Fic: This story's going somewhere, bandom, RPS, non-gen 1/5

[jamjar]

Title: This story's going somewhere
Fandom: Bandom, Fall Out Boy (RPS)
Summary: Ageswap AU, in which Pete is still young enough that people are hopeful he will one day act his age, Joe is under no such illusion, and Patrick and Andy are old enough to know better (but young enough to do it anyway).
Notes: Thanks to ficbyzee for encouragement, not telling me I was a crazy person and listening to me flail about how it was only meant to be a small, gratuitous fic. Also, gigantic for beta-reading through the lot and reassurance when I was way past any kind of judgement on the fic. And megolas, for letting me talk about this in public. 42,000 words! What was I thinking?
Warnings: Adult content. Sex and swearing. Teenage dramatics. Non-gen. Occasionally gratuitous use of people from other bands. Length.

1/5

Joe finds him after French class, excited but trying not to show it.

"So I met this guy," he says, dragging Pete over to the lockers.

"You did? I'm shocked. Not totally shocked, but-- hey, and you know I'm very supportive of your lifestyle, but does Karen know? Or is it Katie. Or Lillian--"

"Yeah, you can shut up," Joe says. "No, I was in Borders, talking about music and this guy kind of interrupts and says, hey, you like them too? His name's Patrick and he's in a band," he says, sounding like he thinks Pete should be impressed.

"So are we," Pete says, slamming his locker shut.

"No, like a real band, that actually gets paid. Money."

Pete raises an eyebrow. "That's the root of all evil, you know? Since you started working, it's like I hardly know you anymore. Capitalist lacky--" He dodges Joe's attempt at smacking him upside the head and grins.

"Fuck you, I need a new amp. So yeah, he's like, a professional musician, and he just started talking to me, like I was--"

"How old is he?" Pete interrupts. "Because if he's some skeevy old guy picking up impressionable young high school boys in book stores…" He shakes his head. "You need to leave that kind of guy to me."

Joe rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, not your type. He seems sane for a start."

"And yet, he's trying to pick up jailbait groupies in Borders."

"It's not like that," Joe says, and he sounds sincerely frustrated, so Pete stops and looks at him. "He's really-- he seems like a nice guy, and he wasn't trying to pick me up, just talking to me about music. And he said he could put us on the list for Little Bits of Death. He covered for the drummer when he sprained his wrist."

It still sounds pretty sketchy to Pete, but he's been trying to see Little Bits of Death for a while, and at least if he's there, he can stop Joe running off and ending up in some strange guy's basement.

They get there and the band's rocking. No problem getting in --Joe's dirty old man got them on the list and the bouncer didn't check ID. Pete heads to the front of the stage with Joe and they go wild, music coming up from the ground and through his bones. Part of him notes that the sound is off -- vocals too loud, drums too quiet-- but most of him is just going crazy, no thought, only movement.

The bass player catches his eye, gives him a little look and Pete looks back holding it. The guy's hot, shirt off, nice tats winding round his body, and he gets to his knees for the next verse, looking at Pete while he does.

And yeah, that'd be a nice way to end the show, so he licks his lips, makes sure the guy can see, before heading back to the crowd and disappearing in the movement.

He feels someone grab the back of his jeans and he turns around, angry, but it's just Joe mouthing something Pete can't hear over the music. He pulls Pete out of the crowd and over to the bar. He pushes Pete in front of a guy with no shirt and killer sleeves and another guy with glasses and a hat, drinking something orange and keeps Pete there, his hands on Pete's shoulders.

"Pete, this is Patrick and Andy," he says, pointing at hat guy first, then tattoos.

And not what he expected, especially when Patrick nods at him and makes this movement, like he's going to wave hello or shake Pete's hand or something. "Hey, Pete. You liked the show?" He's wearing jeans, but just ordinary ones, not tight enough to let you see or loose enough to get your hands in and a T-shirt that could be grey or blue or green in the club lights.

"Liked the bassist," Pete says, putting a little extra bite in to it. Joe snorts behind him, but Patrick just says, "Robbie? Yeah, he's good."

Pete leans against the bar and watches them and-- okay, so he's not exactly inexperienced with bands, with the music scene. He's been in one off and on for *years*, and he's known enough people in them that he's not automatically going to turn into some groupie just because someone can play three chords without checking the instruction book. First impressions say that Andy probably is cool off-stage, but Patrick isn't, but it still kind of rocks talking to the guy that you just saw on stage, so he says, "Joe said you played with them?"

"Yeah, me and Andy-- not at the same time," Patrick says.

"You're drummers?"

"I am," Andy says. "Patrick does everything." He pushes Patrick's shoulder with his own, and it's like they're halfway through an old argument, Patrick rolling his eyes, Andy pushing him.

"I can play guitar as well, so-- but I'm pretty much happier out of the spotlight." He pushes his hat down and it's kind of-- yeah, not cool, but sweet. "You and Joe, you play together?"

"Yeah," Joe says, and Pete fights not to roll his eyes, because Joe sounds kind of starstruck, which Pete puts down to too much time on the dance floor, not enough backstage. "Well, you know, we're kind of in a band, except for not really having one. Drummer transferred at the beginning of the year, and we're kind of--"

"Joe had some equipment failure-- ow!" Pete rubs the back of his head, but grins when Joe hits him.

"It's why the day-job," Joe says. "Weekend job. Whatever."

"You could practice at mine," Patrick says. Pete raises his eyebrows, because yeah, they're right back to come up and look at my etchings, little boy, and Patrick's not cool enough to carry that off.

"I don't know, Joe has a curfew. No going home with strange men after 11pm." Pete folds his arms and looks forbidding. He's not a big guy and he looks his age, mostly, but he can look scary if he wants, sharp and teenage-reckless.

Andy laughs and pushes his glasses more secure. "Hey, Patrick almost never keeps high school boys in his basement anymore, not since the thing with-- you don't need to hear about that."

