The nightingale and the rose
title: The nightingale and the rose
characters: Pete-Ashlee-Patrick
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13?
WARNING: character death
summary: “Duuuude, I invited Ashlee at prom!” Pete shouts, opening the door to Patrick’s room, “But she said she’d come only if I brought her red roses.”
disclaimer: nobody has died IRL! so it's pretty much fake!
A/N:based on the Oscar Wilde's short story . There're also a few lines of "Sophomore slump or comeback of the year" lyrics towards the end.
“Duuuude, I invited Ashlee at prom!” Pete shouts, opening the door to Patrick’s room, “But she said she’d come only if I brought her red roses.”
Patrick tears his eyes off the comic he was reading, sighing heavily for his mother always letting Pete upstairs unannounced. Joe and Andy are at the feet of his bed, playing videogames, barely acknowledging Pete’s presence with a wave of their hands.
“And?” Patrick urges with a rather bored tone.
“And I can’t find red roses to save my life!” Pete cries (crocodile tears, in Patrick’s opinion), “All the florists I went to are momentarily out of red roses, they have the whole rainbow but not red! What a crappy city is this that has only two florists with poor range of flowers?! And red roses are a fucking must during whatever season!
“Also, I’m fucking great with women, how can she resist my charm? I’m a great soccer player, I’m good at writing -don’t deny it, man, or I’ll punch you-, and despite all of this my happiness is all in a red rose.
“The prom is tomorrow night, and if I give her a red rose she’ll dance with me, and talk to me, and hug me, and kiss me, and…” Pete says frantically, pacing back and forth in his friend’s room, grinning maniacally at the escalation of events he hopes is going to happen, “but I don’t have a damned red rose, so I’ll lamely go to prom all alone and sad, getting my heart broken seeing her dancing with someone else and ignoring me,” he concludes, falling on Patrick’s bed with his eyes closed and arms spread open.
He must love her very much, Patrick thinks, he hasn’t shut up about her for months, telling me how beautiful and awesome she is. Pity this not-reciprocated-yet love is affecting him pretty badly, he looks more nervous and pale and he doesn’t sleep either, in fact he calls me every night so I’d sing him to sleep.
“First of all,” Patrick states with an eyebrow raised, “you should’ve asked her out months ago, not 24 hours before your senior prom - I’m surprised she doesn’t have a partner yet, by the way. Second, you won’t be all lonely and sad at prom because sure as hell you’ll find someone to dance with, the girls of our school won’t let the opportunity to spend a night with the awesome soccer player Pete Wentz slip away,--”
“Yeah, except for Ashlee,” Pete points out sulkily.
“--and third, doesn’t your mother have a rose-tree?” Patrick is pretty sure to remember.
Pete stays silent for a moment.
“You’re a fucking genius, why haven’t I thought of it earlier?” he jumps on his feet, smooching loudly Patrick’s forehead before running back home without another word.
“What was he crying about?” Andy asks, eyes focused on the screen.
“Yeah, why?” Joe echoes, following the erratic movements of his console.
“For a red rose,” Patrick sighs.
“For a red rose?” the busy friends shout.
“What an idiot,” Andy shakes his head while Joe laughs mockingly.
Patrick doesn’t reply, thoughtful, understanding Pete’s longing for the loved person.
A few minutes later Patrick’s cellphone vibrates on the nightstand: roses r white :’( , Pete’s message says.
The boy sighs, typing his reply, Don’t worry, we’ll find a solution, before sprawling on his own bed and think about how to help his best friend.
Suddenly he stands up and sits at his desk, where the computer is. He runs internet and types ‘how to grow red roses’ in the browser bar.
After loads of links of photos, ways to get luxuriant bushes and symbolisms of flowers, Patrick finally finds a page: he shudders at the described way to get a red rose, but he hasn’t found anything better so far, and Pete is desperate.
Patrick thinks, and thinks, and thinks: a sacrifice on his behalf is a big price for only a red rose, but if it makes Pete happy with the person he loves then he’ll do it.
He only has to wait for midnight.
@~, ~’ ~, ~’ ~
It’s a bit before midnight and Patrick sneakily gets out of his house, crosses the street and jogs to cover the few meters that divide him from Pete’s house. He reaches the backyard and there it is, the rose-tree with its white roses, right under Pete’s window: the light is off, but Patrick is sure his friend is still awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Ashlee.
