The Emo Mafia

•Sick•

Pete visits his father a week later, taking Joe along as protection. The old man is in the hospital, sick with some type of thing that Pete can't pronounce. So he just calls it heart cancer. They've never been entirely close but he was still Pete's father after all, and he loved him, but there are other reasons to why he wished his dad was better again.

Because of all of this illness shit going on, his dad couldn't run the family 'business' like normal. Someone had to keep everything running and it just so happened to be Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III because it was a family business. But Pete didn't want all of that responsibility, he wanted nothing to do with the business actually, but he couldn't disappoint his father. It was the least he could do since his father didn't know about him being as gay as the day is long. He had to have some reason to be proud of him and being gay wouldn't be it.

Being a Wentz was a pain in the ass. Pete had a brother but he already had other priorities, running a company and providing for his family, so his hands were pretty much tied. Pete was the next logical choice since his other sibling was a girl and that's just not how things worked. The women took care of the home and the guys brought home the bacon.

But what if Pete didn't want to bring home the bacon? What if he wanted to play Suzie Homemaker instead and have his husband be the provider, or they could both have jobs or whatever works. Pete didn't care as long as he didn't have to work for this stupid 'business' anymore. All they do is shake people down and hurt others, taking from the innocence and selling illegal products. That wasn't Pete's scene, but he was born into this life.

"Without you, the business will collapse." His father always told him the same thing whenever Pete mentioned that he wanted out.

"I know, but there are so many other better choices than me. I don't know the first thing of bein' in charge of anything. This isn't me, dad."

"I need you to do this for me, son."

Pete lets out a deep heavy sigh, one that he always heaves when he can't win an argument. Especially with his father. "Okay, I'll try." Then he says goodbye to his old man.

After he leaves the hospital, he and Joe decide to walk instead of catching a ride. It was nice out, walking around town won't hurt and his house wasn't that far.

"You know I'll help you, right?" Joe says as they walk. "If you need anything just ask and I'll do what I can."

This is why Joe is Pete's best friend and right-hand man. He's loyal and has a good head on his shoulders, without him Pete would probably be in jail or maybe even dead right now.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, how's what's-his-name doin'?"

Joe chuckles. "Andy? He's fine, had to work today. He's got a few skins to work on."

Pete always found tattoo lingo a little confusing, though he himself had them. Instead of calling people customers or clients they were referred to as 'skins'. Pete never understood why but he knew what Joe meant whenever he said it.

They continue on walking, passing through a little neighborhood. One of the houses they walk by still had Christmas lights dangling from the roof. Seriously, it was nearly June for fuck's sake.

Then as they are about to pass another house, Pete can see someone stepping out from one a few fences down. He squints to try and improve his vision but it doesn't really help, until they're close enough to see. There's a familiar head of red-ish hair and pale skin. It's Mr. Fed, as one of the names Pete refers to him as.

Joe doesn't recognize him though because he's never properly met the guy, so he's unaware of the smirk that has overtaken his friend's face. But then someone else steps out, some scrawny fucker with dark hair trailing behind Patrick. Pete's smirk fades and he nearly halts his footsteps. Joe takes notice and turns around to see that Pete is walking much slower than he was before.

"You alright?" Joe asks but Pete isn't listening. He's too busy staring at the two as they latch hands and walk off the porch, heading in another direction. The sight makes him sick. Pete watches them until they disappear around a corner.

"Pete." Joe says firmly, snapping his fingers in front of his friend's face. He finally comes back to his senses, blinking as Joe snapped.

"What?" It came out much harsher than he meant it to, his voice sounding irritated and annoyed.

"Damn, who farted on your french fries?"

Normally Pete would laugh at something like that but his mood had just been shot down, but he doesn't exactly know why. He sighs. "It's nothin', let's just get back home."

They continue on walking, mostly silent the whole way there.