[fic] wanted to be your [pete/patrick; r]
wanted to be your
or: the trials and tribulations of growing up in the vicinity of pete wentz
patrick/travis, patrick/pete. r; 14502 words.
Patrick is not going to fail Chemistry. He's got a secret weapon. He's also got an awkward crush, but that part isn't his fault. This is for iphignia939. I WILL get the number in that username right some day, i swear. ♥
the title is from a song by spoon! google it or something. thanks to wishpaper for the last quick look-over, and disarm-d for all the whining she's had to put up with while i worked on this thing. any problems left are entirely my fault.
course outline
Patrick is not going to fail Chemistry.
His roommate, William, is in the same class as he is. Like most people, William is failing. Even with an upperclassman helping him study, William is failing. This is probably because Travis was never very good at chemistry himself. He tries to help, comes to the room constantly to force William to study, but William always ends up playing video games or unsuccessfully trying to convince Travis to write something for the school paper.
Travis usually ends up playing Patrick's video games. Travis, near as Patrick can tell, thinks the mess of consoles and controllers and games belong to William, since neither William nor Patrick has ever told him otherwise. Patrick doesn't mind, because Travis always puts them back and wraps the cords neatly around the controller and everything when he's done.
The point is, William and Travis play too many video games, William is going to fail, and Patrick is going to pass.
It's going to be awesome.
Patrick has a secret weapon, and its name is Jon Walker.
Jon Walker is in Patrick's year, but none of his classes. For the first two years of their respective educations here, they ignore each other completely. Patrick only vaguely recognizes Jon, but can't put a name to his face.
Then he finds out from a friend that Jon's doing really well in Chemistry -- and that Jon wants to learn guitar. Jon, as it turns out, lives two rooms down from Patrick, so Patrick heads over one day and asks if he wants to trade Chem knowledge for guitar lessons.
Jon says, "Like Voltron?"
"No," Patrick says. "Well, a little. Wait, what?"
"More like Captain Planet," Jon says, meditatively. "You know, when our powers combine?"
"Are you sure you're doing well in Chem?"
"Straight A's so far, whatever that counts for, since we've only had two quizzes." Two quizzes that Will and Patrick both failed. Jon says, "You're pretty good at guitar, though, played the talent show last year, right? So hey, that'll work pretty well."
Jon, thankfully, turns out to be a lot less daft than he seems on first impression.
There aren't a lot of kids in the school, maybe two hundred, tops. Not all of them stay in the dorms, either; there're a few local kids, but not many. The grades tend to keep separate from each other, the self-segregation based mostly on age and classes. Because of this, Patrick knows at least something about most of the kids in his year.
The thing is, Jon hangs out with everyone.
There's a few kids -- Chris Gutierrez, Brendon Urie, Joe Trohman -- who'll stop by asking after this guy named Pete. Not once has Patrick ever seen Pete in Jon's room, and he's not entirely sure he's ever seen Pete anywhere, ever. Other people come around, though; Jon has a lot of friends.
When Brendon will show up asking for Pete, he'll sort of ramble on -- "I'll just wait and see if he comes by, he wasn't in the library and he wasn't with Travis, and oh, hey, that sounds good, what are you playing? I love this song, seriously, it's great, good luck with it. Hey, you want to play Halo?" -- and, according to Jon, will usually end up staying long after Patrick leaves. Patrick's pretty sure the kid is just starved for friendship and looking for an excuse, but he doesn't mention it.
(Except to Jon, who says, "Yeah, probably. It's cool though, he can be pretty funny. He's a good guy.")
lesson one
One fact most people don't seem to know about Patrick: he's kind of a mess. Not emotionally, but he's got a tendency to set things down and forget to put them away, or to put them in haphazard piles on the floor.
William says, "Patrick?" He says, "Pat."
"I told you," Patrick says.
William cuts him off. "No! I am calling you Pat until you get the dirty plates off the floor. You don't even have to wash them, seeing as they're not ours," he says. "Just. End them."
Patrick says, "Hm." And tries to think of what to do with stolen cafeteria plates.
lesson two
Pete Wentz is just something that happens to people. Like a tornado or a lightning strike, he's sudden and nearly impossible to avoid. Maybe he's more like puberty, something weird and awkward that everyone goes through. Patrick's not sure which he'd rather believe -- natural disaster or just a phase.
It takes Patrick a while to realize this, since it takes Patrick a while to learn that Pete Wentz actually exists. Sure, he's seen the guy around campus, and people are always asking after him, but Patrick was beginning to think of him as kind of like Nessie. Or a yeti, maybe.
Then it's like the universe gets tired of taunting him, and suddenly Patrick keeps getting these up-close encounters with the Wentz in its natural habitat.
"Oh, hey," Pete says. "You look a little lost and found."
"What?" Patrick says, "Really, what?" (As far as he can remember -- and he's trying, really trying -- the only things Pete has ever actually said to him in the past two years are one "hello," two "'sup, man"'s, and once, in a stupid voice, "You seen Jon? Johnny Walkah?")
"Throwing plates?" he says. Pete stops next to Patrick, looking across the expanse of asphalt. He puts a hand up to shield his eyes. "You're not even getting them in the dumpster."
"Maybe I wasn't --" Patrick starts, but his voice is being weird. He clears his throat and starts over, an octave lower this time. "Maybe I wasn't trying to."
Pete laughs. He says, "Destroying school property? You're a delinquent, kid. Living life like it's going out of style."
"I'm not joining the military."
Pete stares at him, blankly.
"That would be -- if I was really living life like it -- since there's a war on and, I don't know, never mind."
This time, Pete just snorts, instead of laughing. It's an awkward, ugly sound. "Look, you have fun with that," he says. "I'm going to go be somewhere else now."
"Right," Patrick says. "Yeah, uh, you go do that," but Pete's already started jogging again, in the general direction of the school's soccer field.
Patrick says "Hi!" and, on that one word, his voice hits about three different notes. Every day, he's finding new reasons to hate being teenaged. He's able to sing again, most of the time, and his voice has mostly evened out, but talking to Pete has some kind of detrimental effect on his vocal cords.
Pete just laughs. "Hey, Rat."
"What?" Patrick squeaks. "Oh, hey, fuck you."
"So angry, Rat. You've got to work on that. Sit back, relax, and enjoy your life."
Patrick shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and ducks his head. They're outside, so he's allowed to wear a hat, and with his head tilted just so he doesn't even have to look at Pete.
As Patrick's walking off, Pete says, "Hey, sorry, I wasn't -- I was being kind of a jerk. I've got all these words in my head, you know? And sometimes they try to get away and I, you know, lose hold of the leash and they just kinda run free. I should watch out for that, I guess. You know?"
Patrick shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
"I gotta figure out something to do with them before anybody gets hurt," Pete says. "I'm gonna go see Johnny Walker. You coming? You're always over there."
Patrick doesn't want to know why Pete knows that, since he still has yet to see Jon and Pete talk, ever. "No, I have a. A thing."
"Oh, okay." Pete laughs. "Later, Rat."
Patrick's staring up at one of the school's bulletin boards, trying to figure out if he forgot about some special event that would warrant the way it looks right now.
The bulletin board has had all previous notices pulled down, replaced with black construction paper and gold glitter. There's navy blue crepe paper stapled around the edges. Tacked to the bewildering display are a bunch of poems and drawings of varying quality, all done in bright magenta ink on white paper.
Everyone else is smart enough to ignore it, but Patrick can't stop staring.
Someone says, "So I didn't know you liked poetry."
"I don't," Patrick says. "I mean, not like -- words mess me up."
"Sounds like," Pete laughs. He does that a lot; only sometimes is it believable. This is one of those times.
"Shut up. I just have a hard time with poems, I'm always trying to, I don't know. I, in my head. Free-form poetry just doesn't work. I always. Reorder it? Never mind, fuck, why am I even," Patrick says.
"Oh, okay," Pete says.
Patrick says, "Is this even supposed to be here? This isn't supposed to be here."
"Well, no," Pete says. "I'm solemnly sworn to secrecy with regards to its origins."
"So it's your fault," Patrick says.
"Maybe. Maybe not." He says, "So what are you always trying to I-don't-know?"
"Uhm?"
Pete says, "Never mind. See you later, man."
--
lesson three
There are some things Patrick doesn't know, and a few people he knows almost nothing about. He's usually got workarounds for this kind of thing; information comes as quick as a namedrop.
Patrick and William are both in their room at the same time, with no one else there, and neither of them is asleep. Patrick is studying. He's not sure what William's doing, but it involves at least six colors of gel pen and two different notebooks.
Patrick says, "So why does everybody like that Wentz guy so much?"
William says, "You mean Pete, or some other hitherto-unknown popular member of the student body with the last name Wentz?"
"Uhm."
"Oh, wait. You mean Andrew? Because nobody gives a shit about him."
"No, I meant Pete," Patrick says.
"Oh, yeah. Well, you know, maybe it's because he's a cool dude, and pretty much everybody likes him."
"So what you're saying is, everybody likes him," Patrick repeats slowly, "because everybody likes him."
"Well, yeah."
"Oh."
Someone's knocking on the door, but Patrick's still studying so he waves a hand at William, who's smart enough to figure out that means he should open the door. Patrick doesn't pay any attention until Brendon's crouched down in front of his bed staring at him.
"Hi," Brendon says.
"He just came in, I couldn't help it," William says.
"Oh, hey, Brendon," Patrick says. "I was studying. Am, I guess. You could probably tell. With the books and -- so! What's up?"
"Can we talk outside, maybe? If that's not a problem, I mean, it's just kind of, yeah, outside?"
