I Hate My Ways

He's sitting with his head wedged between his knees, back hunched over into an arch and arms wrapped around his head to block out the sun. It's too hot on his back but there's no shade anywhere, no trees, just a flat dirty field filled with nothing. The nothing is its greatest quality right now.

In his pocket, Pete's phone buzzes again, and it must be Patrick or Mikey. He never thought to give Gerard his number, isn't sure that Gerard would ask Mikey for it. Patrick would be a safer bet, but only by a little bit.

And it's a shame, Pete thinks as he looks around the barren field, that he's too amped up to appreciate this. This scenery, the grass, the unnatural absence of cigarette butts and broken beer bottles. He lays back without having to check if anything gross is splattered on the ground, letting out a soft sigh when his head is cushioned on the grass and his arms are spread out on either sides of his body. It's nice, and that's the only word Pete can think of to describe it. It's nice, not ethereal, not perfect; might be perfect if his lungs didn't feel like he just narrowly escaped choking to death and his phone wasn't constantly buzzing. He doesn't want to be found, don't they get that?

It isn't like he's running away, after all. Where is there to run? Too many people know who he is, too many Amber Alerts would be put out by Patrick so Pete can't get away. But he sort of loves to have that security under his wings. Fucking Patrick, he thinks fondly, and pops open the can of Orange Crush he'd brought with him.

Even though he drifted away from the circus of people on tour without telling anyone where he was going, it didn't surprise him when, after about ten minutes of reflecting in silence and coming up with nothing more than a burning in his eyes from staring at the sun too long, he could hear footsteps not far away. And when a body sinks to the ground beside him, he rolls over on his side and embraces it.

"How did you know where I was?" Pete asks the picture of Frankenstein on Gerard's shirt, closing his eyes and stuffing his face into the warm fabric. Arms come around his back to hold him firmly where he is, and he sighs.

"I didn't, really." Gerard starts to draw circles on Pete's back with his fingers. "Why are you here anyways? You got everyone worried."

"Trick worries when I go out to piss, Gerard. 'S nothing new." As a matter of fact, Pete is pretty sure everyone he's ever met worries about him on a daily basis. He didn't know what it was that seemed to reckless about him--but maybe they were right.

"Stop running off and he won't worry as much," Gerard says tersely, tightening his grip on Pete.

"I should be allowed to go somewhere without having to check in with everybody." Gerard should understand that. Gerard spends his time alone, wandering off and doing his own thing. Pete's not allowed that freedom.

Gerard slips his hand down to Pete's and threads their fingers together. "You have lots of people who care, Pete." He brings Pete's hand up to kiss his thumb knuckle.

"And I appreciate that, but there's a point were it becomes overbearing."

"So you just duck out of it. Tell Patrick that you're overwhelmed--he'll back off."

"I don't want to hurt his feelings. He's Pat. If I tell him to back off, he might take it as 'I want you to go away forever', and that would suck. I couldn't deal with that!" Pete makes a funny noise and burrows further into Gerard's chest.

"Pete," Gerard drawls, tucking two fingers under his chin to lift his face up. Pete has the time to take a breath before Gerard's kissing him. His favorite thing about the kisses now are...are not worrying about being sucked into the beauty anymore. He already is. He's drowning in it and Gerard isn't showing any signs of breaking his heart, so it's fine. Now he just has to worry about forgetting to breathe. "Pete, Patrick would understand." Another kiss. "Stop worrying about everything." He starts up the circles on Pete's back again, and Pete melts into a murbly little puddle in his arms, wiggling to get the best spot under Gerard's chin.

"Hey, Gerard?" Pete asks, and his voice is a little foggy. Both from being wedged into Gerard's neck and from the nice mist of calm he is under.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry...'bout what I said before. About picking you over Mikey. I really don't know what I would do if Mikey wanted me to choose, but I'm pretty fucking sure I'd end up heartbroken either way." He snorts. "Either Way. I love your name, man." He taps his nose on Gerard's throat and laughs happily.

"Oh, hush," Gerard says, kissing his ear. "Your name's not any better, Peter. At least my name doesn't mean penis."

Pete snorts and reflects on just how immature they both are. Hm, together.

*

Gerard smells like alcohol again. But beside him, Bert smells like piss, so he leans more definitely into the crook of Gerard's shoulder and embraces the sharp sting on his sense of smell. Around him, the guys--Gerard's friends, The Used and Alkaline Trio and a few more stragglers from other bands congregated to share the warmth and beer--are telling stories. Bert's all wild hair and eyes and legs as he starts in on a story about a girl he knew who tried to throw him out of the window of a Royal Inn hotel room.

