it, too," Brendon said. "I live up on two and it's pretty cool. Except when William throws a fit."

"Does he do that a lot?" Patrick asked. He wasn't normally one for gossip, but he had to admit he wanted to know what was going on with that kid.

Brendon thought. "William's...special. Not like SPECIAL special, but special. And he gets angry that other people don't see it the way he wants them to. But they see it in Ryan. And it didn't used to bother him. At least, until JON saw it in Ryan."

"Jon?" Patrick asked. He suddenly remembered the kid in the flip flops who'd been hanging on Ryan. "Jon and William are..."

"They never officially dated,' Brendon said. "Jon dated Tom, who was William's roommate for awhile. And then William and Tom had a fight and Tom and Jon broke up but stayed friends and then William moved on Jon, but Jon was already dating Ryan." Brendon took a deep breath. "And then I started crashing on their couch a lot."

"You...sleep on their couch?" Patrick repeated.

"They have a nice coffee table. I like waking up next to it," Brendon shrugged.

Patrick picked up his laundry basket and nodded. "Good to know," he said, trying to remain calm. "Good to know."

He finally worked up the guts to knock on Gerard and Ray's door that weekend. Ray answered and smiled widely. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing," Patrick said. He held up his Gibson SG. "Just, you said we could jam and..."

"Oh, awesome!" Ray gestured for Patrick to step inside. "Don't mind the mess, please. I'm still moving in."

Patrick sidestepped the numerous boxes and piles of art supplies as nimbly as he could. Ray led him into the living room and gestured. "I've got a spare amp around here, lemme grab it," he said. "Have a seat."

Patrick sat as suggested and waited. Sure enough, Ray soon returned with an amp. "Here," he said. "Not great quality, but it's something."

They both plugged in and tuned. After awhile, Ray began to strum a chord. Patrick listened for a bit, and then began to play, complimenting Ray's sound. The two continued on, improvising and building off each other. Ray was biting his lip a bit, Patrick noticed, at least, he noticed when he didn't have his eyes half closed in concentration.

Then, Patrick thought he heard a weird humming coming from his amp. He didn't pay attention at first, Ray had warned him it was a cheaper amp, but then he realized he was playing around the humming and it was probably screwing things up. He stopped, reached down to fix the amp, and then shook his head.

The humming was coming from Gerard, who was sitting in his small studio space in the corner of the nearby bedroom. He was humming something along with the guitar track, something that fit pretty much perfectly with Ray's chords.

"Gerard?" Patrick asked, carefully.

Gerard looked up suddenly from his drawings. "Huh? Oh, sorry."

Ray stopped, blinking in confusion. "What's..."

But Patrick was playing mad scientist. "Hey, Gerard, get out here and hum that again. Please?"

"Nah," Gerard said. "It's stupid."

"No, please," Patrick pleaded. "I want to hear."

"Fuck off," Gerard said, lightly. "It's nothing."

Ray's voice, softly, asked, "Please, Gee?"

Gerard finally stood up from his desk and came in to sit with them. "Fine," he said.

Ray started playing again, and this time Patrick held back and listened to Gerard's humming, his voice blending perfectly with Ray's guitar line. Finally, Patrick just stopped playing all together and listened to the two of them. It didn't take long until Ray was actually humming along at parts, harmonizing automatically with Gerard.

When they finished, Patrick was smiling widely at both of them. "Fucking amazing," he observed.

Ray was looking at Gerard in awe. "I didn't know..."

"I just hum. Sometimes. When you play," Gerard confessed, fidgeting a little. "It's nothing."

"It's AWESOME," Ray said. "Gee, we've gotta at least record this. Please."

"I'll let you two alone," Patrick said, standing up and collecting his things. He smiled as he did, listening to Gerard and Ray talk excitedly about the song they'd been sharing all along.

Pete stopped by in the middle of that week. "Did you call about your pipes?" he asked.

Patrick could barely meet his eyes as he said, "No. My pipes are fine."

"Oh," Pete said, sounding vaguely disappointed. "Well, if there's anything wrong with your pipes, you should call."

"I haven't had any problems," Patrick said, hurriedly. "This place is great."

