"Just stop talking about him, dude, it's not that fuckin' hard. We're sick of it. This was literally ten years ago, and you still haven't talked to him! The most you've talked to him about since then is being in your fucking group on fucking Twitter!"

"Joe, you don't fucking understand it at all-" Pete argues, his white knuckles gripping his phone that's sure to break if he keeps holding it like this.

"Yes, Pete, I fucking do, because you've explained to us what went down a number of times. He doesn't want to talk to you. You still love him. Why don't you write another one of your fucking albums about him?"

"For your fucking information, those albums gave us fame! Those albums got you to where you are now!"

"But you don't want fame, do you, Pete?" Joe asks angrily. "All you want is fucking Mikey Way and whatever he has that makes you want him so badly. Whatever, Pete. Write your fucking album."

Joe, who is already standing, marches to the door and leaves, slamming the door. 

Alone. He's finally alone.

Pete immediately sits at his desk and opens his notebook. He takes his pen and taps it on the desk a few times before he sits up straight and begins to sketch something.

It's a boy (one who looks similar to Mikey, in fact). Half of an American flag is painted onto his face, and a nice house is sitting in the background, the view blocked by his head.

Pete, after finishing his sketch, scribbles a few hesitant words below the drawing.

"AMERICAN BEAUTY/AMERICAN PSYCHO?"

a/n: ack it's been roughly a month since i've updated this but from this point on i'm doing something kind of exciting

the next few chapters are songfics! i'm going to go through pete's process of writing ab/ap, and this chapter was just the first part (which is why it was short). enjoy!

-ross ♡