Patrick felt like dying.

Patrick felt like curling up into a ball, closing his eyes, and never opening them again.

Because he'd truly messed up this time and the screaming and yelling between the people around him: friends, ex-friends, and could-have-been-lovers alike, was far too evident of that.

He wanted it all to stop and he wanted to wish everything away, but for the first time, he felt himself lost, confused, and utterly helpless, because for the first time, he looked at people and saw nothing: nothing but anger, and conflict - emotions so loud they were screaming: a kind of passion that could damn near kill him, but not at all in the way he wanted.

If he was going to lose his hope, his personality, he may as well lose his mind as well, but perhaps at the hand of a bullet and not that of his own creation, well, destruction.

Because he'd screwed up, and he'd screwed up for real this time, and the way Mikey looked at Pete like he didn't trust him anymore was all that he needed to know that he was the problem here, but the thing was that Patrick Stump could solve any problem, except himself.

It was his fault that Brendon looked like slapping Ryan, because Brendon didn't like secrets, and Patrick had practically forced Ryan into one. And it was his fault that Frank looked conflicted and confused - having known barely anything about the whole mess up until it had come and slapped him, well Pete, in the face; he had enough problems of his own and it was entirely Patrick's fault that he'd gained another. And it was his fault that Ray looked more and more upset every time he tried to calm Mikey down and in consequence every time Mikey shot him down for it.

This mess was entirely of his own creation, and it was just those stupid fucking feelings of his that he could never quite supress enough; he should have thought about everyone else and the impact his irrationality and emotions had inflicted upon the people he cared about most, and in fact now they had become the people that he shouldn't even be allowed to care about at all.

Patrick Stump reckoned he didn't even deserve anyone to care about, because he noticed far too much and said everything when nothing was needed and nothing when everything was needed; he was the fuck up - the marriage proposal at the funeral - out of place and wrong, and perhaps just there for the sake of it.

But there was nothing he could do sat alone on the sofa in the house that Mr and Mrs Ross had foolishly left Ryan in charge of all week - perhaps this was something that, although foolish, Brendon Urie should be personally thanking them for. There was nothing Patrick could do but sit alone and watch as his friends yelled and his vision grew fuzzy and he felt like his organs were abandoning his body like a sinking ship, and perhaps that would have been okay just to pass out then and there, but Ray noticed, and he shouldn't have.

"Patrick, are you okay- guys, guys, he looks like-" Ray brought the room to silence and that was one thing Patrick was thankful for at the very least, but still, he couldn't quite trick himself into thinking that the luxury of silence was something he deserved.

"Fuck, he's going to like pass out or something-"

"Brendon, did it not occur to you that screaming it at him would in no way help the situation at all?" Pete rolled his eyes: things had always just been a little bitter between the two of them, and Patrick almost passing out in Ryan's living room did nothing to change that.

"I'm sorry." Patrick finally stuttered out a response, Ryan rushing to the sofa to support him and try his best to ensure that they didn't have an unconscious mentally traumatised ginger kid on their hands.

"Patrick, this isn't your fault okay?" Ryan seemed to be the only one at all capable of comforting him, as the rest of Patrick's 'friends' stood in a gaping silence.

"Well, actually, it kind of-"

"Shut the fuck up, Brendon. Make yourself fucking useful and get him some fucking water, okay?" Ryan continued to make it evident that he wasn't going to take any bullshit from Brendon, especially not when it came to Patrick, because Ryan Ross had found himself caring far too much about someone he'd never even imagine being friends with in the first place.

Brendon rolled his eyes before obliging, and only due to the fact that he and Ryan had an empty house again tonight, and if his boyfriend wanted to throw him into the fiery pits of hell, then he kind of reckoned that it would maybe just spoil their evening.

Ray was the second to sit beside Patrick and attempt to comfort him; the curly haired boy had no recollection of ever having a one on one conversation with Patrick in the past, but he was just far too nice for his own good, and perhaps this was the only situation in which something like that could be deemed an advantage.

"Patrick, it's really not your fault... people just get fired up, and you can't stop yourself from having feelings for someone - not really." Ray sighed, biting his lip and trying his best to ignore Pete's death glare, which he caught in the corner of his eye.

