Chapter Text
I’m probably not even gay anyways, why would I be? Why would it have taken this long for me to figure it out? Did Frank, like, flick some switch in my head? No, that’s stupid. Whatever.
Pete’s mind continues to race as he and Frank rush through the bland corridors, he can’t help but notice the way the brick walls are painted the color of chewed gum. The way it puts the taste of rubbery, drained gum in his mouth. He opts to keep his eyes on Frank, who probably shouldn't be running as fast as he is, rather than think about it any longer.
Frank’s tilted posture worries Pete, he constantly looks like he’s going to topple over like a derailed train and have to get his head stitched up before he can even make it to the party.
It would totally suck major ass to see him get hurt. I hope we find this fuckin’ place soon. It can’t be too much further, we’ve been running around this place for like 4 days now. Did we get trapped in a labyrinth?
Just as Pete begins to think they’ve accidentally run straight into an endless purgatory, the hallway widens to accommodate two large brown doors with fancy shiny handles.
Frank nearly collapses to the floor upon letting out a sigh of relief, throwing his hands up to the door and yelling “Fuck! Finally! We finally get to meet Britney!”
He turns his head back to Pete with a huge grin and slides his hands down to his knees.
I’ve done loads of weird gay stuff before and never thought about it, why does Frank smiling suddenly have something to do with it? That’s nothing compared to some of the stuff I used to do. There’s no way I’m actually gay, even if it be just for him. You know what? Why bother?
“Britney doesn’t care about us. We’re gonna end up with Limp Bizkit. Weird kids.” Pete jokingly tells Frank, somewhat believing they really will end up in a corner with Limp Bizkit.
“Fuck, Pete! It’s worth a try, isn't it?” Frank yells at Pete half-heartedly, leaning up against the big doors with his hands around the handles.
We JUST got into this shit. We have no fucking idea what we’re doing. She hasn’t been in this long either but she’s been here longer than us. She knows how to walk the red carpet and we’re still learning how to shower.
“Ugh, I guess so. I mean, it would be pretty funny if we walked in there and ended up seeing Britney hanging out with the whole entire Slipknot crew. Like, masks and everything.” Pete suggests and Frank busts out laughing, pulling the doors open and walking in with Pete like either of them knew what they were doing. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just…act like you know what’s happening. None of these people really know what they’re doing, do they?
The two small figures are immediately met with a dark room illuminated only by a neon purple ambience. It’s hard to make anyone out right away, but based on the way their makeup is done and the things they’re wearing Pete knows he’s in the presence of some people who know this life far better than he ever will.
Frank pulls Pete forward and further into the room as he’d strayed behind, tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Magazine covers everywhere. Doesn’t look real, does it?” Frank muses as Pete stands there confused on what he’s supposed to do.
“I think I’m gonna pee my pants.” he decides to blurt out instead.
Frank laughs and grips Pete’s shirt sleeve, sending his mind into a strange emptiness for a moment.
What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck? I don’t know anymore. Why did they let us in this place? Holy shit, is that Beyoncé?
“Uh…well, what do we do?” Pete asks Frank, looking around the room and noticing more and more as his eyes adjust.
“I have no clue.” Frank chuckles, “Where the hell do we start? Where do you think Britney is?” he questions Pete, frantically taking in every bit of the A-list party.
“Well, do you see Slipknot anywhere? I really wouldn’t put that past reality.” Pete mutters out, continuing to glance around the room as the two of them finally start walking further in refusing to let go of each other like they’ll be eaten if they make a wrong move.
His grip is so tight. Who the hell knew? He’s like 2 feet tall but if he hung me over a building like this I’d still be hanging there a day later. Whatever. What does that have to do with anything? I wanna go find the drinks, will that get this off my mind for a while? Hopefully it won't just make it worse. The future is unwritten.
“I’m not seeing Slipknot anywhere, but there’s blink-182. I know you’re into that. You got a spare pair of panties?” Frank jokes and points at the older men, figuring that’d be a good place to start.
“I’m sure they do. They probably know as much about this whole thing as we do. They’re not like, stars or anything. You know, like, in the way Britney is.” Pete blabbers on and on, trying to keep from being completely star-struck. Never meet your heroes…except this one time! Just this once, Pete swears. This is a rare exception, okay? There’s no way these guys are snobby brats.