"I like it," Pete said. "People here are pretty easy going, and it's a free place to stay. Decent money. Gives me time to write."

"You're a writer?" Patrick asked, intrigued. Somehow he wouldn't have placed this guy as the literary type.

"Nothing great," Pete laughed. "A little bit of prose. Some rambling poetry. My plan is to be like e. e. cummings, if e. e. cummings sucked."

Patrick laughed at that. "You ever let anyone read your stuff?"

"My friend Mikey, sometimes," Pete said. "He's Gerard's brother..."

Patrick's heart sank. "Yeah, Greta told me about Mikey," he said. It came out more sharp than he'd intended.

"Oh," Pete said, sounding deflated. "She did?"

"Yeah," Patrick said. "She did. It's no big deal. It's cool. She told me when she was setting up my first date with Victoria. Gabe's housemate?"

"Vicky-T?" Pete asked, surprised. "You're seeing her?"

"We've been out once or twice," Patrick said. And it was technically true. Once was once or twice.

"Ah," Pete said, suddenly dropping his eyes to the carpet. "Awesome. She's hot. Great legs."

"Yeah," Patrick agreed. "Very nice legs."

They stood like that for a little while longer before Pete finally said, "Well, if your pipes are fine, I'm gonna take off. Later."

"Later," Patrick said, watching Pete leave him again.

At least this time he didn't say anything about his ass. Somehow that didn't make him as happy as it should have.

It was still the first week of October when Patrick found a black and orange envelope taped to his apartment door. He ripped it open and found a meticulously hand drawn invitation, addressed to him, announcing that Gerard and Ray were throwing a Halloween Party. Actually, it was described as the "Way-Iero Annual Halloween Gala/Masked Ball." Patrick wasn't entirely sure how a "masked ball" was going to take place inside the tiny apartment that was about as clean as his was at any given time (his defense was usually "college student," but around here he didn't seem to NEED a defense), but if he'd learned anything living here the past few months, it was to just roll with it.

The bottom of the invitation read "Costumes demanded, or else Gerard will come to your apartment and drink your blood."

Patrick glanced over at Gerard and Ray's door and decided that this probably wasn't hyperbole.

"You should bring a date." Patrick jumped at the sound of Gerard's voice from behind him. He turned to see Gerard, clutching a Starbucks cup and half smiling.

"To your costume ball?" Patrick asked, teasing a little.

"Get it right, it's the Way-Iero costume ball," Gerard said, sipping at his coffee.

"Ah, sorry," Patrick thought about Ray and wondered if he was really more Italian than he looked. "So...how the hell are you going to fit a costume ball in there?" he pointed at Gerard and Ray's door.

"We normally use the entire building," Gerard explained. "Weather permitting we've got a nice set up on the roof. Otherwise we use the basement. Generally it cleans up pretty nice."

"Who's 'we?'" Patrick asked. "No offense, but I never see you talk to anybody."

Gerard laughed. "I bring in outside help. My friend Frank's birthday is on Halloween, so we normally throw him a big party. Pete insists we have it here, since he's got space and that way if anybody complains to the landlord, the landlord can deck them for it." He smiled wider, apparently at some extremely nice memory. "Anyway, you'll get to meet my friends Frank and Bob. Oh, and my brother. Mikey."

"Oh, Mikey," Patrick said, trying to control the venom in his voice. He mostly managed to. "Awesome."

"He's a good kid," Gerard said, sighing. "Rough luck in relationships in the past, but he's getting over it."

Patrick clenched his fist. "That's...good," he finally said.

"Oh, and Bob!" Gerard said excitedly. "You'll like Bob!"

"Why?" Patrick asked.

"He's a drummer," Gerard said with a knowing smirk. He lifted his coffee cup in salute. "I gotta get back to drawing. See you around. Oh, and Patrick?"

"Yeah?"

Gerard's grin turned predatory. "The costume threat is real. Try to be creative."

Wednesday saw Patrick waiting impatiently for Victoria at a coffee shop near campus. She'd promised to bring along her laptop with some of the stuff she and her housemates had been working on, in hopes that Patrick could finally help them piece it all together. Patrick sipped his mocha nervously, just wanting to get to the music part and his safe zone.