"At least, if you had landed in the pool, you would have finally had a bath," Gerard says with a smile, and Pete sees the flicker of his eyes as he looks over at him.

"Huh huh, funny Gerard. You don't smell so sweet either." Bert leans farther into Pete and takes a long, drawn out whiff. Then cackles. "But Petey sort of does."

"Because I take showers," Pete says, snorting. He both likes and hates being here. The fire's warm and Gerard's warm, but Bert's sucking all of the serenity Pete could be having by being full of electricity and vodka.

"No...you smell like sex." Bert takes another deep breath. "Yep. Unless you're having sex in those showers..." He edges closer until Pete is practically in Gerard's lap, which, to be honest, is where he would have ended up anyways, but still. "Hell, if sex was on the table, even I would take a shower. Maybe I should start tagging along with you."

Gerard growls low and rumbly, sparking an equal reaction in the pit of Pete's stomach. It churns and settles a little until Gerard's arms come to wrap protectively around Pete's body. "You can't have shower sex with him, he's mine," Gerard says firmly, resting his cheek on Pete's and sticking his tongue out at Bert.

And Pete tries not to get giddy over it, but he can't help it. Gerard said he was his. They. Weren't just fuck-buddies anymore. That cemented it. The slip of his arms and a light kiss on the cheek in front of all of Gerard's friends made it so. A round of maybe-sarcastic 'aww's follow Gerard's declaration, and he flips them off.

"Come on, Pete," Gerard whispers wetly into his ear, tapping Pete's back with his knee. "Let's go before they really get worked up."

Pete jumps up, all to ready to leave and go somewhere nicer, and maybe even some fun if one of the buses is empty. Gerard grabs onto Pete's hand as they're walking away from the fire and another round follows them out into the parking lot.

"Sorry about them," Gerard says sheepishly as they're making their way back to the Fall Out Boy bus, cleverly hidden behind the trail of buses parked along the fence. "I know you don't really like hanging out with them."

"It's not that. I like your friends fine," Pete argues, lying. He doesn't really like to hang around Gerard's friends, because they always seem to bring up the fact that they're Gerard Way and Pete Wentz, and they just don't go together. But since when was it written down that two people had to be a likely couple to be good together? It wasn't a secret to Pete that most of the bands on Warped tour who cared had bargained on him and the younger Way brother to hit it off, but it just didn't happen that way.

"You don't have to pretend, Pete." Gerard swings around and presses Pete into the side of a bus, smiling. "I'll still like you even if you think my friends are idiots." He holds up a long-fingered, pale hand, still smiling sweetly.

Pete raises his hand and slips his fingers through Gerard's. "They always make fun of me," he sighs dramatically. "It's not easy being a super mega hot awesome bass player in a band with Patrick." He says the name like a sigh, like he's swooning over Patrick now.

Gerard sighs too. "Oh, I'll bet. Just how to you keep your hands off of someone like Patrick?"

"I just have to keep my hands other places. You know, busy hands aren't as easily tempted," he says, the smile on his face growing. But what else was new when he's around Gerard? He slips his free arm around Gerard's shoulders, twirling a bit of dark hair around his pointer finger. The beauty is washing over him again, this time in waves. This time completely, so Pete has to lean up and peck Gerard's lips.

Gerard sighs and rests his cheek against Pete's, so he can feel the flutter of his long inky eyelashes on his cheekbones when Gerard blinks. He leans his body fully on Pete's, his elbows resting on either side of Pete's head and his face tucked in his neck.

"I wish..." Gerard mutters against the skin, and Pete feels a tongue. "That I was drunk enough to say something sappy right now. Like. I think I love you."

Pete's heart clenches. He was always a sap. "Me too," he mutters.

"You too what?" Gerard asks, guarded. His body doesn't tense but Pete feels the edge to his voice. It's either regret or worry, and Pete doesn't really want to cause either, but he's hoping Gerard's thoughts are leaning more towards worry.

"I wish you were drunk enough to say it," he whispers shakily, tapping the top of Gerard's ear with his jaw. And he thinks that, when Gerard's face pops up in the darkness in front of him, all timid grin and whitewashed cheeks, he might just say it. It's a long shot--Gerard said he needed to be drunk--but, once again, Pete is a sap, and knows that if Gerard says it he'll say it back instantly.