Patrick's eyebrows go up, but he marks his spot in his textbook and gets to his feet. "Sure."
When Brendon says outside, he's serious about it and means the great outdoors rather than just the hallway. The walk takes a while, since Brendon isn't even content to stand by the front doors. The whole time they're walking, Brendon keeps quiet, all the way out to this old oak tree a couple hundred yards from the dormitories.
"So, uh," Brendon says. "I just figured, you seem like you'd be a good listener, and I mean, I could talk to faculty or whatever, but they're not as good as you are at not telling people things, I think. Or, like, you're less likely to call my parents than a teacher? But, well, right, you know?"
"No, I do not know," Patrick says.
Brendon says, "So I think, and I mean, I'm only telling you because I don't really know anybody here that well but you seem like you'd be cool with it and not tell and, so I might kind of maybe have a little bit of, you know, a crush on Jon Walker?"
"Oh," Patrick says. "Okay. And? What?"
"What? I didn't talk too fast, did I? I don't really want to have to say that again. But I guess if you didn't hear me?"
"No, I heard just fine," Patrick says. "Just, okay. So? I don't care, it's fine."
"Oh," Brendon says. "I just, you know, what do I do? This isn't good!"
"You could try telling Jon."
"No!" Brendon says, "Just, you know. My family. And, and -- some other stuff."
"It's not like Jon would tell your parents. You might as well try."
"Also, my girlfriend." Brendon says, "My kind-of girlfriend. And just. There's a lot of stuff. Guys aren't even supposed to be all conflicted about this, are they?"
"I don't know," Patrick says. "It's not like having a crush on somebody means you're cheating, though."
Brendon says, "I mean, Ryan's great and all, but, you know, still lives in Vegas? I don't know. I feel like a jerk."
After a long pause, with his mouth half-open as he stares at Brendon, Patrick says, "You want me to tell Jon for you?"
Brendon says, "Yes. Thank you."
Patrick says, "That's pretty middle school, but okay. Cool. I won't mention it to anyone else."
Brendon nods.
--
lesson four
Crushes are among Patrick's top five list of 'things that suck.' They come in third place on the list of things that suck, which is topped by cancer and tsunamis and hurricanes. Crushes are the only item on the list marked with a bullet, though. (Also, Patrick owns more John Cusack movies than he cares to admit.)
This one time, Pete says, "Hey, Stumph," as they pass in the hall between classes.
Patrick doesn't say anything, so Travis throws out a quick, "Hey, Pete." After a second, Travis says, "What was that? The dude was talking to you. Why didn't you say hi?"
"What? To who?" Patrick's voice cracks, just a little, on that last word. He's pretty sure he was over puberty two years ago, so he doesn't know what the fuck.
"Uh, to Pete?"
"Oh. Because you and I were talking?"
"That doesn't mean you can't say hi to other people. I'm not the jealous type."
"Oh, thanks," Patrick says. "So hey, are you going come by and play some Halo after class?"
"Hell yes."
"Sweet. I think William's gone, but --"
"That's cool, he kinda sucks at Halo. It gets boring, all, headshot! -- just runnin' around killing him because it's easy."
Patrick says, "And because it's hilarious when he loses?"
"That too." Travis says, "I don't even know which of us is better. We've gotta compete. Figure it out."
Travis, as it turns out, is better at Halo.
Patrick is better at Katamari Damacy.
Somehow, Patrick ends up playing Final Fantasy VI while Travis watches. He's got a copy of the game for the SNES, but right now he's playing the rerelease for the Playstation. He's a bit paranoid about his SNES and usually keeps the aging console -- and its game cartridges -- locked away in the mini-safe his mom bought for him to keep his passport and valuables in back in freshman year.
They're sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV.
"You spoony bard?" Travis says suddenly, incredulous as he reads from the screen. "Well, kiss me and call me a son of a submariner, if that isn't the stupidest insult I've ever heard."
"Dude, shut up, this game is fucking awesome," Patrick says. "They weren't supposed to swear, is all."
"I'm not making fun of the game, you spoony bard."
Patrick hands the controller over for the next boss battle, and they switch at each one after that -- Travis sticks around long enough that it comes up a couple more times.
Will eventually comes back from wherever he was, looking tired. "Oh! Travie," he says. "Hi. You been waiting for me long? Sorry, man."
"Nah, not waiting at all," Travis says. "I was just hanging out with the 'Trickster here." That he's worth a nickname makes Patrick feel kind of smug, though he tries not to let it show.
"Oh, that's cool, I guess," Will says. He stands in the doorway looking sort of confused before stepping around the two of them so he can put his bookbag down next to his bed. He says, "Uh, so you guys have fun doing that, I guess. I'll study. Don't come crying to me when I've gained infinite wisdom and you haven't."
"Yeah?" Travis says. "Don't blame me for beating your high score on Mario Kart earlier."
"Oh, you didn't," Will says. "Patrick. Patrick. That was a clear and obvious challenge. Let me defend my honor."
Travis laughs. "Hey, man, wait your turn."
"Sharing is caring, Will," Patrick says, solemnly. "And it's my turn to use my stuff."
Will walks out. The doors are heavy enough that if you let them swing shut, they'll slam. Will lets the door slam.
"Huh," Patrick says. "The hell was that about?"
"Fuck if I know."
They end up playing more Mario Kart, eventually, and Patrick makes some cheap joke about Will's former high score. Travis has a higher opinion of the joke than Patrick does, apparently, because he's laughing pretty hard and ends up with his face against Patrick's shoulder still shaking a little. He looks up, grinning.
And Patrick, Patrick thinks maybe and then it seems like they both pick the same time to lean in.
It's awkward and messy at first, but they both adjust just enough, enough that Patrick closes his eyes and lets a hand find its way to Travis' neck. That's when Travis pulls back, though, says, "No, man, I don't think so. Yeah, no."
"Oh," Patrick says. "Oh, uhm, what? Sorry. Sorry." He scoots back, sort of scrabbling on the tile floor. "Shit, I'm sorry."
Travis says, "Don't worry about it, we're cool. You gonna keep playing, or what? C'mon, don't just let me kick your ass."
*
Patrick's up at three AM and pretending he doesn't know why he can't sleep. He goes out into the halls. Technically he's not supposed to. There's a light on in the lounge; another one of those things there's technically not supposed to be.
He and Pete sit around watching TV until it's time for class in the morning. Neither of them says much of anything to the other, just sort of exist in an easy almost-camraderie.
*
study break
"Hey Jon," Patrick says. "You know Brendon, right?"
"Uhm," Jon says. "Well, I only see the kid almost every day, I don't know. Yeah, yeah, I do."
Patrick says, "Well, he's been acting like a third grader lately."
"Oh yeah? Trying to get Show'n'Tell reinstated?"
"No, no, it's better than that," Patrick says. "He was telling me he's got a crush on somebody. I'm supposed to be the one to break the news."
"Haha, oh man, is it one of the chicks over at Magnolia?" Magnolia Academy is the girl's school, essentially Pencey Prep's opposite on the other side of town.
"Well," Patrick says. "No."
Jon's brows knit down in thought. "He wouldn't tell you to pass it along if he had a crush on one of the teachers. Plus none of the chick teachers are hot anyway."
"Jon, seriously. I'm supposed to tell you that Brendon has a crush on you. He didn't give me one of those little notes for whether or not you want to go out with him, though."
"Huh," Jon says. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, okay." Jon frowns, falling back on his bed. He looks up at the ceiling. "Okay, I guess. I should -- should I talk to him, or would that be out of line?"
"Depends on what you're going to say to him. Keep quiet if you're just gonna tell him how retarded he is."
"No, I wouldn't," Jon says. "No, I mean, it's cool. I don't really know. This is -- it's kinda weird. I guess it was a little obvious."
*
lesson five
Patrick is actually a pretty good teacher, and people keep asking him to show them how to play guitar and he keeps refusing to do it for free. Plus, he says, they should probably spend their time actually studying. One kid learning from him's enough; he's in school too, after all.
He's at Jon's, and he says, "Here, let me show you something," reaching for the bass guitar sitting in the corner of the room, getting ready to plug it into the bass amp right next to it.
"Oh, wait, no," Jon says. "That's my roommate's."
"You've got a roommate?" Patrick asks, startled. "I thought you just got lucky or something."
"Nope, not that lucky," Jon says. "Wait. Wait. So why did you think everybody was always over here asking for Pete?"
Patrick just stares at Jon blankly. "Huh," he says, eventually.
"He's just never really here. As you probably've noticed by now. Like, we roomed together last year, too, but partway through he moved in with his girlfriend or something? It was this whole weird thing. They broke up earlier this year, though."
"So if he doesn't live with her...?" Patrick says.
"There's a freshman in one of the singles," Jon says. "And. Yeah, I don't want to jump to any conclusions or anything, but. It's fine, I mean, I get the room to myself pretty much."
Patrick says, "Well. Okay, yeah, I'm going to go get my bass."
He unlocks the door to his room and walks into a cloud of smoke. Or it seems like it. It's not that bad, actually, he's just surprised at first, and the smell's pretty strong. He doesn't know how he didn't notice it from the hallway. That's the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is that Travis and Will are making out. On his bed.
"Oh god, oh god, I'm just going to," he says, edging into the room sort of sideways so he doesn't have to look as he grabs his bass.
"Uhm," Travis says. William starts laughing. "He's just never smoked before."
"Okay," Patrick says. "I'm just going to leave now."
"No, no, dude, we weren't, I was just," Travis says. "He couldn't get the bowl lit himself so I was just giving him a shotgun. Kid didn't even know what that was, dude."
"I don't either," Patrick says, leaving the why couldn't you have shown me instead, huh? silent. Hopefully not too heavily implied.