"It was very messy," Patrick says, deadpan for a moment before breaking and looking down, smiling. "No, I just meant, I know how hard it is to practise when you're getting started. Finding a place where you're not going to piss off the neighbours or your family, getting the equipment… So you know, if you wanted."

Pete's still not sure about this guy, but they do need a place to practice, so he nods and says, "Yeah, sounds cool."

Patrick smiles and Andy's arm is around his shoulder, and Pete thinks maybe-- well, maybe, when he doesn't have a good shot with a pretty bass player. Some other time. He's got no real intentions, but he puts them in the list of maybes.

"Cool," Patrick says. "You've got my number," he says to Joe, "so just let me know."

"Thanks! This is really-- yeah, my parents are supportive and all, but… you know, I don't want to push it," Joe says.

"It's-- really, it's cool," Patrick says. Pete wonders if maybe he really is interested in Joe, but Patrick nods at Pete. "You're welcome."

"We can share the benefits of our great wisdom," Andy says. "All that hard-earned experience. Like, very few execs keep their contracts in their motel room. Patrick learnt that the hard way..."

"Asshole," Patrick says, but smiling. Pete realises that they're in pretty much the same position, him and Patrick. Andy's hands on Patrick's shoulders, pushing down, and Joe keeping him right where he is the same way.

"He's your friend, right? A good friend?" Pete says, nodding at Andy.

"Yeah," Patrick says, sounding like that's just tragic.

Pete smiles sympathetically. "Friends suck, they really do. And not in the good way."

Patrick laughs, just a little like he's swallowing it back. "Yeah. All those years I spent wanting a friend, any friend, just one, and it turns out they all suck."

"I'm gonna remember you said that," Andy says. "When you're least expecting it, my revenge will swift and merciless." He bumps Patrick and Patrick ducks his head so his hat covers his face, and Pete thinks, yeah, definitely a maybe. Maybe even a yes, and he shrugs Joe's hands off his shoulders and pushes his hair off his face, showing off his body. He's not built, but he's lean and he looks good, he knows. "I'm thirsty, can I--" He gestures at the glass.

"Huh?" Patrick looks at it like he's forgotten he's holding it, then shrugs. "Sure. It's just orange juice. I don't really drink much."

"That's okay," Pete says. "I'm underage anyway." Smiles his best jailbait grin and takes it. He really is thirsty. "So I'm going to go find-- Robbie, you said his name was, right?"

"I didn't think you knew him," Patrick says.

"He doesn't," Joe says.

"Not yet." Pete grins when Patrick goes from looking surprised to understanding, shaking his head a little.

It's cute, because Patrick looks like he'd maybe be blushing or something, if the light was better, and Pete's pretty sure Patrick wasn't sleeping with random hot bass players when he was Pete's age. Probably isn't now, even if he is in a band with them.

"Wasn't there something about no strange guys after 11 pm," Andy says.

"Hey, Joe has a curfew," he says. "I don't." He steps away from Joe and holds his hand out, shaking Patrick's and then Andy's, like it's a formal greeting.

"See you around," Andy says, sounding amused, but Pete doesn't take it badly.

"Definitely," Pete says, and slips away to find the bassist.

Joe makes them wait two days before calling, no matter how many times Pete points out that that rules stuff is bullshit, and if Joe has a crush on Patrick and/or Andy, he should just blow them or something. He kind of doubts they'd put up a fight.

And then Joe drags him around, right after soccer practice when Pete's barely had time to jump in the shower and pull on a cleanish T-shirt. "I already got your bass," Joe tells him.

"This crush, it's cute and everything, but seriously--"

"Seriously nothing! Look, they're-- we need someone to practice with, and they know what they're doing. I have a good feeling about this," Joe says as they get out the car. He says it like that's the ultimate argument, like he's suddenly developed psychic powers. Joe the Soothsayer. Joe "Destiny" Trohman, guitarist and student by day, superhero and part time stripper by night.

Joe's shiny new powers must be on the fritz, because there is no way their fate is leading them here. Pete knows this because when they open the door, Patrick's wearing an argyle sweater and black socks that Pete can see very clearly because Patrick is wearing shorts.

"Oh, you're kidding me," he says and starts to turn around.

Patrick looks down at himself, and he seems like a nice guy, really, but *fuck*. Joe catches Pete's shoulders and pushes him inside. "Hey. You said we could come round?"

Patrick steps back and waves them in. "Yeah, I was just-- sorry, late night. I have this thing, piano in a hotel lobby and it runs late sometimes." He yawns and covers his mouth with the back of his hand and it's pretty fucking adorable. Still doesn't excuse the sweater and the shorts and dear god, the socks, but maybe he just doesn't know any better. Maybe he just needs someone to show him the light.

"You play piano?" Pete says, looking around. Not bad, a couple of decent posters on the wall, pictures of family and friends, so at least Patrick's probably not a complete psycho loner.

"Keeps me in takeout and shiny new instruments, helps pay for tuition fees," Patrick says. "And it's easy to take time off when I get something real or if I need to cram for something."

They head down to the basement, which is a decent size, but pretty much packed. There's a couch and a small window that lets in a little bit of light, a drum kit set up already and two guitar cases leaning against the wall.

It's clean, but Patrick picks up some magazines, kind of awkward, shuffling them about. "Uh, do you need to call your parents or something? So they know you're not in some psycho's basement or something?"

"We still don't know that we're not," Pete points out, but he grins at Patrick anyway. He gets his bass out and looks for where he can plug it in. Patrick helps him and Joe with quick, confident hands and Pete's suddenly self-conscious. Patrick can, apparently, play piano enough to get paid for it, play drums enough to fill in for someone, as well as play guitar. Pete's got no illusions about his own skills. "I'm, you know, I'm not saying I'm brilliant at this. I love playing, so--" Pete shrugs.