Victoria finally appeared, looking flushed and excited. "Patrick!" she cried, sitting down at the table with him and grinning. "Hi!"

"Hi!" Patrick said, a little taken aback. "You're happy."

"Yeah, I am!" Victoria was actually GIDDY, Patrick realized.

"Are you gonna tell me why? Or just make me guess?" Patrick asked, trying to flirt a little and knowing full well he was falling flat on his face.

Victoria giggled. "I just got an e-mail from a...friend. She's coming in for Halloween."

"Oh!" Patrick said. "That's great!"

"Her name's Maja," Victoria said, a dreamy look in her eye. "We met while I was doing semester abroad last year and she's just amazing, Patrick, you have no idea. She's really into crazy new wave music and yoga and she can drink Gabe under the table and..." she drifted off, smiling widely.

Patrick bit his lip and nodded. "So...your girlfriend is coming to visit."

Victoria looked at him and deflated a little. "Oh, Patrick, I'm so sorry...I thought you knew! Greta..."

"Didn't mention it," Patrick said.

Vicky-T leaned over and touched Patrick's hand lightly. "Patrick, I want you to know this is not the 'Let's just be friends' speech. Because you are genuinely one of my favorite people in the entire world. And you're going to make someone very happy someday. Because you're an amazing guy. And hell, if I wasn't so taken withMaja? I'd do you through the motherfucking earth, Patrick Stump."

Patrick blushed a little at that. "Um...thanks," he mumbled. "So...I guess asking you to Gerard's Halloween Gala..."

"I'm bringing Maja," Victoria confessed. Then, she got a look on her face that Patrick could only describe as naughty. "Why don't you bring BOTH of us?"

"What?" Patrick asked. "But...you're..."

Victoria nodded. "You should show up with both of us on your arms!" She pursed her lips in thought. "Yeah, she's coming in a little early. We're gonna take you out and get you a costume and the three of us will all go together, how's that?"

"Am I getting any afterwards?" Patrick asked, hopefully.

"Not from us, sweetie," Victoria said, giggling. "But you never know with the Halloween party. Trust me."

It was past midnight when the knock on the door shook Patrick out of his music induced trance. He shook his head, walked to the door and swung it open.

Pete was there waiting for him.

"Yeah?" Patrick asked. "Sorry, was I being too loud?"

"Nah," Pete said. "I...um...so...there's this party. For Halloween."

"Right, Gerard's," Patrick nodded.

"You're going?" Pete asked.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "Sounds like a blast."

"Oh," Pete said. "Well, I was just figuring...since you're going...and I mean, I really think you're pretty amazing with...stuff."

Patrick bit his lip. This was not happening. This was NOT fucking happening.

"So I as hoping...that you'd...um..." Pete looked him in the eye. "Would you help with the music? 'Cause we need a killer mix."

Patrick deflated. "Sure. Yeah, I'll...I'll throw something together."

"Great!" Pete said, smiling. "Just make sure there's some Misfits on there. Frank's a big fan."

"Awesome," Patrick tried to smile. "See you there, right?"

"Yeah," Pete said. "I'm going as a vampire. Got fangs and all...grrr," he pulled his lip up in a strange scowl. "What are you going as?"

Patrick answered without thinking. Pete's face fell. "Oh. Great. Um...later, then."

"A VAMPIRE HUNTER?" Victoria cried as she and Patrick waited outside for Maja's cab. "How the hell do you expect to pull that off?"

"I don't know! It was just the best answer I had at the time!" Patrick put his head in his hands.

"Geeze, do you get this flustered with EVERY guy you have a crush on?" Victoria demanded.

"What?" Patrick cried, flailing a little.

"You LIKE Pete. Greta told me," Victoria shook her head. "That's why she rented me to you for awhile. So Pete would get jealous."

Patrick's eyes went wide. "She did WHAT?"

"Greta's kind of a sociopath," Victoria shrugged.

Suddenly, a bright yellow cab pulled up to the sidewalk. Victoria jump to her feet. "SHE'S HERE!" she yelled.

