Sleeping on Your Folks' Porch Again
Co-dependency
Pete is nothing except the worst kind of cliché he can think of. So, it doesn't come as much of a surprise when he finds himself throwing pebbles one night at the top-right window of a colonial in Glenview. It simply can't wait until morning.
After the ninth rock hits the glass, a light comes on and a shadow falls across the grass below. The window goes up to reveal a very cross Patrick, sans hat or glasses and squinting tiredly down at the lawn. "What the unholy fuck do you want, Pete?"
"Your phone's turned off," he replies in a tone like it's the meaning of the universe.
"Yes, it's turned off. I'm trying to sleep. Y'know, sleep? That thing you don't do and I don't get to do enough of when we tour?"
"I need to talk to you. I went to your apartment, but you weren't there. How come you're at your parents'?"
Patrick stifles a yawn in annoyance. "I leave my utilities off when I'm not at home, the water's back on now but the power won't be back til tomorrow. Now seriously, what the fuck is so fucking important?"
"I need to talk to you." Pete stares up at the tired young man silhouetted in the pale light of a desklamp, a touch of desperation ringed around his eyes along with the usual kohl. "It's... I can't say it here. