critical veins || peterick au [REVISED/REWRITTEN]

chapter six

Fat, salty tears started to pool in my eyes and splash down my chipmunk-like cheeks. They were soon followed by raspy hiccups as sobs shook my body, making my throat swell painfully. The contracting happening in my stomach felt no better as I continued to heave through the onslaught of hopelessness blanketing my mind.

I hated Bob and his friends so much. I couldn't comprehend how someone like him and his cronies could just be so cruel, so unforgiving. So full of...evil. I didn't understand why they had to take it out on innocent people, why they had to strip them down with their brash words until they felt like nothing. What did they gain from being an asshole, and an asshole in high school no less? Popularity? Probably, I thought bitterly. After all, this was a high school based on the same shitty stereotypical ideals of a chick flick film.

I'd been so caught up in crying that I hadn't heard another person enter the restroom. They, unfortunately, had heard me, my loud sniffles being the only sound provided in the bathroom.

"Everything okay in there?" someone called tentatively, and I almost stopped sobbing entirely when I recognized it as Pete's voice, thick with the same concern I'd heard yesterday. Yesterday. Man, it was almost laughable how yesterday and today paralleled almost identically.

His footsteps got closer and I tried to reduce my crying to a few sniffles to no avail. I wanted to be angry at Pete, but at this point I felt exhausted from having spent the last few minutes sobbing hideously and hating Bob, Kenny, and Gabe.

"Um...I'm sorry for whatever's happened," Pete went on awkwardly, his voice now just outside the stall. "I hope you get better. Uh...if there's someone you want to talk to, I could get the guidance counselor, or like...you could talk to me, I guess."

There it was again - that caring Pete, the one that helped you off the dingy bathroom floor and fished your heart pin out the toilet bowl containing God-knows-what. The Pete that fended off the bullies and promised safety from said bullies. The Pete that offered consoling to a stranger crying in a bathroom. A stark contrast to the Pete that had become stone-like in behavior, dismissing you and saying you had to fend for yourself in the sea of judgemental high schoolers at lunchtime.

"Sorry if this is like, weirdly intrusive. I know it's none of my business. I should go," he rambled. And then suddenly. Suddenly, I found myself getting up from the seat. I found myself trailing to the door and unlocking it, hesitantly swinging it open with a sniffle to reveal the bleach-blonde enigma, Pete Wentz.

"Patrick!" he exclaimed, almost startled to see me. Deep worry lines were etched in his face and I had to remind myself of his cold shift in attitude from yesterday before I could fall for his concerned act once again. I summoned enough energy to glower at him, though I doubted it was intimidating in any way.

"Um...Are you like, okay?" he went on, tilting his head at me. I scoffed and crossed my arms, squinting at him, an act which unfortunately caused a few more lingering tears to fall.

His eyes seemed to spark with recognition and his shoulders slumped. For that split second, he looked like any other average teenager, stressed from the juvenile displeasures high school often brought. I almost felt sorry for him.

"Hey, look. I'm...I'm really, REALLY sorry about yesterday," he sighed, his tone edged with deep regret that I had trouble trusting was genuine. "What I did wasn't right. I wasn't thinking straight." He sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just...I have a status to maintain, you know? I'm...Ugh. It's complicated."

I bit my lip, understanding what he meant but hating what it stood for. In the next few years, this "status" would no longer matter - it would become another irrelevant element lost in the slew of more mature worries. The future of adulthood did not care about how popular you were in high school. Why couldn't these kids see that?

I realized then that Pete was staring at me intently, his spiel unfinished. I felt heat rush to my cheeks and I dropped my gaze to my beat-up shoes.

"But I want to make it up to you Patrick. I want...I want to be your friend." I snapped my head up immediately, and could tell Pete was stifling a tiny smirk. "Sit with me at lunch. Please."

I was taken aback, to say the least. And still a bit distrustful. What if it was a prank? What if he and Bob were actually friends, and had arranged to meet just outside the restroom and traumatize me once more?

Pete noted the hesitation in my face and took a step forward, which I assumed was supposed to be reassuring. "I won't pull another stunt like yesterday. I promise. Scout's honor."

I had no idea what he meant by that last part, but I found myself nodding and pulling my backpack over my shoulders. He smiled and led the way out the restroom, and I could only pray that he really did have good intentions.

We trekked to the cafeteria unbothered, reaching the north entrance which was closed. Upon opening them I expect the attention of everyone there to fall on us, but the most we get is a freshman clumsily squeezing past, muttering a hasty apology.

The two of us crossed into the vast space, wherein I kept my gaze trained on the linoleum tiles and Pete's shoes just a few feet in front of me. Considering Pete was a popular kid, I chalked him up to be sitting at a table flanked by other popular kids, who would probably wonder why some silent fat guy was intruding on their untouchable seating arrangment.

Instead I was met with a lone circular table occupied by only two others. Upon closer inspection I recognize one of them as Joe. The other is a tough-looking redhead, who dons glasses much like my own. He has the beginnings of a beard growing in, really completing that rugged look.

"Oh, hi Patrick!" Joe greets, a mouthful of sandwich blurring his speech. He patted the table invitingly and I slowly sat down in one of the stools, offering a tiny grin. Pete settles in his spot around the circular arrangement, a few seats between us. "Y'all know each other?" he asks the 'fro.

"Same first period." Joe nods knowingly to me. A part of me is grateful for his familiar presence.

"Hi Patrick. I'm Andy," a light, almost quiet voice pipes up. It takes me a second to realize that this Andy is the redhead seated diagonally across from me. I'm a bit surprised at the contrast of his tone to his looks, but I give him a small wave. Pete unpacks his lunch and the three of them launch into a conversation about bands and music, while I sit awkwardly with no lunch, simply listening.

"You're not eating?" Pete asks me, suddenly close. His breath practically condenses in my ear and I jump back, startled. He leaned away a little, amused. "Sorry. I was just-"

He's interrupted by the call of an approaching individual, whose hair is gelled into a flawless coiff. It almost distracted me from the fact that his forehead was comically large.

"Wentz," he greeted as he shuffled past, nudging Pete's shoulder with a fist. Pete jerked his chin up at him, his voice an octave deeper as he responded. "Urie."

The table resumes in conversation, and Pete never finishes what he was saying. I don't mind. I'm just grateful to be at a table where I wouldn't be picked on.

Staring at the others, all grinning and smiling as they argue which rock band is better, I feel warmth. However, although I now had a place to sit at lunch, and people I could possibly call "friends," I cannot help the stab of loneliness that pricks my chest.

•

THE CHANGES

ok, so i COMPLETELY changed the bathroom lunch scene bc the one in the OG was so stupid and i cringe everytime i read it. now it's way more realistic and shows off Pete's good nature.

also changed the exchange between Pete and Brendon. in the OG it references the milk fic but the author of that god-forsaken literature is a p*do so yea. gave pete and brendon the typical boy greeting instead.

i believe that's all the major changes. onward to the next!