The woman who stepped out of the cab was tiny, with blonde hair falling to her shoulders. However, the strength she exuded while pulling her suitcase from the trunk was enough to make Patrick sure this woman could kick his ass if she wanted to.

Victoria ran to her, throwing her arms around the other girl and laughing. "You made it!"

The blonde kissed her lightly and smiled. "Of course I did," she answered, her voice accented. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"And this is Patrick," Victoria indicated him. "He's my favorite person in the world. Next to you."

Patrick waved shyly. "Hi."

Maja looked him over, then looked at Victoria and nodded. "I can live with that."

The thrift shop Victoria hauled them to had some great stuff. She and Maja were running around giggling, pulling out dresses and rejecting them.

"What are you two going as?" Patrick asked, looking at racks of men's clothing and scowling a little.

"Hmmm..." Maja looked thoughtful. "If you're going as a vampire hunter...maybe we should go as your prey?"

"We're hardly his prey, dear," Victoria giggled. Then, she reached out to the rack beside Patrick and pulled out a hanger. "Patrick, try this on."

Patrick eyed the jacket warily, but sighed and pulled it on.

It fight perfectly. Both Victoria and Maja nodded in agreement as they looked him over. "It's a start," Maja agreed.

Patrick turned to look in the mirror. "Oh, hey," he said.

"Definitely vampire hunter wear," Victoria grinned. "We can totally accessorize around it, too!"

"Are we finally going to get you out of that hat?" Maja asked, standing behind Patrick.

Patrick smiled and shook his head. "Nope. This is just an excuse to buy a new one." He glanced over at a military style hat hanging near the mirror.

"You need excuses?" Maja asked, reaching for the hat and perching it on Patrick's head. "Silly boy, we have so much to teach you."

"Perfect," Victoria said as Patrick pulled on the red fingerless gloves. "You look perfect."

She was done up in all white, including a pair of white go-go boots, with silver glitter on her face and a halo. Maja was in red, and had painted tribal patterns on her face, then finished it all off with a pair of shimmering red horns. Patrick had asked how that fit with his costume and Victoria had rolled her eyes. "You're going to catch a vampire, Patrick. We don't matter."

The three of them left his room as a group, sticking together since the hallway lights were off. The only light being cast was from the fake candles set along the way. Gerard and Ray's door was wide open and the sounds of Patrick's mix were already booming out into the hallway.

"You made it!" Gerard said. At least, Patrick was pretty sure it was Gerard. He was done up in a black marching band outfit and had at some point in the past day chopped all of his hair off and bleached it.

"Gerard?" Patrick asked.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Ray appeared behind Gerard, putting his arms around the smaller man's waist and hugging him tight. Ray was wearing a similar costume, but the cut and the design of his jacket were completely different.

"But not bad!" Victoria supplied. "What are you guys supposed to be?"

"We're The Black Parade," Gerard supplied. "Well, two of the members, at least."

"It's from some story Gerard's working on," Ray explained.

"Another comic?" Patrick asked, excited.

"Nah," Gerard said, a little sheepish. "This is actually bigger than that. It's about life and death and confronting your fears. And death comes for you in whatever form you expect and sometimes it's this morbid marching band that helps celebrate your entire life. I don't see it being a comic. I see it being something else..."

Ray beamed at Patrick. "He designed our costumes. And Mikey, Frank and Bob's, too."

"They're awesome," Patrick said, smiling. "Where's everyone else?"

"Probably the basement," Gerard said. "Gonna be too cold for a roof party."

"We'll head down there, then," Maja took Patrick's hand and began to lead him away. "And we'll take our big strong vampire hunter to protect us."

"We'll be down in a bit," Ray promised.

"See you," Patrick said, before letting the girls drag him off.

The first thing Patrick saw in the basement was Brendon's hat.

It was a top hat, and it went perfectly with his ringmaster costume. But it definitely stood out in the crowd downstairs.

"Patrick!" Brendon cried, running towards him. "You look awesome!"

"Thanks!" Patrick laughed. "I like your hat."

"Isn't it great?" Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon's shoulders. Ryan was dressed like some sort of strange Victorian Hobo. "We're going with quasi-erotic Victoria Circus tonight." Ryan's eyes were swirled with eyeliner that Patrick was sure had to have taken hours to do.