Patrick checks the time: midnight is soon approaching. He hides behind the rose-tree, right against the house, and takes his phone and pocket knife out; he calls Pete and immediately feels the relief in his voice.
“Lunchbox! My savior! Tell me you found a red rose!” Pete’s voice echoes, Patrick can hear him both in the phone and from his open window upstairs.
“Yup, but it won’t arrive before tomorrow: check your mother’s bush in the morning before going to school,” Patrick instructs.
“Oh. Okay…” Pete sounds a bit perplexed, “Thank you so much! I owe you my first born!” he then thanks enthusiastically.
“Thank me after you go to first base with Ashlee,” Patrick replies sarcastically.
“Will do! I’ll think of you when I’ll be in bed with her,” Pete retorts mischievously.
“Dude, gross. And I thought you loved her for how she is, not simply to get laid.”
“But I do love her! You know how…”
“…how gorgeous, funny, generally awesome she is. Yes, Pete, you told me a gazillion times.”
“Hehe. But really, thanks, Trick,” Pete says softly.
“Everything for my best friend,” Patrick concludes cheesily before ending the call.
The boy moves the soil from around the roots and shrugs his shirt off, covered only by a thin tee against the slightly chilly night. He then opens the pocket knife and looks at the reflections of the streetlamps on the blade.
That website said that only soaking the roots with blood spilled right from the heart will turn a white rose red, all of this while singing by moonlight.
Patrick can hear Pete sighing heavily in his room. He wouldn’t be surprised if his friend had cried.
“Be happy, Pete, I’m now going to make you a red rose with my heart’s blood and with my voice. All I ask you is to be a true lover towards Ashlee, love her deeply like I loved you,” he murmurs, taking the knife more firmly in his hand.
The cellphone vibrates against his thigh: Pete.
Patrick knew he was going to call, he sure is going to ask for a lullaby.
“Trick?” Pete’s sad voice arrives from the other end, “I can’t sleep…”
“I know…” Patrick simply states, aligning the blade with his heart, “What can I sing…Ah, yes: Are we growing up or just going down? It's just a matter of time until we're all found out. Take our tears, put them on ice, ‘cause I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light…”
A soft grunt messes the song a bit: Patrick has stabbed himself, the first drops of blood staining the rose tree’s roots, not reaching his heart yet.
“…’Cause I'll keep singing this lie if you'll keep believing it, I'll keep singing this lie, I'll keep singing this lie…”
An unbearable pain hits Patrick when the blade starts cutting trough the heart.
The rose on top of the bush slowly colors, at first with just a blush of pink.
The song grows fainter.
Patrick ends the song with a last burst of life directed to the rose and to his best friend before fainting between the rose tree and the wall, continuing to bleed, watering the roots.
The rose has finally a deep, crimson color and outstands fiercely in the bush.
Pete is snoring softly on the phone.
~, ~’ ~, ~’ ~@
In the morning, Pete wakes up with the phone still on his pillow.
Remembering Patrick’s instructions, he opens the window to check the rose tree before going downstairs, since the bush is visible right outside his bedroom.
“The red rose is really there!” he screams before running outside, amazed by the vivid color of the flower and the perfection of its petals. He carefully plucks it to avoid ruining it and being stung by the thorns, then returns inside to grab his schoolpack and runs to school, hoping to find Ashlee.
He’s lucky, Ashlee is sitting on the stairs outside the entrance.
“You said you’d dance with me if I brought you a red rose!” Pete says loudly, approaching her, “you could wear it tonight, next to your heart…Dance with me and it’ll let you know how much I love you.”
Ashlee frowns, “I’m afraid it won’t match my dress…Besides Ryan gave me an expensive bracelet, yesterday…Everybody knows jewels cost way more than flowers.”
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch!” Pete says angrily, throwing the rose on the path, right when some fellow student walks by and squishes it.
“I am ungrateful? You know what, you’re very rude, and who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a jock, like every other member of sports team,” she states as she gets up to enter in the building.
“What a silly thing love is,” Pete says as he walks inside as well, “it blinds you and makes you believe things that are not true, it doesn’t let you see the real qualities of a person…”
total disaster sry 4 bothering u so much - c ya later? , he texts Patrick.
