Doubt, Fall Out Boy
Title: Doubt
Author: becomingblurred
Pairings: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 366
Rating: G
Summary: “Pete, do you love me?”... He bit his lip, wondering if a question like that required zero thinking or all the thought in the world.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fall Out Boy.
Author’s Note: Just a short little thing... for the lovely niahmas. Thank you so much for being there for me the ups and downs of this week.
Warnings: None! Enjoy it, kiddies!
Doubt
By Donna
Two men sat at the local bar. They did not have any form of alcohol, one under oath not to, the other not caring enough. They still, however, looked hung over, their hair sticking this way and that, and their voices hoarse from yelling in some way or another. The one to the left of the bartender’s sight tapped his chipped black nails on an old glass, his black-lined eyes staring straight at the hardwood under his glass.
The other man moved nervously in his seat. He grabbed the earpiece of his glasses, shaking it up and down in hopes of it straightening out. He looked at his accomplice, taking his free hand and placing it against their black hair, attempting to place a spike or two down. The hair spiked up underneath his hand. His friend brushed his hand off, unintentionally offensive. Dejected, the “right-hand-man” of sorts looked at the ground. He took a deep breath and whispered, “Pete, do you love me?”
There was a silence that welcomed him. He held his breath, wondering what Pete was thinking. Impatient, he counted down to ten. He bit his lip, wondering if a question like that required zero thinking or all the thought in the world.
Well, after twenty-three seconds, Pete said, “Patrick.” That was it. Just two syllables, far from “I do” and not short enough for “Yes.”
“What?”
“Let’s go home.”
Patrick blinked, nervous. “Alright.”
They left a tip and rolled off their stools as quietly as possible. They tightened their jackets and walked outside, the cold putting a gun against their heads, waiting to go off. Pete wrapped his fashionably worn scarf tighter in self defense.
Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets, realizing his gloves were too busy seeking refuge on the couch.
Pete looked at him, watching Patrick’s arms flail in need of warmth. He unraveled his scarf, wrapping it around Patrick’s right hand. Patrick stared at it. “What was that for?”
Pete remained silent, grabbing Patrick’s left hand. He smiled at him, silent as a mouse.
And thus, any doubt Patrick had of them together fell into the gutter grate they walked over.
-END
Author: becomingblurred
Pairings: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 366
Rating: G
Summary: “Pete, do you love me?”... He bit his lip, wondering if a question like that required zero thinking or all the thought in the world.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fall Out Boy.
Author’s Note: Just a short little thing... for the lovely niahmas. Thank you so much for being there for me the ups and downs of this week.
Warnings: None! Enjoy it, kiddies!
Doubt
By Donna
Two men sat at the local bar. They did not have any form of alcohol, one under oath not to, the other not caring enough. They still, however, looked hung over, their hair sticking this way and that, and their voices hoarse from yelling in some way or another. The one to the left of the bartender’s sight tapped his chipped black nails on an old glass, his black-lined eyes staring straight at the hardwood under his glass.
The other man moved nervously in his seat. He grabbed the earpiece of his glasses, shaking it up and down in hopes of it straightening out. He looked at his accomplice, taking his free hand and placing it against their black hair, attempting to place a spike or two down. The hair spiked up underneath his hand. His friend brushed his hand off, unintentionally offensive. Dejected, the “right-hand-man” of sorts looked at the ground. He took a deep breath and whispered, “Pete, do you love me?”
There was a silence that welcomed him. He held his breath, wondering what Pete was thinking. Impatient, he counted down to ten. He bit his lip, wondering if a question like that required zero thinking or all the thought in the world.
Well, after twenty-three seconds, Pete said, “Patrick.” That was it. Just two syllables, far from “I do” and not short enough for “Yes.”
“What?”
“Let’s go home.”
Patrick blinked, nervous. “Alright.”
They left a tip and rolled off their stools as quietly as possible. They tightened their jackets and walked outside, the cold putting a gun against their heads, waiting to go off. Pete wrapped his fashionably worn scarf tighter in self defense.
Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets, realizing his gloves were too busy seeking refuge on the couch.
Pete looked at him, watching Patrick’s arms flail in need of warmth. He unraveled his scarf, wrapping it around Patrick’s right hand. Patrick stared at it. “What was that for?”
Pete remained silent, grabbing Patrick’s left hand. He smiled at him, silent as a mouse.
And thus, any doubt Patrick had of them together fell into the gutter grate they walked over.
-END