"Kind of made my boyfriend hate me though, didn't you, Patrick?" It seemed Pete, much like Brendon, wasn't quite as happy to just give up on World War III that had been occurring in Ryan's Ross' living room, however, unlike Brendon, he didn't have a pissed off boyfriend with an empty house tonight in order to shut him up.

All Pete Wentz had was a really pissed off, jealous, and confused boyfriend, a not quite best friend who was just far too in love with him for anybody's good, and an awful lot of eyeliner.

"Pete, you can shut the fuck up and start giving one single fuck about your best friend or be kicked out of my house, okay?" Ryan piped up, eyebrows raised and effectively shutting the most emo person in the room up, at least temporarily anyway.

"Pete, you should know of all people that you can't chose who you fall in love with." Frank, who had been silent up until this moment, finally opened his mouth, and only in order to drop what would have been the biggest bombshell of World War III (which occurred in Ryan's living room).

"And so should you, Frank. Didn't your relationship kind of ruin just about all of your friendships?" Pete clearly had no concept of 'too far'.

"I thought we were friends, Pete, you know? What happened to that? The fact that I'm not being a douchebag to your supposed bestfriend? Doesn't look like you know an awful lot about friendship at all, does it?" Frank sighed out, pulling his gaze away from Pete and turning to Ryan, who seemed to kind of be in charge here - which might just be because it was his house, well either that or the fact that everyone would respect someone who could get Brendon Urie to shut up. "I'm going to go now - if that's alright?"

"Yeah, go on, fucking walk back to your fucking tranny of a boyfriend-" If Pete had gone too far before, right now, he'd thrown himself into another solar system.

"Don't fucking talk about my brother like that!" And seemed that was what it took for Mikey Way to finally stand up for himself, and for the right cause, as well, because Mikey could hate Gee as much as he damn well wanted, but nothing was going to change the fact that they'd lived together for years, and Gee had always been so much braver than he was.

"Mikey?" Pete just looked at his boyfriend, almost as if he hadn't expected that vulgarly insulting his boyfriend's brother would have any kind of consequences whatsoever.

"So what am I just painted out to be the asshole that doesn't care? Am I only supposed to care about you, because that's the kind of person you need? Someone to prop your ego up on bad days?" Pete was speechless, and as Brendon walked back in with the glass of water, he couldn't help but feel like he'd missed an awful lot.

"Mikey, I'm sorry, I just- we say things we don't mean sometimes, don't we?"

"What? Like when you told me you cared." Patrick thought he might as well continue in wrecking the whole world around him, because it seemed that he was really becoming accustomed to the beauty of destruction and the passion in hatred and the way everything had fallen apart, and all because of him. It was power, but it was wrong, but maybe Patrick just didn't want to be right all the time, and maybe he wanted to make Pete Wentz sorry for every single fucking time he put him down.

"Patrick, look you're my best friend, but I just don't love you, I-... I can't... we're great friends, but I love Mikey, and I-"

"What? You're just going to let him live with that?" Ryan stood up at this point, leaving Patrick to lean into Ray and try his best not to cry in front of everyone he cared about. "With knowing that he'll always be nothing more than second best to you? He loves you. Think about how it feels with Mikey yelling at you because you screwed up, and think about that all the time. You don't deserve to be his best friend."

"Pete, I love you, but fucking call me when you've sorted this shit out - I don't want to watch you fuck up, okay?" And with that, Mikey pulled himself together and made his way out, leaving the room in awe, and Pete in something close to tears, but it was just that kind of something that he'd never let anyone say anything about ever again.

"I'm going too." Frank sighed out, catching a few gazes as he did so. "Ray, call me tomorrow though - we need to talk." And with that Ray instantly knew it was obvious; Frank saw the way he looked, and Frank saw the way he cared, and Frank saw too much and too much all at once, but unlike Patrick, he was far too much of the confrontational type.

"Apologise to Patrick, okay?" Brendon sighed out, sitting down beside Ryan and speaking for the first time since his boyfriend told him to shut up.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to someone that doesn't even want anything to do with me anymore now that I've just about fucking ruined everybody's life?" Pete practically screamed in Brendon’s face, almost as if he'd entirely forgotten that Patrick was still there and looking up at him with an odd kind of hope for someone that he knew would let him down without question.

