Fic: The Same PIllow, PG Title: The Same Pillow Author: marginaliana For:princess_witch Fandom: Bandslash (Fall Out Boy) Pairing: Pete Wentz/Patrick Stump Rating: PG Disclaimer: This is fiction. It is not intended to accurately portray the individuals named and no offense is meant. Summary: Patrick has learned to gauge Pete's state of mind by the words Pete gives him. Notes: Many thanks to Megyal for looking this over.
Patrick has learned to gauge Pete's state of mind by the words Pete gives him, sometimes in notebooks but more often in text messages and blog entries and scribbles on the backs of napkins and take-out menus. It's an acquired skill, and one that Patrick finds himself bizarrely proud of possessing. It doesn't come easily. Making music from the words is what lets him get it; it's not until he hums them under his breath that they fall into place.
once upon a time is the same pillow where he lays his pretty head
He used to think sometimes that Pete was ambivalent about the whole thing. Yeah, Pete loves the music they make together (and if Patrick had a nickel for every time he heard that line, "baby, we could make beautiful music together," except, yeah, it still makes him smile every damn time), professes to love the whole "soul-mates" thing. But at the same time, Patrick thinks, Pete also has kind of a lot invested in being misunderstood. Professionally – you don't get to be a rock star without having something of a mystique – and personally, too. Sometimes Pete would look up at Patrick from under those dark lashes with wary eyes, like the random beats Patrick was drumming on his thigh really meant he was stripping Pete down, digging too deeply.
In those moments Patrick would say true things, but since they were the things anyone would have said they were never quite right.
"You don't give yourself enough credit."
"Baby," Pete would say, the corner of his mouth twisting sideways, "my credit's fucking unlimited."
built a statute of me but you got my eyes all wrong & there are no more living heroes
Something's different these days. Pete's quieter, not strictly in the volume sense, but in the jumble of words he leaves on Patrick's doorstep. They're still belligerent and raw and faintly sad, but there's resignation there now, and a kind of cohesion that's new. They've got something as a band now for sure, and maybe that's worn away Pete's desperate edges. Or maybe it's the break from touring for now, everyone settled into their homes and dogs and side projects and frequent showers. Maybe it's the space between Patrick and Pete, the physical distance letting them be closer musically and in… other ways. Patrick knows if ever there was a case of "how can I miss you if you won't go away," Pete would be it, but the new openness makes him feel faintly ridiculous. It seems weird for this to be what they've been missing.
He checks his email out of habit now, every two hours like clockwork when he's awake, skims his eyes over the newest lines. Something jumps out at him.
"do you ever think the old man was right that it wasnt about the way the world asked too much but that he asked too much of himself &how did he do it in the end just luck or was he really special"
Patrick bites his lip for a long moment before hitting reply.
"Since when do you listen to old men? Besides Andy, of course. ;)
How he did it? Love. That's all."
He sends it. The answer comes back a few minutes later, just as he's debating whether or not to pour himself another cup of coffee.
"yr wise in the ways of the force, young stumphhhhhh pick me up @ the airport 2morrow?"
Patrick scratches his nose, types "sure, time?" back at Pete, and gets up to put frozen pizza on the grocery list.