(long story short, patrick stump is fucking hot, and this is what he wears on the 'date' and even tho this is short idc i'm happy w this chapter soooo yeah and wow just his lower half is so ;))

Sugar, We're Goin Down.
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t h r e e

"Patrick, I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight. Dress nice, and don't wear a hat please," I say as he gets out of my car. He simply nods, and I wonder if he'll be okay. No doubt he's blaming himself for the loss, but it really isn't his fault.

He sat down long enough and blocked everyone out to miss the actual fact that he was named MVP. Joe accepted it for him.

I know he thinks I'm an asshole, but I really need to fix that. I'm not the player that everyone thinks I am. I do it because I can't get anyone to stay with me.

It's true. The longest relationship I've had was with a girl named Ashlee. We dated for seven months, fucked, and then she dumped me. I lost all of my confidence. Then came Meagan. She tried to fix me, but that was my fault. I wasn't into her, and as much as I wanted to be, I couldn't. I was still in love with Ashlee.

Now there's Patrick. He is perfect. And he's good for me. He wouldn't do what Ashlee did to me, I know it. Sure, he's also known to be a player, but he wouldn't do that, would he?

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my window. I see a grinning Patrick through it, and I roll my window down immediately.

"So what? You're going to wait in my driveway until tomorrow?" He says smugly, and I look around, realising that I, in fact, am still in his driveway.

"Sorry, 'Rick," I mumble and start my car. He smiles, leaning in and placing a kiss to my cheek before stepping back. I pull out of his driveway with my cheeks bright red. Did that just happen?

If Patrick can do that to me with just a kiss on my cheek, then I'm in for a rude awakening. Patrick Stump and I might be like fire and gasoline, but boy, do we work?

--

"Holy shit," I mumble when Patrick opens his door. He's dressed in a fucking purple suit without a hat on, and he's so fucking gorgeous.

"Is this alright?" He asks worriedly, looking at my button up with a blazer and another pair of Andy's skinny jeans that aren't ripped at the knee. I nod furiously.

"Patrick, you look gorgeous," He blushes before hitting my arm and brushing past me. He's in my car before I can say another word, and I quickly jog and get in the driver's seat.

"So if I'm begging you to fuck me by the end of the night.. are you going to do it?" Patrick asks when I pull out of his driveway. I almost choke.

"W-What?" I ask once I've regained my confidence. He smirks at me.

"If I want you to fuck me, are you going to?" He repeats, and nope, I didn't hear wrong the first time.

"Uh, umm," I don't know how to answer that question. Patrick just laughs.

"I'm kidding, Wentz," He smiles, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Are we really going to see your band play?" He asks, running a hand through his hair. Damn, he needs to not wear a hat more often.

"Yeah," I say, focusing my eyes back on the road, "we are. Andy's going to be there, and I think Joe's going to play with us tonight. Our guitarist has the stomach virus,"

"My Joe?" His head snaps towards me.

"If you mean Trohman, then yeah, your Joe," I confirm, and he looks confused for a while. "We needed a guitarist, Andy said Joe tried to use the 'I-play-guitar' line on him, and we called Joe to see if he'd play. He said yes," Patrick smiles, shaking his head.

"Oh that Joe," I nod my head to that, knowing how eager he was when we called him.

"I just hope he didn't get our lead singer sick. We're screwed if that happened," I think out loud, and Patrick nods, turning up the radio.

When a Green Day song comes on, I expect him to change the station, but he turns it up, singing along with it.

"One, twenty-one guns. Lay down your arms. Give up the fight," He looks disappointed when I turn the radio back down.

"Patrick.." I say, trailing off. My eyes are wide. Holy shit.

"Man, I know I can't sing, but I liked that song," He whines, making my eyes bulge out of my head. Suddenly, I hope that our lead singer got sick.

"What the fuck, Patrick? You're an angel. Where did you get that voice?" I ask excitedly. He gives me a weird look.

"What are you talking about, Pete? That was awful," I really want to slap him out of it, but something's telling me that's not good to do on a first date.

"Patrick Stump, you are God sent," I conclude, and he actually laughs. Like full-out laughs.

"Very funny, Pete," He waves me off.

"'Rick, you have to be in my band," I grab his left hand with my right, still trying (and failing kind of miserably) to keep my eyes on the road.

"Whoa, whoa, Pete," He shakes his head. "I'll ruin your band. Have you heard my voice?"

"Alright, that's enough," I pull into the nearest gas station. "Patrick Martin Stump, if you say that you're terrible in any way again, I'm going to slap you, okay?" He nods frighteningly. "Now, will you please sing for my band tonight? If you hate it, you don't have to do it again,"

"Pete.." He says, and I raise my hand as a warning. "Okay, I'll do it," And I hug him. Surprisingly, he hugs back.

"Well, if you like Green Day and Blink 182, then you should only have to learn a few songs," I tell him, and he nods. We drive the rest of the way to the bar in silence.

--

"Two minutes until stage time, two minutes," A guy with a headset comes in, telling all of us. Patrick looks nervous, but I tell him he's got this.

"Come on, 'Rick, you know all of the songs now. They aren't that hard. We're starting with Sugar, throwing it to Green Day with American Idiot, coming back to us for Dance, Dance, going to Blink with First Date, and then finishing with Grand Theft Autumn," I tell him, and he looks overwhelmed but smiles and nods anyways.

"You're right," I help him fix his earpiece, and he disappears for a few seconds, coming back with leather gloves on.

"Holy shit, Patrick, you're so fucking hot," He blushes, and smacks my arm for the eighth time of the night.

"Shut up," He mumbles.

"Ten seconds until stage time," Someone tells us. We all walk towards the stage. "Five, four, three, two," The curtains open, and Patrick immediately smiles from next to me.

"Hello, Chicago," He screams into the microphone, making the seemingly four hundred people scream back. "I know I'm not the usual singer, but we aren't Counter Act tonight anyways," He laughs.

"That's right," I say. "Tonight, we're.. we're.." I try to think of something.

"Fall Out Boy," Andy screams into the mic from behind us. I turn around and mouth 'Thank you' to him. He winks at me in return.

"Yeah, tonight we're Fall Out Boy," The crowd screams again. "Alright, you might have heard of this before, but I'm not sure. This is Sugar We're Goin Down," They all scream again.

"Is this more than you bargained for yet? I've been dying to tell you anything you wanna hear, 'cause that's just who I am this week," Patrick sings, and the crowd goes wild. Our old singer never made anyone do that.

I smile. This night is going to be amazing.

--

"Well, you aren't begging me to fuck you.." I say, looking a little disappointed. "So no second date then?" I ask Patrick. He smiles.

"I never fuck someone on the first date. Well, not someone I want to keep around," He says, and I lift my head up.

"Wait what?" I ask, wondering if I heard right. He rolls his eyes.

"You know, for someone that's really smart, you're a fucking idiot," He grabs my face with his hands, leaning in and kissing me. I stand there for a second before realising what just happened. I kiss him back, my arms going around his waist.

Tingles went through my whole body, and even with the height difference, I don't want to be anywhere but here.

Our mouths move gently together until his tongue traces my bottom lip. I open my mouth, and our tongues meet, making him groan deep from his throat.

After a few more minutes of kissing in his doorway, he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. "I had fun, Pete," He says, pecking my lips again before walking into his house and shutting the door. I stand at the door dumbfounded for a few minutes before walking back to my car.

Alert the media. Fire and gasoline work oh-so-well together when the fire is Patrick Stump and the gasoline is me, Pete Wentz.