"Tell him that you're sorry and fucking prove that you care before you just go and lie to him again. You don't notice him at all but he notices everything about you, just value him like you care about him and don't just treat the friendship thing between you like some sort of unbreakable, unquestionable thing, because although you've made it evident that you're absolutely devoid of feelings, Patrick still fucking hurts, and Patrick still fucking cares." 

"Ryan, I do care, come on - I would have just gone by now if I didn't." Pete pleaded, looking almost sheepishly into Ryan's eyes; Ryan Ross had already made it very evident that he was not someone to be messed with.

"If you did, you would have apologised by now." 

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I've been an ass- I am an ass, and you're my best friend, and I do care about you, and I'm so sorry, I don't even deserve you but please give me another chance... please." And Pete fucking meant it - for once, Pete Wentz meant something he said to someone, and if this was it, he was most definitely saving it for the right moment.

"It's okay." Patrick smiled, getting up and hugging his best friend, and Brendon kicked Ryan a little just to ensure that his boyfriend would just shut up now that they were okay, and for Brendon to do something in Pete Wentz's favour, it really was something. 

"I'm so sorry." Pete told him again, letting Patrick bury his head against Pete's chest, and really he was far too thankful that Mikey had gone by now, because really, this was hug was far too long and far too personal for him not get jealous over.

But no matter how many times Pete could apologise and mean it, all it took was Ryan Ross to whisper something hateful in Patrick's ear to ensure that the redhead never believed his bestfriend again.

-

"It's just messed up, Gerard, I mean, you wouldn't have thought that Patrick would have fallen in love with his best friend and now pretty much everyone's pissed off and Ryan's gone into some weirdass overprotective motherly phase, and Ray keeps... Ray... he keeps looking at Mikey, and it's something I keep noticing, and I don't want it to be what I think it is, but with way he blushes when I catch his gaze, I just can't help but think that it is, man... this is all fucking screwed, you know?"

Gee sighed out, rolling himself a joint, sat on his bed in Bert’s house, with Frank pacing almost unnervingly around the room as he relayed his soap opera's worth of problems to his boyfriend.

Frank was still a little reluctant to let Gee stay with Bert, but things seemed to be okay right now, and Gee was definitely getting better from the state he was in before, so really, the seventeen year old just had to hope that things would all be okay as he continued to freak the fuck out regarding the millions of problems fucking his life over.

"You want one?" Gee gestured to the joint he'd just lit, and Frank only laughed, rolling his eyes, but sitting down crossed legged on the bed, opposite his boyfriend, and nodding regardless. "Thought so."

Gee, joint in mouth, rolled Frank one, placed it between the seventeen year old's lips, causing him to giggle a little, and lit it, before pulling away and dropping his lighter as the two exhaled, and Gee tried not to think about the fact he practically spent his life giving drugs to minors... well, Frank Iero.

"Seriously though, Patrick's upset and in love with Pete, Pete's pissed off and in love with Mikey, and Mikey's generally being a fucking asshole and is too much of an asshole to actually love anyone-" Gee raised his eyebrows at that, and Frank only smirked a little before continuing. "And then Ray's definitely crushing on Mikey and he's just trying to be nice to everyone, and then Ryan's like become Patrick's fucking overprotective mother and hates the world, and Brendon's just kind of pissed off at everyone but listens to Ryan so hasn't caused any kind of shit recently, and really, besides Brendon and Ryan who are practically fucking married, I'm the only one not involved in some intricate love triangle- quadrilateral thing."

"You know, I liked it better when you were just friends with Jamia and I didn't know that you even knew my brother." Gee mused, causing Frank to roll his eyes, exhaling loudly and trying to think about anything else, but Patrick and Pete and the destruction they'd caused, just didn't seem to have the capability of ever leaving his mind.

"Yeah, Jamia's fucking fine, by the way. Lindsey's good for her."

"And I'm not good for you?" Gee smirked, raising one eyebrow.

"Nah, you're the absolute worst, you know that, Way?" Frank giggled a little, as Gee rolled his eyes, pressing his lips to Frank's and letting everything fade away for just a few seconds. "Do you have any advice regarding my soap opera of a life right now at all or do you want me just to talk about absolutely anything else?"