The friend can’t reply anymore.
characters: Pete-Ashlee-Patrick
pov: 3rd
rating: PG-13?
WARNING: character death
summary: “Duuuude, I invited Ashlee at prom!” Pete shouts, opening the door to Patrick’s room, “But she said she’d come only if I brought her red roses.”
disclaimer: nobody has died IRL! so it's pretty much fake!
A/N:based on the Oscar Wilde's short story . There're also a few lines of "Sophomore slump or comeback of the year" lyrics towards the end.
“Duuuude, I invited Ashlee at prom!” Pete shouts, opening the door to Patrick’s room, “But she said she’d come only if I brought her red roses.”
Patrick tears his eyes off the comic he was reading, sighing heavily for his mother always letting Pete upstairs unannounced. Joe and Andy are at the feet of his bed, playing videogames, barely acknowledging Pete’s presence with a wave of their hands.
“And?” Patrick urges with a rather bored tone.
“And I can’t find red roses to save my life!” Pete cries (crocodile tears, in Patrick’s opinion), “All the florists I went to are momentarily out of red roses, they have the whole rainbow but not red! What a crappy city is this that has only two florists with poor range of flowers?! And red roses are a fucking must during whatever season!
“Also, I’m fucking great with women, how can she resist my charm? I’m a great soccer player, I’m good at writing -don’t deny it, man, or I’ll punch you-, and despite all of this my happiness is all in a red rose.
“The prom is tomorrow night, and if I give her a red rose she’ll dance with me, and talk to me, and hug me, and kiss me, and…” Pete says frantically, pacing back and forth in his friend’s room, grinning maniacally at the escalation of events he hopes is going to happen, “but I don’t have a damned red rose, so I’ll lamely go to prom all alone and sad, getting my heart broken seeing her dancing with someone else and ignoring me,” he concludes, falling on Patrick’s bed with his eyes closed and arms spread open.
He must love her very much, Patrick thinks, he hasn’t shut up about her for months, telling me how beautiful and awesome she is. Pity this not-reciprocated-yet love is affecting him pretty badly, he looks more nervous and pale and he doesn’t sleep either, in fact he calls me every night so I’d sing him to sleep.
“First of all,” Patrick states with an eyebrow raised, “you should’ve asked her out months ago, not 24 hours before your senior prom - I’m surprised she doesn’t have a partner yet, by the way. Second, you won’t be all lonely and sad at prom because sure as hell you’ll find someone to dance with, the girls of our school won’t let the opportunity to spend a night with the awesome soccer player Pete Wentz slip away,--”
“Yeah, except for Ashlee,” Pete points out sulkily.
“--and third, doesn’t your mother have a rose-tree?” Patrick is pretty sure to remember.
Pete stays silent for a moment.
“You’re a fucking genius, why haven’t I thought of it earlier?” he jumps on his feet, smooching loudly Patrick’s forehead before running back home without another word.
“What was he crying about?” Andy asks, eyes focused on the screen.
“Yeah, why?” Joe echoes, following the erratic movements of his console.
“For a red rose,” Patrick sighs.
“For a red rose?” the busy friends shout.
“What an idiot,” Andy shakes his head while Joe laughs mockingly.
Patrick doesn’t reply, thoughtful, understanding Pete’s longing for the loved person.
A few minutes later Patrick’s cellphone vibrates on the nightstand: roses r white :’( , Pete’s message says.
The boy sighs, typing his reply, Don’t worry, we’ll find a solution, before sprawling on his own bed and think about how to help his best friend.
Suddenly he stands up and sits at his desk, where the computer is. He runs internet and types ‘how to grow red roses’ in the browser bar.
After loads of links of photos, ways to get luxuriant bushes and symbolisms of flowers, Patrick finally finds a page: he shudders at the described way to get a red rose, but he hasn’t found anything better so far, and Pete is desperate.
Patrick thinks, and thinks, and thinks: a sacrifice on his behalf is a big price for only a red rose, but if it makes Pete happy with the person he loves then he’ll do it.
He only has to wait for midnight.
@~, ~’ ~, ~’ ~
It’s a bit before midnight and Patrick sneakily gets out of his house, crosses the street and jogs to cover the few meters that divide him from Pete’s house. He reaches the backyard and there it is, the rose-tree with its white roses, right under Pete’s window: the light is off, but Patrick is sure his friend is still awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Ashlee.
