Stranger [S/A]
Title: Stranger
Author: ribbonsonwrists
Pairings: Justin Pierre/Patrick Stump, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Vaughn Stump. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre.
Disclaimer: No harm meant. Not mine, don't know, don't own, don't sue?
Author's notes: For megyal's Michael Jackson QuickFicFest. Please take a chance on the pairing. I know it's not the norm.
"I was wandering in the rain
Mask of life, feelin' insane
Swift and sudden fall from grace
Sunny days seem far away..."
Michael Jackson - Stranger In Moscow
Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Martin Stump. Vaughn Stump. Whatever. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre. Somewhere in Pete's mind, he thought it'd be a great idea to introduce the two. It was innocent enough, "Patrick this is-hey! Justiiiiin, it's my job to hump Trohman's amp!- Justin Pierre. Justin, Patrick."
At a nice round 8 years Justin's junior, Patrick figured there wasn't a darn thing to say until they recorded the vocals for Chicago. He had nodded and stalked off to save his guitar from the new studio tech's unsure hands, backtracking and blinking at Justin's ridiculously tall hair and shifty, mischievous eyes before offering his hand to shake and shuffling away to rescue the guitar, this time from Joe. Neither Pete nor Patrick thought anything more of the meeting, but Justin had mentally put Patrick in a Bell jar and labeled it "MINE".
******
"Shit, Justin. We almost got caught!" Patrick giggled, rosy cheeked and bright eyed. Well, brighter eyed than usual, in Justin's opinion. There were days when his brain was in such a fog that his eyes followed suit, and all he could do was look for the smile hidden under the green-blue and behind glasses. It was days like that when the elder singer would just close his eyes and try to picture Patrick there, fingers twisting his thick locks into long spikes then smooshing them back down again, cursing his own thinning strawberry blond hair into the middle of next week. Justin would never tell him for fear of Patrick punching him, but he loved everything about Patrick's hair. How it went from red to gold depending on his hat, clothes, or sometimes his mood. How it was short-long-short-short-fucking hippy!!! long. How it was always soft and silky, never greasy like Pete's or matted like Joe's or Andy's. Justin laughed and pecked the shorter man's cheek, still panting from their escape from the stage.
They'd just finished painting Andy's drumhead pink and patterning flowers and big Hello Kitty heads on it, their fingers still stained with "Princess Pink" spray paint and black Sharpie. Andy's bellowed call of their names meant they hadn't been as swift as they'd hoped, and yeah, maybe they'd better flee to avoid the drummer's fury. Patrick's eyes widened and he laughed, a loud, rich laugh before he took Justin's hand, gave him the brightest smile the world had ever seen, and ran.
******
"What? He's where? No. Absolutely not. I'm not telling Patrick. He'll be crushed. No, Joshua, this is where I'm drawing the line. He doesn't need to know what happened to Justin."
Patrick's breath caught and his eyes widened outside the door. Justin? What happened? Was he hurt? Sick? Oh Jesus, he had gotten killed. That had to be it. Justin had gotten himself killed somewhere. What the fuck, did he think Patrick didn't KNOW where he went and came back more glazed than a doughnut? Patrick listened at the door Pete was behind and heard "Cook County, 215. Got it. No, he won't. I won't let him, Josh. Whatever fucking chokehold Justin has on him ends NOW." before he ran to his car, fighting back a wave of nausea.
"He's my best friend, okay? He can't.. I won't let him, Josh. How would you feel if Justin was in Patrick's shoes? Right. I'm the same. We're heading to Europe in two days, and I won't have him heartbroken cause Justin fucked up and nearly didn't make it. I'm serious. Look, I almost left Patrick before I wanted to, and if he didn't learn from me, he won't ever learn. Get him clean or the next time Patrick sees him will be his funeral. I'm on my way."
Patrick waited until he saw Pete's car pulling out of the hospital parking lot before he practically ran to room 215. He was staring at his friend, his sometimes lover and touched him softly, speaking gently. "I'm sorry, Justin. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough for you. Maybe... Maybe I'm not strong enough for us anymore..." His eyes closed against themselves, shining with tears that waited until he saw Justin's prone form and pale, waxy skin before they fell onto Justin's cheek, Patrick's lips brushing his. "Stay safe." he whispered, closing his eyes tightly before he walked out, away from his first real love besides music.
******
Patrick entered the party on Pete's arm looking like a dream come true. Oh wait, that was with the exception of him being someone else's that night and who knew how many nights before. Justin wanted to know exactly why their label had them at a Grammy party. They'd never be nominated, let alone win, so Brett and Gina had to be pretty fucking sadistic, especially since they knew about "The Patrick Thing" and how Justin had sort of decided he'd quit everything, even the prescriptions just to see those eyes he loved so much sparkle at him again.
Patrick's rich, golden laugh rang out through the party, but something was different. It wasn't that Patrick's musical laughter was joined by Pete's horse bray. It wasn't that Jesse spoke quietly and pulled him away. In the years since they'd seen each other, Patrick had changed. He wasn't the innocent faced cherub that Justin had fallen for. He was a man, a singer and a genuine rock star now. He was, however beautiful, still a stranger. Justin stared at the way Pete's deep amber eyes lit up when they followed Patrick around, and how Patrick's turned a brilliant blue when he smiled at Pete, and suddenly wished for a long ago time when that grin like the midwestern sun rising was his to stare at as long as he wanted beneath the gray Chicago sky.
******
Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Vaughn Stump. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre. Somewhere in Patrick's mind, he missed their laughter, the perpetually sunny skies, the love they had for each other. Somewhere in Justin's mind, there was a Bell jar with the lid long since discarded and the words "No Longer" written across the bold "MINE!"