So they kick off and it's easier on stage, because he can move and there's an audience and he doesn't have to think about what he's doing, and he's not aware that Patrick is probably sitting there and thinking yeah, another teenage musician wannabe.

And then he thinks, argyle, and really, Patrick's in no position to be making judgments. So he goes through the song, waiting for Joe to pick it up, and it's okay. They really do need the practice, but it's still so much better to actually be making *noise* again. Pete can't sing, but he's got a good scream and he can go nuts without worrying about worrying anyone.

They finish the song and he looks at Patrick, daring him to say something, but Patrick just kind of shakes his head and says, "You guys must kill on stage," kind of wistful.

"Very few recorded fatalities," Pete says, his throat dry.

"We kind of suck, but we're not that bad," Joe says, looking way too cheerful. "It's just hard, you know, especially since we don't have a drummer or a singer that can actually sing."

Pete shrugs, because it's pretty much true, but Patrick says, "You're not--"

"No, we're fucking awesome, don't get me wrong," Pete says. "Just because we're not great now doesn't take away the fact that we're secretly awesome."

"I don't think it's a real secret if you tell people," Patrick says. "If you want-- you know that bit, leading in? If you switched that around, maybe used the bridge in-- let me show you--" and he borrows Joe's guitar, which Joe hands over easily enough to make Pete suspicious. Joe always seemed pretty much straight, but he's giving serious thought to reconsidering that in the face of the guy-crush he seems to have on Patrick.

Which Pete kind of doesn't get, because Patrick's-- well, cute, maybe, sort of attractive, but in that way that makes you crush on the girl who sits next to you in chem because of how she chews the top of her pencil when she's thinking, not the kind of hot that makes you grab someone off the dance-floor and drag them to a bathroom or a booth or just a convenient corner.

And then, halfway through the chord --he does have good hands, mobile, sketching out drum beats and chords when he's not actually playing them-- Patrick hums a couple of bars and Pete says, "Hey, sing something."

Patrick kind of ducks his head and his hands go from da-dum-da on an imaginary drum kit to fiddling with his cuffs, straightening them out. "No, I'm not a singer. Just drums and sometimes guitar or whatever there's space for."

Pete doesn't let himself get distracted by the hands thing. "Just-- please?"

Patrick shrugs and sings and Pete decides, then and there, that Patrick obviously needs him, because he's going around in argyle and saying he can't sing and his friends have obviously failed to let him know that both of those things are very, very wrong, and it's down to Pete to show him the light.

Patrick needs him, Pete thinks, watching the way his head tilts up and shows his throat when he sings.

Patrick goes to get them some coffee. Patrick's polite, which is-- Pete's mom would approve. Pete approves, the way he always approves of people that give him caffeine.

Joe's a laidback kind of guy, mostly, which is why Pete knows that he's practically buzzing when Joe looks at him and smiles. "So?" Joe says.

"What?"

Joe rolls his eyes like Pete is being willing obtuse. "So, Patrick? You know he's between bands right now." He leans in and says, "Don't scare him off by coming on too strong, we've got to get him in the band before he realises he should be running away."

"We don't have a band," Pete says. "We're just us."

"And now Patrick," Joe says. "But seriously, we can't just drop that on him. Baby steps, like taming a deer or something, so he doesn't freak out and think we're obsessed teenage stalkers."

Pete shakes his head and says, "And people think I'm the scary one."

"No," Joe says. "No-one thinks that." Like he's trying to break the bad news to him.

"Fuck you," Pete says, faking trying to hit him with his guitar.

"I got-- I forgot to ask if you wanted milk or sugar, so I just brought it all down," Patrick says, coming downstairs with a tray. He's still got this stupid baseball cap on and he's smiling like he knows he's acting like a dork and thinks it's kind of funny.

"We're going to be so fucking awesome," Pete says. He hears Joe groan and say, "like talking to a brick wall," but he ignores him.

"You are?" Patrick says, putting the tray down.

"We, *we* are," Pete says. "They're going to have to invent a whole new category for how incredible we're going to be."

Patrick's smiling, like he doesn't get what Pete's saying. "Cool."

"Yeah," Pete says. "We--" and he gestures at all of them, Joe on the sofa, still shaking his head, Patrick standing in front of them, "We are going to be fan-fucking-tastic."

And it's not quite as easy as that, because Patrick and Andy are obviously much slower on the whole fated-to-be thing than Joe and Pete, but they're a band, kind of. Andy and Patrick have other people they play with and Andy's pretty much a bandslut, but the thing is, Pete knows that Joe and him are really not that great, not compared to the people Andy and Patrick usually plays with. It's not like Patrick lets them in his home because of his mad guitar skills, and since they haven't actually tried anything on Pete or Joe, despite Pete being pretty fucking hot and Joe being pretty fucking obvious about the fact he's practically got them all in white and walking down the aisle together.

Which means that they must see it too, even if they don't know it. Patrick and Andy get the same vibe, that same bit of knowledge that, as long as they don't fuck it up, they're just amazing in the making. Because honestly, why the hell would they put up with them otherwise?

It's okay that Patrick smiles at him sometimes like Pete's a kid, and then gives Andy a look after, even though Pete would normally hate that kind of thing, especially when Patrick's not that much older than him. He's still in college, and Pete is way fucking older than his years. He's okay with it, because it’s obvious that Patrick cannot be trusted to live his life without Pete's input. He only thinks he was managing fine, but seriously, even if you ignore the clothes, you're still left with the fact that Patrick says things like, "I'm thinking about focusing on production, behind the scenes stuff. I'm not really anyone's idea of a rockstar, right?"

Like Pete hasn't seen him *lose himself* playing. They've gone to a couple of shows where Patrick played drums and one where he was rhythm guitar, and he's not like Pete and Joe who get high from the audience, but he obviously feels it too. That rush, collective emotion and movement and beat, and the way it makes music not just what you make, but what you breathe, what you *are* for that moment on stage. He comes off stage sweaty and afterglow, and maybe the groupies don't go for him like the do the lead singer, but maybe that's just because Patrick doesn't seem to go for them. Ever. Not even Pete, who isn't a groupie, but is usually right there and is, vanity aside, pretty fucking hot.

