Teach Me Mr. Wentz | >> Peterick AU <<

Stay As Long As You Like

[Pete's POV]
I was just watching some Netflix when my phone had buzzed. It was Patrick. He told me he needed to talk to me, in person, at my house. I gave him my address, he said he was on his way, and here I am now cleaning like a maniac.

You see, my house isn't too tidy. It's a nice house, I just need to keep it clean a little better. When you walk in my front door it leads you to my living room, it is painted a light tan color and has a dark brown couch, a black coffee table, a brown arm chair, a flat screen TV across from my couch, a side table next to my couch that has a lamp rested on it, and there is a picture of Gerard, Frank, and I on the wall. There are two windows in my living room, one on the right wall the other on the left.

When you walk past the living room, it leads you to my kitchen. My kitchen is pretty small, but it's still nice. It has a small table with two wooden chairs against the wall nearest to the entrance. There is no door really from the hall, just kind of an opening entrance thing? I don't know.

My fridge is basically the shittiest fridge ever, it barely even works! One time I tried keeping this huge tub of ice cream cold, because my neighbor had a party where I was responsible to bring food, the ice real melted all over the fridge, kitchen, floor, etc. you get the point. My stove is not a very high quality stove, but it still works. I have an oven beneath the stove, it's basically the same quality as all the appliances I've mentioned.

The tile on my floor is slightly cracked and the edges are yellow-ish from age. I have a small window above my sink. It looks out to my small fenced in backyard. In my yard I have a tree, a small garden, a broken-ass shed, and a crap ton of overgrown weeds. Yes I realize I need to mow!

I have a sliding door in my kitchen, it gets stuck every single time I use it! But at least it locks, then I only have to worry about intruders coming through my windows or probably my garage! Yay!

In the kitchen, I also have a table near the sliding glass door that has way too many papers! It's basically overflowing!

When you go into the hall, there's a closet at the end of it, the entrance to the kitchen, the entrance to the living room, and a staircase. The stairs lead upstairs, which has my bedroom, a guest room, and office where I like to practice my music and sometimes record it, and a bathroom.

My bedroom is a light red color and has tan carpet. My bed is black, red, and grey, well the sheets are grey and the duvet is black and red. I have a dresser with pictures of my family and friends. There is also a jar of guitar picks, since I play the bass, and an alarm clock.

I have a vanity, don't judge, with cologne, hair spray, pens, and some eyeliner. I have eyeliner since I used to be completely obsessed with it! I was definitely emo-to-the-extremeo. Sorry not sorry.

Finally, there is a chair in the corner of my room that is covered in clothes, I really need to clean more often..

The guest room is just light blue and has white carpet. It has an anchor on the wall and a picture of a dolphin. There is also a big window, a TV, a white dresser, and a vanity. The bed had blue and white stripes and the pillows are white. There is a rug on the ground that is a light grey color. It's probably my favorite rug since when you step on it you sink in, it like stepping on a perfect soft white cloud.

Just then, I heard a doorbell ring, that must be Patrick. I walk to the door, since I had been in the kitchen cleaning as quickly as I possibly could, and open it to see a bleeding, tear stained, messy haired, hurt, and terrified looking Patrick. He has a backpack and is shivering in his light jacket.

My smile quickly fades at the sight of his rough state. "C-can I come in?" He asks, shivering and stumbling upon his words. I nod quickly and gesture inside, "Yeah, yeah, come on in. You look like you're freezing." He walks in still shivering wildly, and walks to my couch. "Take a seat." I say, he nods, still not making eye contact with me, and sits where I had told him to.

"What's up?" I ask, slowly as I sit down in a chair. He finally looks up at me and I see his nose is bleeding and he had a puffed up black eye. "Oh my god, Patrick. Who did this to yo-" my words slowly trail off as Patrick begins to speak. "You're my trusted adult Pete, they tell you to talk to a trusted adult when these things happen, can I tell you anything? And you'll be there for me? Can I fully trust you?" He asks, I nod. He looks so defeated, like he had lost something.

"My mom, she, um-" He begins, I become startled at the mention of his mother and chime in. "Oh god! Patrick, did she do this to you?!" His eyes well with tears once I say this, he looks to the ground and I see tears slowly slip down his face into his lap. I stand up and go to sit next to him. I begin to rub his back soothingly, trying my best to comfort him.

Then, out of no where, he pulls me into a huge hug. He doesn't let go and just keeps crying. I let him cry, he cries while I comfort him.

"How long has this been going on?" I ask, he sniffles. "Since I was five, but it got worse when I was twelve and my dad died." He then bursts into another fit of tears. "C-can I st-stay here tonight? I don't w-wanna go back to my house. I hate her!" He cries out, I nod. "Of course, I have a spare room. Stay as long as you like, but we just need to tell the police about your mom. I don't want you getting hurt Patrick." I reply, he pulls me tighter into the hug we had both been sharing for awhile now. "Okay, thanks Pete." He whispers, I smile. "No problem."