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"Love exists in powder, love exists in pills. We are all addicts." -Gray, Pete Wentz
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I let the sheet of paper fall from my fingertips into the basket just as the bell rang. I let out a sigh of relief. I did it.
I had actually completed every poem required for this project, on time. I had basically scored myself an A for the quarter. The effort I put into this class sort of inspired me to actually care in my other classes, too. I flipped everything around, and it's looking like I can actually manage to finish the year with decent grades.
And it was all thanks to Pete.
I sat down at my desk as soon as he walked in the door. "Alright, class," he announced as he scooped the papers out of the basket, "you're officially done with your project for the quarter!"
There was a small amount of rejoicing heard. "So, there's not much left for you to do for the rest of the marking period. I might make you read some actual poems or something, I don't know. But for now," He shook the papers, "I'm going to read these beautiful pieces of literature." I couldn't tell if he was serious or sarcastic.
"I've identified all of you except for two. Students fifty-six and fifty-seven, oddly enough. The two people left are actually in this class, so I'll get working on that. Just look busy in case someone walks in." I felt my face get red as he looked right at me, winked, and the walked to his desk directly in front of mine. And he winked again.
Stop it, I mouthed to him. He just chuckled before opening something on his computer.
I purposefully avoided looking up at his face for the rest of the period, afraid of him continuing to make sexual faces and causing me to have a problem. Instead, I pulled out my stats review book and began filling my brain with knowledge that I'll never use again in my life. I ended up getting so focused on pointless math that I got tunnel vision and didn't notice any of my surroundings. I was apparently the last person in the class to realize that Mr. Wentz was on the verge of tears.
"Mr. Wentz, are you okay?" A girl next to me asked.
"It's fine, Jasmine." He cut the girl off. "Sorry, I just-" I looked up at him and he immediately made eye contact with me, causing him to do one of those laughs that just makes you cry more. "I'm fine. It's just this one poem. Carry on."
My heart sank. Was it really my poem that made him like this? It couldn't have, it wasn't nearly as dark as some of the other poems I've submitted.
He was on my mind the entirety of the remaining period. I would glance up at him every so often, and his head would snap away as if he was already staring at me. I couldn't focus on my statistics anymore. I was becoming jittery for no reason. My hands grew clammy and cold, and I was about to fall off the edge of my seat. I wanted to be relieved of this torturous hour of having to just think about him. He was right in front of me, yet I couldn't reach him. He was so close but so far away. I wanted to hug him when I saw him cry, I wanted nothing more than to just be able to be his friend whenever I wanted.
Well, nothing other than wanting to be more than just friends.
With only a few minutes remaining in the class, he got up from his desk and made his way to the front of the board. "Alright," he had to clear his voice several times before speaking as if the words were just completely trapped in his throat. "So, I've identified the last two students. Fifty-six is Elliot, and fifty-seven is Patrick?"
We both nodded our heads and he smiled. He turned around and wrote our numbers next to our names before crossing them off the board. "Great work. The two of you, they were great poems. Very hard to figure you guys out."
The bell rang and he called after the students rushing out the door. "Oh, and don't forget to sign up for the day of silence! It's tomorrow!" He trailed off and sighed in defeat, as the last person had left before he had even finished his sentence.
I chuckled and made my way over to him before sitting on his desk, not bothering to bring the spare chair over. "Took you long enough to figure me out."
He looked up at me with an expression on his face that I couldn't quite figure out. His eyes wide, his lips slightly parted. He blinked and it went away, just light that. "Uh, yeah- I just-"
I laughed. Pete Wentz, the cocky, sex driven human God, was nervous around me. "Cat got your tongue, Wentz?"
"N-no." He said. "And you can't call me by my last name. I do that to you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really, Wentz?" His face was beginning to turn red. "Geez, I'm only kidding."
"O-oh."
"Are you okay?" I said after a long silence. "You're not being you. What's up?"
He shook his head. "It's nothing."
"It's not nothing. What's wrong?"
"I said-"
"Pete, you can-"
"I said nothing!" He yelled, pushing his chair away from me. "God, you're just some stupid kid, why do you care about me so much?"
