Troubled Thoughts and The Self-Esteem to Match - Does Your Husband Know?
Title: Troubled Thoughts and The Self-Esteem to Match - Does Your Husband Know?
Author: lollyphants
Summary: AU! Pete is a college drop-out working at The VickyT Boutique. Ryan is his bestfriend and co-shop assistant. Brendon is Ryan's enthusiastic boyfriend and Guitarist. Patrick is just a budding muscian who needs a bassist. A bassist who is not Pete Wentz.
Word Count: 4, 657
Pairings: Patrick/Pete, Ryan/Brendon, (with mentions of Pete/Ashlee, Pete/William, Patrick/Gabe, Jon/Spencer, Gabe/Ryland)
Rating: PG-13, as Pete and Patrick have dirty mouths. Also the use of the 'C' word.
Warnings: Once again there is foul, foul language that would shame my mother.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this did not happen, consider everything behind this cut disclaimed.
Author's Notes: This is the longest P/P fic I've ever written, also I've not written this pairing in like forever! I apologize in advance for any fail on my part.
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troubled thoughts and self-esteem to match, what a catch -
does your husband know?
Pete’s job is not very interesting, nor is it particularly well paid but since he dropped out of De Paul he really, really needs the money. Tattoos and garish t-shirts don’t pay for themselves. Plus Vicky-T’s Boutique is like two blocks from his -his mom’s- house and he gets 30% discount off everything. He spends most of his days as the changing room attendant, handing out numbered plastic disks for the most part. But Pete has the bad habit of getting a little bit too involved with his customers. This results in his post being forsaken to help them plan outfits or help them find the perfect shoes. It’s occasions like these where Pete has made some of his closest friends, like William and Ashlee who are like his favorite people in the world ever and have almost become family to him (emphasis on the almost, ‘cause he has slept with both of them and that’s just plain wrong.) This is how Ryan, another store assistant and one of Pete’s oldest friends, met his boyfriend and vocalist Brendon.
Brendon has been mistaken for Pete’s younger brother no less than four times; he’s always hanging around the store on Fridays waiting for Ryan to get off and seems to do nothing in that time but piss Pete off. The first time someone had asked if they were related they’d laughed and kindly informed Vicky that Brendon wasn’t one of Pete’s younger siblings. The second time it happened Pete had to restrain himself from punching Brendon right in that stupid fucking smiling face of his when his reply to, “Are you two, like, brothers?” Was “Do I really look that much like a fucking horse?”
Despite this Pete still quite likes Brendon.
*
Today Pete’s helping a group rich teenage of girls shop for a party; he’s zooming round the store looking for anything blue - so the birthday girl’s color-and in a size 8. He looks over his shoulder where she’s stood with her friends and blatantly checking Pete out.
He surreptitiously surveys the group. He smirks; this is another advantage of working at Vicky-T’s. He furtively scrutinizes them, the oldest is sixteen, seventeen tops. The girl is pretty, really pretty and it’s a real shame his days of dating High schoolers are done, well pretty much. Jenae was just a regrettable exception. As was Mikey Way, apart from that part where it was regrettable because Mikey was awesome and surprisingly nubile.
He shouts to the birthday girl- Kirsten? “Are you cool for accessories?” She giggles and says that she needs a completely new outfit. ‘Why aren’t I rich like them?’ Pete laments and really hopes they still have those owl earrings, which were like the only thing in the world cuter than his dog Hemmy. They do still have the adorable owls and the girl loves them but she loves the blue dress, with the huge bow, that Pete picked out for her more. She spends $2000 in total; Pete is damn good at his job.
*
Sometimes nobody really interesting or nice comes into the boutique and Pete has to resort to listening to scene kids struggling into skinnies and discussing weight loss tips, “Seriously I went from a adult small to a youth large in like five days and all I did was - ” whatever, Pete’s already a youth large anyway, he looks around the store wistfully as if a worthwhile costumer will just appear. They don’t. Pete goes to his default reaction for when he’s bored, which is bug Ryan.
They have a game sorted out for slow, boring days like this. It doesn’t have a name and the rules are sort of makeshift and subject to change but they must be adhered to, like without fail. Even if sometimes you have no fucking clue what you’re adhering to. Basically you had to guess what the person was going to buy, what color, what size and how much. It seriously made the day go quick, they even had a proper point system and everything, or so Ryan claims, Pete has always been shit at math.
So far Ryan was winning with a sweet, little, blonde girl buying a blue -10 points, shiny -20 points, cardigan- 15 points.
