Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong. [Standalone/Sequal.]
Title: Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong.
Author: lithiumreactant previously lmaoxatxanimal
Pairing: Patrick Stump / Peter Wentz
Rating: PG-13 [ Crude language ]
POV: Third. Peter-centric.
Word Count: 1,641.
Summary: It was the same reason Peter counted the amount of red M&Ms in a bag. Anything below seven was a bad day, seven or eight meant and average day, and anything above eight meant it was going to be a good day. Everyone had their fortune tellers, Peter’s just happened to melt in your mouth and not in your hand.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the bands mentioned in this fictional story, however I am always looking for good rent prices.
Author Note: This fic is the sequal to The Exceptions To Every Kind of Rule and mildy educational, I apologize, but the fact is I have this obsession with chemistry and the human race [only together, kill me when they're apart]. The fic is also very heavy with the parentheses [], because I like it that way. Enjoy.
Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong
[ + Standalone+ ]
+| Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong |+
Patrick is magnetic. There is really no other way to put it. In the middle of a crowded room the blind could find him because people are just drawn to him. He glows. Patrick is the positively charged ion in the middle of neutral human race.
Cue PatrickandPeter [alphabetically, of course], because Peter is the epitome of a negatively charged ion and thus it is only so fitting that the positive and negative ion bump into each other and say; [What the fuck are you wearing? You’re kidding me with the socks, right?] Let’s be friends and create something so dynamic and so… just so.
Granted Peter is so sick of the just so but there is comfort when Patrick is in the middle of the just so. There’s always comfort when Patrick is anywhere and sometimes that infuriates Peter because why couldn’t he be magnetic in the kind of way that doesn’t leave the masses perched out their windows spilling bile from their insides and onto the ground where the surface becomes toxic and Peter swears that sometimes his feet can’t even touch the ground because a little bit of him disintegrates knowing he’s the reason some girl is throwing up.
But not Patrick. No, not ever Patrick. Contrary to the Peter effect, Patrick is the voice that the tormented hit play for. Peter is the disease and Patrick is the cure.
And the last straw to make Peter absolutely loathe Patrick because goddammit he was never supposed to have a cure. He was supposed to be the one disease that would never have a cure because he was just that sick and no one could save him. If he couldn’t be saved he couldn’t be responsible and his friends would just have to shake their head and say: “Yeah, it’s Peter. We don’t know how long he’s gonna last. It’s a miracle he’s made it this long.” But no, Patrick made him feel better and worse he cured him and now Peter didn’t want to feel sick but he just did it because he didn’t know how to manage.
One day Peter made some crack about how he was the Hydrogen of the human race and how he was this chemical that just wouldn’t react with the rest of the other chemicals and-
Patrick laughed.
“Pete, Hydrogen bonds with like everything. Hello? Water? Two Hydrogens per one Oxygen? Obviously it bonds, doesn’t it?”
So Peter crawled into his bunk and wouldn’t talk to anyone for two entire days because it was heartbreaking to find out that he was wrong and that he wasn’t anything close to Hydrogen. Patrick was like Hydrogen because he was so fucking magnetic and everyone wanted to be friends with him.
Fucking Patrick. Mother fucking Patrick Stump-
“Who the fuck drank the last diet coke?”
Peter just finished it and taking the blame for some aluminum [fucking chemical] can wasn’t on his to-do list for the day, so he leaned out of his bunk and threw the empty can into Joe’s bunk where approximately seventy-three minutes later Andy found it and the Epic Diet Coke Battle of 2007 began and all Peter could think was: at least it isn’t me.
And he decides that this is just another reason why he’s going to hell in the after life [“I swear to God I didn’t drink it! I haven’t drank one of those for a week! I don’t know how it got in there- Hey! Get the fuck off my hair!”].
Cue Patrick sitting across from Pete shaking his head, but not saying a word besides: “Sorry, man. It was me. I thought there were more in there. I was aiming for Pete’s bunk and missed. I’ll buy a new case when we get to the next stop.”