"How's your mum doing these days, eh, Frankie?" Gee joked, winking at his boyfriend, who only rolled his eyes in response, before answering Gee's question regardless of its light-hearted tone.

"My mum's doing fine, you know. Hasn't even gotten a new boyfriend recently."

"Ah, that's truly sad. Tell her I know many assholes who will happily be stepdads for a period of a few months or less." Gee joked, and Frank only shook his head in response, turning around and leaning back into his boyfriend's lap, just so his head rested right on Gee's crotch.

"Shut up."

"Your head is terribly close to my cock, you know, Frankie." Gee smirked, purposefully blowing smoke towards his boyfriend's face. Frank giggled in response, blowing smoke back and causing Gee to jump a little. "Find out what's going on with Ryan, though."

"What?" Frank asked, almost having entirely forgotten about what he'd been speaking to Gee about in the first place, and although entirely cliché, that was just entirely the effect that Gee had on him.

"Ryan's only going to be acting so weird from something. He either wants to protect really fucking bad due to something between the two of them, or maybe there's something up with him and his boyfriend- whatever, his name was I can't even remember- I swear to god, all your fucking friends are gay, and weren't you fucking complaining about how you were the only gay guy you knew when we first met?"

"It's you. You're so fucking gay that it's infecting people, like a fucking plague, you know?"

"Oh shut up, you're pretty fucking gay too." Gee told his boyfriend, and Frank only shook it off, continuing with what they were originally saying before the twenty five year old had gone off on some weird ass tangent.

"Ryan's boyfriend's called Brendon. I think they're alright, I mean, I don't really talk to Brendon, cause he's kind of an arrogant fuckwit most of the time, but Ryan and I are okay, and he hasn't really said anything, but there was this one time when I was at the park with Patrick and Ryan and I had to go find Bob and blackmail him into finding out what the fuck was going on with you, you know this was... then... and, yeah, so they got left alone, Ryan was kind of pissed at first, but he never mentioned it afterwards, so I guess maybe, Ryan and Patrick got kind of close then or something."

"This is hurting my head, I'm not good with life advice, I'm practically a fucking junkie, I'm not your number one advice giver - you should know that." Gerard groaned out, twirling Frank's hair around his fingers. "And how you're kind of pressing into my crotch really isn't helping at all."

"So what? You'd rather I suck you off than I dump my problems onto you? Huh, who would have guessed."

-

"You should totally meet my friends." Bob was trying far too hard to act confident and Alicia was trying her best to get him to shut up for just one second, and really neither of them were succeeding at all.

"Bob your friends are probably messed up stoners who like underage girls a little too much and I'm a Catholic school girl from the rich part of town and you're probably grooming me and luring me into the sextrade with poptarts, like seriously, did I mention how messed up our friendship is but you make me laugh, you know... and I really like poptarts."

"Underage girls? Where the hell do you get that from?" Bob's eyes widened, laughing it off like the answer wasn't obvious.

"You." Alicia rolled her eyes, walking ahead, in the direction Bob was leading her, despite her previous wishes, because really, whatever, she'd meet his friends, as long as it kept her away from her own world for just an hour or two, because when the only headache in your life was a hangover inflicted one, life seemed to be just that much more liveable.

"I'm not a pedoph- I... Alicia!" Bob protested, perhaps just a little too loud, running after Alicia, who stopped and turned, eyebrows raised and smirk set onto her lips.

"Bob, you're like twenty six, and I'm seventeen - it's a little weird, even for us just to be friends, but you stare at my tits far too often for it to be just that on your end." She rolled her eyes, walking beside Bob in his bewildered silence, as he struggled to figure out if he should be apologising for looking at her tits at all.

"It's fine, I look at everybody's tits."

"Somehow, I don't think that makes it any better-" Alicia stopped as Bob pulled her back with a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump a little at first, but with Bob's stupidass fucking grin it all faded away within seconds.

"We're here." And Alicia said nothing more as the drug dealer, who she meet a few days ago, and was nine years older than her, led her into an unfamiliar place, and this time, without even the promise of poptarts.