She paid for her things and left, smiling and waving a goodbye. She left through one half of the glass swing doors as someone else entered from the other.
He was tiny and ginger-actually no blonde, nah definitely ginger, maybe? He was wearing a trucker cap and black thick-rimmed glasses and god - he might even be cuter than the owl earrings. Pete doesn’t hear Ryan’s guess of “Hoodie er-medium, maybe large?” as he’s all but ran to tiny and ginger. “Hi, I’m Peter, who are you? Do you need any help?” Tiny and ginger, who has sideburns Pete’s just noticed (and seriously how could he get any cuter?) raises his eyebrows, “I’m Patrick, I need pants.”
“Awesome,” Pete exclaims, “what kind?”
“Er, I don’t know, just jeans?” He’s shifting uncomfortably. Pete really doesn’t realize just how full on he can be.
”Dude, thighs as amazing as yours, I’m thinking drainpipes.”
Pete decides he’s fallen in love when he sees Patrick blush and give him a completely unimpressed look. He’s like a prissy teddy bear. A prissy teddy bear with amazing thighs and an obscene mouth.
Yeah he’s definitely in love.
“Dude, you’re not fucking funny. I just wanted pants.” Patrick scowls, blushing and pulling his hat down.
“C’mon Pat, I was just saying.” Pete’s still grinning inanely, which does nothing but greaten Patrick’s desire to punch him. Pete looks at Patrick trying to envisage what jeans would be best for thighs as fine as his. He’s really short, Pete notices and he feels a stab of empathy. He can never get jeans that don’t have an inch or two of extra fabric at the bottom and Patrick probably has the same problem but worse. He tells Patrick as much, “Erm, I’m not sure whether we’ll have the right size, I mean-”
“Whatever dude, I don’t need your help.” Patrick storms off leaving Pete shouting to his back, “The jeans section is the other way!” Patrick flips him off but still turns to Pete’s directions.
“Pete, what did you do?” Ryan asks sighing as he rearranges the shoes behind Pete.
Pete jumped slightly- how long had Ryan been standing there?
“I fell in love, Ryro.” Pete answered watching Patrick storm up the stairs, looking wistful.
“What with that kid? Is he even legal?” Ryan looked sceptical.
“First of all Ross, you’re like twelve so don’t lecture me about age and second of all, don’t call the future Mrs. Wentz ‘that kid’, his name is Patrick. Or actually I might be the Mrs., I dunno.”
Future Mrs. Wentz? Ryan was not touching that one.
Actually hadn’t Brendon said something about a Patrick? A Patrick Stumph?
“So does the future Mrs. Wentz have a last name?” Ryan asks trying to find a size five left to go with his size five right.
“Well, duh. Everyone has a last name, apart from like, Cher and Madonna.”
“Is it Stumph? Or like Stumf? Fuck, I don’t know how you pronounce it. “ Ryan frowns.
“I have no fucking clue what it is. All I know is that I’m going to be future Mrs. Tinyandginger and it’s going to be awesome.”
Future Mrs. Tinyandginger? Ryan was really, really not touching that one.
“Dude, maybe I like read the scene completely wrong but I’m pretty sure you just got like dismissed by a guy in fucking argyle.”
“Dismissed? What the fuck, Ross? He’s not like a fucking principal.” Ryan opens his mouth to retort but stops when he sees Brendon push open the store’s door with his back, holding a McDonald’s milkshake in either hand as he does.
“Hey Brendon!” Pete waves at him and Brendon grins and tries to wave back spilling pink everywhere.
“Sowee.” Brendon apologizes his mouth full of a packet of what looks like Oatmeal raisin cookies. Ryan loves this man.
“If they’re oatmeal raisin, I’ll love you forever.” Ryan says extricating the spit-covered bag from Brendon’s mouth.
“Dude, of course they are.” Brendon looks at Ryan like he’s an idiot; “anyway do you reckon you could get off an hour early tonight?” Ryan looks up from where he’s struggling to open the cookies, “Er, yeah, I guess. Why? Are we off somewhere special?”
“Sort off, yeah. It’s a surprise.” Brendon grins and Pete laughs, cause seriously phrases like ‘sort of’ and ‘it’s a surprise’ are how people like Pete and Brendon get other people to agree to their idiocy. Pete really hopes Ryan falls for it.