He asks Joe on the grounds that Joe's still not over his stalker crush and has probably been following Patrick home at night. "So does he have a girlfriend or something?"

Joe shrugs. "Dunno, why? Are you-- oh, dude, Pete, no."

Pete rolls. "No, nothing. Seriously. I just get a weird vibe from him, sometimes. It's just kind of odd."

"Weird like how?"

He frowns a little, thinking about it. The way Patrick is bizarrely tolerant of Pete's flying attacks, but never really does the same. They way he's careful not to touch Pete too much or-- no, careful is the wrong word, it implies that it's deliberate, and with Patrick it's more like he just doesn't see the opportunity. It's weird, but Joe just shakes his head when Pete tries to explain this

"So he's suspect because he isn't leching on you? Nice ego there, Wentz."

"Yeah, I don't see him dragging you to his bedroom either, Trohman." And that just gets them into a wrestling match that leaves Pete with minor injuries, mostly to his pride when he has to declare himself Joe's bitch.

Patrick has this evening job, piano in a hotel lobby, and Andy agrees to take them to watch Patrick play because Andy is the kind of guy that's sometimes a little evil to his friends. Pete's like that too, so he can recognise it in Andy, even if Andy is more subtle about it.

He recognises Patrick immediately, which is surprising because he doesn't look anything like he usually does and all Pete can see of him is a black jacket and a fedora or something sitting at the piano. He might take that as a sign, except that it really isn't, because Patrick playing is Patrick playing, no matter what.

He kind of recognises the music, but not specifically. More like he's heard Patrick sing it around the apartment or before rehearsals, or maybe on some radio station some time. What he recognises more is the set of Patrick's shoulders, the tilt of his head. He almost jumps when Andy drops his hand on Pete's back and turns his head to see Andy smiling. "Think he'd like a visit from his friends?"

"Can’t see why he wouldn't," Pete says. "We're fabulous people."

They stroll over and Pete's very aware of his bleached hair, ripped jeans and T-shirt with the "Parental consent advisory" logo on the front and "Fuck you, you can't tell me what to do" on the back. It makes him grin, makes him saunter across the polished lobby floor.

"Play it, Sam."

"Pete?" Patrick almost flinches, but his hands keep moving over the keys.

Pete leans across the piano, poses. He lowers his voice and tries to sound like Humphrey Bogart. "You know what I want to hear." It comes out more like a come on, but he can go with that.

"I'm working," Patrick says, keeping his voice low. "How did you get--"

"Andy gave me a ride." Pete leans over the piano and Patrick has his head tilted up to look at him. "Nice look. Hot," he says, sincere and joking all at once.

Patrick closes his eyes. "Please never say that about me again."

"You totally are," Pete says, coming around to stand behind him so he can lean over Patrick.

"My bosses tend to frown on their pianists flirting with jailbait and probably troubled teenage boys when they're working," Patrick says. "Doesn't fit in with the atmosphere."

He sounds kind of panicked and it's actually kind of cute, so Pete leans in and says, "But I really, really like you!" in his breathiest, youngest voice and watches Patrick's shoulders shake.

"I'm going to kill you," Patrick says. "And Andy, but first you."

"Sex freaks them out here, but they're okay with murder? Their priorities are kind of fucked." Pete's still whispering in Patrick's ear, but he straightens up a little, puts his hand on Patrick's shoulders. "Hey, I'll leave on one condition. I've got a friend who's throwing this party next week--"

"You need a lift?"

"Dude, I have Joe for that. No, Nick says we can play. Us, the band."

"You got us a gig?" Patrick says, and he sounds almost shocked.

"It's no big deal, we can do mostly covers, just a high school party. They won't be expecting much," Pete says, and he knows he's talking too quickly, so he calms himself down, stops squeezing on Patrick's shoulders as much. "I know we're still pretty rough, but we've got to get out there, you know? Get you used to being in front of the mike. Andy already agreed."

"We haven’t even--"

"Dude, don't make me do the Pretty Woman scene," Pete says. "Because I will and you know it."

"You're evil," Patrick says. "And must be destroyed."

"He can pay us fifty bucks and all the Doritos we can carry," Pete says, but he knows he has him even before Patrick rolls his eyes --Pete can't see them, but he knows-- and Patrick says, "There better be dip with those chips."

Pete digs his thumbs in like he's giving Patrick a shoulder-rub and he can see his grin in the reflection from the piano. "The finest store-bought salsa you could ask for."

It's just that easy, and Pete isn't even surprised because he's starting to think that this is the sort of thing Patrick's going to do. He's going to give Pete what Pete wants, and it's going to be a habit or something, because he's already started. Bootlegs and CDs and rehearsals and coffee or coke without ever commenting on caffeine and how Pete really doesn't need any more of it, and now this.

"You're the best sugardaddy ever," he tells Patrick. "You give me the nicest presents." And he drops a kiss on the back of Patrick's neck just to hear him squawk and makes a quick retreat.

"Full stomach, stage diving, not the best combination," Pete says, waving away the Doritos when Andy offers them.

"Stage diving?" Andy says, raising an eyebrow at the-- yeah, not so much a stage, more like a corner of the room where they moved the couch back. Pete grins and points at a chair he's set up near his speaker.

"I like to call that planning ahead."

"I'm making Patrick explain to your mom how you broke your neck."

They start playing before anyone really comes, warming up. Patrick's kind of facing them, so he doesn't really notice when people start turning up, not until Pete grins and throws himself at the crowd, twisting around so he hits them with his back, bass still facing the speakers. They shove him back on the stage area and he almost trips on his line but manages to catch himself, stumbling upright. Joe mouths "cool" at him and rolls his eyes, but Pete just grins.