Frank laughs, “Right. I get what you’re saying. These guys are just a bunch of goofs. They’re not preppy or anything, I mean, they wear t-shirts on the red carpet.” he tells Pete as he drags him towards Mark and Tom, the realization of what’s happening grows more and more intense.
Okay, so…they’re real. Yeah. In front of me, right there. While I’m trying to not only figure out if I’m gay for one of my friends, which I’m probably not, and trying to figure out how to navigate whatever kind of dainty stardom we’ve thrusted ourselves into. This is too much for me.
When they make it over there, Mark and Tom aren’t doing much other than taking advantage of the bartender being a fan and definitely risking getting herself fired with how many free drinks she’s offered them. They banter and toy with each other per usual, leaning against the bar with their faces mere inches from each other and hands all over each other. Pete figures that could only be the probably already absurd amount of alcohol. A performance of theirs, at it’s finest, it’s rawest.
Frank gushes his thoughts out immediately, “Look at these fuckers. So fucking gay. What for? Cause it’s funny? It really is though, isn’t it? Just, the most absurd fuckers. Nobody is gonna see them staring at each other super gross and cheesy like that. But that’s exactly the thing about it.” he explains, nudging Pete around and swinging his hands all over the place as he talks.
“You sound like some fucked up nature documentary narrator.” Pete jokes, staring at Frank as they huddle awkwardly close.
“Homosexual Steve Irwin.” Frank says happily, giving Pete a proud smile afterwards.
You know what? I’m not gay, he’s just objectively attractive and funny. Look at that smile. That Steve Irwin joke. Anyone would feel as overwhelmed as I right now. Unable to contain themselves trying to pry apart the inner workings of why Frank just wrapped his arm around my waist and how not to completely lose your shit in front of a couple of stars at the same time.
Wait, is that Steve Irwin joke implying that Frank is gay?
Pete laughs at the joke despite his thoughts being both overloaded with things to sort through and being at a complete standstill while Frank brings the two of them up to Mark and Tom to make their grand introductions.
Mark is elegantly spacing out into a near corner as Tom clearly tries to keep his eyes off of Mark, glancing frantically around the area as his drunken mind entertains him. Inevitably, he notices Frank and Pete holding onto each other like they’re in the middle of a storm and excitedly tugs on Mark’s sleeve and snaps him back to reality.
Tom then says “Look at these fuckin’ kids.” in a way where you’d think he would’ve said it a little quieter, but practically screamed it instead.
Mark was visibly holding back the contagious euphoria Tom’s huge, ecstatic smile had wrought upon him as he talked back to him. “Yeah? What about ‘em? You bastard.” he asks, either way he was unable to stop himself from touching and grabbing Tom in various ways.
Of course, he didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he looks exhilarated every time Mark lays his fingertips on him despite the fact that only the bartender, Pete, and Frank were there to see it.
Breathily, Tom attempts a response with “They look- They, uh…fuck…” chuckling as Mark pushes him up against the bar and runs his hands all across his body with the focus and, oddly enough, precision of a painter.
Inevitably, his hand makes it’s way up Tom’s tank top to which he places his finger under Mark’s chin and tilts his head up to glare at him and light heartedly tell him “Get a room.” and glances over at the ‘kids’.
“They couldn’t care less.” he says, reaching past Tom’s left to grab another drink and consequently shoving his hand further up his shirt.
Frank squeezes and shakes Pete’s shoulder and remarks “You see, Pete? We should do some shit like that.” immediately launching Pete into something else entirely.
Alright. What the hell is he trying to do to me? I’m not gay but I swear to god he’s trying to make me gay. What does that even mean? “We should do some shit like that.” Like what? Get so drunk we start hand-fucking each other or start kissing just because it’s funny? Is he some kind of freaky mind-reading vampire?
Pete struggles to think about it further, practically stuttering in his own inner monologue, ultimately having his train of thought torn away from him as Mark holds a glass of alcohol out to him and offers it to him free of charge. Staring blankly at Mark as he keeps himself wrapped around Tom and taps his ring against the glass, Pete can’t help but let his mind run again.
I can’t do this. I really can’t. Mark Hoppus just offered me a drink. What am I supposed to do here? Take it and drink it? I really don’t wanna know how that’ll end but there’s no way in hell I’m gonna decline it. Here’s to forgetting tonight.
