Kinda want to make this into a book where all their disorders are kind of severe and it explores everyone's mental illnesses. Like Pete suffers depression and suicidal tendencies, Patrick with low self-esteem, Andy with PTSD maybe? Like something about his dad? Joe with his OCD, Mikey and Gerard with drug problems, not sure about Frank, maybe anxiety? Also not sure about Ray. Brendon would have ADHD, Ryan would probably be healing from abuse from his alcoholic dad (not PTSD, though), not sure about Jon or Spencer or Dallon. Idk. Tyler with depression. Josh with anxiety. Something like that.

Ship: Mikey/Patrick/Pete
Words: 557

"Fuck you! I'm fucking sick of everything you always do! I can't believe you'd fucking do this to yourself!" Mikey screams at me. It's all I can do to just stare and lower my head in shame.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I just—"

"Just what? Just wanted to die? Is that it? I'm fucking sick of it, Pete. I've told you over and over again I'm here for you! Patrick has told you over and over again he's here for you! Why won't you just accept the help we're giving you?"

I feel tears or shame rise to my eyes as he continues to scream at me.

"Goddamnit. You know what, jump if you want to." He growls.

"I'm sorry." I whisper shakily, shuddering and sobbing as my whole body shakes and shivers and tears leave my eyes and I feel myself doubling over as his words carve into my skin deeper than the blade ever has.

"You're a fucking attention seeker. Absolutely fucking useless."

"Mikes, please, please you don't mean that." I whisper.

His dilated eyes look straight at mine and with a small smirk he laughs right at me and then holds up his middle finger.

"I mean every fucking word of it."

The wind seems to carry all the rest of any kind of hope I had as he bites his lip maliciously and laughs even harder, "You're pathetic, Pete, face it. Every little thing you think about yourself is true and Patrick isn't here to help anymore. You know he's lying."

I choke back a sob and walk backward, closer to the edge of the building with tears falling from my eyes.

He smirks, knowing he's got to me, but he doesn't bother anymore. He knows I'll do it, so he only turns and goes back in the small room that will lead him downstairs.

"Bye, Slut. If you're still alive tomorrow morning, I hope you cut deeper tomorrow night."

And with that, he slams the door shut. Dilated eyes, pixelated blood. He's high. Always seems to be, the coke telling him how to act, but I know it's true what he says. Every word of it.

"S-so sorry..." I whisper, walking farther and farther backwards, and eventually turning to look over the side of the building. There's a net a few feet down but I know I could easily get over it. I just have to jump.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick. I'm so sorry, Mikey. I'm sorry, Joe, Andy, Brendon," I'm crying harder now, "Ryan, Gerard, Frank."

I shakily grab the side of the ledge.

"I'm so sorry for failing you." I jump up and shut my eyes, tears falling from my eyes as I spread my arms wide.

"WAIT!"

Patrick.