He gets back to his mike in time for his scream, too loud in this room, they've got to get bigger venues, and he looks over at Patrick, wanting him there. Patrick's holding on to the mike with one hand and he's got his head tipped up, eyes closed and it's fucking obscene, but it's like he's all inside himself, concentrating on the music and the notes and self-contained with nothing out there but his voice. Pete leans over and screams into Patrick's mike, making Patrick jump when he realises what Pete's doing. Pete catches Patrick's eye and it's just a second where Patrick relaxes, where something eases, but Pete can feel it in his voice, running through the mike, the room, every body in it.

The song ends and Patrick's fingers are strumming the opening lines of the next one, but Pete knows he probably needs a glass of water by now, so he grabs Patrick's mike and says, "So anyone here not having fun? Because if you don't fucking feel it, you don't fucking belong."

There's a mixture of people calling agreement and one guy Pete vaguely recognises saying, "Yeah, or maybe you just fucking suck!" and Pete grins at them, shows his teeth and yells, "You wish!" while he elbows Patrick, nodding his head at the water bottle.

"So here's what's gonna happen," he says to the crowd. "We're gonna play some tunes--" a couple of "yeahs", some kind of sarcastic, mostly from people he knows. "And you're gonna dance" more agreement there, "And we're gonna bring the motherfucking walls down!"

Patrick straightens up from his water, nods at Andy and Joe and elbows Pete back to his mike, and yeah, that's better, Pete's feeling the crowd even more, and he knows he's gonna get mocked on Monday for it, "'bring the motherfucking walls down' Peter?", but fuck, it doesn't matter if they think he sounds stupid then, because they're right there with them now.

They play straight through the next three tracks, stop for a five minutes to catch their breath and untangle Joe from his wires and Patrick says, "You should definitely do that more."

Pete blinks at him, still show-drunk. "What?"

"The crowd thing. Frontman."

Pete looks at him for a second, then grins, spreads his arms out wide, messianic. "They are my people," he says.

"And you know it," Patrick says, affectionate even though he elbows Pete hard. Patrick looks down at his hands for a moment, and then says, "I think this could really maybe work."

"Yeah?" he says, and it's softer than he means.

"Really. I'm not-- you know," Patrick says, gesturing past the mikes at the crowd. "But you really are."

Pete can feel the back of his neck get hot, feel his smile go wide enough that it almost hurts, because yeah. "So you're admitting that we're a real band? Because seriously, Joe and I have this whole schedule worked out, we were planning on two more weeks, minimum, before we convinced you."

Patrick leans over and curls his hand around Pete's neck. His fingers are cold from the water bottle and Pete exaggerates a shiver. "Fine, we're a real band. Means we have to take it seriously, you know that."

Pete nods and gives up trying to control his grin. It's pointless, especially when "Are you done yet?" he says, raising his voice to Andy and Joe.

"Nearly," Andy says, still frowning and trying to untangle Joe. "Seriously, Trohman, how do you do this?"

"It's a gift," Joe says.

"Done," Andy says, helping Joe step out of the final loop. "Am I going to have to do this after every show?"

"Probably," Patrick says. "But when we get paid, you and me are getting a danger money bonus."

Pete meets Danielle at the party, even though she arrives late, after they've stopped playing. Danielle is unimpressed when Pete tells her he's in a band, just like she's unimpressed with everything else in the world. She's all sharp nails and cool disdain and occasional bits of humour, and she's absolutely beautiful. She blows him the first time he sees her at a party, but it's still three weeks before she lets him touch her, lets him get his hand in her pants. Three weeks of going to her classes, finding her after school, dropping love letters and names of bands he likes into her locker, before she says yeah, sure, and lets him bring her off in the bathroom of someone else's house. Her hands run over the raised lines of his tattoo, digging in.

She pushes him away after, hard enough that he's going to have bruises, but she kisses him before she leaves the bathroom, soft, gentle. The next day she spends all of Math drawing on his hand in ballpoint, not looking up at all until his right hand and forearm are covered in winding branches and barbed wire. The ink runs out at the top and she keeps going, pressing harder to get little red lines of scratched skin finishing off the pattern. She gets him off in the bathroom before practice and lets him go down on her after.

The pattern is still on his arm when he goes round to see Patrick after, buzzed and excited and ready to apologise for missing practice a couple of times and talk about how fucking amazing life and his new girl is.

"Trick, I'm sorry--" he starts to say when Patrick opens the door. Patrick doesn't slam it in his face, but he turns around and walks back in without saying anything. Pete's smile slides off his face.

Patrick is pissed, which sets Pete on edge. It's not exactly new, because Patrick can be kind of a moody bitch, but it still leaves Pete unsettled whenever it happens.

"You missed the last two practices and you skipped out early on the one before," Patrick says over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, things were kind of intense and I just--" Pete starts to say

"If you're not serious about the band, you don't have to be." Patrick says and Pete's heart stops. Patrick's still walking, not like he's trying to get away so much as that he really doesn't want to be near Pete right now.

"I am serious," Pete says, following him in to the kitchen. "It's just-- there's this girl, and I swear, I just kind of forgot."

Patrick looks at him and his expression shifts from anger to something softer. "There's nothing wrong with-- you're still in high school, you want to hang out with your friends and--" and that's even worse, Patrick looking at him like he understands, like he doesn't get how much Pete needs this.

"I don't," he says, grabbing Patrick's arm. "Please, Patrick, I'm sorry, I just--" He holds his arm tighter. "I just really like her, you know? And I got kind of focussed, but that doesn't mean-- you know how much this band means to me," he says. He can hear his voice, low and desperate and he kind of hates that, but he hopes it convinces Patrick anyway.

Patrick looks at him and Pete realises how hard his fingers are digging in to Patrick's arms. When he lets go there are white marks in the shape on his hand. "You didn't phone or text or-- I called your mother when you didn't show."

