Diction (1/1)
Title: Diction
Author: new_evolution
Summary: Sometimes all you need to do is state the obvious.
Rating: G
Author's Note: Drabble. Written at work.
Words are not Patrick's friends. There's a reason he doesn't write lyrics. An A-sharp is always an A-sharp, no matter what context you put it in, but words trip him up and scramble his thinking. It's the reason his and Pete's abilities compliment each other, but it's also why Patrick, in dealing with Pete, sometimes finds himself helpless.
Patrick walks onto the bus and finds Pete slumped on the couch, an open magazine in his lap. The way he looks up at Patrick, it's like somebody kicked his dog. Words are Pete's friends, but sometimes they hurt him.
Pete wordlessly hands him the magazine. There's a column with their name at the top of it. Patrick scans it, sees words like "histrionic," "cliche," and "overbearing."
"Well?" Pete murmurs. "What do you think?"
Patrick knows Pete is looking for words of consolation. He wants to be told that his lyrics are brilliant, that what he's doing is worthwhile. Somebody else, maybe, could phrase that in an eloquent way.
"I think," Patrick says, "that you're Pete Wentz, and he's a record critic."
Pete's face splits into a wide smile. He stands up and throws his arms around Patrick's neck. "You always know just what to say."
Author: new_evolution
Summary: Sometimes all you need to do is state the obvious.
Rating: G
Author's Note: Drabble. Written at work.
Words are not Patrick's friends. There's a reason he doesn't write lyrics. An A-sharp is always an A-sharp, no matter what context you put it in, but words trip him up and scramble his thinking. It's the reason his and Pete's abilities compliment each other, but it's also why Patrick, in dealing with Pete, sometimes finds himself helpless.
Patrick walks onto the bus and finds Pete slumped on the couch, an open magazine in his lap. The way he looks up at Patrick, it's like somebody kicked his dog. Words are Pete's friends, but sometimes they hurt him.
Pete wordlessly hands him the magazine. There's a column with their name at the top of it. Patrick scans it, sees words like "histrionic," "cliche," and "overbearing."
"Well?" Pete murmurs. "What do you think?"
Patrick knows Pete is looking for words of consolation. He wants to be told that his lyrics are brilliant, that what he's doing is worthwhile. Somebody else, maybe, could phrase that in an eloquent way.
"I think," Patrick says, "that you're Pete Wentz, and he's a record critic."
Pete's face splits into a wide smile. He stands up and throws his arms around Patrick's neck. "You always know just what to say."