dude, i don't know either
Okay, I'm just going to throw this out there, it's probably been discussed to death already, but...
Pete Wentz wanted to be a lawyer.
Some of you would know better than me, I've never seen him mention career plans other than being in a band, but I'm not up on all the interviews. But I think he was thinking 'law school'.
His dad's a lawyer and he was a PoliSci major. You know what PoliSci majors do? They go to law school. Seriously, everyone I've ever know who was in PoliSci was pre-law. Then tonight I read this interview where he talks about doing volunteer legal work. IDK, you guys. I'd bet money that at some point in his college career, he was envisioning "Pete Wentz, Esq.".
It makes me want fic where Pete's a lawyer and Patrick is his brilliant young intern.
And Patrick works late all the time helping Pete write briefs and shit, and there's a courtroom scene, and Pete's a jackass who flashes his money around and drives a Benz, and Patrick's *serious about the law* and he kind of hates Pete (right up until he looooves him). But then Patrick finds out Pete spends his free time doing interesting pro bono work (because Pete totally would) with, like, immigrants seeking asylum in the US. And they totally start to trust each other.
BUT! But then, Patrick hears about this case where this illegal immigrant was being treated horribly by the mega-corporation that she worked for, and when she fought for minimum wage and, like, a lunch break, they reported her to immigration. And he begs Pete to take her case. But Pete can't take the case because the evil mega-corporation is one of his firm's biggest clients, and it would be a conflict of interest. Huge fight! Tons of angst! Patrick yells a lot and he calls Pete despicable, with his money and his stupid cars and his expensive suits, and Pete says that Patrick is naive and foolish. And Patrick packs up the tiny closet office where they stick the interns, and he goes home to his miserable little student apartment.
And Pete goes back to his huge penthouse apartment and he looks at his walk-in closet that's bigger than Patrick's studio apartment, and he remembers helping Patrick carry books and file boxes up to that little apartment, and how Patrick had, like, Indian tapestries up on the walls for decoration but also to keep the drafts out, and how he had books everywhere and the only seating that would fit were beanbag chairs that he could store in the closet and his tiny futon that doubles as his bed. And Pete remembers how in college he had "Free Mumia" posters up, and he has a really expensive dinner delivered from a swanky restaurant, but all he wants is to be sitting on Patrick's futon eating frozen dinners off of tv trays.
And Patrick lies on the futon that night and looks out the window that faces the fire escape of the building next door, and he remembers the last pro bono case he'd worked with Pete, this woman who took her kids and fled an abusive husband in Bangladesh, and how Pete let the little girl teach him this weird version of jacks and how he taught the little boy how to make fart noises under his armpit in between depositions.
And of course the next day Pete shows up at Patrick's apartment on campus, he tracks Patrick down in the law library, and he pulls him out of his study group and he says. He says "I quit the firm."
And Patrick says, kind of exasperated, but fond, too "No, you didn't."
Pete is sheepish. "No, I didn't, but I will. I can go work for, like, the American Immigration Law Foundation or something. Patrick..." and he kind of trails off. "Patrick," pleadingly.
Patrick says "You can't quit. Not because of me. Not--you do a lot Pete. You do a lot of good already, and I shouldn't have made you feel like--like you aren't good enough. All those people that you've helped, you make a difference to them." And Patrick looks down and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You've made a difference to me," he says softly.
And Pete says "I will, though. Quit. If you want. I'll burn my suits, we can have a bonfire, I'll--I'll sell the Benz. Just, Patrick--" and he'll touch Patrick's wrist, grab his hand and pull it towards his chest. "You make a difference to me, too."
And Patrick says "You *can* sell the Benz, that thing is fucking tacky," but his voice is shaky. And Pete laughs and says "Okay. Okay." And he pulls Patrick forward, and the hand that isn't holding Patrick's hand goes to Patrick's shoulder, his neck, and then he's kissing Patrick.
Patrick says "Pete," against his mouth, and he touches Pete's face with one hand, sliding his hand from Pete's cheek to the little wrinkles at the corner of his eye, and he can feel it when Pete smiles into the kiss, against his lips and under his fingers.