His eyelids dip like he's on the verge of sleep, and Pete wonders if he really is drunk. A tongue pokes out the side of his mouth and sweeps over his bottom lip, and Pete does know what that means. Nerves.

"Yeah, me too," he replies huskily to Pete's admission, and backs away.

"Oh no you don't," Pete mutters, reaching out and grabbing the front of Gerard's shirt, crushing them together. He's stubborn, too, sometimes. "Say it."

Gerard blanches and tries to back away, back into the dark, but Pete's got a firm hold on him, and to be honest, Gerard's got no muscles. He lowers his voice to a rasp, circling both arms around Gerard's waist in a tight hug.

"If you mean it, it shouldn't matter if you're drunk or not."

"It does matter! Because if I say it and you don't feel the same way, at least I'll have something to blame it on," Gerard mutters through clenched teeth, eyes lowering farther.

"Just like when we first slept together, right? I think we've moved past that point, Gerard." This is the first time Pete's ever brought it up, but he feels empowered once the words start flowing. "I really, really--I don't even know. When this all started, I was so afraid that it would end up being a one-time thing that would make us awkward around each other when I had to see you while I was hanging out with Mikey. But things are different, aren't they? I mean, neither of us thought this would happen, right?" At Gerard's curt nod, Pete goes on, noting the skepticism from Gerard. "I don't want to wait and hear it when you're drunk. If you mean it, say it."

"Okay," Gerard sighs, curling his arms back around Pete. "Pete, I think I'm in love with you. Alright?"

"Alright," he whispers, the smile on his face growing uncontrollably. "Because I'm kind of in love with you, and it'd suck if you didn't feel the same way."

"I thought you told Patrick that we didn't have meetings about these kinds of things," Gerard says goofily, smiling back. The tension's gone now, and Pete's floating. Okay, so he's firmly rooted on the ground when he does look down to check, but the sky's never felt closer.

"Pat's going to give you a speech now. It's going to be awesome."

"Oh, geez. I'm already kind of terrified of Patrick." Gerard's hand tangles in the back of his hair and he rolls his eyes, but oh, Pete can so feel the terror.

*

It's not weird to stand with his arm linked around Mikey's, the insides of their elbows touching as they watched From First to Last perform. Mikey's got his eyes on his girlfriend--or not girlfriend, Pete's never been so disinterested in who Mikey is dating before. Anyways, he's been watching the replacement bass player like a hawk for the past half hour, so Pete thinks that she's his girlfriend.

"She's hot," Pete says vaguely, only half meaning it because Gerard's been on his mind for the entire time they've been submerged in this mass of kids in striped shirts with facial piercings and weird hair and he can't bring himself to really compare anyone--seriously--to Gerard. It's like that part of his mind has shut off and only plays the same picture over and over again.

"She is," Mikey agrees dreamily, and yeah, it must be the girl he was flailing over earlier in the month. His brow furrows in confusion and he tears his eyes away from the girl for the first time since they got here. "But don't you have a boyfriend?"

Pete sucks in his breath and waits for it. "Yeah?"

"You ever going to tell me who it is?"

And he lets out his breath. Frank didn't tell Mikey. So all this good natured friendship was because Mikey doesn't know that Pete's dating his brother. Nothing's changed between them because Mikey doesn't know anything's changed. Pete's heart drops to somewhere in his stomach. "You--don't know?"

"No. It seems that no one tells me anything nowadays. I think Gerard's dating someone, but he's being all hush-hush about it, too." Mikey shrugs and goes to turn back to the stage, but stops midway. His shoulders tense, and then Pete knows this is the it he was waiting for. "Wait." He faces Pete again, mouth open in shock. "Tell me you're boyfriend is not my brother."

"...Mikey..."

"No. No. NO, ew, Pete!" Mikey flails. There's a group looking at them now, and Pete wants to edge off into the crowd and maybe attempt to blend in, but they've already called too much attention to themselves--ahem, Mikey's called attention to them--and he doesn't know how to get out alive. Because, oh crap, that girl and her friends all have bartwings drawn on the fronts of their shirts, and there's another boy with a Nightmare Before Christmas sleeve, and he's looking too, but Mikey goes on unperturbed.

"Seriously? Pete, that's dumb, how can you even do that? Gerard's so gross."

"He is not. He's wonderful. How can you say that about your own brother?"

