"The jury finds Pete Wentz.. not guilty of assault," Pete lets out a breath. Patrick is still smirking at him. "However, Mr. Wentz will have to stay with Mr. Stump and cater to his every need until he is able to do it himself,"

And Pete's mouth drops wide open as Patrick is helped to his feet and handed his crutches. Patrick makes his way over to Pete and stops. "Carry me," He commands, smiling wickedly at Pete.

Pete goes to protest, but Andy gives him a look that says he better not. "I hate you so fucking much," He whispers in Patrick's ear. The latter rests his hands on Andy's shoulders and hands his crutches to Pete's lawyer, Joe, to hold. He bends down and picks Patrick up bridal style. "Where to, Stump?"

"It's Mr. Stump to you, dick face. Take me to where my driver's waiting," He says. Pete rolls his eyes but obliges, obviously not wanting to get in trouble by the judge still watching him intently.

Patrick's not a heavy guy, Pete realises. He's not a small boy, but he's not fat by any means. He holds his weight very well. Pete thinks he's probably around one fifty, one sixty at the most. Smaller than a lot of the hockey players that are going professional right about now.

Nonetheless, he's an amazing player, and Pete can't really say he's not happy with the whole I-hit-you-with-my-car-whoops thing because that's one less great player for the Flyers this year. Although, being Patrick's bitch until he recovers is going to be a serious pain in the ass. [so big pete doesn't even know tbh]

He's finally reached the car, where Patrick's driver has the door opened, an emotionless look on his face. He basically throws Patrick into the car, earning a yelp from the younger man.

Pete climbs in behind Patrick, the driver shutting the door when he's in the car. Patrick's sitting with his leg propped up on the seats across, a bag of ice lying on his bandaged knee, his arms crossed and a pout on his face.

"You're such a dick," Patrick mutters. Pete smirks at him.

"I've been told that a few times," Pete tells him. Patrick nods.

"I wouldn't doubt it, asshole,"

--

"Pete, you'll be sleeping on the couch in Patrick's room," Andy says. Pete's eyes widen.

"This house is fucking huge. Why can't I have my own room?" Pete asks bitterly.

"What if Patrick needs to take a leak in the middle of the night? In here, he can just throw a pillow at you," Andy explains. Pete groans.

"Speaking of the whole 'Patrick needs to take a leak thing', how's he gonna piss by himself if he can't stand?" Pete asks. Patrick smirks at him.

"I can stand perfectly fine. The judge doesn't need to know that, though, does he?" Patrick tells him sweetly. Andy and Pete share a look before Pete rolls his eyes.

"Then why am I here?" Pete asks. Patrick smirks.

"So I can make your life a living hell. I can't do what I've always wanted to, so you can't live your life for the next four months," Patrick says. Pete drops his head in defeat. "Which reminds me," Patrick says, looking at his wrist that has no watch on it, "I'm hungry," He looks at Pete expectantly.

"I'm pretty sure I saw a chef when I came in," Pete says. Patrick smirks and taps his chin with his hand.

"Oh dear, how will I ever make it to the kitchen?" He asks dramatically. Pete sighs loudly before walking to Patrick.

"Hands around my neck, or I swear I'll beat you to a pulp, crip," Pete threatens. Patrick obliges, wrapping his hands around Pete's neck.

Pete grips Patrick's neck and squeezes his ass hard on 'accident'. Patrick yelps and squirms in Pete's arms, resulting in the latter almost dropping him. Pete laughs and watches as Patrick's face heats up, turning red.

Patrick is not amused. He kicks the side of Pete's head with his leg that isn't hurt. Pete whimpers.

"Ever do that again, Wentz, and I'll beat you to a pulp," Patrick growls. Pete gulps. "Okay, to the kitchen, asshole!" Patrick smiles sweetly.

"Fuck you," Pete mutters under his breath as he walks the small man to the kitchen. He sets him down on one of the chairs at the island, dropping down next to him.

"Are you gonna tell Frank what I want, or..?" Patrick asks. Pete rolls his eyes.

"Frankie," Pete says. A small man with long, black hair and eyeliner pops up, a frown on his face.

"Don't call me that, fuckboy," Frank says immediately. Patrick smirks, fist bumping one of his best friends.

"Yeah, whatever," Pete scoffs. "Asshole here wants a sandwich," He tells Frank. Frank's eyebrows raise. "Uh, why aren't you cooking, midget?" Pete asks rudely.

"Asshole here doesn't eat sandwiches," Frank informs. Pete looks at Patrick.

"He's right," The man says, shrugging. Pete glares at the crippled man.

"You were gonna make me order a sandwich and throw it away?" Pete asks. Patrick shakes his head.

"Nope. I was gonna let him make the nastiest sandwich ever and then force you to eat it," Patrick explains, a small smirk on his face. Pete huffs.

"Well, what would your highness like to eat with that pretty little mouth of his?" Pete asks.

"Frankie Boy, I'll take a pizza, if you will, kind sir," Patrick says. Frank smiles at his boss/best friend.

"Right away, 'Tricky Poo," Frank boops Patrick's nose before disappearing.

"How come you can call him Frankie, yet I can't?" Pete says, pouting.

"'Cause I'm hot as hell, and he loves me," Patrick says, winking at Pete.

"Can't deny the first one," Pete murmurs, but Patrick catches it, blushing furiously.

"Seriously, what's up with the flirting all of a sudden?" Patrick asks. Pete shrugs.

"I don't know, really. It's just that I realise I'm stuck with your fine piece of ass for the next four months. I might as well enjoy it while I have the chance, right?"

"You and your damn points, Wentz,"

so the peterick is strong and it's chapter one so fuck logic

also this wasn't too bad of a chapter, right?