Patrick checks the time: midnight is soon approaching. He hides behind the rose-tree, right against the house, and takes his phone and pocket knife out; he calls Pete and immediately feels the relief in his voice.
“Lunchbox! My savior! Tell me you found a red rose!” Pete’s voice echoes, Patrick can hear him both in the phone and from his open window upstairs.
“Yup, but it won’t arrive before tomorrow: check your mother’s bush in the morning before going to school,” Patrick instructs.
“Oh. Okay…” Pete sounds a bit perplexed, “Thank you so much! I owe you my first born!” he then thanks enthusiastically.
“Thank me after you go to first base with Ashlee,” Patrick replies sarcastically.
“Will do! I’ll think of you when I’ll be in bed with her,” Pete retorts mischievously.
“Dude, gross. And I thought you loved her for how she is, not simply to get laid.”
“But I do love her! You know how…”
“…how gorgeous, funny, generally awesome she is. Yes, Pete, you told me a gazillion times.”
“Hehe. But really, thanks, Trick,” Pete says softly.
“Everything for my best friend,” Patrick concludes cheesily before ending the call.
The boy moves the soil from around the roots and shrugs his shirt off, covered only by a thin tee against the slightly chilly night. He then opens the pocket knife and looks at the reflections of the streetlamps on the blade.
That website said that only soaking the roots with blood spilled right from the heart will turn a white rose red, all of this while singing by moonlight.
Patrick can hear Pete sighing heavily in his room. He wouldn’t be surprised if his friend had cried.
“Be happy, Pete, I’m now going to make you a red rose with my heart’s blood and with my voice. All I ask you is to be a true lover towards Ashlee, love her deeply like I loved you,” he murmurs, taking the knife more firmly in his hand.
The cellphone vibrates against his thigh: Pete.
Patrick knew he was going to call, he sure is going to ask for a lullaby.
“Trick?” Pete’s sad voice arrives from the other end, “I can’t sleep…”
“I know…” Patrick simply states, aligning the blade with his heart, “What can I sing…Ah, yes: Are we growing up or just going down? It's just a matter of time until we're all found out. Take our tears, put them on ice, ‘cause I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light…”
A soft grunt messes the song a bit: Patrick has stabbed himself, the first drops of blood staining the rose tree’s roots, not reaching his heart yet.
“…’Cause I'll keep singing this lie if you'll keep believing it, I'll keep singing this lie, I'll keep singing this lie…”
An unbearable pain hits Patrick when the blade starts cutting trough the heart.
The rose on top of the bush slowly colors, at first with just a blush of pink.
The song grows fainter.
Patrick ends the song with a last burst of life directed to the rose and to his best friend before fainting between the rose tree and the wall, continuing to bleed, watering the roots.
The rose has finally a deep, crimson color and outstands fiercely in the bush.
Pete is snoring softly on the phone.
~, ~’ ~, ~’ ~@
In the morning, Pete wakes up with the phone still on his pillow.
Remembering Patrick’s instructions, he opens the window to check the rose tree before going downstairs, since the bush is visible right outside his bedroom.
“The red rose is really there!” he screams before running outside, amazed by the vivid color of the flower and the perfection of its petals. He carefully plucks it to avoid ruining it and being stung by the thorns, then returns inside to grab his schoolpack and runs to school, hoping to find Ashlee.
He’s lucky, Ashlee is sitting on the stairs outside the entrance.
“You said you’d dance with me if I brought you a red rose!” Pete says loudly, approaching her, “you could wear it tonight, next to your heart…Dance with me and it’ll let you know how much I love you.”
Ashlee frowns, “I’m afraid it won’t match my dress…Besides Ryan gave me an expensive bracelet, yesterday…Everybody knows jewels cost way more than flowers.”
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch!” Pete says angrily, throwing the rose on the path, right when some fellow student walks by and squishes it.
“I am ungrateful? You know what, you’re very rude, and who the hell do you think you are? You’re just a jock, like every other member of sports team,” she states as she gets up to enter in the building.
“What a silly thing love is,” Pete says as he walks inside as well, “it blinds you and makes you believe things that are not true, it doesn’t let you see the real qualities of a person…”
total disaster sry 4 bothering u so much - c ya later? , he texts Patrick.
The friend can’t reply anymore.