-

"Bert, she's not my girlfriend." Bob sighed out, Bert only rolling his eyes as he grabbed various alcoholic beverages from the cupboard and putting them down on the dining table. He was kind of pleased he had company of some sort, even if it was just Bob and his clearly underage 'girlfriend', because then at the very least he didn't have to think about Gee and Frank fucking in the room next door.

"Sure. Right, you're old enough to at least pretend you can legally drink alcohol, aren't you?" Bert addressed his question at Alicia, who stood wide-eyed at Bert's rather confrontational nature. "Yes, you, whatever your name was."

"Alicia." She reminded him, a little pissed off, but slowly regaining her senses and sitting down at the table beside Bob, who in comparison to this 'Bert' guy, seemed like the nicest fucking guy she'd ever met. "I'm seventeen."

Bert snorted, grabbing some glasses, not that he tended to drink alcohol out of anything besides the bottle it came from, but he assumed girls had different ideas about these kinds of things. "What is it seventeen year olds, huh? Why not go for one year older? At least then it'd be legal."

"Bert, shut up, we're not dating. Alicia's just my friend, okay. Shut up." Bert sighed out, grabbing a bottle of vodka and downing half of it in one go, which left Alicia rather dumbfounded, and Bert could only smirk, having prided his alcoholism as his greatest quality, because really, he was an utter asshole and there wasn't that much else to pick from.

"You've stolen all the alcohol on purpose, haven’t you? You fucking know I want a drink, fucking don't you?" The three jumped a little at the presence of a forth voice, belonging to none other than everyone's favourite crossdresser. "Wait, you've got company- wow, you actually have friends - congratulations, McCracken, fucking congratulations."

"It's just Bob... and his not girlfriend." Bert snorted a little at that, leaving Gerard to make a slightly skewed judgement regarding Bob and Alicia.

"Alicia." She corrected once more, rolling her eyes and flashing Bob an 'I'm going to fucking punch you when we get out of here' look.

But of course, it was then that Frank Iero walked in - sexhair and all.

"Frankie, he's stolen all the fucking booze again-" Gee groaned a little, his tone changing drastically in sight of his boyfriend, of course, though, his words immediately put to a stop as Frank and Alicia's gazes finally crossed and whole worlds seemed to explode in Bert McCracken's shitty ass dining room.

"Frank..."

"Oh my god, they fucking know each other, the drama has reached new heights - this is fucking fantastic!"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Bert." Bob just shook his head, watching as Alicia got up.

"I'm fucking going, I'm sorry, Frank, I just look at you and I see him, and I can't, this is all to get away from him and I- please don't tell anyone." Alicia broke down into a state close to tears, about to fucking run, only for Bob to hold her back and pull her into his chest, and for some fucking stupid reason, she let him.

"Frank? What's this? I know about the boyfriend that cheated on her with the guy, and I-" Bob's eyes widened, looking at Frank like he was genuinely worried about the possibility of one day having to hate his favourite underage Catholic school boy.

"The boyfriend... uhh, Mikey, yeah, he was my best friend." And that was when Gee's eyes widened, slowly piecing everything together, and generally wondering as to how anyone could ever date his brother.

"Mikey and Pete they're fucking assholes, I fucking hate them, I hope they fucking go to hell and fucking die- I-" Bob again managed to shut her up, which was really an achievement, yet however, the silence he created, only gave way to another one of Bert's drunken, sarcastic comments.

"Actually, they'd probably die and then go to hell, but whatever. This is your brother, Mikey, isn't, huh, Gee?" And that really had Alicia's eyes widening in Gee's direction.

"Wait, what the fuck, you're dating- fucking hell, that is wonderful, he'll hate that. I fucking love you both, he'll fucking hate that-"

"Oh, trust me. He fucking does."

-

Pete liked to say that he was a good person, but every time he did say so, it only became evident as just how willing he was to lie to himself or anyone for the sake of his own sanity.

Pete liked to pretend that the missed calls from both Mikey and Patrick weren't tempting and that they weren't bothering him, because indeed, he'd messed up like hell and perhaps this was just his price to pay.

And perhaps this was all just nothing more than what he deserved and perhaps it would all just be fine in the end, once he'd sorted himself out that was, but it seemed all it took to sort him out were sharp objects and a hell of a lot of blood.

