Emo Trinity x Reader (Book 2)

Pete Wentz x Reader - Worth It

"Everyone, listen up," Pete continued, "I get that you want to dance down there and get some energy going. But if someone falls, if someone who clearly doesn't want to be there gets sucked into the pit, then you stop, and help. Because we're punk and we care about each other alright? So if you see someone falling, I want you to pick them up, if you see someone in the pit who doesn't want to be in the pit, you help them out. If you see someone who needs help, you help! Now let's start this song over, and I want to see all of you having a good time!"

With that Pete nodded at Andy, and they started the song from the beginning, but for the rest of the show his mind was caught up on you.

Backstage the two roadies had somehow managed to find both of your crutches. A medic had quickly checked in with you, but other than a little cut on your forehead, and the still broke ankle, there was nothing wrong. The young woman said you might get some bruises, but you did not even have a concussion. The two roadies had to leave you soon, because they had work to do, but invited you to stay backstage until the end of the show, and so you listened to the band play from the dressing room.

When the echo of the last note of the last song had faded, the door to the dressing room jumped open, and the band came walking in. Hastily you got up from the empty table you had been sitting on, not sure what you were supposed to do now.

Andy was the first to spot you, and quickly he hurried over. His long, ginger hair reached down to his shoulders, and other than a pair of shorts he was wearing nothing, not even shoes.

"You gave us quite a fright back there," he laughed, "are you alright?"

"I'm sorry, I'm okay," you quickly answered, still feeling embarrassed that the show had been stopped because of you.

"That's nothing to be sorry for," Patrick appeared next to Andy.

"It's more important that everyone is safe," Joe agreed.

"Are you sure you're fine though?"

Behind Patrick and Joe Pete had appeared. His black eyes were full of concern, and his sweaty, dark hair was brushed to the side carelessly.

"I am," you assured him, your heart beating fast when you saw him. You had always had a weakness for him, and now he seemed so worried about you, even though you were a stranger.

"What happened to your foot, "Pete wanted to know, nodding down to the cast around your ankle.

"Broke it, but that's been two weeks ago," you explained with a smile.

The other three decided to step aside, and started discussing who should be allowed to shower first.

"Why would you go to a concert with a broken foot," Pete laughed amused.

"Well, because it's your concert," you grinned, unable to hide the fangirl, but Pete just laughed more, seeming flattered.

"What about your forehead," he continued asking.

"Oh, that's just a cut, the medic took care of it," you replied, instinctively reaching for the small band aid the medic had put on the cut.

"Did they give you something to cool it with?"

"No, but that's-"

"I'm gonna get you some ice," Pete decided.

"Please, it's okay, don't worry, I'll be fine," you tried to stop him, but Pete was already on his way out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with some ice cubes wrapped in a towel.

"That's the best they could do, sorry," he apologised as he showed it to you.

"You really didn't have to get this for me," you shook your head, but could not help feeling flattered.

You wanted to reach for the towel, but Pete pulled it away from your reach, and instead stepped closer to you, pressing it to your forehead himself. Confused you let him, the cold of the ice helping with the steady headache that had formed, while your heart went crazy about how close he was.

After the ice had molten so much that the entire towel was drenched, Pete offered you something to drink, and asked Patrick to keep you entertained while he took a quick shower, and put on some fresh clothes.

Time ticked on, and Pete was long back from his shower, his short, black hair still wet and dishevelled. You had offered to leave multiple times, but Pete had insisted on you staying longer each time. Somehow you had assumed the band would go out after the show, or to their motel or wherever they slept, but instead they just hung out in the changing room together with you and the roadies, who had finished packing all the equipment away ages ago. Sometimes a member of the staff from the venue came in. Often they brought more drinks, stole some snacks, and stayed for a little chat, before leaving again. Pete told you many stories about tour, and what the band had planned next, asked countless questions about your life, about how you had broken your ankle, and by the end of the night you felt like Pete knew more about you than some of your friends.

Eventually the venue manager came in to talk to the band. He asked how you were doing, thanked the band for playing, and told everyone they would get ready to close down now. Patrick, Joe and Andy helped carry out the last bags, mostly filled with the musicians' stage clothes, and towels, and Pete insisted on helping you down the few stairs to the parking lot, even though you assured him you were fine.

"So... thanks for the help, and all," you smiled, realizing this was good bye.

Pete seemed to notice it too, watching almost sadly how his bandmates piled into their van.

"You're welcome," he answered, giving you a soft smile, "to be honest, I'm almost glad you got sucked into the pit, otherwise I wouldn't've gotten to know you."

You laughed at his little confession, and could feel the blush on your cheeks.

"Yeah, I think that was worth it," you agreed.

"Hey, I was thinking," Pete nervously kicked a pebble around with his shoe, "you know, Chicago isn't too far, and if you'd like you could come to some more shows sometime? Like... if you give me your number I can let you know when the next one is."

Hopefully Pete looked up at you.

"I'd even give you my number if it wasn't just to keep me updated about your shows," you giggled, amused by how Pete suddenly tried to disguise his boldness.

"I mean, I could also call you to hang out sometime," Pete offered, his grin wide now again, as he pulled out his mobile and flicked it open, so you could put your number in for him.

"Pete, come one! We wanna get going," Andy shouted from the van.

You waved over apologetically, but Pete ignored his friend completely, watching how you typed down the number instead.

"That's it," you nodded, after checking you had not made a typo, "so... call me?"

"Oh trust me," Pete laughed, "I will!"

"Pete!"

This time it was Joe who had shouted.

"Okay, I need to go," Pete apologized, "get home safely."

Quickly he wrapped his arms around you, a gesture that you were not able to return since both your hands were holding onto the crutches, but Pete did not seem to mind.

"You too, good night," you whispered, before the young man let go, and jogged over to the van.

"Good night," he shouted, and waved, before pulling the door closed, and just a split second later the van already started driving down the street. Seconds later it was out of sight.

Quietly you sighted and shook your head. Had all this really just happened? It felt like the past hours had been nothing but a dream. Taking a deep breath, you wanted to start hoppling down the street, when suddenly you phone began ringing. Wondering who might call you in the dead of night, you pulled it out. An unknown number got displayed. Confused you picked up.

"Hey (y/n), this is Pete," the voice on the other end of the line announced, making you grin, "you said I should call?"