And just like that the war is over [with a “You’re lucky I know you can’t throw for shit, Stump”] and Peter couldn’t help but think that was a little less epic than what he was hoping for.
Patrick is Hydrogen, the cure, the magnet and the white flag,
And Peter hates himself because he can’t hate Patrick, simply because he swears that the best parts about him are the parts that he’s buried deep inside Patrick.
The whole Hydrogen thing is the most upsetting part though, because if he isn’t Hydrogen, what is he?
Via Sidekick [the clicker, not Patrick] Peter is surfing the periodic table [he’s not going to be a fool like last time] and debating what chemical he is. Why? Because chemicals are important and in a chemical world it would only make sense that every single person was a certain type of reaction. That’s what love was, wasn’t it? When two different people [chemicals] met [reacted] various types of relationships [solutions] were formed.
It just made sense, honestly. It was the same reason Peter counted the amount of red M&Ms in a bag. Anything below seven was a bad day, seven or eight meant and average day, and anything above eight meant it was going to be a good day.
Everyone had their fortune tellers, Peter’s just happened to melt in your mouth and not in your hand.
So chemicals made sense. After all, weren’t M&Ms just a chemical candy and weren’t humans just the chemical make up of water [35 liters], Carbon [25kg], Ammonia [4 liters], Lime [1.5kg], Phosphorus [800g], Salt [250g], Saltpeter [100g], Sulfur [80g], Fluorine [2.5g], Iron [5g], Silicon [3g], and fifteen other trace elements?
Peter swears that he himself has a bit of formaldehyde running through his veins [he’s excessively disappointed when he later finds out that formaldehyde is also a human byproduct].
Retrace.
Rewind.
Off-track.
Oops.
Via Sidekick [the clicker, not Patrick] Peter is surfing the periodic table [he’s not going to be a fool like last time] and debating what chemical he is. There’s this column, a dormant column, that just doesn’t react. These are Peter’s kind of chemicals and then he gets the name.
Noble gases.
Well, out the window because according to the unwritten [auto]biography of Peter Wentz, there is nothing noble about anything he’s ever done unless there is nobility in dodging flaming tennis balls and making amateur films.
And of course the amazing ability to make the masses throw bile up through their windows and the complete inability to hate his best friend who was still across the hall being exactly who he was.
Who did he think he was anyway? People put Patrick on a platform [Peter wasn’t blaming them for that] but Patrick was anything but cherubic. Patrick had no problem telling Pete to shut the fuck up. When Pete played his mind games Patrick slapped him down and said: “Get over yourself.”
Peter and Patrick were friends because Patrick was the one person in the entire world that didn’t let him win. He wasn’t some pretty girl [although Patrick was gorgeous and definitely had the most delicious thighs that made Peter want to do absolutely unspeakable things that fit neither here nor there] that just told him the things that he wanted to hear just to get in bed with him so they could write a blog. Patrick was sincerity and if he said those things he always meant them. No matter how trying Peter got, Patrick was always there. “When are you gonna get it, Pete? I’m not going to let you push me away. I’m not going to be another one of those people who leave you behind and then turn into your song lyrics. I’m always gonna fucking be here. Get over yourself.”
For the record, Peter was still figuring how to get over himself and he swears to God that if he lived in a closet [different from the one he’s already living in] the world would be a better place.
Fast forward now three days and Pete hasn’t slept because he’s so upset about the reactions and he spent all of the previous night watching Patrick roll over in his sleep and wondering how the hell his hat was M.I.A at 4:37AM and his glasses were twisting his button-nose into some direction that was just so awkwardly awkward [and the drool, but really no one cares except Pete who is almost thinking that he wishes Patrick was drooling on him].
That’s mildly disturbing, even for parentheses.
The next day is definitely on its way to being a three, red M&M day. Pete can tell even without the bag of candies [note to self; buy more M&Ms at the next stop].