“Dude, I am not falling for that. Tell me where we’re off and why.” Ryan is too smart for his own good. Pete pouts as Brendon explains, “Y’know that guy I was on about Patrick? Well, he needs people to play for a gig tonight.”
“Brendon-” Ryan starts but Brendon talks over him excitedly.
“But Ryan if you just heard him. He like plays a million instruments and can sing like, dunno like better than anyone I know and he’s only seventeen and he’s gunna be famous, like proper, proper number one kind of famous and we have an opportunity to play with him.”
“Sounds like - wait,” Pete looks at Brendon, “did you say he was seventeen?” Brendon nods drinking his milkshake and handing Ryan his, “Is he like ginger and really short with black glasses?”
“Actually, I’d say he was more blonde and he’s only like two inches shorter than you Wentz, but yeah that sounds like him, why?” The only answer Brendon gets is Ryan laughing and Pete grinning like mad man.
“What’s so funny?” he asks looking lost and in, Ryan’s opinion, adorable.
“Oh, Patrick’s the future Mrs. Wentz, apparently, or Pete’s the future Mrs. Tinyandginger. I’m not really sure.” Ryan explains, face contorting in confusion as he realizes he barely understands what he’s saying.
“Future Mrs. Tinyandginger? Does he know this? And anyway I already said he’s more blonde than - wait, no, I’m not touching that one,” Ryan blinks at him, ‘cause seriously connection, much? “But yeah, c’mon Ryan I’ve already told him we’d help.”
Brendon makes his already big brown eyes even bigger. No one can say no to eyes like this, apart from like, Ryan and Brendon’s drummer, Spencer but he’s Spencer Smith. The man is so hardcore he only started playing drums so he could have something to bang other than your mother.
“But, how am I supposed to learn his songs in time for tonight?” asks Ryan, ever the sensible one.
“We’re doing covers,” Brendon explains, “Some Queen, some Bowie, stuff you’ll know. Stuff even Pete will know.”
Pete ignores that comment and Declares, “He’ll be there,” plans forming, reforming in his head. Pete’s used to diving into things headfirst only finding out the waters too shallow too late. But he’s thinking this out, deciding his next move, the future Mrs. Wentz is at stake!
Brendon gets out his cell, “Awesome I’ll just call him.”
“Brendon, sweetheart, there’s no point he’s just past the stairs.” Ryan points.
“He’s buying jeans,” sighs Pete dreamily.
“Riiiight.” Says Brendon; his eyebrows raised comically, he shouts, “PATRICK STUMF!” as loud as he can.
A head pops around the back of the stairs, “Er-hello?” Then when Patrick sees it’s Brendon he grins. “Hey Brendon. Actually it’s Stumph, the ‘h’ is like silent.”
“Oh right, well anyway hi. This is Ryan, my boyfriend, and this is like Pete, whom I am not related to.”
“Hey Ryan.” Patrick smiles at him but completely blanks Pete, Ryan finds this hilarious.
“Hi Patrick, nice to meet you. I hear you’re gunna be like number one in a few years or something.”
Patrick blushes and laughs, “Heh, yeah, not so much. I just play a few instruments and can just about hold a tune.”
“Dude, people have become famous with a lot less talent than that.” Ryan comments dryly.
”Yeah, they also tend to be good-looking people.” Patrick argues.
“Dude, don’t put yourself down.” Brendon winks at him and Ryan rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, I mean I’d completely do you.”
Pete is once again blanked.
“So yeah, can you play tonight Brendon?” Patrick asks ignoring Pete’s indignant look at being ignored.
“Yeah, we can.” Brendon beams his arms snaking around Ryan’s waist.
“Awesome, so we’ve got Ryan on lead guitar and me on Rhythm and voice, you on piano and Bob on drums. Now we just need a bassist,” Patrick frowns, “I might be able to convince Gabe, I guess.”
“Who’s Gabe?” Brendon asks mouth full of oatmeal raisin.
“Gabe Saporta.” Answers Patrick like it’s the most obvious thing ever, he looks at Brendon’s and Ryan’s uncomprehending faces and raises his eyebrows, “You’ve seriously never heard of Gabe Saporta?”
“Yes you have.” Pete tells them, “The guy from Midtown? He has that weird thing with Justin Timberlake.”
“Oh my God, the guy with paedophile eyes!” Brendon exclaims excitedly, “He was freakin’ awesome.”
Ryan frowns and asks, “Is that the guy with like, the weird ass cobra thing?”
“That’s Gabe.” Patrick answered with a grin.
