three

                                    

                                          
Patrick tried to open the front door discreetly and get in like a ninja, but in the end the lock was jammed and he couldn't get his key to work so he had to ring the doorbell. One of his brothers, Josh, answered the door. 
                          
"You're screwed." The boy said. Patrick's eleven year old brother was not one to waste words.
                          
"Hello to you too." Patrick said, stepping inside the house and discarding his shoes in the hall where all his brothers and sisters had left theirs. He hung up his coat and fedora.
He could smell baking - probably Hayley's, or Jon's - and he could hear some of his brothers cursing at the ps4. 
He had always loved being in a big family, even if it meant being ignored from time to time. 
                          
His brothers were Josh, Ryan, Jon and Frank, and his sisters were Hayley and Ashley (apparently going by 'Halsey' these days). Sometimes it all felt like too much, but often he loved being able to hide in the chaos of it all. 
He didn't think he'd be able to hide today, though. 
                          
Coming back from parties the next day was much more his brother Frank's style, and Ryan had been known to from time to time - but Patrick was the innocent one. He knew exactly how his parents would react. 
                          
"Patrick! Baby!" His mom cooed, rushing into the hallway where he stood. And clutching him to her chest. "Where we you? We were so worried, you must remember to call, baby boy -" He pushed his mom off him with a small smile, worrying she'd smell beer. 
                          
"Mom, it's fine. I just stayed with a friend last night, it was pretty late after the party. I didn't want to wake up Josh or the others..." it was a lame excuse, but Patrick rarely lied and his mom knew that. She basically believed anything he said. 
                          
"Oh, of course. Just remember to call and tell me, darling!! Please try." His mom fussed. She was wearing her high heels and green dress - her going out clothes, Patrick realised.
                          
"Pat!" His dad entered from the kitchen, rosy cheeked and wearing a blue v-neck jumper. "Alright, my boy? Anything happen last night?" He winked overtheatrically at Patrick, who cringed. 
                          
"No." He said. "Just went to a friend's."
"If you say so, lad." Was his father's reply - again accompanied by an excruciating wink. Patrick just forced himself to smile, and excused himself, clambering up the stairs to his room.
                          
"Patrick, darling!" His mom called, "I'm just going out. Look after your siblings, won't you? Especially Ash and Josh!" (They were the youngest.) He looked down at her and nodded from the top of the stairs. He was always the responsible one, even if he wasn't the oldest.
                          
He sometimes wished he could be the bad boy, like Frank. Or even one of the others. He loved Ash's I-don't-care-what-you-think attitude, even though she was only thirteen. She had already dyed her hair bright blue, against school rules. He wished he could be that bold.
                          
He flipped onto his bed, breathing in the familiar smell of his sheets and regretting drinking so much last night. He rummaged through his bedside drawers until he found some Asparin, which he knocked back with a glass of water. His head was pulsing like his heart should be - it was extremely painful. Every noise was as peircing as the noise of a knife screeching on a plate, and he dug through his blurred memories of last night. 
                          
Suddenly, as he chugged his glass of water, something hit him. A memory. Fuzzy but real.
He'd kissed Pete. 
However much he strained, he couldn't remember what had happened - but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he'd been rejected. He was used enough to it.
                          
A text bussed his phone. It was from Joe (saved in his phone as Troham - they hadn't bothered changing the hilarious typo).
                          
J: hey man what u think of Bitchys insta ;)
                          
Bitchy was their name for Stacey 'call me Mitchy' Mitchell. What has she done now?  
He looked. He froze. 
Partly because it was hot, but also because it would ruin Pete. 
                          
J: dude meet me at Stay Frosty in 10
                          
The rusted, fading sign outside their favourite meeting place proclaimed, Stay Frosty!, in a cheerful cursive as Patrick waited in the cold for his friend to arrive.
                          
Though the booths had sticky tables and the waiters had bad attitudes, they loved this place. It was the bad end of town, so no-one they knew would turn up, but wasn't actually a bad place. The inside was bright and airy, and they served all day breakfast, which the boys loved. They supposedly specialised in ice cream sundaes and milkshakes and the like, and for some reason iced coffee, hence the name. 
                          
When Joe turned up they wandered in, mindlessly gossiping as they slid into a booth; before they knew it, the subject of the picture had arisen, but Patrick stopped cold when he saw someone he recognised. Standing at the bae, apparently deciding on an order, was a tired-looking Pete Wentz, who's bangs looked particularly sad today. 
Patrick's cheeks flushed hot red. 
                          
"Don't look now. But Pete Wentz is coming this way." He mumbled to Joe from under his fedora, pulling his cardigan sleeves up to his palms and looking down. Joe looked on gleefully.
                          
"Hey! Pete!" Joe called, beckoning to the sulking boy. 
He reluctantly headed in their direction, looking like he was ready to bite someone's head off, but his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of Patrick. 
"Uh, hi." He said. Joe looked way too happy for this situation. 
                          
"Man, I just saw what Stacey posted, that's rough. But we aren't judging man." Joe confirmed. No beating around the bush with him. 
                          
"No, uh, I mean, it wasn't your fault." Patrick inputted shyly. "Stacey's a horrible person. We'll be here for... I mean... if you ever need to talk, you, uhh..." 
                          
Pete showed a small smile. Which gave Patrick hope.
"I get it man. Thanks." He said. 
                          
Patrick's eyes wandered to Pete's ripped skinny jeans.
"You can sit here if you want." Patrick was stumbling over his words. He was in such a hurry to get them out. He budged up on the bench of the booth and Pete hesitated before taking the seat. 
                          
"I guess some company would be good. Thanks." He seemed to be doing a lot of thanking for basically nothing. The waiter came with Patrick and Joe's drinks. 
Pete apparently hadn't ordered anything. 
                          
Their conversation got lighter. It went back and forth fairly easily, other than Patrick's bumbling awkwardness and Joe's game of 'Make Patrick Blush'. Pete was having a kind of genuinely good time, which hadn't happened in forever. 
                          
And when Patrick insisted on paying for whatever Pete wanted, he ordered a coke.
Patrick suspected that he'd only accepted sitting with them so he didn't get kicked out when he didn't order anything - presumably from lack of money - but he didn't ask. 
                          
Pete was feeling weird. A light feeling came over him when he talked to Patrick, pulling him away from his worries gently. Like being in a riptide of sunshine.
Eventually silence fell. Pete's eyes dropped. He mused out loud.
                          
"Oh God. I'm screwed." He said quietly. The others were silent. Pete put his head in his hands.
"That picture... I'll be ruined. I can't believe how much I fucked up. I can't face those dickheads at school."
Patrick cleared his throat.
"Well... maybe you don't have to."
                          
"Sure, I could skip, but where would I go? Sitting in here for six hours with no money isn't exactly any better." Except maybe it was.
                          
"I know somewhere you could go. I'll take you there if you want." Patrick was feeling light headed. What was he doing, offering to skive off school with Pete fucking Wentz.
                          
There was a split second there he thought the answer would be no - Pete would laugh, say he'd never hang out with such a fat loser and he'd rather face the jerks at school still possessing a bit of dignity. 
                          
But the unexplainable happened; Pete's beautiful deep brown eyes, the colour of walks in the wood and chocolate, pulled up to meet his. 
"Sure." Pete heard himself say. "Why not."