“You still torn up about that Hydrogen thing?” Joe asks three-maybe-four days later when Pete is staring defeated out the window watching the world fly by on the way to another town and another let down of how he’s a disease and Patrick is the dog who visits everyone at the hospital and makes all the sick kids smile and feel hope and that fucking dog probably has the same hair color as Patrick that’s either blonde or glowing strawberry-blonde depending on how the light hits and-
“Hello? Earth to Peter Pan?”
And Patrick just smiles from his spot on the couch. No Pete’s spot on the couch because Patrick knows that the corner seat is Pete’s favorite place to sit because he feels enclosed, but out in the open. But he’s sitting there with the laptop on his lap and some headphones on his ears that obviously weren’t on otherwise he wouldn’t have heard Joe.
That smile makes Peter want to do back flips and he can’t stand it.
“Pete’s more like Neon, I think. Doesn’t react with other chemicals very well, but if you add just the right amount of electricity, you get something so bright and flashy. It stuns people, ya know? Neon lights give people hope. When they see big cities with bright lights their hearts beat faster and they want to be someone. I think that sounds like Pete.”
Pete’s M&M ratio just went up and suddenly things don’t hurt as bad. Instead he’s smiling and thinking that maybe Patrick was right. Maybe he was a kind of chemical that only reacted with electricity.
That electricity was Patrick and Fall Out Boy was the bright and flashy reaction that gave people hope [including Pete].
The chemical equation fit and even better… it was balanced.
So Patrick waves him over and says: “Can you listen to this for me?” And Pete goes and sits next to Patrick and puts the headphones on his ears, listening to Patrick’s work and finding himself not even thinking about the reactions of notes and music and words…
He just likes it.
“What do you think?” Patrick asks moments later after the headphones are off.
Pete smiles and finds his head in the crook of Patrick’s neck, breathing in the scent of his best friend and borderline lover of Eskimo kisses and late night ‘fine-you-can-sleep-in-my-bunk’ messes [just like the little kids breathe in the scent of a sweet dog in the hospitals]. “I think it sucks.”
He just laughs.
“At least I’m on the right track,”
Patrick smiles and Peter swears he can see electricity in those Neon eyes.
Author: lithiumreactant previously lmaoxatxanimal
Pairing: Patrick Stump / Peter Wentz
Rating: PG-13 [ Crude language ]
POV: Third. Peter-centric.
Word Count: 1,641.
Summary: It was the same reason Peter counted the amount of red M&Ms in a bag. Anything below seven was a bad day, seven or eight meant and average day, and anything above eight meant it was going to be a good day. Everyone had their fortune tellers, Peter’s just happened to melt in your mouth and not in your hand.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the bands mentioned in this fictional story, however I am always looking for good rent prices.
Author Note: This fic is the sequal to The Exceptions To Every Kind of Rule and mildy educational, I apologize, but the fact is I have this obsession with chemistry and the human race [only together, kill me when they're apart]. The fic is also very heavy with the parentheses [], because I like it that way. Enjoy.
Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong
[ + Standalone+ ]
+| Chemical Reactions and Sometimes Wrong |+
Patrick is magnetic. There is really no other way to put it. In the middle of a crowded room the blind could find him because people are just drawn to him. He glows. Patrick is the positively charged ion in the middle of neutral human race.
Cue PatrickandPeter [alphabetically, of course], because Peter is the epitome of a negatively charged ion and thus it is only so fitting that the positive and negative ion bump into each other and say; [What the fuck are you wearing? You’re kidding me with the socks, right?] Let’s be friends and create something so dynamic and so… just so.
Granted Peter is so sick of the just so but there is comfort when Patrick is in the middle of the just so. There’s always comfort when Patrick is anywhere and sometimes that infuriates Peter because why couldn’t he be magnetic in the kind of way that doesn’t leave the masses perched out their windows spilling bile from their insides and onto the ground where the surface becomes toxic and Peter swears that sometimes his feet can’t even touch the ground because a little bit of him disintegrates knowing he’s the reason some girl is throwing up.
But not Patrick. No, not ever Patrick. Contrary to the Peter effect, Patrick is the voice that the tormented hit play for. Peter is the disease and Patrick is the cure.