“Dude,” Pete turns to Patrick who quickly drops his grin and keeps glowering, “hasn’t he moved back to Jersey for awhile? Something about alien cobras and Gwen Stefani?”
Patrick’s glowering gives way to another grin, “You got that email too? I thought he was joking.”
Pete looks like he’s trying to explain astrophysics to a five year old, “It’s Gabe, Patty boy. Gabriel Eduardo Saporta, he never jokes when it comes to the cobra.” He even puts his fangs up to emphasize his point. Pete likes to think that somewhere thousands of miles away Gabe is smiling at Pete’s support. Well, actually seeing as it’s Gabe he’s probably smoking Peyote and smiling any way.
Patrick’s scowling again at Pete’s condescending tone, “Don’t call me Patty boy. Anyway how do you know Gabe?”
Pete tries not to laugh at how bitchy Patrick sounds and seriously the kids in fucking argyle.
“My band Arma Angelus has played with Midtown, ‘cause we’re awesome like that.” Pete explains grinning at Patrick’s expression of shock and disbelief.
Then suddenly Patrick closes his eyes and grimaces, “Wentz.” He says, “You’re Pete Wentz.”
“Hell yeah!” Pete flashes his trademark grin. “Still need a bassist for tonight?”
“No.” Patrick says quickly, “I’ll find someone else.”
Pete sighs, he doesn’t know why Patrick has a problem with him but he’s going to have to get over it before the wedding. Pete’s not worried though he knows Patrick will. Everyone gets over their initial hate of Pete, eventually. Even Spencer doesn’t hate Pete that much anymore and well, he’s Spencer Smith. He hates everyone but Ryro and Jwalk. (Then again, the latter is sort of a given. Everyone and their grandma loves Jon Walker. Although Pete doubts his grandma loves John like Spencer loves him.)
Pete grabs Patrick arm with one hand and wrestles a red sharpie from his girl’s jeans pocket with the other. He pulls the lid off with his teeth and holds it there as he scribbles his number on the soft, white inside skin of Patrick’s arm.
“Dude what the fuck?” Patrick tries to bat him off.
“It’s in case you can’t find someone for tonight.” Pete explains his voice muffled by plastic.
“Won’t your girlfriend be pissed off that you’re ignoring her for some random guy’s show? Actually midterms are coming up and high school is such a busy time, she’s probably glad of the rest.” Patrick crosses his arms, smudging Pete’s digits.
“Aren’t you in High school? And Dude don’t try to be witty when you’re in argyle, just no. You look like a British school girl should be wearing you as a sock.”
He means it affectionately.
“Burn?” Brendon asks ‘cause he’s not really sure it’s an insult but if it is, it’s probably a good one.
“Burn.” Pete confirms to Brendon and turns to the door that Travie has just walked in through, “Looks like it’s my cue to leave. It was nice to meet you Patrick,” he tries to kiss Patrick’s hand in a gentlemanly fashion but gets nothing but a slight slap to the head for his troubles. “Seriously though, Trick. Call me if you need a bassist. I’m gunna need some entertainment, my girlfriend’s shopping for her Prom dress tonight.”
Brendon asks wide-eyed, “Is your girlfriend like really in high school? If she takes you to prom there’ll be like teachers there younger than you.” But he’s barely heard over Patrick’s firm and grim affirmation of “I won’t need to call you Pete, I will find a bassist. Somewhere there has to be a bassist that can play tonight. Someone that’s not you.” He adds hastily seeing Pete open his mouth to speak.
Ryan winces slightly at that, Patrick seems like a cool dude and Ryan doesn’t quite get what Pete’s done to piss him off so badly. He thinks to ask but Pete’s already traipsed off with Travie. He starts listening to Patrick and Brendon’s conversation about where the club is; Ryan memorizes the instructions because it’s guaranteed Brendon will forget.
*
Pete takes Travie to the back of the store; Vicky doesn’t mind people smoking (cigarettes or anything else) as long as it’s not near the clothes. Travie gets out a pouch of rolling tobacco, a king skin and his grinder and begins to roll, he asks Pete, “Hey, was that Patrick Stumph?”
“Yeah,” Pete answers, “why?”
“No reason, man, jus’ worked with him a few times. Yo man, you got anything I can use as decent roach?” Travie says, patting down his pockets in case he has anything.
Pete pulls out a flyer for Vicky-T’s and hands it to Travie as he says, “I think I’m in love with him.”
“Man this is good roach,” is Travie’s reply as he uses it to filter his joint.