"It's a valuable life experience," Will says, enunciating very carefully. "I was learning. I don't think he was doing it right, though."
"Can you try not to have any more experiences on my bed, at least?" Patrick snaps, slamming the door shut over Travis' sorry, dude, sorrys.
-
When Patrick gets back, it is the first time he has ever actually seen Pete in Pete and Jon's room. Pete is collapsed on his sheetless bed.
It's also the first time Patrick's ever seen Pete naked. He's sprawled out stomach-first on his bed, head pillowed on his arms, with his clothes littering the bed around him.
Jon says, "Yeah, I don't really know."
"Huh." Patrick asks, "So, Jon, what do you think of Taking Back Sunday?" and doesn't wait for an answer before showing him the chord progression in 'You're So Last Summer.'
-
Patrick doesn't see Pete -- naked or otherwise -- for another week, until right before dinner one night when Pete comes over and says, "Hey, could you teach me guitar, too?"
"I could," Patrick says. "You might wanna ask if I will, though, to be a little more precise with your language. I thought you liked words?"
"Chill." Pete says, "So will you?"
"Not for free."
"Oh," Pete says, and walks off. Patrick lets the door close.
Will says, "What have you got against that guy, man? Seriously, he wasn't even being a dick." He and Travis are curled up on the floor playing Grand Theft Auto 2.
"I don't know. Maybe it's the nudity and freeloading that bother me."
No one has a good comeback to that; after an awkward pause, Travis says, "So, we gonna head to dinner or what?"
"Yeah," Will says, patting his stomach. "Feelin' pretty hungry, you know."
Patrick sits by himself at dinner, because Will and Travis are annoying him and he doesn't feel like putting up with anybody, not really.
Right after dinner, there's a knock at the door. "C'mon in," Patrick says, because he doesn't feel like getting up again and figures it's probably Jon.
"Is fifty bucks a lesson good?" Pete asks, holding up a hundred dollar bill. "I'll just pay you in advance right now."
"Dude, that's way more -- sure, okay, fine," Patrick says. "Sounds good."
From the floor, Travis says, "You're a rich man now, baby."
Pete seems to notice Travis and Will for the first time right then, and shouts "Travie!" before flopping down on the ground with the two of them. "It's been forever. How have you been, man?! I missed you," and plants a big wet kiss on Travis' cheek. (Will punches him, and plays it off like he's kidding but Patrick saw the look on his face.)
"What, since like an hour ago when class ended? I've been good. I'm just getting crushed by a psychotic midget, that's all."
"I am not that short. If anyone in here's a midget, it's Rat."
"Who?"
"You know, kid in the hat, because his voice keeps cracking. He's all squeaky." Pete says, "You know, like a rat?"
"Fucking stop calling me that, Jesus," Patrick says, and for once his voice doesn't break. "In my own fucking room. The fuck is wrong with you?"
"Dude," Will says. (At precisely the same moment, Pete says, "Whoa, whoa, what?" and Travis says, "Damn, Pete.")
"Fuck all of you," Patrick says. This is one of those time where he's glad the doors slam without much effort.
Only Pete follows him into the hall. "Hey, hey, sorry," he says.
"Dude, no," Patrick says. He's not really sure where he's going to go right now, actually. Jon's room isn't safe, since it's Pete's place as well. The music room, maybe.
"Hey, seriously, Patrick. Is Patrick okay? I can call you that? I didn't realize it bothered you that bad, dude, it was just a joke. Can we -- look, I'll call you whatever you want, okay? I was serious about the lessons, too, I'm not making fun of you with that."
"Yeah, well," Patrick says.
"Seriously, I'm sorry." Pete holds out a hand. "Are we good?"
"Sure," Patrick says reluctantly. "We're good."
Pete laughs, sounding sort of genuinely pleased. "You wanna come back and join the cuddle pile? It's good times back there, man, you're missing out. Plus it's more fun with a fourth player."
"Oh, no," Patrick says. "I wouldn't want to keep you from being third wheel."
Pete laughs again, eyes squinting half-shut as he ducks his head.
"So uh," Patrick says, ignoring the weird twisty feeling in his stomach. "Guitar. Tuesday?"
"You busy before then?"
"I guess the weekend, I don't know," Patrick says. "Tuesday's better."
"Alright, sweet. I'll see you then."
-
"Sucking this bad at guitar is like a lost artform," Pete says, frowning over the old acoustic Patrick's lending him. All Pete has is an electric bass, and Patrick insists he learn the basics first. "Seriously, they could make a documentary about me. Last of the shitty guitarists."
"Don't worry," Patrick says. "I'm sure there'll be people bad enough to follow in your footsteps one day. Maybe."
Pete says, "I had to practice a lot to get this bad, dude, I don't know."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, man. Life was pretty hard. I didn't have time to be a guitar genius; I was busy being a child sex slave."
"By 'child sex slave' you mean 'rich kid from Wilmette,' right?"
"Pretty much."
"What a difficult life that must have been. I can't even begin to imagine, being from Glenview and all. They're like, worlds apart."
"I know, right?" Pete heaves a dramatic sigh. "I've got so many issues."
"That'd do it," Patrick says agreeably. "So do you want to see if you can get better at guitar, or would you rather keep wasting your money?"
"I'm not wasting it, I'm using you as my personal therapist." Pete says, "And anyway, money is not an object."
"The guitar is, though. Play it."
"My fingers hurt."
"Don't make me sing," Patrick threatens. "Seriously."
"I am trembling in my seat," Pete says. "Shaking in my boots. Et cetera."
"No you're not. Play the guitar."
"Ach, you've seen through my clever ruse!"
"Yeah, yeah, X-ray vision. It's my super power. Now shut up and play."
"You don't really seem like an X-ray vision kind of guy to me, Stumph." Pete frowns, setting the guitar down on his lap so he can rub at his chin. "I'd put my money on telekinesis, or maybe telepathy."
"What? Why?"
"Because it makes more sense than X-ray fucking vision."
Patrick rolls his eyes, and clamors around to behind where Pete is sitting on his bed. He manhandles Pete's hands onto the guitar. "Look, former child sex slave or no, if you don't actually play, you'll never be able to do anything but suck. And that's not gonna be a good career choice. I mean, once you've lost your boyish charm and all."
"Nah, I'll make enough to retire on while I'm still young," Pete says. "It's cool. Don't worry about me."
Patrick says, "Play a C chord." For once, Pete listens to him. "Alright, alright, good. Now -- you remember F and G? Look, play C, F, G, then C again. That -- ... is not F. That's D major 7, and I guess good job for figuring that one out, but it's not right. I don't even want to know, okay? Look, this is F," he says, guiding Pete's hands. "Fingers like that? Got it? Here, no, index finger on this fret."
"Oh, okay," Pete says.
"Try again," Patrick says, letting go. Pete gets it mostly right. Slowly. Very slowly. "You'll get it eventually, I guess."
"Hey, I'm paying for lessons. Be nice."
"You can have your money back, if you're going to complain so much."
"No, no, just kidding. What's F again?"
-
Jon says, "So hey, Brendon."
"Hey!"
Jon says, "I was thinking of heading into Chicago this weekend, if you want to come along?"
"Oh," Brendon says. "I'm not really. Allowed to leave?"
"Oh," Jon says.
"Yeah."
"Well, it wasn't like, set in stone," Jon says. "If you want to just. I don't know."
"Uhm."
"Never mind," Jon says.
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says. "I'll probably come by sometime anyway. If you're there."
"Right."
-
Second lesson, Pete comes in claiming that he wrote a song. He sounds very proud of this achievement. He says, "And I practiced and everything!"
The song has two chords -- three, if you count the fact that he starts out by messing up the A chord -- and sounds like shit. There's even some mumbled lyrics somewhere in the middle, which Patrick doesn't have the heart to try to listen to.
"Okay," Patrick says, maybe forty seconds in. "That's enough of that. Stop, before you hurt yourself." He says, "You've got this written down? Let me look at it. If this is what it'll take to get you to practice anything, I'm fine with that, just ... I'll rearrange it for you by next lesson, okay?"
"Oh, hey, sweet," Pete says. "Sure. I mean, I thought it was okay, but --"
"No. I'm fixing it. Look, remember last week, you fucked up and played D major 7 on accident? Think you can remember what that was?"
"Ooh, maybe. This?"
"No. Let me show you."
-
The night before a test, Pete comes back waving another fifty dollar bill. "I'm here to learn from the God of Rock?"
"Right this way, sir," Will says, ushering him into the room. "A tip for your valet, perhaps?"
"All I got is the fifty," Pete says. "Sorry, man."
Will says, "Look, he's been studying for forever. It's getting sad. Save him."
"I'm trying not to fail," Patrick says. "You haven't studied at all."
"I have to!" Will says. "What do you think I've been doing all this time I've been hanging out with Travis?"
"Smoking pot and playing Mario Sunshine aren't exactly Chemistry-related, dude."
"Oh, we do not even play Mario. Fuck you, man, we have moved on from such childish things. Last night, I will have you know, we played Wario Ware."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Patrick says. "I should have known. Yeah, Wario Ware is a man's game."
Pete says, "You guys have Chem this year? With Daniels?"
"Yeah."
"Such is life," Will sighs.
"That sucks. Oh, hey!" Pete says. "You're the guy Jon is helping!"
Patrick stares at him.
"What?"
"You only just now figured this out?"
"Yes?"
"How do you survive? Does being hot seriously have that much weight in the world that nobody's bothered strangling you yet?"
"That's what all the ladies tell me," Pete says.
Patrick only realizes how mortified he is after Pete's given up and left. He's kind of freaking out a little, actually.