Shakily, Pete takes the glass and stares at it as he grows increasingly star-struck by the way their fingers brushed as he passed the glass off. He feels Mark has begun to notice his nervousness when Pete looks up to find Mark scratching Tom’s chin like a cat and says “That’s his favorite.” as if to lighten Pete’s stalled mood in his own way. Tom is enjoying it as much as you’d think a heavily drunk person would. Let alone heavily drunk Tom.
Pete looks back down at the dark drink, the purple ambience completely mutes its amber caramel color. It creates a mesmerizing effect, like an endless universe had formed inside the cup and was offering an escape from the cluttered cubicle he felt represented his mind.
Frank chuckles and shakes his head, “You’re already so fucked up, dude.” He then nudges Pete gently and points to Mark and Tom and asks “You think they’re gonna keep this up all night?”
Mark presses his hand up against Tom’s chin, wrapping his fingers around the edges to turn his head towards him and ask “Can we?” Less in the sense of “do you want to?” and more in the sense of “will we get away with it?”
Tom picks up on this as they stare at each other lovingly and knowingly, his eyes light up through the low lighting and his mute expression. Tom’s only response is a horrible, wretched, huge smirk. It answers Mark’s question with “take it too far.”
Mark holds his head high and bites his tongue, keeping his hand on Tom’s face as he simply turns his eyes to the two younger men. Pete frantically glances between Frank and the drink for a moment and then answers with “I mean…if people find it funny enough.”
Frank once again insists, “Wouldn’t that kind of attention be crazy? Can you imagine if we could get away with shit like that like they do?” and points his thumb towards Mark and Tom, keeping his other hand on his hip.
Upon hearing this, Pete drinks the whole glass of alcohol in one go.
Frank chuckles realizing he probably did push it a little too far, and exclaims “Woah! Well, uh…is it any good?” grabbing onto Pete’s hand and the glass and asking “Can I try?” and looks over at Mark and Tom.
Pete, feeling the effects of the alcohol already, tells Frank “Dude, you gotta." tightly grabbing his shoulder and shaking him lightly. A huge, mischievous grin spreads across his face as he realizes he and Frank are about to get completely shitfaced with Mark Hoppus and Tom DeLonge.
Tom interjects loudly, telling the two "Hey, hey! I got a ton of other ones you can try, too. You wanna go over to the other bar out there?" outstretching his entire arm behind Mark and resting his upper arm on Mark's shoulder to point out to the bigger, heavier staffed bar, with presumably more experienced baristas…more experienced than the one that got them hammered. Mark simply stands there grinning and picking at his hands. Tom flips his hair and Mark's grin grows a little wider.
Pete and Frank immediately lose their respective minds, obviously agreeing, in unison, to go check it out. Tom promptly grabs Mark's wrist and drags him out with no trouble and a smile on his face that says he knows what he's doing when he truly has no idea. He turns to make sure the boys are following him, the smile turning into a smirk when he sees they are more than happy to. When they make it in there the dark, ambient lighting is much less, opting for soft orange lighting rather than deep, engulfing purple. It made everything in the room sparkle and shine, all the fancy two million dollar wedding rings were showing themselves blindingly to everyone. The famous faces finally start to come to them, recognizing girl-group stars, rappers, nu-metal frontmen, and everything in between. It all puts a certain taste in Pete's mouth, like a thin, crunchy orange lollipop. It reminds him of the way the lollipop would stick to his teeth and amplify the fruity citrus taste as he chews on it.
Once they sit down, ordered with Frank on the far left, then Pete, then Mark, and then Tom on the far right, Tom gets busy thinking his favorite drinks into existence one by one like everyone else in the room and their endless budget while Mark strikes a conversation with Pete and Frank as Tom offers drinks to him. Mark passes one of the drinks off to Frank and another off to Pete and asks them "So what's up with you two?" as he taps his fingers against the bar, Pete can't ignore the loud clicking his ring is making.
Frank pipes up immediately and explains "I'm the guitarist for the coolest band ever, we're gonna be like, totally superstars and change the course of the universe or something. I'm actually the next Eddie Van Halen."
Pete turns to Frank and jokingly scolds him, snapping "Eddie Van Halen is the next Eddie Van Halen, you poser."
Frank laughs and stutters trying to correct himself, "Well- I mean- Hey, you know what I meant!"