Pete winces and Patrick sighs but rubs Pete's arm just above the patterns Danielle drew. "We were worried. I was worried, Andy was worried, Joe was--"

"Joe sees me at school every day," Pete says. Patrick looks at him and Pete drops his gaze. "Okay, fine. I've been kind of focussed on her, but I'll make it up, and she's-- she's special, you know?" He rubs his arm, feeling the raised lines where she pressed in to hard with the pen, thinking of the way she kissed him after he'd banged into that wall.

Patrick's got that expression again, the one he gets where it's like it hurts him to see Pete. It makes Pete feel angry -he's not a kid, Patrick doesn't get to look at him like he's so young it hurts- and it makes him feel guilty, something heavy and crawling in his stomach at making Patrick worry like that.

"Okay, she's special." Patrick says. "So are we going to meet her?" He smiles, just a little and Pete's nails stop digging in to his palms.

"Yeah, I hope," he says. "She's, you know, she's not impressed by the band thing, and we haven't-- it's not like we've actually gone on dates or anything." He shrugs and smiles a little, helplessly and looks down. "You really called my mom?"

"Don't make it sound so stupid," Patrick says, and gives Pete a quick hug, just long enough for Pete to rest his head on Patrick's shoulder and catch a little glimpse of a fading bruise disappearing under the collar. He gets a flash of Patrick and Faye, just a moment to think that Patrick's at least had someone to distract him. "For all I knew, you were dead in a ditch somewhere."

"I'd come back and haunt you," Pete says. He fakes a bite at Patrick, making him push Pete off. "Ghost zombie! Braaaains! Braaains!" Pete flops his head to one side, hands out in classic undead pose and gives chase.

Patrick gives Pete a spare set of keys when he's away on tour so Pete can get some more practice and water Patrick's plants and Pete fails to give it back. He likes seeing them on his keyring next to his own set, likes the reassuring weight of them in his pocket, the feeling of having someplace he can hole up in when he wants to get away from people. He's not sure Patrick knows how much Pete goes over, but it's not like Pete's throwing house parties or anything. He just goes over, waters the plants, maybe has a shower after soccer if he can't face the locker room. He checks out the medicine cabinets, the music collection and the books shelves, but it's not like he's going through the bedside cabinet on a regular basis.

Patrick's place is kind of cool, mostly because he's a pretty big music geek and has no shame about it. He has tapes, CDs, records of pretty much everything. He's got instruments, too. Acoustic guitar, electric, one bass that he says he's holding for a friend, drum kit, keyboard, trumpet, along with random little things -a koto he can't explain, a steel drum, an oboe, half a clarinet. There are mikes and bits of recording equipment, though Patrick mostly uses the studios at his college.

And there are endless stacks and shelves of tapes, CDs, records, reels, and Patrick will press them on you if he thinks there's even half a chance you might like them. Pete picks up one stack at random and tries to work out if any of the bands there are on the CD Pete's got playing in his discman right now. Patrick's latest gift has Cole Porter leading in to some French RnB thing that Pete can only kind of understand the words of, even though the tone is clear as anything.

Good beat too, enough for him to kind of dancing to it as he goes in using the key he's never quite got around to returning. The track comes up to a loud bit and he air-drums with one hand as he pushes open the kitchen with his foot, saying, "Hey, Stump, you in here?"

For a moment, Pete doesn't really connect what he's seeing, because there's a couple having sex on Patrick's kitchen counter and for a moment he thinks, "oh, Patrick's gonna be pissed when I tell him," and starts to smile at the thought of it, what he can say to freak him out the most, and then his brain registers what he's actually seeing, which is a girl on the counter, her legs over Patrick's shoulders, heels digging in and her hands gripping the edge of the counter, back arched and head tilted back and she's moaning and he can hear--

He drops the bags and almost the CDs and it's a crash and he should say something, something like the sort of thing he would say, normally, but it feels like his brain is broken.

The sound makes them both jump, freeze, but he's turned around and backed out the door before they can say anything, and then he's back in the hallway, staring at the door as it swings closed. There's silence for a moment, and then he hears a "Pete?" In Patrick's voice, like he doesn't really want to know the answer.

He thinks about not saying anything, but his mouth disagrees because it says, "Yeah?" before he can stop it.

He can hear a muttered "Oh, fuck," because the door isn't exactly soundproof, and then something that sounds like talking, the girl laughing quietly.

He should go back in there and do something, say something, but--

Her heels digging in to his back, hard enough that she might have left bruises on his pale back, that surprising amount of skin -naked! Patrick, half-naked!- and he'd been-- and pretty fucking good at it, judging by her expression and it's Patrick and--

"Pete? You can come in. Or, you could leave right now and we can all pretend you were never here," Patrick says, then he lets out a little, huff, and says, "What? I'm just giving him the choice." To the girl, Pete assumes.

Pete actually thinks about it for a second, which just proves how off his reactions are about this. Normally, you walk in on your friend going down on some random girl, you tease him about it or watch or ask if you can join in, and unless they're actually going down on your sister or something, it's not something you freak out about.

This, though… It's like walking in on your parents having sex, he thinks, except not at all.

And really, he's got nothing to be embarrassed about, and hey, judging by the girl, Patrick doesn't either, so he smirks and opens the door. "I was planning on asking if you wanted to get something to eat, but--" and it's not the best line he can come up with, but it works, it makes Patrick rolls his eyes and look utterly embarrassed, and the girl kind of laughs. Patrick's got his shirt back on, but he's not wearing a hat and he's standing behind the counter trying to hide behind a glass of water.

Her hair's messy and he wonders if Patrick did that, Patrick tangling his fingers in her hair while she sucked him off. Maybe when he'd walked in, Patrick was just returning the favour or something, but judging by how Patrick's standing behind the counter, no. Which, honestly, is kind of impolite, in Pete's opinion. Sure, maybe Patrick might have been too freaked out by Pete walking in, but she could have at least offered.

