"When you say little, in what sense do you mean?"
"That I have a little headspace, which is a set different from my usual mind that makes me act more in a childlike and younger manner."
"Oh thank good, I thought you meant a little dick."
Pete's a li...
Sup, let's pretend my last update was a month ago and not back in January lol
Go check out my new Ryden/Brallon fic called 'Flowers on the Floor' (;
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It's been 10 minutes now, or maybe it just feels it from Petes place on the closed toilet lid of the bathroom stall that they've locked themselves in, the one furthest from the door and lacks the smell of piss and permanent marker pen that seems to taint every inch of these cubicles and walls. Pete has spent enough time in high school bathrooms over the years to know of the ink that stains them, slurs and names scrawled in messy handwriting and various anti-Semite, racist, homophobic symbols carved into the wood, engraved by skinheads and disgruntled teens.
Pete knows, mostly because their name has been subject to many a bathroom wall conversation and sometimes, Pete contributes to the misspelt graffiti that's failed to add an important letter to the end of their name or has forgotten to mention that Pete is not only emo and a freak, but a faggot too. Because if people are going to criticism them, have their name scrawled and dragged through the mud, it's going to be done correctly, thank you very much.
Dying their hair was something that came upon Pete spontaneously the evening before as they were perched on the newly built summer room roof that Petes mother had persisted upon being built in their backyard and Petes father only payed someone to build to stop the persistent nagging. It had been used once since it was built, in a BBQ that tasted like a cremation and one that Pete only attended as an excuse to steal winecoolers from the buckets of ice for themselves and their friends.
Gerald had done it sloppily over his bath while his mom was working and Mikey was out. This is my area of expertise, he had told Pete as they craned their neck and knelt on pillows to prevent bruised knees from bathroom floors, Gerald flipping the packaging in his hands before motioning wildly to his own hair, I've been doing my own for years. Gerald had picked the colour, Pete had no say in the matter.
It had been a horrid shock when Pete was finally allowed to look at their reflection in the mirror, Gee squealing in excitement behind them as Pete had gaped and stared at the pink mess on their head. It wasn't that they didn't like it, it was more the fact that it was such a drastic change from their usual attire of sullen black. It was such a change, in fact, that Pete couldn't bare to look it longer than a quick glance in the reflection of the toaster that morning or in a passing car window.
"Who's there?"Pete is asking aloud, the bathroom door opening and squeaking close, Petes converse classed feet pressed against the stall door, knees bent as they lean against the cold porcelain of the toilet. "Ryan Ross I swear to god if that's you. I don't need to be fucking escorted to the bathroom, I'm not going drown myself in the toilet bowl."
Pete rummages through the pocket of their hoodie, fishing out a lone cigarette that has fallen out of its packet, pressing it between their lips as they rummage for a lighter. The idea of skipping school today seems all too comfortable to Pete because as much as their friends mean well, they have a keen tendency to be overly annoying and too involved in their life, even when it is clear that Pete wants them not to be.