Mark grins and says "Right." as Tom grabs his arm tightly and yells at someone across the room. Mark turns to Pete and says "...and you must be the next Michael Anthony."
Pete's nervousness gets the best of him as he completely blanks trying to figure out who the hell Michael Anthony is...or maybe it's just the alcohol. His inner monologue runs through a lot of "holy shit"s and "oh fuck"s before he realizes Michael Anthony is Van Halen's bassist, subsequently realizing this means Mark knows Pete is a bassist. "Wait, how do you-"
Tom is shaking his fist in the air and yelling "Keep your eyes off my fucking man!" to a pompous blonde woman subtly struggling to keep herself upright in her red high-heels as she deviously smirks at Tom, while Mark animatedly tells Pete "Oh man, don't even. I see you on MTV like ten times everyday, and I'm only awake in my hotel room for like 10 minutes. Your name is like, seared into my brain, dude. Instead of having those papers they put up to help security remember what you look like, they should just turn the TV on for a couple minutes. They'll never forget." Mark drunkenly drones on, continuing his tangent, "You know who has all their executives in a chokehold, though? That Justin Timberlake. That fucker. I had hair like that way before it was cool. Did you hear his last album?"
Pete is completely stunned, he glances at Frank to find Frank is utterly amazed. Frank waves his hand around and says "I heard it! It fucking sucked!"
“Right? That one song, dirty pop, whatever it was called. That one was so fucking weird, and it still gave me the worst ear-worm of my life. Please tell me the shit you guys make is better than that song.” Mark jokingly begs of them, grabbing Tom back just as tightly almost as if to soothe the possible underlying anxiety he feels Tom could be experiencing, Tom hiding his sensitivity with his previous lighthearted shouting. Pete and Frank don’t pick up on this at all, and both Mark and Tom know, like they as a pair are in their own separate room.
Pete looks between the two frantically as they talk, the orange lighting reflecting off of Mark’s ring practically blinds him each time. It gets him thinking, weirdly enough. It feels rude to let something like that bring his troubles with Frank into his mind but he can’t help it.
Do I want a future like that with Frank? Do I wanna spend the rest of my life with him? Can I see myself marrying him? I can see myself waking up next to him, but can I see myself waking up next to everyday for the rest of my life? The alcohol did not change shit. What a scam! Whatever, we’re in 2002 and not 2042, and I’m sitting right next to Mark Hoppus, fuck all these people. They’ll never be this cool.
When Pete snaps out of it, Frank asks Mark “Who’s the lucky lady, anyways? That thing is the star of the show right now.” limply pointing to the ring on his hand.
Mark pauses and shifts his eyes as if he's processing the question, or even as though he doesn't plan to answer it at all and end the conversation right here. At least, that's what he thought he'd do until Tom realized what Frank said and snapped his body in their direction, grabbing Mark's hand and yelling "Your mom! He's married to your mom! See, it's funny cause I'm married to your dad.'' He talks and talks like it's true and absolute fact, waving his own ring around. "You probably didn't know that, and uh, don't tell your mother, but we uh, we had really gnarly sex last night. Like, real nasty stuff. Super hot and sweaty, stunk up the whole room." Tom explains in a true, on-brand fashion, making sure not to leave out all the unique hand gestures like spreading his slim fingers outwards and awkwardly grabbing his thumbs. Almost as if to display the anxiety developing over the idea these guys won’t find his gruesome rambling funny, though it’s hard to believe he’d be considering that.
Despite the content, Mark visibly struggles to hide how much he truly adores the whole kerfuffle. Any other person like him would be thinking "What on earth has gotten into my dear friend? What an embarrassing situation!" but all he can seem to bring himself to do is follow the way the sweet lighting gently wraps Tom's soft features. The thought of this being exactly what he signed up for becomes more prominent and the one about how the two of them just met these kids and are already making "I fucked your dad" jokes is phased into the back of his mind as the alcohol takes further effect. This is, in reality, just another day for the two. The only difference here is Tom is explaining all of this to people they'll probably have to see again when they're sober.
As soon as this hits Mark he turns his face directly to Tom's, about an inch separates them, and he slams his forearm down against the bar and light-heartedly asks "What the fuck is wrong with you?" tilting his face as close to Tom's as he can get without kissing him, basically. Their widened eyes stay locked on each other, despite the warmth on Tom's face he could never bring himself to turn away.