Author: ribbonsonwrists
Pairings: Justin Pierre/Patrick Stump, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Vaughn Stump. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre.
Disclaimer: No harm meant. Not mine, don't know, don't own, don't sue?
Author's notes: For megyal's Michael Jackson QuickFicFest. Please take a chance on the pairing. I know it's not the norm.
"I was wandering in the rain
Mask of life, feelin' insane
Swift and sudden fall from grace
Sunny days seem far away..."
Michael Jackson - Stranger In Moscow
Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Martin Stump. Vaughn Stump. Whatever. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre. Somewhere in Pete's mind, he thought it'd be a great idea to introduce the two. It was innocent enough, "Patrick this is-hey! Justiiiiin, it's my job to hump Trohman's amp!- Justin Pierre. Justin, Patrick."
At a nice round 8 years Justin's junior, Patrick figured there wasn't a darn thing to say until they recorded the vocals for Chicago. He had nodded and stalked off to save his guitar from the new studio tech's unsure hands, backtracking and blinking at Justin's ridiculously tall hair and shifty, mischievous eyes before offering his hand to shake and shuffling away to rescue the guitar, this time from Joe. Neither Pete nor Patrick thought anything more of the meeting, but Justin had mentally put Patrick in a Bell jar and labeled it "MINE".
******
"Shit, Justin. We almost got caught!" Patrick giggled, rosy cheeked and bright eyed. Well, brighter eyed than usual, in Justin's opinion. There were days when his brain was in such a fog that his eyes followed suit, and all he could do was look for the smile hidden under the green-blue and behind glasses. It was days like that when the elder singer would just close his eyes and try to picture Patrick there, fingers twisting his thick locks into long spikes then smooshing them back down again, cursing his own thinning strawberry blond hair into the middle of next week. Justin would never tell him for fear of Patrick punching him, but he loved everything about Patrick's hair. How it went from red to gold depending on his hat, clothes, or sometimes his mood. How it was short-long-short-short-fucking hippy!!! long. How it was always soft and silky, never greasy like Pete's or matted like Joe's or Andy's. Justin laughed and pecked the shorter man's cheek, still panting from their escape from the stage.
They'd just finished painting Andy's drumhead pink and patterning flowers and big Hello Kitty heads on it, their fingers still stained with "Princess Pink" spray paint and black Sharpie. Andy's bellowed call of their names meant they hadn't been as swift as they'd hoped, and yeah, maybe they'd better flee to avoid the drummer's fury. Patrick's eyes widened and he laughed, a loud, rich laugh before he took Justin's hand, gave him the brightest smile the world had ever seen, and ran.
******
"What? He's where? No. Absolutely not. I'm not telling Patrick. He'll be crushed. No, Joshua, this is where I'm drawing the line. He doesn't need to know what happened to Justin."
Patrick's breath caught and his eyes widened outside the door. Justin? What happened? Was he hurt? Sick? Oh Jesus, he had gotten killed. That had to be it. Justin had gotten himself killed somewhere. What the fuck, did he think Patrick didn't KNOW where he went and came back more glazed than a doughnut? Patrick listened at the door Pete was behind and heard "Cook County, 215. Got it. No, he won't. I won't let him, Josh. Whatever fucking chokehold Justin has on him ends NOW." before he ran to his car, fighting back a wave of nausea.
"He's my best friend, okay? He can't.. I won't let him, Josh. How would you feel if Justin was in Patrick's shoes? Right. I'm the same. We're heading to Europe in two days, and I won't have him heartbroken cause Justin fucked up and nearly didn't make it. I'm serious. Look, I almost left Patrick before I wanted to, and if he didn't learn from me, he won't ever learn. Get him clean or the next time Patrick sees him will be his funeral. I'm on my way."
Patrick waited until he saw Pete's car pulling out of the hospital parking lot before he practically ran to room 215. He was staring at his friend, his sometimes lover and touched him softly, speaking gently. "I'm sorry, Justin. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough for you. Maybe... Maybe I'm not strong enough for us anymore..." His eyes closed against themselves, shining with tears that waited until he saw Justin's prone form and pale, waxy skin before they fell onto Justin's cheek, Patrick's lips brushing his. "Stay safe." he whispered, closing his eyes tightly before he walked out, away from his first real love besides music.
******
Patrick entered the party on Pete's arm looking like a dream come true. Oh wait, that was with the exception of him being someone else's that night and who knew how many nights before. Justin wanted to know exactly why their label had them at a Grammy party. They'd never be nominated, let alone win, so Brett and Gina had to be pretty fucking sadistic, especially since they knew about "The Patrick Thing" and how Justin had sort of decided he'd quit everything, even the prescriptions just to see those eyes he loved so much sparkle at him again.
Patrick's rich, golden laugh rang out through the party, but something was different. It wasn't that Patrick's musical laughter was joined by Pete's horse bray. It wasn't that Jesse spoke quietly and pulled him away. In the years since they'd seen each other, Patrick had changed. He wasn't the innocent faced cherub that Justin had fallen for. He was a man, a singer and a genuine rock star now. He was, however beautiful, still a stranger. Justin stared at the way Pete's deep amber eyes lit up when they followed Patrick around, and how Patrick's turned a brilliant blue when he smiled at Pete, and suddenly wished for a long ago time when that grin like the midwestern sun rising was his to stare at as long as he wanted beneath the gray Chicago sky.
******
Somewhere between insecure and downright neurotic sat one Patrick Vaughn Stump. Somewhere just past certifiable and just before "Lock That Turnip Up" crazy was Justin Courtney Pierre. Somewhere in Patrick's mind, he missed their laughter, the perpetually sunny skies, the love they had for each other. Somewhere in Justin's mind, there was a Bell jar with the lid long since discarded and the words "No Longer" written across the bold "MINE!"