I bit my lip and looked down at my dangling feet, lowering my voice. "Because, y-you're my best friend."
He sighed and grabbed his head and his hands. "God, I-I can't believe this is happening!"
"That what's happening?"
"God! Nothing!" He groaned and collapsed in on himself, breathing heavily. He sighed and looked up, resting his knees on his hands and pointing at me. "You."
"Wha-"
"Do you know why it took so long to figure you out? Because I didn't want to. I didn't want to have to put a face to the kid writing Golden and What a Catch, Donnie. I didn't want to have to put a face to the kid writing these beautiful songs that showed how completely broken he was inside. I've been thinking it was you this whole time, but I didn't want it to be. You've been getting better, at least on the outside. You've been happy, and I didn't want to think that there was still all this darkness beneath the surface."
I played with my thumbs. "It- I have been. Slowly. But it's still there. The happy events and good times don't make it go away. It just distracts me."
He nodded. "I know. I know exactly what you're feeling, and it's all completely valid. I'm glad you're getting better- I just hate to see you like this."
"I-Is that why you were crying?"
He bit his lip, ashamed. "It sounds kind of stupid, I know. But I've been praying that those poems weren't yours. But as soon as I read your last poem, I just knew it was you. And I had been right all along, and there was still this evil inside of you that you don't deserve."
I inhaled sharply. So I was the reason that he was hurting. "H-How'd you know it was me, exactly?"
He held up a finger, signaling me to wait, as he fished around his desk for a piece of paper. He found what he was looking for, grabbed a highlighter, and began highlighting things before giving it to me. "Everything I've highlighted are things that I've said to you. Some of them several times."
I always fall from your window to the pitch black streets
I'd do it all again
I think you're my best friend
I'll be yours
When it rains, it pours
Empty your sadness like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor
"All of them except the purse one, though." He said. "I think I actually said bag or backpack or something else like that."
I smiled softly. "I didn't think you'd actually remember all of those things."
He chuckled. "Are you kidding? Of course I've remembered all of those. I remember most of the conversations we had. A-and that's part of the other reason I was crying."
I looked up, confused. "What?"
"It's just-" He sighed. "I can't believe I actually mean that much to you."
I got down from his desk and hugged him. He wrapped me in his arms and pulled me into his lap so that I was snuggled into his chest.
"You mean the world to me."
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"I just don't think I'm that thrilled about my English teacher knowing where I live," Joe said. We were in his garage again, waiting for Pete to come to rehearsal.
Andy rolled his eyes. "Of course he knows where you live, you idiot. He works for the school, he could probably look it up whenever he feels like it."
"Yeah, but he wouldn't. He's not a perv like you." I said.
He groaned. "Okay, I didn't know she was 13! I was drunk and she was wearing a lot of makeup!"
"Still doesn't warrant you to hit on her." Andy spat.
"Oh shut up, you're just being jealous."
"Wow, you guys are like an old married couple," I said, and they just looked at me. "What? If Joe wasn't straight as a pole, and if Andy didn't love working out more than he could love a human, then I would totally think that you two were fucking."
Joe shook his head. "Yeah no. I don't want to put my dick in someone's crap hole."
"Hey, who said that you'd be topping?"
I nodded. "He's right. With all that working out, he'd be dominating. I mean, just think about all the cardio he does."
Joe groaned. "Okay, whatever. I don't want someone else's dick in my crap hole."
I shrugged. "You straight people don't know what you're missing out on."
Joe opened his mouth to say something witty in return, but the doorbell cut him off. "Here we go."
He left and Andy immediately grabbed my arm. "Hey dude, what the hell?"
"You're really good friends with Mr. Wentz?" He asked.
"Uh, y-yeah," I stuttered, intimidated by him.
"Just be careful, okay?"
"What?"
He sighed. "I've been seeing the way he's been staring at you during those after school meetings. And by the way you look back at him, I can tell you feel the same. I don't want to know what's going on in his room during lunch."
I pulled my arm away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You guys would be cute together." He smiled and Joe and Pete walked in. "Just be careful, okay?"
