Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

20: Pete Wentz's Capri Sun And Vodka Cocktail

"You're kind of cute, or something." Pete Wentz was of course severely drunk and Mikey Way was left to deal with the little emo baby he'd been reduced to as a result of that.

"Or something?" Mikey raised one eyebrow, taking the glass of wine out of Pete's hand as the 'gang leader' snuggled into his side.

"Hot." Pete added with a smirk; he was far too proud of himself and he was most definitely making no secret of it. "That's the something."

"So am I hot, or just 'kind of hot'?" Mikey asked, not even sure why he was bothering, but he was pretty certain that at this point, Pete was going to pass out and sleep for the next seven hours at any point in the next fifteen minutes.

"Extremely hot." Pete corrected him, again smirking like a motherfucking idiot. "If you were Nando's chicken, you'd be extra extra hot with peri peri sauce."

"And what would you be? Lemon and herb? Plain?" Mikey rolled his eyes, leaving Pete to scowl in some sort of exaggerated offense.

"No, I was wrong, you'd be extra hot - one extra, and I'd be extra, extra hot - two extras, because, because, fuck it, come on, you know what I mean, you're not blind after all." Mikey glared at him in disbelief, and mainly because, well, Pete Wentz was a motherfucking idiot, but Mikey couldn't deny that he had developed a certain fondness for the emo wreck he was totally not cuddling with right now. "Okay, okay, realistically, I'm a medium at best, but you're extra, extra, extra hot, like they'd have to make a whole damn new sauce to cater to just how fucking hot you are."

"I tell you something, Pete, no one has ever flirted with me by comparing me to Nando's chicken before." Mikey smiled to himself, his gaze fixated upon the locked front door of his home, and he tried his best not to think of Alicia and her cousin in hospital who she'd gone to see, and Mikey was technically having an affair right now, but only technically because cuddling and talking about Nando's was hardly comparable to being fucked up the butt, but... butt... fuck it. Whatever.

"We should go to Nando's, like a date, or something." Pete grinned up at Mikey, who promptly shook his head, because he reckoned Pete was so drunk right now that he couldn't even walk.

"It's one in the morning, Pete." And there was also that, which was far better to argue with because Pete wasn't going to tell him to fuck off and that he was wrong after Mikey told him the time, and then of course, bet him on it and fall over and break his legs or something, and then they'd have to go to the hospital and it was one in the morning and he was going to have to explain to Alicia just why he was with a drunk, gay emo at one in the morning when she was out of town.

"McDonald's then, because they don't give one single fuck you can turn at three in the morning and order four milkshakes and they won't give one single fuck I promise you I have done it before." Mikey wrote this off as a story that he didn't particularly desire to know any much more about, and really, chances were that it was better off that way.

"How about we just go the fuck to bed? It's one in the morning, Pete." Mikey reminded him, of course, having little hopes about what he was saying making any sense to the guy whatsoever, because well, this was Pete Wentz.

"Do you have any Capri Suns? I want one." Pete chose to ignore Mikey's suggestion completely, and well, let's just say that Mikey wasn't all that surprised.

"Pete, as a grown man without children, I don't tend to keep Capri Suns in my house, just casually, you know?" And Pete looked wholeheartedly disappointed in him.

"We're going to buy some." Pete didn't even pose it as a question this time, springing to his feet, and much to Mikey's surprise, staying there without dying, which looked to be a good start already.