// this era patrick btw & patrick has an accent so pick whichever you want him to have & patrick is very bold in this as a btw

A knock on the door startles me. I look at the clock on the wall that reads eleven after two in the morning. It could really only be one person.

I open the door and am faced with a guy with black rimmed glasses, a pair of dark blue scrubs, a leather jacket, and really fluffy hair. Holy shit. I grip the door harder.

"Hey, uh, I'm Patrick Stump, and you must be Pete Wentz. Gerard told me Declan was here with Bronx." Patrick, who has a thick weird accent, says, running a hand through his messy hair. He is drop dead gorgeous.

"Yeah, uh, they're upstairs." I say, and I move out of the way to let him in.

"I appreciate you letting him stay here, man, honestly. He gets lonely, I know, but when work calls, I have to go. You know?" He asks. I actually don't, but I nod anyways.

"I'll go get Declan up." I say, and he stops me with a hand on my wrist.

"If you don't mind, do you think he could stay here for the night? I mean, school's in four hours, and he's happy with Bronx.." Patrick trails off. I find myself nodding without even thinking.

"Sure, yeah." I say. Patrick smiles at me, his eyes droopy from lack of sleep.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll jet." He says, pointing at the door. As he turns around, I grab his wrist, stopping him.

"You could stay, too. Have a drink, you know? Get to know each other since our sons are dating." I suggest. He looks at the time and then nods.

"What the hell?" He asks and shrugs off his jacket, bending over when he accidentally drops it. My eyes travel to his ass, and I'm rethinking the whole bottom thing.

He stands back up and turns towards me, smiling widely. "Scotch, Whiskey, Vodka, or Smirnoff?" His eyes widen at the choices.

"I'm always a slut for Vodka." He says finally, licking his lips. I nod and pour it in the glass.

"Mixed with?" I ask, and he laughs, shaking his head.

"I take my shit straight." He lifts the glass, and the liquid is gone in seconds, not even having an effect on him.

"Well, shit." I say, pouring a glass of water for me. Patrick laughs, rolling his eyes.

"Not used to shooting it straight, huh?" He asks, grabbing the bottle of Smirnoff and pouring it in his glass.

After he drinks it, I shake my head. "Not as hardcore as you, man. Night shifts must get easier with alcohol, yeah?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, dude, you get caught drinking, you lose your license. Just got this thing a few years back. Can't lose eleven years of hard work."

"Eleven years, huh?" I ask, reaching into the fridge. I grab a beer and hold it out to him, but he declines, so I put it back up.

"Yeah, since I was twenty-four." He says.

"So you're thirty-five?" I ask, and he shakes his head, smiling at me.

"Thirty-four. Birthday's in a month and a half, if I have my days right." He explains. He looks at the time again.

"Got a date or something?" I tease, and he shakes his head.

"Nope, but Doctor Hardy said I might get called back in before eight. It's five." He says. His pager beeps from his pocket at that exact second. "Fuck." He says. "Do you have a piece of gum or something?"

"Only the piece in my mouth." I say honestly. He bites his lip, before he smiles at me.

"Really hope you don't mind this." He says, and before I can ask, he's grabbing the back of my head and kissing me. His tongue slips in my mouth, and then he's pulling away, chewing my gum.

"Holy shit." I say, and he laughs. "I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah, and thanks, Pete." He waves and shuts the door behind him. I lie back down on the couch, looking at the ceiling with wide eyes.

There's only one thing on my mind: holy shit he's a good kisser.

--

"Dad, I need my keys." Bronx says, shaking my shoulder. I groan and turn over. "Dad, please."

"They're in my jacket pocket." I say. Bronx nods.

I get up at half past noon, and I realise Joe probably wanted to me to text him when I got home. I shower and brush my teeth before I call him.

"I was expecting a call from you last night." Joe says as soon as he picks up. I bite my lip.

"Yeah, sorry. I was tired." I say. His side goes silent for a second.

"I'm supposed to be working, but that's the beauty of being the boss. You should come over." Joe says. I actually should try to catch up on my writing, but I'm not opposed to making out with Joe all day.

"Yeah, I should. I'll be there in fifteen." I say, and I hang up after that.

I grab my keys and head for my car. When I get to the first red light, one car pulls out in front of an eighteen wheeler, and the eighteen wheeler doesn't stop soon enough. When they collide, I get out and pull out my phone immediately.

"911, what is your emergency?" The operator says.

"Eighteen wheeler just hit a car. Fuck, it doesn't look like he's moving. I need an ambulance." I say, and they respond quickly with a promise to be there in five minutes.

I run to the car and throw open the door. What I see shocks me more than ever.

"Andy, dude, what the fuck were you thinking?" I ask. He doesn't respond, and there's blood dripping from his nose.

Shit, shit, shit. I tilt his head back to maybe stop the blood, and I hear a siren before I'm asked to move. I ride in the ambulance with Andy to the hospital.