And the last straw to make Peter absolutely loathe Patrick because goddammit he was never supposed to have a cure. He was supposed to be the one disease that would never have a cure because he was just that sick and no one could save him. If he couldn’t be saved he couldn’t be responsible and his friends would just have to shake their head and say: “Yeah, it’s Peter. We don’t know how long he’s gonna last. It’s a miracle he’s made it this long.” But no, Patrick made him feel better and worse he cured him and now Peter didn’t want to feel sick but he just did it because he didn’t know how to manage.
One day Peter made some crack about how he was the Hydrogen of the human race and how he was this chemical that just wouldn’t react with the rest of the other chemicals and-
Patrick laughed.
“Pete, Hydrogen bonds with like everything. Hello? Water? Two Hydrogens per one Oxygen? Obviously it bonds, doesn’t it?”
So Peter crawled into his bunk and wouldn’t talk to anyone for two entire days because it was heartbreaking to find out that he was wrong and that he wasn’t anything close to Hydrogen. Patrick was like Hydrogen because he was so fucking magnetic and everyone wanted to be friends with him.
Fucking Patrick. Mother fucking Patrick Stump-
“Who the fuck drank the last diet coke?”
Peter just finished it and taking the blame for some aluminum [fucking chemical] can wasn’t on his to-do list for the day, so he leaned out of his bunk and threw the empty can into Joe’s bunk where approximately seventy-three minutes later Andy found it and the Epic Diet Coke Battle of 2007 began and all Peter could think was: at least it isn’t me.
And he decides that this is just another reason why he’s going to hell in the after life [“I swear to God I didn’t drink it! I haven’t drank one of those for a week! I don’t know how it got in there- Hey! Get the fuck off my hair!”].
Cue Patrick sitting across from Pete shaking his head, but not saying a word besides: “Sorry, man. It was me. I thought there were more in there. I was aiming for Pete’s bunk and missed. I’ll buy a new case when we get to the next stop.”
And just like that the war is over [with a “You’re lucky I know you can’t throw for shit, Stump”] and Peter couldn’t help but think that was a little less epic than what he was hoping for.
Patrick is Hydrogen, the cure, the magnet and the white flag,
And Peter hates himself because he can’t hate Patrick, simply because he swears that the best parts about him are the parts that he’s buried deep inside Patrick.
The whole Hydrogen thing is the most upsetting part though, because if he isn’t Hydrogen, what is he?
Via Sidekick [the clicker, not Patrick] Peter is surfing the periodic table [he’s not going to be a fool like last time] and debating what chemical he is. Why? Because chemicals are important and in a chemical world it would only make sense that every single person was a certain type of reaction. That’s what love was, wasn’t it? When two different people [chemicals] met [reacted] various types of relationships [solutions] were formed.
It just made sense, honestly. It was the same reason Peter counted the amount of red M&Ms in a bag. Anything below seven was a bad day, seven or eight meant and average day, and anything above eight meant it was going to be a good day.
Everyone had their fortune tellers, Peter’s just happened to melt in your mouth and not in your hand.
So chemicals made sense. After all, weren’t M&Ms just a chemical candy and weren’t humans just the chemical make up of water [35 liters], Carbon [25kg], Ammonia [4 liters], Lime [1.5kg], Phosphorus [800g], Salt [250g], Saltpeter [100g], Sulfur [80g], Fluorine [2.5g], Iron [5g], Silicon [3g], and fifteen other trace elements?
Peter swears that he himself has a bit of formaldehyde running through his veins [he’s excessively disappointed when he later finds out that formaldehyde is also a human byproduct].
Retrace.
Rewind.
Off-track.
Oops.
Via Sidekick [the clicker, not Patrick] Peter is surfing the periodic table [he’s not going to be a fool like last time] and debating what chemical he is. There’s this column, a dormant column, that just doesn’t react. These are Peter’s kind of chemicals and then he gets the name.
Noble gases.