"Are you okay?" Will asks. "You're not having a seizure, right?"
"No," Patrick says. "A seizure, what the fuck?"
"You stopped moving like at all." Will says, "Some people just kind of freeze when they have seizures, it's true. My cousin was like that."
Patrick says, "I'm not having a seizure, don't worry."
"Okay," Will says. "Just checking."
Patrick says, "I'm pretty sure I'm going to die, though."
"Oh, well, that's fine," Will says. "As long as it's not a seizure. Thanks for warning me. Cancer?"
"What -- no. No. I meant that metaphorically."
"You're going to die metaphorically."
"We all have to die metaphorically some day," Patrick says. "Okay, look, whatever. No. It's nothing, I'm cool. I'm going to sit here and read until I forget this conversation happened."
"Sweet," Will says.
-
lesson six
Brendon gets a package in the mail, and insists on opening it in Jon's room. His roommate, apparently, has threatened to kill him in his sleep. So Brendon spends a lot of time crashing on other people's floors, rather than bringing it up with any of the school staff.
Anyway, he's at Jon's tonight, sitting around in his pajamas. "Guys, guys, my girlfriend is awesome."
Startled, Jon looks up from the night's Lit assignment. "What? You have a -- what?"
"Oh, yeah," Brendon says. "Back in Vegas. We were going out before I transferred out here. It's complicated."
"You have a long distance relationship," Jon says. "In high school."
"Well, yeah," Brendon says. "So?"
"No, it's fine," Jon says. "I just. Was surprised." He shoots Patrick a look.
Patrick mouths, how was I supposed to know and Jon looks confused but Patrick doesn't want to risk actually saying anything in front of Brendon.
Brendon is still very, very carefully opening the box, which looks like it was taped shut by an obsessive compulsive. Inside there's bubblewrap, cushioning a neatly-wrapped box much smaller than the initial one. "Oh, man, this is exciting," Brendon says, and starts popping the bubblewrap, bubble by bubble.
"Stop that," Jon says.
"Sorry." Brendon puts the bubble wrap aside very, very carefully. This whole process is taking longer than Patrick would have thought possible.
"Dude, just open it already," Patrick says.
"No, man, my girlfriend gets kind of weird about it if you don't unwrap things just right. I don't know. It's weird."
"Do you want me to open it? You can blame me," Patrick says, reaching for the package. "Christ."
"No, dude! Come on." Brendon actually scowls, leaning out of Patrick's reach. "I know Ryan's not even here, but seriously, I gotta respect that kind of thing."
Jon is giving Patrick a death glare; Patrick is ignoring him.
Brendon says, "Oh, hey! The new Palahniuk. Sweet, I didn't know that was out."
"All this," Patrick says. "For a book."
"And a letter," Brendon says defensively. "And. Let's see. A magnet. And some cookies -- oh, shit, sugar free this time, that douche. Whatever. And some letter paper, I guess. Are these envelopes? Where do you put the address, I don't get it," Brendon says, turning a piece of stationery over in his hands. The paper is dark-coloured. And paisley. "Oh, wait, never mind, this is one of the cards. But how -- okay. Inside's white. Never mind. Panic's over."
Patrick says, "I know I, for one, am relieved."
"Let's see, I'll read the letter later. Except, what's this say -- oh, man, I've got to write to my girlfriend more often. I guess twice a month isn't all that often."
"Oh, hey," Jon says. "Is that a picture? She's pretty hot. Looks like kind of a dyke, though."
"Don't say that about my girlfriend. Ryan's really smart, okay?"
"Being a lesbian wouldn't make her stupid," Jon says. "Are you sure she's straight?"
Patrick says, "Are you sure that's a chick?"
"She's hot, dude," Jon says again.
Patrick says, "Well. I guess you'd know."
-
(Brendon started dating his girlfriend nearly a year ago. He's got the day marked down as their anniversary on the calendar, at least, and has been making sure to amass presents to send back home since they're going to be apart.
"Hey, Mom! I'm home! I've got a friend, we're just going to hang out in my room for a bit."
Brendon's mom poked her head out of the living room, taking a break from scrapbooking to give Ryan a long, appraising look. "Leave the door open, would you?"
Ryan looked like a deer in headlights (and makeup, and really tight pants). Brendon just says, "What?"
"Brendon, I think your mom thinks I'm your girlfriend."
"What? Oh! No, no. I wouldn't try any funny business, don't worry." Brendon pauses. "Ryan! Don't give me that look. You don't believe me, do you? My intentions are pure!"
Ryan kept staring at him, wide-eyed and silent. Brendon ducked his head down, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "You know, though. I mean, you could be my girlfriend. If you wanted."
"Well, I think science would say that's not going to happen."
"But would Ryan Ross?")
-
Pete says, "So I'm not trying to nag you or anything, but that song you said you'd fix up?"
"Oh," Patrick says. "Oh, yeah, that, I've got it. But have you got D major 7?"
"Oh, I so do, you know I do," Pete says, pressing the strings down with his fingertips and strumming the chord, muting it with his palm, strumming it again backwards. "Is it in there?"
"Well, it is now," Patrick says, pulling out a sheet of paper and scribbling things down in a few places. "And good job, but that wasn't the chord I asked you to play."
"What? Sure it was. Dude, index finger goes here, right?"
"No."
"But I do use this fret, right --"
"No, you don't."
Pete says, "Can you just show me the song?"
Patrick holds out the paper with tablature written on it.
Pete says, "I meant play it for me, you know."
"Oh, yeah," Patrick says. He picks up the guitar and starts to play, murmuring the chords each time they change.
"No, like --" Pete starts. "Can you sing it?"
"Oh, dude, no way," Patrick says. "You do not want to have to deal with my singing voice, it's terrible. I'm not going to even do that."
Pete says, "Hey, I won't make fun, I'm a pretty shitty singer myself. I just want to hear it, you know, how you envisioned it and shit."
Patrick says, "Okay, fine, whatever. Look, I was kind of thinking of it with your voice in mind, right? so the range is pretty narrow and all."
He ducks his head down, hunching his shoulders a little as he plays. He gets through the little intro he wrote and starts singing, and when he's finally done, says, "Yeah, well, so that's about it, I guess. That's how I heard it when I saw the words the first time, but if you want to change it up, that's cool. Don't try singing it yourself until you've got the chord progression down smooth, but like I said, we can change --"
"Whoa, whoa, wait, no," Pete says.
"Do you not like it? It'd be pretty easy to turn it into pretty much any other style, you know, just switch up the tempo and change a few chords around and you could make it rockabilly or country or whatever."
"No, no, shut up," Pete says. "Shut up for a second. Who told you you can't sing?"
"I've heard myself," Patrick says. "Like, recorded? Ew."
"I'm dead serious, man, your voice is really good. Like. You got the good brand of vocal chords or something. Where'd you buy yours?"
"Shut up," Patrick says, and is surprised to see Pete actually obey. Pete closes his mouth and looks away, bemused and contemplative.
"So, like this?" Pete finally says, starting in on a fumbling attempt to get through the song.
-
A week before winter break, there's an all-school assembly so that the chorus can do a performance. The chorus only has ten students in it, and it's not particularly good this year, but attendance is mandatory so Patrick brushes his hair in such a way that it'll cover his headphones, and ducks his head down almost to his chest, arms folded.
Pete, somehow, finds him. And sits next to him, in the empty seat at the very end of the row. And pokes him in the side until Patrick looks up, grumbling, "What now?"
"You should be up there," Pete whispers dramatically. "You'd blow them away."
"Shut up," Patrick says, and one of the teachers is glaring at them. Pete beams at him, mouths, I'll be quiet -- and then pokes him again. Then Pete yawns and stretches his arms, trying to put an arm around Patrick's shoulders, and Patrick -- Patrick just excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn't come back before the performance is over, and is grateful he doesn't have any classes with Pete. He's not sure how he'd survive, because honestly, he'd thought he was getting over the crush.
The way Pete's grinning at him now, he's not so sure.
After the assembly, Pete says, "So, what're you doing over the holidays?"
"Going home."
"You wanna hang out or anything?" Pete says. "I mean, you're in the area and all, aren't you? There's a show I wanna go to, and I don't really know who else to ask, or I mean, we could just chill."
"Uhm."
"You know, watch movies, or." He waggles his eyebrows. "Whatever."
"Jesus Christ," Patrick says, managing a laugh.
"I've been bringing sexy back way longer than Justin," Pete says. "I was just waiting 'till I was legal to make the announcement, then he beat me to the punch."
"Wow, and that joke is not at all dated."
"The song's not that old," Pete says. "Besides, I have been saving it for the perfect moment. Haven't made it before and will never make it again. That was a one-time deal right there, and aren't you glad you were present to witness it?"
"Not really," Jon -- who's apparently been behind them this whole time on the walk back to the dorms -- says.
"See," Patrick says. "What he said."
"That's what she said," Pete says.
"Seriously though," Patrick says. "I'm pretty sure pop culture references are not like fine wine. They don't age very well."
"Hey, at least it hadn't turned to vinegar or whatever wine does, right?"
"I don't know, I think it was pretty close."
Pete says, "Okay, see, this is totally why we have to hang out. Think of all the sweet, delicious banter the world would miss out on if we didn't. Are you with me?"
Patrick is maybe not thinking when he says, "Okay, fine."
Pete says, "No, you were supposed to say something like, 'Alas, I am slain.' Something indicative of defeat."
"No."
"Come on," Pete says. "Say it. Admit I won, at least."
"According to you, the world is the one that wins this battle."