So, really, it was simple, and then Patrick would be happy, and Mikey would be happy, and Ryan Ross would be over the fucking moon (his eyes would probably be the size of it too), all Pete had to fucking do was fucking stop it all.

And in a way that no person, no medication, no bullshit, nothing could solve. And something about that kind of cunning was almost appealing... in a bittersweetly sadistic kind of way, and Pete wanted to be clever like Patrick was, just for once.

He wanted to have a special secret and to know something that no one else did; he wanted to outwit the world once and for all, and this would be exactly the way to do it.

And really, the more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became, and really, this was insanity coming into full bloom, but Pete just couldn't really help the fact that maybe he just didn't care at all.

If he was just an insensitive asshole, as people made him out to be, then he most definitely was going to do it in style. And it had become rather apparent that insanity and fuck ups was entirely Pete Wentz's style.

Maybe a simple apology would have just done it, but it was all too far and maybe it was just the pills and maybe it was just the fucking pills he'd taken, but still it made very little sense, and this was all sudden all messed up and sudden but that was how life was, and ultimately, that was how death was - it was there and gone before you knew it.

This wasn't planned, and this wasn't supposed to be planned, but Pete screwed the world over in that sense too, and nothing was quite as great as knowing that he'd given God the middle finger too, because without God there'd be no fucking Catholic school and no fucking Mikey and no fucking Patrick and nothing that had his forearms dripping red and fucking bleeding all over his bed sheets and he just really didn't fucking care, because he had better things to think about, things like chance and things like goodbye and where his dad kept the gun these days.

He had to at least thank his dad for choosing tonight to fuck off and leave his son alone to wallow in his own headfuckery as he muted his phone in order to ignore another call from Mikey, who maybe, by now, had just about started to care, and maybe, he would have even apologised, but for Pete it was still too late for that.

Now, everything was absolutely screwed, and Pete was certain of that fact. After all, Ryan fucking Ross had pretty much just underlined it in red marker pen for him today. And the apology just wasn't enough because it was the way Ryan looked at him as he hugged Patrick and it was the way that he was just disgusting now - he was a problem, he was a pest, and he was the one throwing Patrick into self-loathing.

He was the fuck up, he was the problem, and he needed to be sorted out.

And his thoughts went from screaming all at once to the kind of silence that brought ringing your ear, and it wasn't without purpose: the gun lying at the back of the drawer made sure of that.

Now this was just easy though, it was trigger and fixed, and maybe just a few more of those pills to make things easier, because Pete Wentz was always knew he was such a fucking coward, and as he swallowed his final handful, he made sure of that fact.

And goodbyes were hard, especially for cowards, so cowards turned off their phones and ran, but Pete didn’t run, Pete didn't fucking hide - Pete just pressed metal to his forehead and closed his eyes for what felt like centuries as he palm grew sweaty and his finger hovered over the trigger, his whole body beginning to shake, as he contemplated what little would be left of him after this and just how good that would be.

He contemplated who would be the first to find him and he made bets with himself over their reaction and really it was just stalling time: time before he wrote his last message, and he wrote it in biro on a sheet of paper from a notebook and not his own blood on the wall, because he wasn't a fucking cliché and despite popular belief, he felt too, and he felt like fucking hell all at once.

It was the content of his final message though that was most important thing, and not the gun to his forehead and the bloodstains on the walls in aftermath of the solution to one big fucking problem.

And he remembered what was fucking important as he took his last breath and pulled on the fucking triggered and thanked the pills for once allowing him to see straight in this whole fuck up he called his life, and only so, out of sympathy, but it was over now, and he had that as condolence.

The message was still legible despite the blood that splattered against in the crossfire of his demise: its message still remained the same, and it remained important.

I'm sorry. I love you both.

And it remained unread and unknown for far too long.

-

Hey guys:) Merry Fucking Christmas have some character death - you're very welcome, yes;) No problem at all:) I'm sorry this was a spur of the moment thing and I think i like killing characters off far too much okay I'm sorry:') Anyway, you should totally vote and/or comment or whatever before you go off and kill me or w/e but also like I hope you had nice Christmasses and shit. I love you all<3