Well, out the window because according to the unwritten [auto]biography of Peter Wentz, there is nothing noble about anything he’s ever done unless there is nobility in dodging flaming tennis balls and making amateur films.
And of course the amazing ability to make the masses throw bile up through their windows and the complete inability to hate his best friend who was still across the hall being exactly who he was.
Who did he think he was anyway? People put Patrick on a platform [Peter wasn’t blaming them for that] but Patrick was anything but cherubic. Patrick had no problem telling Pete to shut the fuck up. When Pete played his mind games Patrick slapped him down and said: “Get over yourself.”
Peter and Patrick were friends because Patrick was the one person in the entire world that didn’t let him win. He wasn’t some pretty girl [although Patrick was gorgeous and definitely had the most delicious thighs that made Peter want to do absolutely unspeakable things that fit neither here nor there] that just told him the things that he wanted to hear just to get in bed with him so they could write a blog. Patrick was sincerity and if he said those things he always meant them. No matter how trying Peter got, Patrick was always there. “When are you gonna get it, Pete? I’m not going to let you push me away. I’m not going to be another one of those people who leave you behind and then turn into your song lyrics. I’m always gonna fucking be here. Get over yourself.”
For the record, Peter was still figuring how to get over himself and he swears to God that if he lived in a closet [different from the one he’s already living in] the world would be a better place.
Fast forward now three days and Pete hasn’t slept because he’s so upset about the reactions and he spent all of the previous night watching Patrick roll over in his sleep and wondering how the hell his hat was M.I.A at 4:37AM and his glasses were twisting his button-nose into some direction that was just so awkwardly awkward [and the drool, but really no one cares except Pete who is almost thinking that he wishes Patrick was drooling on him].
That’s mildly disturbing, even for parentheses.
The next day is definitely on its way to being a three, red M&M day. Pete can tell even without the bag of candies [note to self; buy more M&Ms at the next stop].
“You still torn up about that Hydrogen thing?” Joe asks three-maybe-four days later when Pete is staring defeated out the window watching the world fly by on the way to another town and another let down of how he’s a disease and Patrick is the dog who visits everyone at the hospital and makes all the sick kids smile and feel hope and that fucking dog probably has the same hair color as Patrick that’s either blonde or glowing strawberry-blonde depending on how the light hits and-
“Hello? Earth to Peter Pan?”
And Patrick just smiles from his spot on the couch. No Pete’s spot on the couch because Patrick knows that the corner seat is Pete’s favorite place to sit because he feels enclosed, but out in the open. But he’s sitting there with the laptop on his lap and some headphones on his ears that obviously weren’t on otherwise he wouldn’t have heard Joe.
That smile makes Peter want to do back flips and he can’t stand it.
“Pete’s more like Neon, I think. Doesn’t react with other chemicals very well, but if you add just the right amount of electricity, you get something so bright and flashy. It stuns people, ya know? Neon lights give people hope. When they see big cities with bright lights their hearts beat faster and they want to be someone. I think that sounds like Pete.”
Pete’s M&M ratio just went up and suddenly things don’t hurt as bad. Instead he’s smiling and thinking that maybe Patrick was right. Maybe he was a kind of chemical that only reacted with electricity.
That electricity was Patrick and Fall Out Boy was the bright and flashy reaction that gave people hope [including Pete].
The chemical equation fit and even better… it was balanced.
So Patrick waves him over and says: “Can you listen to this for me?” And Pete goes and sits next to Patrick and puts the headphones on his ears, listening to Patrick’s work and finding himself not even thinking about the reactions of notes and music and words…
He just likes it.
“What do you think?” Patrick asks moments later after the headphones are off.
Pete smiles and finds his head in the crook of Patrick’s neck, breathing in the scent of his best friend and borderline lover of Eskimo kisses and late night ‘fine-you-can-sleep-in-my-bunk’ messes [just like the little kids breathe in the scent of a sweet dog in the hospitals]. “I think it sucks.”
He just laughs.
“At least I’m on the right track,”
Patrick smiles and Peter swears he can see electricity in those Neon eyes.