“I said that I thought I was in love and that is your reply?” Came Pete’s indignant response.
“Dude, it’s Patrick, everyone’s a little in love with him. It’s his singing that gets ya”
“I haven’t heard him sing.” Pete says to Travie, who raises his eyebrow.
“Man, if you think you’re in love with him now, you’re gunna be ass over head in love when you hear him sing. So does he like you back?”
“I don’t even know if he’s gay or not.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he is. I think him and Gabe had a thing, before Gabe got with Ryland.”
“Oh yeah, and he hates me.”
“Why, man?”
“I don’t know, I think it’s probably that part where I’m a dick on first impression.”
“Dude you’re always a dick.”
“Love you too Travie.
*
Patrick has a list. It has the following names on it;
Jwalk
Mikey Way
Nate
Eric
Sisky Bizz
Chris
Alex
Brent
*
Patrick still has the same list. But it now looks like this.
Jwalk
Mikey Way
Nate
Eric
Sisky Bizz
Chris
Alex
Brent
Pete? (Oh, God)
Patrick regards the faded and smudged, red digits on his arm and he grimaces. Maybe he’d been too quick to judge Pete; maybe he was just a dick on first impression. Ryro likes him, Patrick reasoned, I mean, Ryan is far more easily annoyed than I am.
Oh, shut up, he is.
*
Pete’s ring tone is ‘Pretty Girl’s Make Graves’ by The Smiths; he digs his hand into his pants and tries to get out his phone without his pens and money falling out.
“Hello?”
“Hey Pete? It’s Patrick. Patrick Stumph, that is.”
“OMG! Tiny and ginger!”
“No. Patrick.”
“Whatever. Guess you couldn’t find a bassist then?”
“Don’t sound so smug about it.”
“So what time do you need me?
“We need to be at McAulie’s club at six at the latest, to sound check.”
“Er, how am I supposed to get into sound check without some kind of pass?”
“God, you’ll have to come to my house and pick up one of the spares I have.”
“Okay, where do you live?”
*
Patrick may only be seventeen but he, unlike Pete, has left home. Although he does live in an admittedly shitty apartment above a coffee shop, he shares the rent with his friends Joe and Andy. They’ve been out of town for the last couple days traveling down to a tattoo convention.
Patrick has been taking full advantage of their absence he’s been doing nothing but writing music, playing music, singing loudly and not picking up after himself. The latter means the apartment is a mess; Patrick’s clothes are everywhere and he hasn’t washed any of the dishes.
It’s half an hour until Pete is set to arrive and Patrick should really be tidying up, but he’s has the incontrollable urge to listen to Bowie; he’s thinking ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars.’
Patrick, when he’s not playing gigs, works at the Borders across the road and it’s three months wages from there that paid for his speakers, which he loves a truly adulterous amount. They’re blaring out ‘Suffragette City’, which Patrick is bellowing along to as he picks up his dirty clothes.
“Wham Bam, thank you m- argh!” Patrick jumps, startled at the hand on his shoulder. The hand, thankfully, is attached to a tattooed arm, which is attached to a slim torso, which is attached to the grinning face and ridiculous haircut of non other than Pete Lewis Kingston Wentz III.
“Wow, dude, your voice.” He says as Patrick glares.
“Dude, haven’t you heard of knocking? Actually wasn’t the door locked?”
“I knocked for like ten minutes and you didn’t come so I let myself in.”
“Yes. But wasn’t the door locked?”
“Probably, but yeah your voice -wow, just wow.”
“Thanks,” Patrick says and then again, just in case, “I’m pretty sure that door was locked.”
“C’mon Patrick we have to get to sound check and that’s far more important than whether or not I broke your door.”
“YOU BROKE MY DOOR?”
“That’s really not the point.”
“You are such a cunt.”
“Dude, what the fuck is your problem with me?” Pete drops his bass on the beige carpet of Patrick’s hall; it lands with a muffled crash of broken notes. He pushes Patrick into the broken desk/cupboard mutant crossbreed they use as a shoe rack. Patrick pushes Pete back harder. Pete glares.
“You broke my door and you called me fat, then you kind of came on to me, which I wouldn’t have been too horrific, but you’re like Pete Wentz, so I can’t trust you aren’t going to like molest me.” Patrick exclaims, gesticulating wildly. Pete would have found this hilariously cute were it not for the fact Patrick’s talking shit.
“What the fuck? What the actual fuck. I did not call you fat!”
