pic above is one of patrick's arm tattoos that slays like fucking hell you're welcome

"Pete?" I ask, eyes wide. What the fuck is he doing here? How the hell did this happen? How did he find me?

"Uh, do I know you? You're not the usual bartender. Where's Tyler?" Pete looks around, trying to find Tyler Joseph lurking around here somewhere. What the fuck is happening?

"Not here tonight, man. Sorry," I say. Pete looks at me closer, leaning in to get a better view.

"You do look a little familiar. Like the guy I was engaged to about two months ago. But you have blue hair and tattoos, so you guys don't look that much alike. Don't get me wrong, you're fucking hot, but I miss him. He just left," Pete's rambling now.

It makes me feel really bad. Like this is all my fault. It probably is. I didn't mean for him to be like this. Wasting his life away in a bar.

"What brings you here, Pete?" I ask. He raises his eyebrows, like he's confused as to how I know his name. But he doesn't question it.

"Boyfriend's mad at me again," Pete says. It's like a blow that goes straight to my heart. Of course he has a new boyfriend. Look at him. Then he leans in closer, as if he only wants me to hear this, and whispers, "He hit me," I swear I stop breathing.

He can't be serious. I leave him for two months, and he's in an abusive relationship? No way. I lean in and whisper, "You're not fucking with me, right?"

Pete shakes his head. I really do stop breathing this time. "No, but it's the first time it's ever happened. He promised not to hit me again, but I told him I needed to think. He's been calling me nonstop," And as if it's on cue, Pete's phone vibrates as he sighs.

"You should get that," I point at it. Maybe it really was an accident. Things happen when people get angry. He nods and sighs before picking it up and answering. But no matter what happened, I never hit Pete. I never did, and I never will.

"Hey, Rian," Pete answers. My head abruptly snaps up to meet his eyes. Rian Dawson hit him? More importantly, he's dating Rian Dawson? "I know, baby,"

"Holy smokes," I mouth to myself, turning around to keep busy. When I hear Pete say something along the lines of, 'Okay, baby, I'll be home soon,' I turn back around.

"He wants me to come home," Pete says before downing the rest of his beer. "You're a great listener, bar guy,"

He slides a five dollar bill across the bar before leaving the bar. Well, that was awkward. At least he doesn't know who I am, though.

okay here we go. this is starting AFTER stockholm syndrome is over, so check that out first.

patrick's fucking tatts slay