"Oh, shit, I logicked myself into a corner again."
part two
or: the trials and tribulations of growing up in the vicinity of pete wentz
patrick/travis, patrick/pete. r; 14502 words.
Patrick is not going to fail Chemistry. He's got a secret weapon. He's also got an awkward crush, but that part isn't his fault. This is for iphignia939. I WILL get the number in that username right some day, i swear. ♥
the title is from a song by spoon! google it or something. thanks to wishpaper for the last quick look-over, and disarm-d for all the whining she's had to put up with while i worked on this thing. any problems left are entirely my fault.
course outline
Patrick is not going to fail Chemistry.
His roommate, William, is in the same class as he is. Like most people, William is failing. Even with an upperclassman helping him study, William is failing. This is probably because Travis was never very good at chemistry himself. He tries to help, comes to the room constantly to force William to study, but William always ends up playing video games or unsuccessfully trying to convince Travis to write something for the school paper.
Travis usually ends up playing Patrick's video games. Travis, near as Patrick can tell, thinks the mess of consoles and controllers and games belong to William, since neither William nor Patrick has ever told him otherwise. Patrick doesn't mind, because Travis always puts them back and wraps the cords neatly around the controller and everything when he's done.
The point is, William and Travis play too many video games, William is going to fail, and Patrick is going to pass.
It's going to be awesome.
Patrick has a secret weapon, and its name is Jon Walker.
Jon Walker is in Patrick's year, but none of his classes. For the first two years of their respective educations here, they ignore each other completely. Patrick only vaguely recognizes Jon, but can't put a name to his face.
Then he finds out from a friend that Jon's doing really well in Chemistry -- and that Jon wants to learn guitar. Jon, as it turns out, lives two rooms down from Patrick, so Patrick heads over one day and asks if he wants to trade Chem knowledge for guitar lessons.
Jon says, "Like Voltron?"
"No," Patrick says. "Well, a little. Wait, what?"
"More like Captain Planet," Jon says, meditatively. "You know, when our powers combine?"
"Are you sure you're doing well in Chem?"
"Straight A's so far, whatever that counts for, since we've only had two quizzes." Two quizzes that Will and Patrick both failed. Jon says, "You're pretty good at guitar, though, played the talent show last year, right? So hey, that'll work pretty well."
Jon, thankfully, turns out to be a lot less daft than he seems on first impression.
There aren't a lot of kids in the school, maybe two hundred, tops. Not all of them stay in the dorms, either; there're a few local kids, but not many. The grades tend to keep separate from each other, the self-segregation based mostly on age and classes. Because of this, Patrick knows at least something about most of the kids in his year.
The thing is, Jon hangs out with everyone.
There's a few kids -- Chris Gutierrez, Brendon Urie, Joe Trohman -- who'll stop by asking after this guy named Pete. Not once has Patrick ever seen Pete in Jon's room, and he's not entirely sure he's ever seen Pete anywhere, ever. Other people come around, though; Jon has a lot of friends.
When Brendon will show up asking for Pete, he'll sort of ramble on -- "I'll just wait and see if he comes by, he wasn't in the library and he wasn't with Travis, and oh, hey, that sounds good, what are you playing? I love this song, seriously, it's great, good luck with it. Hey, you want to play Halo?" -- and, according to Jon, will usually end up staying long after Patrick leaves. Patrick's pretty sure the kid is just starved for friendship and looking for an excuse, but he doesn't mention it.
(Except to Jon, who says, "Yeah, probably. It's cool though, he can be pretty funny. He's a good guy.")
lesson one
One fact most people don't seem to know about Patrick: he's kind of a mess. Not emotionally, but he's got a tendency to set things down and forget to put them away, or to put them in haphazard piles on the floor.
William says, "Patrick?" He says, "Pat."
"I told you," Patrick says.
William cuts him off. "No! I am calling you Pat until you get the dirty plates off the floor. You don't even have to wash them, seeing as they're not ours," he says. "Just. End them."
Patrick says, "Hm." And tries to think of what to do with stolen cafeteria plates.
lesson two
Pete Wentz is just something that happens to people. Like a tornado or a lightning strike, he's sudden and nearly impossible to avoid. Maybe he's more like puberty, something weird and awkward that everyone goes through. Patrick's not sure which he'd rather believe -- natural disaster or just a phase.
It takes Patrick a while to realize this, since it takes Patrick a while to learn that Pete Wentz actually exists. Sure, he's seen the guy around campus, and people are always asking after him, but Patrick was beginning to think of him as kind of like Nessie. Or a yeti, maybe.
Then it's like the universe gets tired of taunting him, and suddenly Patrick keeps getting these up-close encounters with the Wentz in its natural habitat.
"Oh, hey," Pete says. "You look a little lost and found."
"What?" Patrick says, "Really, what?" (As far as he can remember -- and he's trying, really trying -- the only things Pete has ever actually said to him in the past two years are one "hello," two "'sup, man"'s, and once, in a stupid voice, "You seen Jon? Johnny Walkah?")
"Throwing plates?" he says. Pete stops next to Patrick, looking across the expanse of asphalt. He puts a hand up to shield his eyes. "You're not even getting them in the dumpster."
"Maybe I wasn't --" Patrick starts, but his voice is being weird. He clears his throat and starts over, an octave lower this time. "Maybe I wasn't trying to."
Pete laughs. He says, "Destroying school property? You're a delinquent, kid. Living life like it's going out of style."
"I'm not joining the military."
Pete stares at him, blankly.
"That would be -- if I was really living life like it -- since there's a war on and, I don't know, never mind."
This time, Pete just snorts, instead of laughing. It's an awkward, ugly sound. "Look, you have fun with that," he says. "I'm going to go be somewhere else now."
"Right," Patrick says. "Yeah, uh, you go do that," but Pete's already started jogging again, in the general direction of the school's soccer field.
Patrick says "Hi!" and, on that one word, his voice hits about three different notes. Every day, he's finding new reasons to hate being teenaged. He's able to sing again, most of the time, and his voice has mostly evened out, but talking to Pete has some kind of detrimental effect on his vocal cords.
Pete just laughs. "Hey, Rat."
"What?" Patrick squeaks. "Oh, hey, fuck you."
"So angry, Rat. You've got to work on that. Sit back, relax, and enjoy your life."
Patrick shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and ducks his head. They're outside, so he's allowed to wear a hat, and with his head tilted just so he doesn't even have to look at Pete.
As Patrick's walking off, Pete says, "Hey, sorry, I wasn't -- I was being kind of a jerk. I've got all these words in my head, you know? And sometimes they try to get away and I, you know, lose hold of the leash and they just kinda run free. I should watch out for that, I guess. You know?"
Patrick shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
"I gotta figure out something to do with them before anybody gets hurt," Pete says. "I'm gonna go see Johnny Walker. You coming? You're always over there."
Patrick doesn't want to know why Pete knows that, since he still has yet to see Jon and Pete talk, ever. "No, I have a. A thing."
"Oh, okay." Pete laughs. "Later, Rat."
Patrick's staring up at one of the school's bulletin boards, trying to figure out if he forgot about some special event that would warrant the way it looks right now.
The bulletin board has had all previous notices pulled down, replaced with black construction paper and gold glitter. There's navy blue crepe paper stapled around the edges. Tacked to the bewildering display are a bunch of poems and drawings of varying quality, all done in bright magenta ink on white paper.
Everyone else is smart enough to ignore it, but Patrick can't stop staring.
Someone says, "So I didn't know you liked poetry."
"I don't," Patrick says. "I mean, not like -- words mess me up."
"Sounds like," Pete laughs. He does that a lot; only sometimes is it believable. This is one of those times.
"Shut up. I just have a hard time with poems, I'm always trying to, I don't know. I, in my head. Free-form poetry just doesn't work. I always. Reorder it? Never mind, fuck, why am I even," Patrick says.
"Oh, okay," Pete says.
Patrick says, "Is this even supposed to be here? This isn't supposed to be here."
"Well, no," Pete says. "I'm solemnly sworn to secrecy with regards to its origins."
"So it's your fault," Patrick says.
"Maybe. Maybe not." He says, "So what are you always trying to I-don't-know?"
"Uhm?"
Pete says, "Never mind. See you later, man."
--
lesson three
There are some things Patrick doesn't know, and a few people he knows almost nothing about. He's usually got workarounds for this kind of thing; information comes as quick as a namedrop.
Patrick and William are both in their room at the same time, with no one else there, and neither of them is asleep. Patrick is studying. He's not sure what William's doing, but it involves at least six colors of gel pen and two different notebooks.
Patrick says, "So why does everybody like that Wentz guy so much?"
William says, "You mean Pete, or some other hitherto-unknown popular member of the student body with the last name Wentz?"
"Uhm."
"Oh, wait. You mean Andrew? Because nobody gives a shit about him."
"No, I meant Pete," Patrick says.
"Oh, yeah. Well, you know, maybe it's because he's a cool dude, and pretty much everybody likes him."
"So what you're saying is, everybody likes him," Patrick repeats slowly, "because everybody likes him."
"Well, yeah."
"Oh."
Someone's knocking on the door, but Patrick's still studying so he waves a hand at William, who's smart enough to figure out that means he should open the door. Patrick doesn't pay any attention until Brendon's crouched down in front of his bed staring at him.
"Hi," Brendon says.
"He just came in, I couldn't help it," William says.
"Oh, hey, Brendon," Patrick says. "I was studying. Am, I guess. You could probably tell. With the books and -- so! What's up?"
"Can we talk outside, maybe? If that's not a problem, I mean, it's just kind of, yeah, outside?"
Patrick's eyebrows go up, but he marks his spot in his textbook and gets to his feet. "Sure."
