pete smiles, and so does patrick.
they were alive, the two.
tonight was their date night, which was always romantic.
romantic as in 'Netflix and patrick snuggling with pete'
yeah, romantic.
it always ended in them having hardcore makeouts, but they were always interrupted by their roommate, brendon urie.
but brendon wasn't here tonight, he was actually having a threesome with ryan and dallon.
pete always remembered how they met, right there in that coffee shop.
he had been stood up by mikey, which was very irritating.
and patrick felt a tad bit of sadness for pete, being stood up himself.
-
(flashback)
'are you ready to order yet, sir?' the waiters voice rang out from beside pete, snapping him out of his daze.
'not yet, h-he'll be here soon.' pete sighs, looking back at his watch.
11:30
he'd been here for two hours now, great.
suddenly, his phone buzzes.
he looks down, sighing in relief.
a text from mikey.
but it isn't what he wanted.
mikey 11:34
'having fun? (:'
pete 11:34
'what do you mean?'
mikey 11:35
'fucking dumbass, i'm not coming. don't you get it, pete? I did this on purpose in hopes that you'd feel worthless.'
pete felt agony, mikey did make him feel that way.
pete 11:40
good job, mikey way.
he was suddenly greeted by a man with thick glasses, a frown on his face.
'stood up?' he asks softly, sitting beside pete.
pete nods, looking into the man's ocean eyes.
he gasps slightly from his beauty, staring into his eyes.
a few minutes pass and he doesn't realize that his jaw had dropped.
'you're gonna catch flies, sweetie.' the man giggles, lightly shutting pete's mouth, placing a small kiss to his lips.
pete blushes heavily from embarrassment, biting his lip.
'ready yet, boys?' the waiter comes back, smiling.
'y-yes sir.' pete smiles.
-
'hey pete.' patrick said, kneeling in front of him.
'how're you?' he didn't get an answer, he never got one.
'me? oh, i'm doing fine.' he replies, acting like he was in a conversation with his husband.
'it's, um, it's been three years.' patrick sniffles.
'bronx, saint, and declan miss you.' he says softly, rubbing his husband's tomb.
'they've asked me where you've gone. they ask almost every day.' patrick begins to cry, tears sliding down his cheeks at a rapid pace.
'I still have that piece of glass, the one you slit your wrists with.' patrick sobs, pulling out the long, bloody piece of glass.
'I carry it with me wherever I go. it reminds me of you.' he sobs and sobs, hugging his husband's tomb.
'I-I can't live without you, petey. come back.' he yells, his body trembling.
'c-come home.' he whispers, hugging the tomb tighter.
baby come home.
baby come home.
peter lewis kingston wentz III
june 5th, 1979 - june 4th, 2017
"The hardest thing about depression is that it is addictive.
It begins to feel uncomfortable not to be depressed. You feel guilty for feeling happy."
I sobbed majorly while writing this.
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