"Faye," she says. "Faye Morris. Patrick's girlfriend, which is kind of obvious, probably since you just-- and I'm having major flashbacks to freshman year. Or maybe American Pie II. Sorry, I talk a lot when I'm embarrassed. And you must be Pete, right? Pete Wentz? Patrick's told me so much about you and I was hoping to meet you and Joe, only obviously, not when I was, uh..." She looks at Patrick a little helplessly. "You know, you could jump in any time."

"Can't," Patrick says. "I'm too busy repressing." He closes his eyes and looks like he's concentrating. "I'm pretty sure I can wipe the whole morning from my memory, if I just..."

"Hey, not like it's anything I haven't seen before," Pete says, before Patrick's looks of panic has Pete playing that sentence back in his head. "With other people, I mean. Not you, other people."

"That really, really doesn't help," Patrick says. "I'm pretty sure I can get arrested for letting underage minors--"

"As opposed to overage minors?" Faye says. She holds up her hands in mock surrender when Patrick glares at her, and that's just-- it's weird, because it's like she's not just a girl, not just Patrick's girlfriend, but it's like she and Patrick have this whole *thing* between them that means she makes fun of him in a way that makes him pretend to be angry even when his mouth is smiling. And Patrick's mouth is kind of -- it's probably just the water from the glass Patrick is drinking from, but it makes Pete think even though he's trying to avoid that right now. Patrick's tongue just darts out to lick his lips nervously and then--

And then his girlfriend kisses him and Pete almost jumps at the sudden movement. Faye leans over the counter and kisses Patrick, then leans back and says, "Hey, could be worse. At least you have nothing to be embarrassed abo--"

"Changing the subject now!" Patrick says, turning a pink which looks horrible against his red T-shirt. "If you care for me even a little..."

Faye turns around and grins at Pete and she looks happy, which is probably easy for her, Pete thinks, since it's been less than five minutes since Patrick went down on her. "So you're into music too, right? You play guitar or something?"

"Yeah, I play bass," he says, smiling at her politely. "Looks like I need to work on my timing."

"Maybe just a little," she says.

So it turns out Patrick has a girlfriend, which-- yeah, it's not a surprise, exactly, or at least it shouldn't be. It's not like he expects Patrick to only have friends, only have the band and the guys he works with. It's just a surprise, still.

Faye is nothing special either way. The sort of girl that's hot enough if you like her, average if you don't, brown hair, grey eyes. Smiles a lot, which makes Patrick smile back, so that's good.

She's just-- she's kind of loud, even when she's not saying anything or doing anything. When she's there, she's really there, so there's this space occupied by her and less for everyone else. She swears and she talks fast, kind of breathless, and she touches people a lot when she does. She curls up next to Patrick on the couch, on him, which Pete totally gets, because Patrick is good to curl up on, but it's kind of clingy when she does it all the time, shoving Pete over or taking his space so she can lean against Patrick.

They don't go crazy with the PDAs, but he sees them sometimes, getting a little lost in each other, hands disappearing, before they remember to keep it PG in front of the kids.

She smokes up with Joe. Not heavy, just occasionally, but it's something else she doesn't have in common with Patrick.

One day, Pete comes down to see Patrick and Faye and Joe are sitting on the couch.

"I can't believe I'm fucking a guy," she says, bright and high, giggling like she's gossiping at the lockers. She holds on to Joe's knee and says it again, in that same breathless voice. "And I want to, he takes his clothes off and I'm like, fuck, I want that. Me! It's so fucking weird!"

"I like lesbians," Joe says, leaning his head on hers. "They're hot."

"We like you too," she says. "But I'm a pretty terrible lesbian at the moment, what with the boyfriend that I like having sex with."

"Best kind," Joe says.

"Oh, honey, never say that again." Faye pats Joe on the knee and looks up at Pete. "Patrick's downstairs in the basement."

Patrick's setting up his drum kit when Pete comes down. "You know your girlfriend's kind of gay?"

"That explains the time I caught her in bed with my sister," Patrick says, without looking up. He finishes adjusting the snare and turns to face Pete. "Yeah, I know. She told me when we first got together." He looks at Pete, frowning a little.

"It's cool," Pete says, sitting on one of the barstools liberated from who knows where, kicking his feet against the legs. "I just thought, if you didn't know. It pretty much sucks when the person you've been dating says, 'I don't actually like fucking guys' on you, when two days ago, they liked it just fine." And he doesn't mean to sound as bitter, he was heading for blasé, but it's Patrick, so it doesn't matter. He looks at his feet hovering above the floor, the scuffed toes of his shoes.

"Hey," Patrick says, making Pete look up. Patrick's standing right next to him and he puts his hand on Pete's shoulder, digging in with his thumb. Pete puts his hand on Patrick's wrist, holding it in place and he leans his head on Patrick's hand, closing his eyes. His own thumb skates the underside of Patrick's wrist, just where it's soft. "Sorry."

And then he opens his eyes, tilts his head to look at Patrick and smiles at him because he doesn't like it when Patrick gets hurt over things that happened to Pete. "It's okay. One of those things, you know?"

"High school sucks."

"Yeah, old man, like you can remember that far back," Pete says, straightening up. He grins at Patrick and Patrick smiles back, not exactly happy, but like maybe Pete can distract him. "Seriously, it was a long time ago. I have way more interesting personal tragedies now."

Patrick rolls his eyes, and that's his, "You're not old enough to have a long time ago" eye-roll, but he lets Pete get away with it. "Of course you do," he says. He pats Pete's shoulder. "Thanks for looking out for me. I didn't need it, but thanks for wanting to."

Pete shrugs. "You're my--" and he doesn't say best friend, because that sounds too juvenile, too sincere right now, so he goes with, "you're my lead singer and you're my friend, right?" He leans against Patrick and hugs him. It's a little strange because he's sitting and Patrick is standing, so his head is against Patrick's chest, his arm around his waist. He really doesn't get tired of this, the way Patrick is solid and comfortable and like he was designed for this. He kind of hates having to draw away, because fucking teenage hormones kicking in and getting him hard when he's just trying to enjoy touching Patrick.