When Brendon says outside, he's serious about it and means the great outdoors rather than just the hallway. The walk takes a while, since Brendon isn't even content to stand by the front doors. The whole time they're walking, Brendon keeps quiet, all the way out to this old oak tree a couple hundred yards from the dormitories.
"So, uh," Brendon says. "I just figured, you seem like you'd be a good listener, and I mean, I could talk to faculty or whatever, but they're not as good as you are at not telling people things, I think. Or, like, you're less likely to call my parents than a teacher? But, well, right, you know?"
"No, I do not know," Patrick says.
Brendon says, "So I think, and I mean, I'm only telling you because I don't really know anybody here that well but you seem like you'd be cool with it and not tell and, so I might kind of maybe have a little bit of, you know, a crush on Jon Walker?"
"Oh," Patrick says. "Okay. And? What?"
"What? I didn't talk too fast, did I? I don't really want to have to say that again. But I guess if you didn't hear me?"
"No, I heard just fine," Patrick says. "Just, okay. So? I don't care, it's fine."
"Oh," Brendon says. "I just, you know, what do I do? This isn't good!"
"You could try telling Jon."
"No!" Brendon says, "Just, you know. My family. And, and -- some other stuff."
"It's not like Jon would tell your parents. You might as well try."
"Also, my girlfriend." Brendon says, "My kind-of girlfriend. And just. There's a lot of stuff. Guys aren't even supposed to be all conflicted about this, are they?"
"I don't know," Patrick says. "It's not like having a crush on somebody means you're cheating, though."
Brendon says, "I mean, Ryan's great and all, but, you know, still lives in Vegas? I don't know. I feel like a jerk."
After a long pause, with his mouth half-open as he stares at Brendon, Patrick says, "You want me to tell Jon for you?"
Brendon says, "Yes. Thank you."
Patrick says, "That's pretty middle school, but okay. Cool. I won't mention it to anyone else."
Brendon nods.
--
lesson four
Crushes are among Patrick's top five list of 'things that suck.' They come in third place on the list of things that suck, which is topped by cancer and tsunamis and hurricanes. Crushes are the only item on the list marked with a bullet, though. (Also, Patrick owns more John Cusack movies than he cares to admit.)
This one time, Pete says, "Hey, Stumph," as they pass in the hall between classes.
Patrick doesn't say anything, so Travis throws out a quick, "Hey, Pete." After a second, Travis says, "What was that? The dude was talking to you. Why didn't you say hi?"
"What? To who?" Patrick's voice cracks, just a little, on that last word. He's pretty sure he was over puberty two years ago, so he doesn't know what the fuck.
"Uh, to Pete?"
"Oh. Because you and I were talking?"
"That doesn't mean you can't say hi to other people. I'm not the jealous type."
"Oh, thanks," Patrick says. "So hey, are you going come by and play some Halo after class?"
"Hell yes."
"Sweet. I think William's gone, but --"
"That's cool, he kinda sucks at Halo. It gets boring, all, headshot! -- just runnin' around killing him because it's easy."
Patrick says, "And because it's hilarious when he loses?"
"That too." Travis says, "I don't even know which of us is better. We've gotta compete. Figure it out."
Travis, as it turns out, is better at Halo.
Patrick is better at Katamari Damacy.
Somehow, Patrick ends up playing Final Fantasy VI while Travis watches. He's got a copy of the game for the SNES, but right now he's playing the rerelease for the Playstation. He's a bit paranoid about his SNES and usually keeps the aging console -- and its game cartridges -- locked away in the mini-safe his mom bought for him to keep his passport and valuables in back in freshman year.
They're sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV.
"You spoony bard?" Travis says suddenly, incredulous as he reads from the screen. "Well, kiss me and call me a son of a submariner, if that isn't the stupidest insult I've ever heard."
"Dude, shut up, this game is fucking awesome," Patrick says. "They weren't supposed to swear, is all."
"I'm not making fun of the game, you spoony bard."
Patrick hands the controller over for the next boss battle, and they switch at each one after that -- Travis sticks around long enough that it comes up a couple more times.
Will eventually comes back from wherever he was, looking tired. "Oh! Travie," he says. "Hi. You been waiting for me long? Sorry, man."
"Nah, not waiting at all," Travis says. "I was just hanging out with the 'Trickster here." That he's worth a nickname makes Patrick feel kind of smug, though he tries not to let it show.
"Oh, that's cool, I guess," Will says. He stands in the doorway looking sort of confused before stepping around the two of them so he can put his bookbag down next to his bed. He says, "Uh, so you guys have fun doing that, I guess. I'll study. Don't come crying to me when I've gained infinite wisdom and you haven't."
"Yeah?" Travis says. "Don't blame me for beating your high score on Mario Kart earlier."
"Oh, you didn't," Will says. "Patrick. Patrick. That was a clear and obvious challenge. Let me defend my honor."
Travis laughs. "Hey, man, wait your turn."
"Sharing is caring, Will," Patrick says, solemnly. "And it's my turn to use my stuff."
Will walks out. The doors are heavy enough that if you let them swing shut, they'll slam. Will lets the door slam.
"Huh," Patrick says. "The hell was that about?"
"Fuck if I know."
They end up playing more Mario Kart, eventually, and Patrick makes some cheap joke about Will's former high score. Travis has a higher opinion of the joke than Patrick does, apparently, because he's laughing pretty hard and ends up with his face against Patrick's shoulder still shaking a little. He looks up, grinning.
And Patrick, Patrick thinks maybe and then it seems like they both pick the same time to lean in.
It's awkward and messy at first, but they both adjust just enough, enough that Patrick closes his eyes and lets a hand find its way to Travis' neck. That's when Travis pulls back, though, says, "No, man, I don't think so. Yeah, no."
"Oh," Patrick says. "Oh, uhm, what? Sorry. Sorry." He scoots back, sort of scrabbling on the tile floor. "Shit, I'm sorry."
Travis says, "Don't worry about it, we're cool. You gonna keep playing, or what? C'mon, don't just let me kick your ass."
*
Patrick's up at three AM and pretending he doesn't know why he can't sleep. He goes out into the halls. Technically he's not supposed to. There's a light on in the lounge; another one of those things there's technically not supposed to be.
He and Pete sit around watching TV until it's time for class in the morning. Neither of them says much of anything to the other, just sort of exist in an easy almost-camraderie.
*
study break
"Hey Jon," Patrick says. "You know Brendon, right?"
"Uhm," Jon says. "Well, I only see the kid almost every day, I don't know. Yeah, yeah, I do."
Patrick says, "Well, he's been acting like a third grader lately."
"Oh yeah? Trying to get Show'n'Tell reinstated?"
"No, no, it's better than that," Patrick says. "He was telling me he's got a crush on somebody. I'm supposed to be the one to break the news."
"Haha, oh man, is it one of the chicks over at Magnolia?" Magnolia Academy is the girl's school, essentially Pencey Prep's opposite on the other side of town.
"Well," Patrick says. "No."
Jon's brows knit down in thought. "He wouldn't tell you to pass it along if he had a crush on one of the teachers. Plus none of the chick teachers are hot anyway."
"Jon, seriously. I'm supposed to tell you that Brendon has a crush on you. He didn't give me one of those little notes for whether or not you want to go out with him, though."
"Huh," Jon says. "Wait, really?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, okay." Jon frowns, falling back on his bed. He looks up at the ceiling. "Okay, I guess. I should -- should I talk to him, or would that be out of line?"
"Depends on what you're going to say to him. Keep quiet if you're just gonna tell him how retarded he is."
"No, I wouldn't," Jon says. "No, I mean, it's cool. I don't really know. This is -- it's kinda weird. I guess it was a little obvious."
*
lesson five
Patrick is actually a pretty good teacher, and people keep asking him to show them how to play guitar and he keeps refusing to do it for free. Plus, he says, they should probably spend their time actually studying. One kid learning from him's enough; he's in school too, after all.
He's at Jon's, and he says, "Here, let me show you something," reaching for the bass guitar sitting in the corner of the room, getting ready to plug it into the bass amp right next to it.
"Oh, wait, no," Jon says. "That's my roommate's."
"You've got a roommate?" Patrick asks, startled. "I thought you just got lucky or something."
"Nope, not that lucky," Jon says. "Wait. Wait. So why did you think everybody was always over here asking for Pete?"
Patrick just stares at Jon blankly. "Huh," he says, eventually.
"He's just never really here. As you probably've noticed by now. Like, we roomed together last year, too, but partway through he moved in with his girlfriend or something? It was this whole weird thing. They broke up earlier this year, though."
"So if he doesn't live with her...?" Patrick says.
"There's a freshman in one of the singles," Jon says. "And. Yeah, I don't want to jump to any conclusions or anything, but. It's fine, I mean, I get the room to myself pretty much."
Patrick says, "Well. Okay, yeah, I'm going to go get my bass."
He unlocks the door to his room and walks into a cloud of smoke. Or it seems like it. It's not that bad, actually, he's just surprised at first, and the smell's pretty strong. He doesn't know how he didn't notice it from the hallway. That's the first thing he notices. The second thing he notices is that Travis and Will are making out. On his bed.
"Oh god, oh god, I'm just going to," he says, edging into the room sort of sideways so he doesn't have to look as he grabs his bass.
"Uhm," Travis says. William starts laughing. "He's just never smoked before."
"Okay," Patrick says. "I'm just going to leave now."
"No, no, dude, we weren't, I was just," Travis says. "He couldn't get the bowl lit himself so I was just giving him a shotgun. Kid didn't even know what that was, dude."
"I don't either," Patrick says, leaving the why couldn't you have shown me instead, huh? silent. Hopefully not too heavily implied.
