Peroxide (Peterick)

jesus didn't die for this

Hugging Pete's headboard is a note whose name is unrevealed for purposes to entice the seeker, but all that's evoked is absolute dread as he approaches.

The note is a meager sheet of notebook paper sliced into an eighth of the page and taped to the bed, and that isn't so much to anyone who randomly glances over it, though the contents of the note are more ghastly than anyone could've predicted from first sight, so perhaps that serves as a dangerous trap without a proper disclaimer and is terribly life-threatening.

Pete's fingers tuck into the note, perusing its scanty message of only a few lines, and his jaw slacks with ambivalence.

If you value anything in your pathetic little life, you'll stay away from the petulant child you somehow love as Patrick Stump. You're better off without him dragging you down.

Pete decides through shaking contemplation that he'll just disregard it like he does anything annoying and meant to spook, because chances are this is just a prank and doesn't mean anything to anyone, for if someone were to so much as look at Patrick, they'd guess that he's the sweetest person they'll ever encounter in their boring lives.

Because it's fucking true, and Pete's been existing with that theory in his mind since day one in the Belleville Child Development Center where his soon to be boyfriend drowned in his inconsolable panic attack but Pete was there to save him, and ever since then, Pete's been vying for Patrick's love and has ultimately won it with ease once overlooking the turbulence they've confronted, but they nevertheless made it through alive, so there's no saying that their relationship isn't thriving.

So in that, that note doesn't mean a thing to Pete, because it's a falsification from the pen of a bully who has nothing better to do than slander anyone they can think of, and not even the bully matters in this situation, because he knows that he and Patrick are their own magnificent entities that just happen to flourish when together, so he parades from the room with his head held high.

Until Pete discovers another note, this time smaller to host a more laconic message, but maybe that plays no part in this, because maybe it packs more punch with yet again no warning delivered with it so that its reader will be sputtering for breath while choking on the blood of their sorrows and knowing that the accusation drafted on a paper means more than they thought because it's fucking accurate, and they've understood it for a while now.

The man is tense as he stoops to collect the note's harsh words, cognizant that this is no case of serendipity, but he proceeds anyway, though he shouldn't.

Just fucking kill yourself, you cunt.

He should've walked by it. He should've thrown the note away. He should've gone back to whatever he was doing and forgotten about it completely.

And just like the others who could've read this note, he knows that it's so fucking right, and though he already wanted to kill himself, realizing that others want the same thing is just absolutely monstrous.

It's a motive for anger.

~~~~~

His movements are slow — precise, but slow — with the weight of lead collaring him as he trudges through the hall towards the person the note resented half as much as it resented Pete, and his intentions are to be animated towards the scrap of paper, whether harshly or compliantly, and he's not really sure which one he's launching right now.

Pete identifies his target lounging in his bedroom with a book strewn in between his fingers as he reclines on the mattress without a worry in the world (or at least without a worry that's flaring at the current moment — people like him are always fretting).