At three fifty-six a.m, it hits Pete like hearing a song you loved but almost forgot about. Like he knew he was eventually going to do this but he, at this very moment, dug it out of the language derived side of his brain because if not it would have become cancerous.
Pete Wentz is going to ask Patrick Stump for his hand in marriage and he’s going to ask nicely.
Nothing that would get him a solid punch to whatever part of his body is closest to the talent. No pick up lines he may or may not have used previously in bars the night he turned twenty-one on barely drunk chicks, the same terrible ones he still had the habit of using today. Peter was going to swoop his best friend off his feet by being completely honest via absolutely unplanned word vomit.
This could go either one of two ways; Pete would lock up. He would find himself with a confused Patrick who was staring his way into the bassist’s soul, looking for facial expressions but finding none that could point him in the direction of what Pete was originally planning on saying.
Or,
Pete would unleash the stormy ocean of emotions he felt from day one, which he already made a point to do daily, but this time he would snap his filter in half and the conversation would be every man for himself until the last one stood.
So, the odds were he had a fifty percent chance of this going well.
What would be the harm in asking your best friend of over six years to marry you, other than the fact that it was not a legal action? How bad could being that happy really be?
Patrick was it. Patrick was Pete’s last and only chance for someone to really just get it, for what it was. Patrick held the consistency Pete dreamed about but he shut it down so quickly that Pete felt it would never really be close enough for him to reach. Pete even went so far as to looking it up, seeing if there was a medical or some sort of spiritual word or phrase for the connection he knew he had with him.
Folie A Deux. It sounded perfect. The term in itself could even be used as a metaphor for the friendship because it was the most simple one on earth but a bitch to sit down and explain. Pete knew he couldn’t break it down for anyone in one explanation session alone and knew he would never have to for Patrick. Stump just understood to a level Pete convinced himself was impossible for another human.
It was more than the feeling of friendship. It was more than being in love with your best friend. It was more than any romantic relationship Pete had ever been in, but simultaneously it never reached that public status.
Pete wanted Patrick inside and out. He wanted him for every breath he took and every smartass remark he made. For every brilliant idea and every inside joke that no one else laughed at. For every look that to someone else seemed the same as the last one but meant something totally different from the last look one of them shot at the other. For every late night to early morning conversation about what it means to be alive.
Pete wanted to grab Patrick by the shoulders and violently shake him through every insecurity he had and hold him with his lips attached to his neck in the hopes it would fight off the rest of whatever demons keep telling him he wasn’t worth anything. He wanted to pin him down on the couch halfway through an argument he knew neither of them was going to win and replace the anger in their tones with forceful kisses.
He wanted to stand beside Patrick while they walked into the worst days of their lives so he knew he would get out of them all alive.
Pete wanted to live with Patrick for real so that every time he wanted to, he could trail his tongue up his spine like he had done with instruments times before, but at least then he would have hips to grip in the process.
He wanted the both of them to forget to use their inside voices when Patrick was feeling dominate, inside and on top of Pete. Pete wanted to repeat ‘i love yous’ with every thrust that hit the spot that made him hold onto the sheets. He craved his mouth around Patrick, moaning through the times he would fuck his face just as much as he needed his band mate’s guitar string callused hands lubed up and clenching his dick just enough that it almost hurt.
The head of a writer could hold all of this at once, but it couldn’t translate it into any language other than the kind only Patrick would hear. Pete was going to make sure he heard it, as well as felt it.
The very next time he saw his best friend the next morning, Pete speed walked up behind him and planted a kiss to the side of Patrick’s neck that was so affectionate it could have shook the entire bus of men. Patrick shifts to his left before turning around. Pete holds him in place with the full weight of both of his arms on Patrick’s shoulders and he does it.
He actually has the balls to say it.
It starts off as, “I say we get married".
Pete stops himself after the silent punctuation and decides he’s already to a bad start. He made it sound like something someone bet him to do.
"Patrick, I mean this. Look, you’re it."
He trails off into something along the lines of, “Please, consider it at least. I want you for more than it probably seems like. I love you, I’m in so much love with you I think I might just drown."
Patrick doesn’t smile. Patrick doesn’t laugh. Patrick doesn’t oppose what Pete is saying and he doesn’t even respond. Patrick analyzes the color in Pete’s eyes only.
The next kiss knocks the wind of out Pete and he gets seconds through it before having to stop to remain conscious. Pete now has a pair of hands wrapping around to the small of his back.
Patrick didn’t have to say “Yes". He didn’t have to say, “I love you too."
This is what Pete learned to be the meaning of security.