"It's a valuable life experience," Will says, enunciating very carefully. "I was learning. I don't think he was doing it right, though."
"Can you try not to have any more experiences on my bed, at least?" Patrick snaps, slamming the door shut over Travis' sorry, dude, sorrys.
-
When Patrick gets back, it is the first time he has ever actually seen Pete in Pete and Jon's room. Pete is collapsed on his sheetless bed.
It's also the first time Patrick's ever seen Pete naked. He's sprawled out stomach-first on his bed, head pillowed on his arms, with his clothes littering the bed around him.
Jon says, "Yeah, I don't really know."
"Huh." Patrick asks, "So, Jon, what do you think of Taking Back Sunday?" and doesn't wait for an answer before showing him the chord progression in 'You're So Last Summer.'
-
Patrick doesn't see Pete -- naked or otherwise -- for another week, until right before dinner one night when Pete comes over and says, "Hey, could you teach me guitar, too?"
"I could," Patrick says. "You might wanna ask if I will, though, to be a little more precise with your language. I thought you liked words?"
"Chill." Pete says, "So will you?"
"Not for free."
"Oh," Pete says, and walks off. Patrick lets the door close.
Will says, "What have you got against that guy, man? Seriously, he wasn't even being a dick." He and Travis are curled up on the floor playing Grand Theft Auto 2.
"I don't know. Maybe it's the nudity and freeloading that bother me."
No one has a good comeback to that; after an awkward pause, Travis says, "So, we gonna head to dinner or what?"
"Yeah," Will says, patting his stomach. "Feelin' pretty hungry, you know."
Patrick sits by himself at dinner, because Will and Travis are annoying him and he doesn't feel like putting up with anybody, not really.
Right after dinner, there's a knock at the door. "C'mon in," Patrick says, because he doesn't feel like getting up again and figures it's probably Jon.
"Is fifty bucks a lesson good?" Pete asks, holding up a hundred dollar bill. "I'll just pay you in advance right now."
"Dude, that's way more -- sure, okay, fine," Patrick says. "Sounds good."
From the floor, Travis says, "You're a rich man now, baby."
Pete seems to notice Travis and Will for the first time right then, and shouts "Travie!" before flopping down on the ground with the two of them. "It's been forever. How have you been, man?! I missed you," and plants a big wet kiss on Travis' cheek. (Will punches him, and plays it off like he's kidding but Patrick saw the look on his face.)
"What, since like an hour ago when class ended? I've been good. I'm just getting crushed by a psychotic midget, that's all."
"I am not that short. If anyone in here's a midget, it's Rat."
"Who?"
"You know, kid in the hat, because his voice keeps cracking. He's all squeaky." Pete says, "You know, like a rat?"
"Fucking stop calling me that, Jesus," Patrick says, and for once his voice doesn't break. "In my own fucking room. The fuck is wrong with you?"
"Dude," Will says. (At precisely the same moment, Pete says, "Whoa, whoa, what?" and Travis says, "Damn, Pete.")
"Fuck all of you," Patrick says. This is one of those time where he's glad the doors slam without much effort.
Only Pete follows him into the hall. "Hey, hey, sorry," he says.
"Dude, no," Patrick says. He's not really sure where he's going to go right now, actually. Jon's room isn't safe, since it's Pete's place as well. The music room, maybe.
"Hey, seriously, Patrick. Is Patrick okay? I can call you that? I didn't realize it bothered you that bad, dude, it was just a joke. Can we -- look, I'll call you whatever you want, okay? I was serious about the lessons, too, I'm not making fun of you with that."
"Yeah, well," Patrick says.
"Seriously, I'm sorry." Pete holds out a hand. "Are we good?"
"Sure," Patrick says reluctantly. "We're good."
Pete laughs, sounding sort of genuinely pleased. "You wanna come back and join the cuddle pile? It's good times back there, man, you're missing out. Plus it's more fun with a fourth player."
"Oh, no," Patrick says. "I wouldn't want to keep you from being third wheel."
Pete laughs again, eyes squinting half-shut as he ducks his head.
"So uh," Patrick says, ignoring the weird twisty feeling in his stomach. "Guitar. Tuesday?"
"You busy before then?"
"I guess the weekend, I don't know," Patrick says. "Tuesday's better."
"Alright, sweet. I'll see you then."
-
"Sucking this bad at guitar is like a lost artform," Pete says, frowning over the old acoustic Patrick's lending him. All Pete has is an electric bass, and Patrick insists he learn the basics first. "Seriously, they could make a documentary about me. Last of the shitty guitarists."
"Don't worry," Patrick says. "I'm sure there'll be people bad enough to follow in your footsteps one day. Maybe."
Pete says, "I had to practice a lot to get this bad, dude, I don't know."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, man. Life was pretty hard. I didn't have time to be a guitar genius; I was busy being a child sex slave."
"By 'child sex slave' you mean 'rich kid from Wilmette,' right?"
"Pretty much."
"What a difficult life that must have been. I can't even begin to imagine, being from Glenview and all. They're like, worlds apart."
"I know, right?" Pete heaves a dramatic sigh. "I've got so many issues."
"That'd do it," Patrick says agreeably. "So do you want to see if you can get better at guitar, or would you rather keep wasting your money?"
"I'm not wasting it, I'm using you as my personal therapist." Pete says, "And anyway, money is not an object."
"The guitar is, though. Play it."
"My fingers hurt."
"Don't make me sing," Patrick threatens. "Seriously."
"I am trembling in my seat," Pete says. "Shaking in my boots. Et cetera."
"No you're not. Play the guitar."
"Ach, you've seen through my clever ruse!"
"Yeah, yeah, X-ray vision. It's my super power. Now shut up and play."
"You don't really seem like an X-ray vision kind of guy to me, Stumph." Pete frowns, setting the guitar down on his lap so he can rub at his chin. "I'd put my money on telekinesis, or maybe telepathy."
"What? Why?"
"Because it makes more sense than X-ray fucking vision."
Patrick rolls his eyes, and clamors around to behind where Pete is sitting on his bed. He manhandles Pete's hands onto the guitar. "Look, former child sex slave or no, if you don't actually play, you'll never be able to do anything but suck. And that's not gonna be a good career choice. I mean, once you've lost your boyish charm and all."
"Nah, I'll make enough to retire on while I'm still young," Pete says. "It's cool. Don't worry about me."
Patrick says, "Play a C chord." For once, Pete listens to him. "Alright, alright, good. Now -- you remember F and G? Look, play C, F, G, then C again. That -- ... is not F. That's D major 7, and I guess good job for figuring that one out, but it's not right. I don't even want to know, okay? Look, this is F," he says, guiding Pete's hands. "Fingers like that? Got it? Here, no, index finger on this fret."
"Oh, okay," Pete says.
"Try again," Patrick says, letting go. Pete gets it mostly right. Slowly. Very slowly. "You'll get it eventually, I guess."
"Hey, I'm paying for lessons. Be nice."
"You can have your money back, if you're going to complain so much."
"No, no, just kidding. What's F again?"
-
Jon says, "So hey, Brendon."
"Hey!"
Jon says, "I was thinking of heading into Chicago this weekend, if you want to come along?"
"Oh," Brendon says. "I'm not really. Allowed to leave?"
"Oh," Jon says.
"Yeah."
"Well, it wasn't like, set in stone," Jon says. "If you want to just. I don't know."
"Uhm."
"Never mind," Jon says.
"Yeah, okay," Brendon says. "I'll probably come by sometime anyway. If you're there."
"Right."
-
Second lesson, Pete comes in claiming that he wrote a song. He sounds very proud of this achievement. He says, "And I practiced and everything!"
The song has two chords -- three, if you count the fact that he starts out by messing up the A chord -- and sounds like shit. There's even some mumbled lyrics somewhere in the middle, which Patrick doesn't have the heart to try to listen to.
"Okay," Patrick says, maybe forty seconds in. "That's enough of that. Stop, before you hurt yourself." He says, "You've got this written down? Let me look at it. If this is what it'll take to get you to practice anything, I'm fine with that, just ... I'll rearrange it for you by next lesson, okay?"
"Oh, hey, sweet," Pete says. "Sure. I mean, I thought it was okay, but --"
"No. I'm fixing it. Look, remember last week, you fucked up and played D major 7 on accident? Think you can remember what that was?"
"Ooh, maybe. This?"
"No. Let me show you."
-
The night before a test, Pete comes back waving another fifty dollar bill. "I'm here to learn from the God of Rock?"
"Right this way, sir," Will says, ushering him into the room. "A tip for your valet, perhaps?"
"All I got is the fifty," Pete says. "Sorry, man."
Will says, "Look, he's been studying for forever. It's getting sad. Save him."
"I'm trying not to fail," Patrick says. "You haven't studied at all."
"I have to!" Will says. "What do you think I've been doing all this time I've been hanging out with Travis?"
"Smoking pot and playing Mario Sunshine aren't exactly Chemistry-related, dude."
"Oh, we do not even play Mario. Fuck you, man, we have moved on from such childish things. Last night, I will have you know, we played Wario Ware."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Patrick says. "I should have known. Yeah, Wario Ware is a man's game."
Pete says, "You guys have Chem this year? With Daniels?"
"Yeah."
"Such is life," Will sighs.
"That sucks. Oh, hey!" Pete says. "You're the guy Jon is helping!"
Patrick stares at him.
"What?"
"You only just now figured this out?"
"Yes?"
"How do you survive? Does being hot seriously have that much weight in the world that nobody's bothered strangling you yet?"
"That's what all the ladies tell me," Pete says.
Patrick only realizes how mortified he is after Pete's given up and left. He's kind of freaking out a little, actually.