"I've known him longer!" Pete shrinks back from the intensity in Mikey's voice. He knew it would be bad when Mikey found out, but he didn't expect him to start bashing Gerard. "He has so many fucked up things going on with him, you wouldn't believe, Pete."

"Like what?"

"Like--I'll bet he's only with you to upset me."

"What?" Pete rares back and punches Mikey on his bony arm. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Oh yeah? I never really saw you two hanging out before. Suddenly you're dating? Why? What made you two start? Did it just happen like magic? Or did Gerard approach you first?"

Pete hangs his head but nods, not really knowing where this was going.

"And had you two even talked before that?"

He shakes his head, everything becoming a little bit clearer.

"So the only ties the two of you had were to me. Without me, you would have never even spoke. Gerard...he gets jealous of me sometimes. He probably thought we were dating and wanted to steal you away. He probably doesn't even give a shit about you, Pete."

Pete's seething. He clenches and unclenches his fists and lets Mikey's words sink in. He remembers the first time he really talked to Gerard. When he slinked up to Pete and seemed so shy but predatory. His intentions were clear then. But. But they're in love, right? Gerard wouldn't say it unless he meant it, even if Pete was a little pushy in getting the words out of him.

Oh, god. What if? What if he was just saying it so Pete would let go of him?

Gerard did say that Pete didn't have to hang out with his friends--what if that was a sign to back off? And his hesitation to say the words, his aversion at telling Patrick about it. Gerard doesn't love him.

Pete's mouth gapes open and closed a few times before he can force words to come out. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mikey? I was happy, why did you have to go ruin it?" he cries, punching Mikey again. Mikey just adopts a shocked expression.

"I'm trying to help you!"

"By ruining my relationship? Good fucking job, douche!" Pete backs away; he's had enough. He fights his way through crowds of people, all giving some sort of response, either shoving him out of the way or gawking, looking back to see if they really saw who they think they did. At the end, when he breaks through, Frank's at the edge with Patrick, and Pete thanks whoever he's supposed to as he hurtles himself at Patrick.

"Pat, Pat!" he says, sounding in agony. Patrick's arms close tight around him and lead him off to the side, gloriously devoid of people. Patrick always knows best.

"Pete. Is it Gerard?" he asks, and of course that's what he would guess first. Pete rolls his eyes but stays put hunched over in Patrick's arms, tucking his face into his neck. Not that, you know, Pete is that much taller than Patrick, but his back is bent a little bit, and he figures he can give himself an inch over Patrick.

"Mikey told me the only reason Gerard is with me is to get back at him."

"That fucker," and Pete's not sure if he's talking about Mikey or Gerard. Patrick always was more partial to Mikey, though.

*

The sun is warm on the side of his cheek as he sits at the kitchen table and leans into the little sliver of light shining into the small space. Patrick is on the other side of him, diligently not letting him be alone because Patrick is amazing like that. Because Patrick's his best friend, and he's afraid of what Pete would do it he was alone right now.

He skipped out on sound check this morning. He knows he shouldn't have, because he's letting down his band, but it hurts. It fucking hurts, and he hasn't really roused himself enough to step outside the bus.

"What do you think, Patrick?" Pete asks, picking off a side of the cookie he's eating and holding it out to Patrick. It's a pretty big piece, two hunks of chocolate and everything.

"You know what I think," Patrick says darkly, and takes a bite of the cookie. "What do you think?"

"I think...maybe Gerard's only with me because he thought it would hurt Mikey. I mean...it sort of makes sense, right? Gerard's really great, and I'm sort of a fuck up, and I had to know something would go wrong down the line."

"You are not a fuck up. If Gerard's really doing what Mikey says, then he's the fuck up. And he's hurting you. And if he is, I'll kill him."

Pete sighs and lets his head drop. "I still love him, you can't kill him. Maim him, maybe." He stuffs the rest of the cookie in his mouth and hums thoughtfully. Because, dammit, he does still love Gerard.

*

Pete's painting his nails alone when Gerard finally turns up. Okay, well he's in his bunk, and so is Patrick, but his heartache knows no bounds and creates a vast emptiness that could be constituted as being alone. Yep, so he's totally alone when Gerard barges into the bunk room with his hands on his hips. Patrick bristles at his appearance, and Pete runs the black polish off the side of his finger.

"Gerard." he says, keeping his tone shaky. He's not good at pretending to be okay.

"Are you avoiding me?" Gerard asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Go away, Gerard," Patrick growls. Gerard's eyes widen, and he backs up.