”Er, yes, you did. When I asked for pants you made like a sarcastic comments about my thighs. Then you said you didn’t have my size.” Patrick has his arms crossed again.
“I said they were amazing. I was deadly serious. And I, like, meant that you’re short. Don’t blame me if have low self-esteem or something. And anyway molest you? Seriously, you’re hot, don’t get me wrong, like very, very hot, but don’t flatter yourself.”
“How is a fear of getting molested by a man-whore musician considered flattering? Seriously Pete on what planet does that even make sense?”
Probably the same planet where it makes sense for Pete and Patrick to be kissing because Patrick’s pretty sure he wants Wentz dead. He’s also pretty sure he just moaned.
Patrick pushes Pete into the outside wall of his bedroom. Hard. Patrick feels Pete’s hiss in pain in his mouth. He breaks the kiss. His arms are digging to Pete’s. Patrick’s pinned him to the patterned brown and taupe wallpaper.
“You’re such a dick.” Patrick spits out.
“I know.” Pete grins. He rolls his hips. Patrick licks his lips. Pete blinks. Neither of them moves. Patrick knows he should. Pete’s eyes are huge and hazel. Patrick pushes Pete harder into the wall. It’s only to squash the insane urge to kiss him. Pete snorts. Patrick thinks it makes him look like a horse. Patrick feels that insane urge again.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” Pete sounds challenging. He looks smug. Patrick knees him in the thigh. At the same time he kisses him.
*
Pete’s still leant on the wall and when they stop kissing, he looks at Patrick and says, grinning with his whole face. It’s so genuine that Patrick thinks that the world’s supply of happiness just might depend on it, “You are really something else, Patrick Stumph.”
*
They play the show and they’re -well them. Patrick doesn’t speak leaving Pete to introduce the covers they’re doing but he’s still a madman, flinging notes every which way, Brendon is hitting all the right notes at the right time and doing obscene dances when he’s not, Ryan is playing fine but really he’s concentrating more on Brendon than the strings and Pete is Pete. A ball of energy and charm and really, really shitty bass playing. The kids at the club seem interested enough and Pete doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on their faces when they saw such a powerful voice come from someone so cute and tiny.
He also doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the blowjob he gave Patrick in the dressing room.
*
“You’re such a dick.” Patrick says a month later. He’s sat on Pete’s god-awful orange couch. Why did Pete’s mom let this monstrosity in her house, really? Even if it is in Pete’s room, Patrick always thought Pete’s mom had, unlike her son, some resemblance of taste.
Hemmingway is licking his feet; it makes a nice change from him eating his shoes.
“Dude, what the fuck? I’ve just made you pancakes!” Pete replies, pausing in giving Patrick his plate. Well actually his mom made them, but same difference.
“I think my spine is going to slide out of me and I cannot sit down properly and it’s your entire fault. ” Patrick growls. Pete notices that Patrick’s hair is all fluffy and his glasses are slightly askew.
“You’re adorable,” Pete grins, “Have Pancakes.”
He shoves the Plate at Patrick who takes it and declares," I hate you.”
”Blatant lie.”
Pete joins Patrick on his Halloween-reject couch; it makes an awful, annoying squeaking sound.
“Okay, seriously Pete. What the fuck is this couch made from?” Patrick bounces up on down on it like he’s testing its strength. Then winces slightly. Pete gives a ridiculous horse grin.
“Erm, I’m pretty sure it’s made from vinyl and the cheap plastic that separates the different chocolates in their boxes.” Pete snuggles into Patrick who only just moves his syrupy plate out of the way in time to avoid red, syrupy bangs, “Promise me P-Stumph that when you’re rich and famous you’ll buy me a nice couch.”
“I’ll buy you the nicest of couches, with actual arm rests and proper fabric and everything. In fact I’ll buy you two, even if you are a dick.”
“Six.” Pete barters, snuggling further into Patrick.
“Don’t be greedy - three.” Patrick reprimands.
“Four and you’ll wear skinny jeans everyday.”
“Four sofas, yes, but every other day.”
“Only if on the other days you’re naked.”
“Only if you’re naked too.”
Pete thinks this over, stroking his non-existent beard “Deal.” he decides.
”Deal.” Patrick agrees and extends his hand. Pete shakes it and doesn’t let it go.
“So, Rick Ta Life, are you going to be the future Mrs. Wentz or am I going to be the future Mrs. Stumph?”
“Er, neither?”
“Okay, Mrs. Tinyandginger it is.”