"I'm in shoes," Jon pouted, joining them. His outfit was far less complex than the others, but he was still in a ruffled shirt and had some eye make up on.

"Heaven forbid," Spencer rolled his eyes and leaned into the group. "You have to wear shoes for one whole night of your life."

Ryan kissed Spencer on the cheek. "Leave him alone. This is a big sacrifice and he'll be rewarded for it later."

Jon looked at Ryan and mischeiviously added "I'm also in eyeliner."

"So am I!" Spencer interjected.

"Look, everybody gets rewarded," Ryan promised.

A cry of "Patrick!" interrupted the conversation. Patrick turned to see Greta, dressed in a short red dressed covered in fringe, on the arm of Gabe, who was in a very loud purplezoot suit.

"Hey, Greta. Gabe," Patrick smiled at them. "You both look great."

"So do all of you!" Greta hugged Patrick and then looked at Maja and Victoria. "Wow. Great costumes!"

"Thanks," Patrick half smirked at Greta. "I think Victoria and her GIRLFRIEND look fantastic."

Greta shook her head. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." She looked around the party and then pouted a little. "Mostly."

Patrick followed her gaze, not really knowing why since what she was looking for clearly wasn't there. However, he did see something that HE was interested in.

"I'll be back," he promised the group, and headed for the punch bowl.

A blond man in one of Gerard's Black Parade costumes, his jacket longer and featuring a more intricate collar, was ladling some punch into a cup. "Hi," Patrick said, a little shaky.

The guy looked at him and Patrick's heart jumped a little at the sight of his lip ring. "Hey," the guy said. "You must be Patrick."

"How'd you know?" Patrick asked, a little too quickly.

"You're the only one I haven't seen before. Gee told me you'd be here," he raised his cup. "I'm Bob."

"The drummer," Patrick said.

Bob smiled and Patrick melted a little. "Yeah," Bob said. "I'm the drummer."

"I drum too," Patrick said. He leaned in closer under the guise of continuing the conversation, but really he just wanted to know if Bob's eyes really WERE that color.

"Ray said you played guitar." Bob sipped at his punch.

"I do that, too," Patrick confessed.

"You're some kinda musical genius then, huh?" Bob asked.

"Nah, just really like it," Patrick said.

"Cool," Bob said. He glanced at the stairs. "Hold on, gotta say 'hi' to the birthday boy."

Patrick followed Bob's gaze to where three people were coming down the stairs. Two were in Black Parade costumes and the third...

...Pete had worn a red hoodie and camouflaged pants, which somehow he strangely made work. But what disturbed Patrick even more was that the fangs he had on looked natural. Disturbingly so.

"Come on," Bob said, pulling Patrick along as he walked toward the trio.

Pete looked at Patrick and smirked a little. "Hunter?" he asked.

"Vampire," Patrick nodded.

"Frank!" said the shorter of the Black Parade marchers. He beamed.

"Dork," Bob said. "This is Patrick. Patrick, Frank. It's his birthday."

"Hi, Frank," Patrick said, smiling at the guy. Then his eyes caught the tall, thin, dark eyed boy he and Pete had come in with.

"And that's Mikey, Gerard's brother," Bob said.

Yeah, it figured.

"Hi," Patrick said, not quite able to meet Mikey's eyes.

"Hi," Mikey said, shortly. Patrick didn't quite blame him. Pete had probably told him about the whole "applebottom" incident. He was probably lucky Mikey wasn't laughing at him.

Bob snorted. "Riveting conversation guys. But if you don't mind, I'm stealing Patrick. We were talking."

"Talking?" Frank asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Talking, Frankie," Bob said. "With mouths and noises coming out of them in a sophisticated series of grunts."

Pete looked at Patrick, and if Patrick didn't know better he'd think Pete was HURT. But how could he be hurt? He was the one with the gorgeous boyfriend.

"Yeah," Patrick said, looking directly at Pete. "We were talking about music."

"I wanna hear some of your stuff someday," Pete said. "I bet it's fantastic."

"Maybe," Patrick said.

