Life's going pretty good for Patrick. Except, well, it isn't. Pete's been active in a few departments lately. One of them is the sexual one.

He brought home a guy the other day that looked so much like Zack, Patrick actually thought it was him. They were both giggling, struggling, and probably going to break something when Patrick sighed and went upstairs. If they would've broken something (you know, other than Patrick's heart), Josh or Tyler would get it.

So that's that. Pete's brought home -- Patrick's home -- multiple guys in the past two weeks, and Patrick's sick and tired of it. Drunk Pete is a giggly asshole. Normal Pete falls back into old routines.

He still gets mad at Patrick when the time is 11:58 and Patrick says noon. He still orders a fucking whiskey on the rocks and makes Patrick drink it before ordering a mixed drink. He still smiles so hard the skin beside his eyes crinkle.

Patrick's getting a little tired of meeting a new guy every night when he comes down the stairs and tries to steal Patrick's stuff. He needs to say something to Pete.

Is he going to? Probably not. He doesn't want Pete leaving him again. Mostly because he isn't sure if he could take the blow of losing Pete again once he's just now getting used to him.

But, well, number twelve in the past two weeks is.. different. Different in the way as she's a fucking girl. Pete and fucking anyone don't go together. Pete doesn't fuck. He gets fucked.

So Patrick maybe stops them. Makes the girl leave before she gets her heart broken because he can't get it up for her.

Pete isn't as drunk as usual. Patrick would say tipsy, at the most.

"Pete, man, we've got to talk," Patrick tells him. He grabs Pete's hand and leads him to the couch. Pete's acting like a little kid with the way he's just sitting there, pouting.

"What?" He asks. He doesn't slur. Patrick can fully understand his words. That's a start.

"First of all, you've got to sober up. At this rate, you won't live until age forty with that fucking liver of yours," Patrick tries to say in the nicest way possible. Pete huffs and rolls his eyes, a sign that he's not going to listen to a word Patrick says.

"Whatever," Pete says like he's uninterested. He bites one of his fingernails as Patrick continues, staring off into space.

"That was number twelve in the past week, man. And not to mention she was a girl," He says. Pete doesn't say anything, isn't even looking at him or in the general direction of him.

He shakes Pete until he's finally looking at him. Their eyes meet, and Pete's blinking like he's going to pass out at any second.

"You aren't even fucking listening, are you?" Patrick asks. Pete shakes his head.

"Not really," He shrugs, being honest.

"You know what? Drink until you drop dead. Fuck and let everyone fuck you until you can't move. See if I give a damn about it," He says seriously, disappointment lacing his voice. He stands up and walks away, leaving Pete sitting there.

--

Pete's different, Patrick's noticed. Although, he's really trying not to notice.

Whoever gave him the fucking idea to let his ex boyfriend that he sort of, maybe, totally still has feelings for stay at his house was a fucking maniac. He really only has himself to thank for that, though.

Patrick hasn't met number thirteen, if there is one, and Pete hasn't come home smelling of any alcohol since he told him he was basically done with all the baggage he brought probably a month ago.

Seriously, is this guy ever going to get back on his feet? Because Patrick would really love to fuck probably twenty more people before season starts in a month.

He doesn't mean to be a hypocrite in the whole Pete situation, but he doesn't drink every night, and he sure as hell doesn't fuck girls. He fucks guys, sure, but he's never bottomed except for that time with Andy in, what, eleventh grade?

That was hot. Awkward, but fucking hot. Who knew gingers were that flexible? Not him, that's for sure.

But, yeah, they're best friends, so no more fucking. They agreed that, no matter how good it was, something would happen to fuck up their friendship.

That brings Patrick back to the whole Pete situation. His thoughts are just Pete, Pete, Pete, and he wants them to stop.

He wonders if Pete took his advice and doesn't drink much or at all anymore. He wonders if Pete missed him. He wonders if Pete thought of him when he kissed the first person after Patrick. When he got fucked by whoever was next.

Patrick just wonders. Is it so bad to wonder?

Pete doesn't act that flirty around him anymore for some reason. They don't really speak all that much anymore, either. Just awkward hellos and goodbyes when they walk past the other.

Well, they didn't until today. Pete slaps a magazine down in front of him as he sits at the table, eating a bowl of cereal.

"Lightning, huh?" He asks, a huge grin on his face.

"I'm fast as hell, Wentz. Except when it comes to sex," Patrick says and winks after that, laughing when Pete coughs awkwardly.

"I, uh, didn't need to know that," Pete says, trying to play it off. Patrick can tell how flustered he is now. So he's going to test his luck.

"You gonna come see the hero beat some ass or?" Patrick asks, kissing Pete's cheek on the way to dump the rest of his cereal out in the sink. He leaves the bowl there, knowing Frank'll get it later.

"I don't know. I don't really have the money at--" Patrick cuts him off with a laugh, placing his hands on Pete's shoulders and shaking him.

"Pack your bags, baby. We're going to Boston in t-minus thirty days,"

Andy and Joe are on the balcony, watching them. Joe smacks his forehead. "Why don't they just fuck already?" He groans.

"Cause Patrick's being a pussy," He says simply, pausing when Joe laughs. "Ironic, isn't it? Since he's never touched one in his life?"

And Joe laughs harder at that moment than he has in his entire existence.

okay, yay woo update

fuck school

ily