Problem, Fall Out Boy
Title: Problem
Author: becomingblurred/Donner
Pairing: Light Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 503
Rating: PG-13 for the behavoirs displayed
Summary: Patrick nearly brings himself to do something that could damage everything he's built up for himself. Anti-Eating Disorder fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fall Out Boy. This is fiction. Title from Sex Pistols.
Author’s Note: This is, in a sense, a way for me to vent about some things that have happened between people I know, people I idolize, and people I just wish would get over themselves and stop being so foolish. Thank you very much to niahmas for content beta-ing.
Warnings: Messes with bulimia, mentions "emorexia", Rolling Stone articles, and slight redeeming qualities.
Problem
By Donna
“Everybody’s got a problem,” Patrick reasoned with himself, looking at the mirror across the room. He shuffled toward the toilet and looked down at it. “Does this even work?” he asked himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s gotta hurt... I mean... God.”
He shook as he bent down on his knees. “Maybe I should wash my hands or something.” He stood back up, padding his way to the sink. He turned on the water, his hands slowly turning the faucet. He washed his hands slowly, saying the alphabet and everything. He turned off the faucet, shaking his hands. He wiped them with a towel and resumed to his position kneeling in front of the toilet. “C’mon, Patrick, you can do this,” he told himself, “It’s easy.” He wondered if any of Pete’s “crew” ever did something like this, or he was just doing something entirely foolish.
He silenced his thoughts by shoving his finger gun-style in his mouth. He turned it to fit better, stopping half-way. He thought back to Pete’s “problem” and how angry he felt, deep down, of course, not saying it out loud. He didn’t like the idea of having to hold up the band in the way he had to. He hated having to be alone, but it seemed that the older he got the more time he had alone to himself, and it wasn’t the good kind.
He thought about their friends, and how a lot of people wouldn’t have given him a second glance if not for Pete. At times he despised the attention (preferring the “alone” part of his life), but other times... he had to admit that he wanted it. Contrary to Pete’s mumblings of, “You’re an angel” into his neck, he was human and at times wanted to be acknowledged. He wanted to outshine everyone, but not in a pretentious way. Naturally, in the Pete way. Patrick looked down at the hand that currently connected to his mouth. Maybe this was cheating the whole “natural” thing, but he was determined. He already deduced that William and Ryan had to have done something like this (they were much too skinny anyway), and Rolling Stone already theorized they did. They might as well add another to their theory...
Patrick shoved his finger farther, his body already trying to curl up, doing anything but screaming at him. Someone entered the house.
“Patrick! I’m home! Where are you?”
Patrick’s finger fell limply from his mouth. He looked at his reflection in the toilet bowl, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well, that was selfish,” he whispered, wiping his finger on his jeans. He got up slowly looking at the mirror. “Yeah, I have a problem,” he admitted to himself, “but that was just plain stupid.”
“Patrick!”
Patrick walked to the door and opened it. “I’m up here, Pete!” He bit his lip, walking into the hallway. “Hey, Pete, let’s go do push-ups or something. We’re gonna tour soon.”
END
Author: becomingblurred/Donner
Pairing: Light Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 503
Rating: PG-13 for the behavoirs displayed
Summary: Patrick nearly brings himself to do something that could damage everything he's built up for himself. Anti-Eating Disorder fic.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fall Out Boy. This is fiction. Title from Sex Pistols.
Author’s Note: This is, in a sense, a way for me to vent about some things that have happened between people I know, people I idolize, and people I just wish would get over themselves and stop being so foolish. Thank you very much to niahmas for content beta-ing.
Warnings: Messes with bulimia, mentions "emorexia", Rolling Stone articles, and slight redeeming qualities.
Problem
By Donna
“Everybody’s got a problem,” Patrick reasoned with himself, looking at the mirror across the room. He shuffled toward the toilet and looked down at it. “Does this even work?” he asked himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s gotta hurt... I mean... God.”
He shook as he bent down on his knees. “Maybe I should wash my hands or something.” He stood back up, padding his way to the sink. He turned on the water, his hands slowly turning the faucet. He washed his hands slowly, saying the alphabet and everything. He turned off the faucet, shaking his hands. He wiped them with a towel and resumed to his position kneeling in front of the toilet. “C’mon, Patrick, you can do this,” he told himself, “It’s easy.” He wondered if any of Pete’s “crew” ever did something like this, or he was just doing something entirely foolish.
He silenced his thoughts by shoving his finger gun-style in his mouth. He turned it to fit better, stopping half-way. He thought back to Pete’s “problem” and how angry he felt, deep down, of course, not saying it out loud. He didn’t like the idea of having to hold up the band in the way he had to. He hated having to be alone, but it seemed that the older he got the more time he had alone to himself, and it wasn’t the good kind.
He thought about their friends, and how a lot of people wouldn’t have given him a second glance if not for Pete. At times he despised the attention (preferring the “alone” part of his life), but other times... he had to admit that he wanted it. Contrary to Pete’s mumblings of, “You’re an angel” into his neck, he was human and at times wanted to be acknowledged. He wanted to outshine everyone, but not in a pretentious way. Naturally, in the Pete way. Patrick looked down at the hand that currently connected to his mouth. Maybe this was cheating the whole “natural” thing, but he was determined. He already deduced that William and Ryan had to have done something like this (they were much too skinny anyway), and Rolling Stone already theorized they did. They might as well add another to their theory...
Patrick shoved his finger farther, his body already trying to curl up, doing anything but screaming at him. Someone entered the house.
“Patrick! I’m home! Where are you?”
Patrick’s finger fell limply from his mouth. He looked at his reflection in the toilet bowl, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well, that was selfish,” he whispered, wiping his finger on his jeans. He got up slowly looking at the mirror. “Yeah, I have a problem,” he admitted to himself, “but that was just plain stupid.”
“Patrick!”
Patrick walked to the door and opened it. “I’m up here, Pete!” He bit his lip, walking into the hallway. “Hey, Pete, let’s go do push-ups or something. We’re gonna tour soon.”
END