"Are you okay?" Will asks. "You're not having a seizure, right?"
"No," Patrick says. "A seizure, what the fuck?"
"You stopped moving like at all." Will says, "Some people just kind of freeze when they have seizures, it's true. My cousin was like that."
Patrick says, "I'm not having a seizure, don't worry."
"Okay," Will says. "Just checking."
Patrick says, "I'm pretty sure I'm going to die, though."
"Oh, well, that's fine," Will says. "As long as it's not a seizure. Thanks for warning me. Cancer?"
"What -- no. No. I meant that metaphorically."
"You're going to die metaphorically."
"We all have to die metaphorically some day," Patrick says. "Okay, look, whatever. No. It's nothing, I'm cool. I'm going to sit here and read until I forget this conversation happened."
"Sweet," Will says.
-
lesson six
Brendon gets a package in the mail, and insists on opening it in Jon's room. His roommate, apparently, has threatened to kill him in his sleep. So Brendon spends a lot of time crashing on other people's floors, rather than bringing it up with any of the school staff.
Anyway, he's at Jon's tonight, sitting around in his pajamas. "Guys, guys, my girlfriend is awesome."
Startled, Jon looks up from the night's Lit assignment. "What? You have a -- what?"
"Oh, yeah," Brendon says. "Back in Vegas. We were going out before I transferred out here. It's complicated."
"You have a long distance relationship," Jon says. "In high school."
"Well, yeah," Brendon says. "So?"
"No, it's fine," Jon says. "I just. Was surprised." He shoots Patrick a look.
Patrick mouths, how was I supposed to know and Jon looks confused but Patrick doesn't want to risk actually saying anything in front of Brendon.
Brendon is still very, very carefully opening the box, which looks like it was taped shut by an obsessive compulsive. Inside there's bubblewrap, cushioning a neatly-wrapped box much smaller than the initial one. "Oh, man, this is exciting," Brendon says, and starts popping the bubblewrap, bubble by bubble.
"Stop that," Jon says.
"Sorry." Brendon puts the bubble wrap aside very, very carefully. This whole process is taking longer than Patrick would have thought possible.
"Dude, just open it already," Patrick says.
"No, man, my girlfriend gets kind of weird about it if you don't unwrap things just right. I don't know. It's weird."
"Do you want me to open it? You can blame me," Patrick says, reaching for the package. "Christ."
"No, dude! Come on." Brendon actually scowls, leaning out of Patrick's reach. "I know Ryan's not even here, but seriously, I gotta respect that kind of thing."
Jon is giving Patrick a death glare; Patrick is ignoring him.
Brendon says, "Oh, hey! The new Palahniuk. Sweet, I didn't know that was out."
"All this," Patrick says. "For a book."
"And a letter," Brendon says defensively. "And. Let's see. A magnet. And some cookies -- oh, shit, sugar free this time, that douche. Whatever. And some letter paper, I guess. Are these envelopes? Where do you put the address, I don't get it," Brendon says, turning a piece of stationery over in his hands. The paper is dark-coloured. And paisley. "Oh, wait, never mind, this is one of the cards. But how -- okay. Inside's white. Never mind. Panic's over."
Patrick says, "I know I, for one, am relieved."
"Let's see, I'll read the letter later. Except, what's this say -- oh, man, I've got to write to my girlfriend more often. I guess twice a month isn't all that often."
"Oh, hey," Jon says. "Is that a picture? She's pretty hot. Looks like kind of a dyke, though."
"Don't say that about my girlfriend. Ryan's really smart, okay?"
"Being a lesbian wouldn't make her stupid," Jon says. "Are you sure she's straight?"
Patrick says, "Are you sure that's a chick?"
"She's hot, dude," Jon says again.
Patrick says, "Well. I guess you'd know."
-
(Brendon started dating his girlfriend nearly a year ago. He's got the day marked down as their anniversary on the calendar, at least, and has been making sure to amass presents to send back home since they're going to be apart.
"Hey, Mom! I'm home! I've got a friend, we're just going to hang out in my room for a bit."
Brendon's mom poked her head out of the living room, taking a break from scrapbooking to give Ryan a long, appraising look. "Leave the door open, would you?"
Ryan looked like a deer in headlights (and makeup, and really tight pants). Brendon just says, "What?"
"Brendon, I think your mom thinks I'm your girlfriend."
"What? Oh! No, no. I wouldn't try any funny business, don't worry." Brendon pauses. "Ryan! Don't give me that look. You don't believe me, do you? My intentions are pure!"
Ryan kept staring at him, wide-eyed and silent. Brendon ducked his head down, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "You know, though. I mean, you could be my girlfriend. If you wanted."
"Well, I think science would say that's not going to happen."
"But would Ryan Ross?")
-
Pete says, "So I'm not trying to nag you or anything, but that song you said you'd fix up?"
"Oh," Patrick says. "Oh, yeah, that, I've got it. But have you got D major 7?"
"Oh, I so do, you know I do," Pete says, pressing the strings down with his fingertips and strumming the chord, muting it with his palm, strumming it again backwards. "Is it in there?"
"Well, it is now," Patrick says, pulling out a sheet of paper and scribbling things down in a few places. "And good job, but that wasn't the chord I asked you to play."
"What? Sure it was. Dude, index finger goes here, right?"
"No."
"But I do use this fret, right --"
"No, you don't."
Pete says, "Can you just show me the song?"
Patrick holds out the paper with tablature written on it.
Pete says, "I meant play it for me, you know."
"Oh, yeah," Patrick says. He picks up the guitar and starts to play, murmuring the chords each time they change.
"No, like --" Pete starts. "Can you sing it?"
"Oh, dude, no way," Patrick says. "You do not want to have to deal with my singing voice, it's terrible. I'm not going to even do that."
Pete says, "Hey, I won't make fun, I'm a pretty shitty singer myself. I just want to hear it, you know, how you envisioned it and shit."
Patrick says, "Okay, fine, whatever. Look, I was kind of thinking of it with your voice in mind, right? so the range is pretty narrow and all."
He ducks his head down, hunching his shoulders a little as he plays. He gets through the little intro he wrote and starts singing, and when he's finally done, says, "Yeah, well, so that's about it, I guess. That's how I heard it when I saw the words the first time, but if you want to change it up, that's cool. Don't try singing it yourself until you've got the chord progression down smooth, but like I said, we can change --"
"Whoa, whoa, wait, no," Pete says.
"Do you not like it? It'd be pretty easy to turn it into pretty much any other style, you know, just switch up the tempo and change a few chords around and you could make it rockabilly or country or whatever."
"No, no, shut up," Pete says. "Shut up for a second. Who told you you can't sing?"
"I've heard myself," Patrick says. "Like, recorded? Ew."
"I'm dead serious, man, your voice is really good. Like. You got the good brand of vocal chords or something. Where'd you buy yours?"
"Shut up," Patrick says, and is surprised to see Pete actually obey. Pete closes his mouth and looks away, bemused and contemplative.
"So, like this?" Pete finally says, starting in on a fumbling attempt to get through the song.
-
A week before winter break, there's an all-school assembly so that the chorus can do a performance. The chorus only has ten students in it, and it's not particularly good this year, but attendance is mandatory so Patrick brushes his hair in such a way that it'll cover his headphones, and ducks his head down almost to his chest, arms folded.
Pete, somehow, finds him. And sits next to him, in the empty seat at the very end of the row. And pokes him in the side until Patrick looks up, grumbling, "What now?"
"You should be up there," Pete whispers dramatically. "You'd blow them away."
"Shut up," Patrick says, and one of the teachers is glaring at them. Pete beams at him, mouths, I'll be quiet -- and then pokes him again. Then Pete yawns and stretches his arms, trying to put an arm around Patrick's shoulders, and Patrick -- Patrick just excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn't come back before the performance is over, and is grateful he doesn't have any classes with Pete. He's not sure how he'd survive, because honestly, he'd thought he was getting over the crush.
The way Pete's grinning at him now, he's not so sure.
After the assembly, Pete says, "So, what're you doing over the holidays?"
"Going home."
"You wanna hang out or anything?" Pete says. "I mean, you're in the area and all, aren't you? There's a show I wanna go to, and I don't really know who else to ask, or I mean, we could just chill."
"Uhm."
"You know, watch movies, or." He waggles his eyebrows. "Whatever."
"Jesus Christ," Patrick says, managing a laugh.
"I've been bringing sexy back way longer than Justin," Pete says. "I was just waiting 'till I was legal to make the announcement, then he beat me to the punch."
"Wow, and that joke is not at all dated."
"The song's not that old," Pete says. "Besides, I have been saving it for the perfect moment. Haven't made it before and will never make it again. That was a one-time deal right there, and aren't you glad you were present to witness it?"
"Not really," Jon -- who's apparently been behind them this whole time on the walk back to the dorms -- says.
"See," Patrick says. "What he said."
"That's what she said," Pete says.
"Seriously though," Patrick says. "I'm pretty sure pop culture references are not like fine wine. They don't age very well."
"Hey, at least it hadn't turned to vinegar or whatever wine does, right?"
"I don't know, I think it was pretty close."
Pete says, "Okay, see, this is totally why we have to hang out. Think of all the sweet, delicious banter the world would miss out on if we didn't. Are you with me?"
Patrick is maybe not thinking when he says, "Okay, fine."
Pete says, "No, you were supposed to say something like, 'Alas, I am slain.' Something indicative of defeat."
"No."
"Come on," Pete says. "Say it. Admit I won, at least."
"According to you, the world is the one that wins this battle."
"Oh, shit, I logicked myself into a corner again."
part two