The end? Um, possibly I got a little but carried away there, but...you get the picture.
Pete Wentz wanted to be a lawyer.
Some of you would know better than me, I've never seen him mention career plans other than being in a band, but I'm not up on all the interviews. But I think he was thinking 'law school'.
His dad's a lawyer and he was a PoliSci major. You know what PoliSci majors do? They go to law school. Seriously, everyone I've ever know who was in PoliSci was pre-law. Then tonight I read this interview where he talks about doing volunteer legal work. IDK, you guys. I'd bet money that at some point in his college career, he was envisioning "Pete Wentz, Esq.".
It makes me want fic where Pete's a lawyer and Patrick is his brilliant young intern.
And Patrick works late all the time helping Pete write briefs and shit, and there's a courtroom scene, and Pete's a jackass who flashes his money around and drives a Benz, and Patrick's *serious about the law* and he kind of hates Pete (right up until he looooves him). But then Patrick finds out Pete spends his free time doing interesting pro bono work (because Pete totally would) with, like, immigrants seeking asylum in the US. And they totally start to trust each other.
BUT! But then, Patrick hears about this case where this illegal immigrant was being treated horribly by the mega-corporation that she worked for, and when she fought for minimum wage and, like, a lunch break, they reported her to immigration. And he begs Pete to take her case. But Pete can't take the case because the evil mega-corporation is one of his firm's biggest clients, and it would be a conflict of interest. Huge fight! Tons of angst! Patrick yells a lot and he calls Pete despicable, with his money and his stupid cars and his expensive suits, and Pete says that Patrick is naive and foolish. And Patrick packs up the tiny closet office where they stick the interns, and he goes home to his miserable little student apartment.
And Pete goes back to his huge penthouse apartment and he looks at his walk-in closet that's bigger than Patrick's studio apartment, and he remembers helping Patrick carry books and file boxes up to that little apartment, and how Patrick had, like, Indian tapestries up on the walls for decoration but also to keep the drafts out, and how he had books everywhere and the only seating that would fit were beanbag chairs that he could store in the closet and his tiny futon that doubles as his bed. And Pete remembers how in college he had "Free Mumia" posters up, and he has a really expensive dinner delivered from a swanky restaurant, but all he wants is to be sitting on Patrick's futon eating frozen dinners off of tv trays.
And Patrick lies on the futon that night and looks out the window that faces the fire escape of the building next door, and he remembers the last pro bono case he'd worked with Pete, this woman who took her kids and fled an abusive husband in Bangladesh, and how Pete let the little girl teach him this weird version of jacks and how he taught the little boy how to make fart noises under his armpit in between depositions.
And of course the next day Pete shows up at Patrick's apartment on campus, he tracks Patrick down in the law library, and he pulls him out of his study group and he says. He says "I quit the firm."
And Patrick says, kind of exasperated, but fond, too "No, you didn't."
Pete is sheepish. "No, I didn't, but I will. I can go work for, like, the American Immigration Law Foundation or something. Patrick..." and he kind of trails off. "Patrick," pleadingly.
Patrick says "You can't quit. Not because of me. Not--you do a lot Pete. You do a lot of good already, and I shouldn't have made you feel like--like you aren't good enough. All those people that you've helped, you make a difference to them." And Patrick looks down and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "You've made a difference to me," he says softly.
And Pete says "I will, though. Quit. If you want. I'll burn my suits, we can have a bonfire, I'll--I'll sell the Benz. Just, Patrick--" and he'll touch Patrick's wrist, grab his hand and pull it towards his chest. "You make a difference to me, too."
And Patrick says "You *can* sell the Benz, that thing is fucking tacky," but his voice is shaky. And Pete laughs and says "Okay. Okay." And he pulls Patrick forward, and the hand that isn't holding Patrick's hand goes to Patrick's shoulder, his neck, and then he's kissing Patrick.
Patrick says "Pete," against his mouth, and he touches Pete's face with one hand, sliding his hand from Pete's cheek to the little wrinkles at the corner of his eye, and he can feel it when Pete smiles into the kiss, against his lips and under his fingers.
The end? Um, possibly I got a little but carried away there, but...you get the picture.