I nodded and he walked over to the drum set, while Pete walked over to me. "Hey, Stump!" He ruffled my hair and Andy winked. "What do you got for us?"
I rolled my eyes. "You call yourself an English major with that grammar?"
"Yeah, I do."
I rolled my eyes again. "Nerd."
"Actually, a nerd would be using proper-"
"Geez, I can't take this flirting." Joe interrupted.
"Excuse you, this is an A to B conversation." I gestured between Pete and I. "You can C your way out."
Andy whistled. "Sasstrick strikes again."
"Whatever," I mumbled and grabbed some paper from my backpack. "I'm basically done with the song, you can tweak it however you'd like but yeah."
We sat in different corners of the garage, figuring out the music on our own. I had written the damn thing, so I was more so sitting in my own train of thoughts than trying to read my handwriting. I found myself staring at Pete the entire time. I felt somewhat like a stalker every time he'd look up and catch me. I'd turn away and blush while he smirked. If Joe and Andy weren't in this garage, I didn't know what I would do.
I resisted the urge to move my legs. They were itching to just make me get up and run and fling myself into his arms. I glanced over at him again. His eyebrows were furrowed in frustration, his lips pursed. He ran a hand through his hair, and I wanted those to be my fingers. Oh, how I would give anything to kiss those lips and run my fingers through his hair.
"He's about to give out the roses!" He yelled. "Shut up!"
"Make me." He turned his head so that he was looking me in the eyes. We both glanced down as one of his hands grabbed mine and the other wrapped around my waist. My breathing hitched as our eyes locked. They gently fluttered shut as his face grew closer to mine. My hands slid around the back of his neck. It was like nothing else mattered. I couldn't hear the Tv in the background. Everything seemed miles away. It was just the two of us.
And just as our lips were about to touch, the doorbell rang, causing us the break apart.
That scene replayed over and over again in my head, day and night. Some days, I'd sit there groaning about how stupid I was for not just kissing him, for waiting for so long. I fucked up, and that was probably the closest I'd ever get to actually being with him.
And some days, I'd imagine what would've happened if the doorbell didn't ring. Would he have kissed me? Would I have kissed him? Would we just kiss, or kiss? Would we go further? Would we stop?
Would we pull away, and regret everything that we'd done? Or would we continue, craving more, letting all of the tension we've felt towards each other just melt away into love and lust?
"Patrick!" Joe yelled in my face, and I snapped out of it. "Are you okay?'
I cleared my throat. "U-uh yeah. Just t-thinking, kinda zoned out there."
"Yeah, we know," he said. "C'mon, we're ready to play your song."
I nodded. "Oh, okay."
I went to get up myself, but Pete ran over and stuck out a hand. I grabbed it, and my heart was beating out of its chest as he helped me up. He pulled too hard and I stumbled, falling into his arms.
"Hey, easy there tiger." He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Let's save that for later."
He pulled away and my face must've been extremely red, as he burst out laughing. "Oh c'mon, I'm only joking."
I just shook my head and smiled as I got my guitar and walked to the mic stand. "Alright, this is going to be awful the first time through."
"Stump, are you really doubting my awesome bass skills?" Pete teased, and I looked over.
"Yes."
"Wait wha-"
Joe cut him off as he began playing. I was right, it was absolutely awful the first time. As soon as I started singing, Pete started messing up. A lot. Especially during the bridge, when I started singing higher. We took a break, and I went over to him.
"Hey, you okay? You're being weird like you were before."
"Y-yeah," he replied, shaking. "I'm fine, just, yeah."
I shrugged. "If you say so."
I went back and we started playing again with Pete calmed down.
And I still felt his eyes on me the entire time.
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oooo what's up with Pete?
Also Andy knows all. Hence the gif.
I've decided I won't be switching POV's anymore, and that this whole thing will be from Patrick's POV from now on.
Also I like doing the author's notes at the end and quotes in the beginning so ima go back to that.
Dedication to slowttown_ . Thank you for all the votes and comments and support on this story! It means a lot!
Comment "Dallon Weekes makes me weak" if you read this