"Come on, let's go," Bob said, glaring at Pete a little. "We should talk more."

About two hours later, Patrick made a shocking discovery.

Kissing Bob was his new favorite activity.

Patrick hadn't really kissed somebody with a lip ring before, but it was amazing. Bob let him tug on it with his teeth and he groaned, pressing against Patrick and holding onto him with extremely sure hands. By the time they got to the bed, Patrick was minus his jacket and shirt and strangely unselfconscious.

"You're a drummer?" Patrick asked Bob, his speech a little slurred.

"Yeah," Bob answered, smiling.

"Let's see your rhythm," Patrick laughed to himself.

The next morning he was pretty sure that may have been lamer than the applebottom line. But this time, he couldn't totally feel embarassed when he woke up next to Bob. Instead, he snuggled in closer and smiled when Bob muttered a little under his breath.

"You got some," was the first thing Victoria said to him when they met up a few days later on campus.

"Hi Vicky-T, it's nice to see you, too," Patrick replied. Then, with a huge smile, he said, "Yeah. I got some."

"Everyone's happy for you," she said. "Well, pretty much everybody. I think Travie was a little jealous."

"Jealous? Really?" Patrick asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah," Victoria explained. "He's been planning to try and hit that for months."

"He's barely spoken to me!" Patrick exclaimed.

"He's a smooth operator," Victoria shrugged. "He wants to have his whole plan laid out before he goes after you. Plus he kept getting distracted by Bill throwing fits."

"Yeah, I can see that being distracting," Patrick said, thinking back to his few brief run ins with William Beckett.

Victoria waited for a few moments before saying, "Pete was pretty upset, too."

Patrick grunted. "He had no room to be."

"I think he's pretty protective of you," Victoria confessed. "Pete gets like that."

"Well, Pete can deal," Patrick snapped. He stormed off, pulling his hat further down over his face.

Bob was waiting for him after his last class, carrying a caramel apple cider and shaking his head. "You're late."

Patrick took the cup from him and glared, but he was smirking. "Midterms suck, dude."

"Yeah, I remember," Bob said. Since they'd hooked up at Frank's party, Patrick had learned that Bob had majored in music, and now worked as a DJ. He'd also learned he was a cat person, hated cameras, and had a spot between his shoulder blades that he loved to have kissed lightly when they were laying in bed. It'd only been a week and a half, but it had been amazing so far.

"Almost over, though," Patrick said, sighing. "And then Thanksgiving break."

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Bob asked.

"Probably going back home to my mom's," Patrick said, shrugging. "Typical turkey and family infighting. You?"

"I'm staying in town," Bob said. "I've gotta DJ a party Friday night. But Gee and Mikey's folks live nearby, and they tend to insist I not spend the day alone."

"Oh," Patrick said. "That's nice of them." He left out his suspicions about where Pete would be spending Thanksgiving. Besides, he didn't really care. Pete wasn't his problem.

"Yeah. It oughta be interesting this year. I think Gee's bringing Ray to dinner. And Mikey'll almost definitely be bringing Frank." Bob shook his head fondly.

"Mikey's bringing...Frank?" Patrick asked, confused.

"Yeah," Bob said. "You didn't realize they were together? What did you think they meant by the Way-Iero Halloween Gala or whatever the fuck they called it?"

Patrick paled. Which was saying something, since he was already naturally pale. "They're a couple?"

"Have been since last year when Pete and Mikey split," Bob said. "It was a nasty break up at first, but now Pete and Mikey are really close again. Practically best friends."

Patrick stopped short. "They're..."

Bob laughed. "Yeah. So you've still got a shot at Pete."

Patrick's jaw dropped. "I...but you're..."

"Hey, I'm not giving up without a fight!" Bob insisted. "I like you. You're pretty fucking amazing. And if Wentz is too stupid to make a move on you? I won't be blamed for keeping you to myself for now."

Patrick shut his mouth and then smiled. "Okay," he confessed. "I can live with that."

"Awesome," Bob said. "Now, if I could just get you to clean your fucking apartment now and then..."

"You're a fucking genius, man," Gabe said. He listened to more of the demo song Patrick was playing him. "Fucking GENIUS."