Tom keeps a firm, confident expression, but it doesn’t seem to tell much as the truth falls out in his stuttering, “What? It’s…it’s uh, it’s the t-truth.” He seems to know exactly where he wants to bring this, testing the unspoken limits the two have set for each other. Using this entire night to dance straight past the thin line between “it’s just the alcohol” and “tell the magazines”. Of course, they’re not trying to break each other, they’re trying to break everyone around them. If they can’t get away with it outside of here then what’s stopping them from letting completely loose?
Mark knows to press on, asking “Is it? Is it the full, entire truth?” implying exactly what Tom was thinking and ripping off the very thick metaphorical blanket over the whole joke. A disgusting, hilarious, perfectly crafted verbal choreography. There was a high chance the joke could’ve completely lost traction had one of them said the wrong thing, but they didn't, did they? Without any prior conversation or planning to it the joke still fell into place, completely impromptu.
Tom spaces out for just a second despite having nowhere to fix his eyes but Mark’s, briefly and lightly pressing his lips together before admitting essentially to the people around them, “Well, uh…it’s a little exaggerated. But we shouldn’t get into that right now, should we?” allowing a smile to spread across his face.
Mark blushes and acts surprised that Tom would say it out loud, like the joke was meant to float around in their heads together. He shakes his head and turns away to order more drinks.
Frank carefully watches it all like he paid to see a comedy act tonight, remarking to Pete with a chuckle “Good god. Hard to believe it’s all an act, right?”
They’re uh…really going all out tonight. So is Frank. Why can’t he keep his hands off me? Am I thinking too much into it? He probably put his hands on me twice tonight so far and my brain is just trying to make me think it’s been several as an excuse to not feel crazy and like it really is real. I don’t even know anymore. Is it an act? Is anything real? At this point we might as well get on the floor and rip each other’s clothes off because anything goes I guess. Maybe I should tell him that. You know, as a joke, obviously. Oh whatever, who am I talking to?
“R-right? What the hell are we gonna see tonight?” Pete tells Frank with a bewildered grin, glancing back and forth between him and the older men, discreetly shifting his eyes downward to Tom’s hand on Mark’s thigh for just a split second.
Frank shakes his head as he absentmindedly watches Mark and Tom conversate, replying “Who the hell knows. Seems like anything goes with these guys, but it wouldda’ been dumb to think they were gonna go steady on the jokes. They’re getting it on like this is a rave or something.” taking a second to blankly look around the room, finding that even these preppy pop stars are kind of just standing around with seemingly no idea why they’re here. Like they’re here just because they know they should be, or to drink, or maybe to get their picture taken. Whatever it is, it’s not to party.
Pete nods in agreement, pausing for a moment to frantically piece his joke together. Despite the fact this conversation has only been two exchanges so far, the conversation flowing so smoothly and being able to have enough in common with Frank personality-wise to hold something like this puts an addictive fuzzy feeling in Pete’s chest. He doesn’t pay much mind to it though, piping up suddenly to nervously say with a chuckle, “Y-yeah. At this point we could probably get on the floor and rip each other’s clothes off and nobody would care, r-right?”
Frank laughs, “Totally. If they can get away with it, we probably can too if we stick around them. You know, that’d probably be hilarious, I wonder what all these people would think of that,” Frank speaks quickly, pausing to gesture towards everything, “They’re probably all homophobic so it’d be some gnarly exposure, right?” he suggests in a half-joke, leaning to smack Pete on the shoulder. "Gee was talking about something like that earlier. How, like, there's gonna be all these scary buff guys in the crowd fighting each other since we're playing heavier stuff, right? So if we just start like, making out on stage, these huge dudes trying to take each other out will turn around in the pit to see us just, totally going down on each other and get super confused. You get it? They'd be so mad." he finishes explaining Gerard's idea by drunkenly laughing at himself, offering Pete a friendly grin and a sparkle in his eyes, leaving Pete to stare and marvel at the way the color in his eyes collide into a vibrant brown-ish shade of green.
Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me. I hate to make assumptions, but he's totally gay. If I'm not, then he is. If him and Gerard do that enough they'll end up actually gay together…
Pete's thoughts run short as a wave of jealousy rushes through him, leaving him wincing at the fact that his mind for some reason decided to conjure up an image of such a highly probable outcome. He curses himself out for chasing that addictive fuzzy feeling away to replace it with some...dark, chilling feeling that feels so out of character even to Pete himself. He turns to Mark to ask for more alcohol to try to poison the jealousy only to find he's also busy having a conversation.
"So, you know that movie we watched last night?" Mark asks Tom, leaning against the bar with one arm and holding on his drink with the other. He stares into Tom's eyes, leaving the intoxicated man jittery and shy.
Tom glances at Pete and Frank, who are both looking straight at him, proceeding to fidget with the collar of his shirt and respond "Uh...N-no I...I didn't pay any attention, I'm sorry. I totally fell asleep r-right next to you." he stutters again, forgetting between their outbursts of romance that he's free to express himself however he needs to in the shadow the alcohol casts over the ring on his hand and the blush on his cheeks. "Can you, um, like-" he tries to ask, but Mark cuts him off to finish his sentence with a firm, admirable confidence that Tom can't help replicating.
"Explain it? Yeah! That'll make watching it again a lot more fun, 'cause then you'll like, you know, you get it. Yeah. So long as you can stay awake." he explains excitedly, raising his voice even louder as the excessive alcohol takes further effect and the people around them get livelier. To stress his last point, he pokes Tom on the nose, which seems to finally send him spiraling out of his timidity. He stays quiet for now, listening intently to what Mark has to say about the movie. "Okay, so basically, this guy is super broke living in New York. His life is dogshit, he's stuck in like the basement of an apartment building selling weed, I think you were awake for that part. He meets this girl who's actually a spy working for some laboratory hidden under his apartment who pretends to be in love with him, and he's like, fully convinced. Like, fully fucking head over heels. So this chick goes back to his apartment and knocks him out to bring him to the laboratory and do some weird shit to him. You uh, you got all that...so far?" he asks to clarify, tilting his head and parting his lips as he stares blankly at Tom.
Tom averts his eyes for a moment, using what little function he has left to his best ability to process everything before the alcohol takes it from him. "Yea, so...just to be clear, where was the lab hidden under his apartment? Like, how'd he not know some freaky shit was happening?" he asks and lifts one of his slender fingers to his chin.
"It's like, there's like, a door behind one of the posters on his wall. He just moved in so he didn't notice. I don't know why he didn't take the poster down, but I mean...this plot already sounds like it was written by an 8 year old boy so who cares. You get it, right?" he passionately explains the still gaping plot hole away without taking his eyes off of Tom, letting his hands fall against the bar to begin incessantly tapping after some drunken gesturing.
Mark stares observantly at Tom with a soft grin as he awaits an answer, fully aware of the way the conversation makes him feel like they're the only ones in the room despite being so mundane. Pete and Frank sit fascinated by the fact that they can hold and carry a conversation like that, let alone completely hammered like this. Pete had never seen two people mirror each other's enthusiasm about something as basic as a bad movie like this and Frank had never seen two bandmates who were more than co-workers to each other. As much as they want to, they know they wont be able to replicate a conversation like that until the day after their respective hangovers subside.
Holy crap. Bandmates that actually like each other. I mean, I know they just had their hands all over each other but Patrick doesn't even talk to me like that. This is so weird, I feel like I'm seeing something I'm not supposed to...like, is this how it's supposed to be? Do I have something special with Frank?
However, Pete's thoughts admiring Tom's focus are soon shadowed by some sort of sugary panic setting in as Tom begins to further lose himself, thoughts of the movie itself are shrouded by the memory of the moments before and after he fell asleep next to Mark the night they tried to watch the movie together...he can't help but stare. He'd fallen out of this lovestruck state when Pete and Frank arrived, somehow unsure of whether they knew he was drunk or not. But now that they know, he's lost all regulation of himself. Tom stares at Mark in complete stillness for a moment, beginning to slur his words and lose clarity upon speaking. "You know, uh...That's cool and all but, uh...You're like, so hot. Like, super duper hot. You're like super sexy. Do you wanna go out sometime?"
Tom hovers his hands over Mark's body during and after he speaks and the whole ordeal brings Pete and Frank to laugh just as both of them had hoped, considering the last sentence is some sort of fucked up Mark-and-Tom-code-speak for "Wanna ditch these kids for a minute and go make out? The alcohol took over.”