"Wait! Don't go." Pete ignores Patrick's glare and pats the little amount of space left in his bunk. He's not sure what he's doing--still not sure which brother to believe, but he can't just ignore Gerard like this. It's only been a day since he last talked to him, but it was a long day. One in which Pete clung to Patrick like a teddy bear and moped. "Pat, would you give us a little privacy?"

"Hold on." Patrick slides off the bed and grabs Pete's arm, dragging him into the living room and leabing Gerard behind. "Listen Pete, you just spent a whole day crying over Gerard, okay?"

"Yeah, but I don't know if he actually did anything bad...."

"It doesn't matter. You're getting in over your head, okay?" Patrick's words turn soft, and Pete has to give him a hug. "I just worry about you. I don't want anyone to hurt you."

"I'll be okay," Pete mumbles into Patrick's shoulder, biting the skin there. "I think I trust Gerard over Mikey." He hopes--for the first time in history, man--that his Best Friend lied to him. That he felt so alone that he had to lie to make Pete and Gerard break up. It's a horrible think to hope for, because Mikey has always been there. Been there longer than Gerard, been his Best fucking Friend, and this is the reason Pete was so indecisive before. Both of those boys own a piece of his heart, and he doesn't know how to retain his life without one of them being in the equation. But it looks like he is going to have to make a decision.

He stays in Patrick's arms longer than he has to, building himself up for the fall. He has to be strong right now, find the incentive to actually make an informed decision, because he knows that he can't go into the bunk room and not pick Gerard.

"Okay," he sighs, prying himself away and wiping under his eyes inconspicuously. "Okay. Geez, Pat. Those boys..."

Patrick smiles. "I know."

Pete smiles and lingers for a second, but eventually he makes his way back into the bunk room. Gerard's laying on his bunk, toying with a piece of his hair. His eyes are crossed where he's looking at the hair, and Pete dies a little inside.

"Hey."

Gerard looks up, smiling nervously. "Hi." He scoots up to the head of the bed and opens his legs a little. It's as good as an invitation. Pete slides in between his legs and sinks into his chest. Despite Gerard's worries, he still wraps his arms around Pete like there's nothing wrong. Nothing's happened. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Pete smiles and closes his eyes. Gerard smells like he finally took a shower. His arms are safe and comfortable around Pete's body. Is this worth giving up? Mikey does this all the time. They cuddle. It's different, yeah, but the same principle is there.

"Good. Um...am I in trouble? I didn't mean to."

Pete laughs; he can't help it. Gerard's adorable sometimes. It's another one of those things that he really needs to learn to not obsess over, but he can't right now. Not in such close proximity, not when Gerard's holding him.

"Nah."

"Then what's wrong?" Gerard asks, sounding lost. Pete squirms around so he can see Gerard and sort of use him as a pillow all at once.

"Why did you come up to me that first day?" Pete asks in a whisper. "I mean, we didn't even know each other. What made you want to fuck me?"

"You were hot."

Pete frowns. "That's all? It didn't have anything to do with Mikey?"

"Nope," he says, and noses into Pete's cheek.

And hm, Pete believes him.

*

"No, no man, order it without salt," Gerard warns gravely across the table. Pete giggles and snuggles into his side.

"What? Why?" Patrick asks, raising an eyebrow. Mikey rolls his eyes and says, "Don't ask," to Patrick.

"But it's a good story," Pete insists, pouting at Mikey. It is pretty entertaining. Gerard's so good at telling theories that no matter how stupid they sounded, Pete wanted to believe them. But Pete's totally biased. Since, you know, he's sort of stupid in love with him and all.

Frank pops up from the booth behind them, crossing his arms and leaning over into their area. "Seriously, dude, don't ask. I don't feel like hearing about how we're all being mind-controlled."

"I do," Pete sighs.

"You're a freak."

"And you're a non-believer who refuses to be enlightened. Don't come crying to me when you're turned into a robot," Gerard says loftily, slinging his arm around Pete and pulling him close. Frank gags as Pete smiles and nuzzles into Gerard's neck.

"I won't. Robots can't cry. I'd short my circuit, or something. And stop that, you'll make these poor people puke up all the food they paid for."

"At least they won't be mind-controlled," Gerard says, and Pete figures he won the argument because Frank just mutters darkly under his breath and sinks back down into his own booth.

Score, he thinks, kissing Gerard's jaw.