"We can play with it, if you want," Patrick said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "But I really wanted to play up certain things. And you mentioned the vibe you wanted it to have."

Ryland leaned over and kissed the top of Patrick's hat. "It's amazing," he said. "I'm amazed."

They were crowded on Gabe's couch, listening to what Patrick had been working on. All of them, minus Nate, who had begged off to go "take care of something."

"I like it," Alex practically bounced. "The bass line is sweet."

Patrick was about to answer when there was a crashing noise from upstairs. Gabe's eyes went wide and he jumped off the couch, running and nearly tripping half way up.

"FUCK SHIT!" he cried. "NATE, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

"HE JUMPED!" Nate's voice replied. Two seconds later he was running down the stairs, bolting towards the others and ducking behind Victoria in fear.

"YOU LITTLE FUCKER!" Gabe yelled. "YOU KILLED MONTY THE FIFTH!"

"Yeah, I killed your fucking goldfish!" Nate yelled, defiantly. "I killed every one of them! And if you get a new one? I'll kill that one, too!"

Victoria turned and glared at Nate. "You've been killing Gabe's goldfish? ALL of them?"

Nate ducked further behind her and tried to put on a pleading face.

"THEY MEANT EVERYTHING TO ME!" Gabe yelled. "YOU ARE GOING TO THE BASEMENT!"

Nate suddenly looked terrified. "Gabe, COME ON! I'll get you a new goldfish!"

"NOTHING can replace Monty!" Gabe shook his head.

"TWO goldfish! And a little castle for them to play in!" Nate pleaded.

Gabe stopped, thought, and then nodded. "Done and done. Now, we've got a fish to clean up." He headed back up stairs, whistling merrily as he did.

Victoria rolled her eyes, walked to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, and picked several pennies out of a bowl. "Just don't touch my fucking soap," she threatened.

Patrick was occasionally alarmed at what his friends considered "normal."

Thanksgiving came and went with the trip home and the awkward dinner with questions about "Have you met a nice girl yet?" and "So, are you still doing that music thing?" And Patrick was relieved to get back to his apartment and collapse into his cheap couch and contemplate ordering Chinese food.

The Monday after Thanksgiving, Patrick found an envelope in his mailbox with a cheery snowflake and snowman pattern on it. He grinned as he opened it, even if he wasn't sure what was waiting inside.

It turned out to be a letter from an anonymous housemate (Patrick was pretty sure it was Brendon, just from the tone) announcing the annual "Secret Santa" exchange in the building. And no, it wasn't really a Christmas thing, more a holiday thing, because holidays and gift giving are awesome no matter what religion you are, if you're even religious and we really hope nobody is offended by Christmas carols because they're just plain cool.

Yeah, definitely Brendon.

Patrick unfolded the strip of red paper and instantly felt his shoulders sag. The name, written in gold ink, was "William Beckett."

Patrick wondered what exactly you were supposed to get for an angry and misunderstood poet who was in love with someone he couldn't have. Books and movies made him think what they normally got was consumption. Patrick was pretty sure that was a shitty gift all around.

He looked around the mailroom, thinking that the answer might be there. And sure enough, it was. Scrawled on a mailbox.

"Jon Walker."

"Can we talk?" Patrick asked Jon.

Jon shook his head and blinked. "Yeah, of course we can," he said, amiably.

"Okay," Patrick said, taking a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about William."

Jon smiled. "You got him in Secret Santa, didn't you?"

"Uh..." Patrick replied, realizing that he might as well have screamed "YES! AND THERE'S A HOLE IN MY UNDERWEAR."

"It's okay," Jon said. "Everybody tends to come to me about him every year. And every year I tell them the same thing. The man likes his booze."

"Yeah, I got that," Patrick said. "But I kinda want to get him something...better?"

Jon sighed. "Okay. Look, William's...bad at relationships. Which is putting it lightly. But he's a GOOD guy and he deserves somebody who'll take care of him."

"Everybody does," Patrick agreed.

"He needs to be reassured that somebody would go to an effort to be his friend," Jon said. "He's afraid of everyone leaving him."

Patrick thought for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "I can do that."

Part Two