Pete's really got no problem with the fact that Patrick and Andy are not band-monogamous. Andy has about ten different bands he plays with and Patrick's always getting calls, someone's sick or broke their arm stage-diving or ran off with the bass-player's boyfriend, and Patrick can do everything. It's okay, really, because it's not like Patrick's playing with those other bands permanently, and Andy's going to settle down one of these days and practice with them sometimes gets rescheduled, but not cancelled, it's just--

There are people who keep calling Patrick and don't even know that he can sing. They leave messages on Patrick's machine, saying "If June and Neet don't work this out, we could use you." Patrick knows people from all over, people he's met in tour, seven degrees of band, people he's done studio stuff for.

So it's not exactly a surprise at a totally random club, first act of three playing, and some random guy with a lip ring and a checked shirt leans over Patrick, arm on his shoulder and says, "So I hear you can sing now?"

Patrick shrugs but doesn't shrug him off or move away. Patrick's pretty tolerant of people, even people Pete doesn't know, hanging on him like that, but he usually shrugs them off eventually. "We're trying it out."

"He's amazing," Pete says, talking over him. "I don't know why the hell no-one had him singing before now." The guy looks him over. Pete crosses his arms and looks back, like he's not impressed, but is willing to be convinced. The guy's kind of hot. Not quite hot enough to risk a pass at a stranger in a pretty hardcore club, but close. "So you're...?"

"Alex. Me and Patrick were in a band, way back when."

Patrick grins, turning his head to look at him. "Band. You say that like we actually played music."

"We weren't-- yeah, we were that bad. Fuck, how old were we? Like fifteen?" The guy, Alex, shakes his head like he can't believe it.

"About that," Patrick says, then he remembers that Pete's still sitting right there and gestures at him. "This is Pete. Bass and crowd control."

Pete rolls his eyes, hah hah, but he offers his hand and Alex has to let go of Patrick's shoulders to shake it.

"We got distracted by his other talents," Alex says. "You should hear him play trombone." He sounds affectionate, happy for Patrick, then he looks back at Pete. "Seriously, I've known Patrick since we were kids, younger than you, and do you know how hard it is to get him to flaunt his stuff on stage?"

"Yeah, I still suck at that," Patrick says. "Pete does the frontman stuff."

"Yeah?" Alex looks at Pete, then looks him over. Pete leans back, just enough to make his expression a little challenging, that line between fuck-you/fuck-me. Alex straightens up so he's not leaning all over Patrick anymore, but his arm is still across his shoulders. He's pretty, and he doesn't act weird about it, the way some guys are, not flaunting it with eyeliner and not exactly hiding it. Pete pictures him at age fifteen, minus the tattoos and piercing, pictures Patrick there as well in the same kid punk band.

"You're hanging around for the show, right?" He says. "Because we've got this new drummer and I kind of want to show him off. You too, Pete." He squeezes Patrick again, but he smiles at Pete.

"Definitely," Pete says, and he meets Alex's eyes, holds them when he smiles back and thinks of Alex, jailbait pretty and hanging all over the Patrick he's seen in a few photos.

Patrick's kind of shaking his head when Alex detaches from him to go set up. He's smiling, just this little half-smile to himself. He's got such a pretty mouth, Pete thinks. He wonders if he used it on Alex.

"What?" Pete says, faking innocence deliberately badly.

"I'm not sure if I should be impressed or afraid," Patrick says. "Nothing, never mind."

Pete shrugs and moves over so he's standing next to Patrick. He leans on him, close enough that he doesn't have to raise his voice over the noise of the club. "So the two of you, exes or old friends?"

"We're still friends," Patrick says.

Pete rolls his eyes and elbows him. "Not what I meant."

Patrick shrugs and looks away, on stage. "Why do you want to know?"

"Old friends are okay," Pete says. "But ex-whatevers are kind of sketchy to hook up with. And don't tell me you didn't sleep with him, because he's kind of blatant."

"Alex's kind of like that anyway," Patrick say. "But, old friends. Still friends, but definitely old friends." He smiles, but it's not really at Pete. A good memory smile.

"I didn't know you'd had boyfriends," Pete says. He shrugs, trying to take the sting out of it. "I'm not totally shocked or anything, but..." he doesn't really know how to end that sentence.

"I wasn't trying to keep it from you," Patrick says, kind of carefully. He looks away. "Boyfriends makes me sound like I had multiple-- I'm really not that interesting." He fiddles with the edge of the table. "Just enough to make it uncomfortable with some of the hardcore bands."

And Pete knows how that goes. He doesn't say, even if he's thinking it, "Does your girlfriend know you like cock too?" and he doesn't think about how far Patrick might have gone, if he'd just hooked up with guys he played with or people safely outside the scene.

"Pete? You do get that, right? I wasn't hiding it from you, I just didn't think to-- it's not like it's that important or that I'm closeted or anything. I mean, my girlfriend--" Patrick says, then stops and laughs. "My girlfriend knows, which sounds kind of strange. And Andy, obviously." He touches Pete's hand, lightly for emphasis. "I wasn't keeping it secret from you. I just forget sometimes that you don't know stuff about me, you know?"

"It's okay," Pete says, because Patrick's so obviously worried that Pete's worried. "Like I said, it's not a shock. We're cool." He sways in to Patrick, just a half second of contact, smiling.

"You are," Patrick says. "I'm pretty sure I'm not. Never have been, never will be."

"You're the lead singer in a band," Pete tells him. "You're cool by definition."

"And still..." He doesn't sound unhappy, just kind of resigned, kind of amused.

"You're fucking cool," Pete says, low pitched and complaining. It's not that Patrick's wrong exactly, except that he totally is, and he just doesn't get that.
Part 2/?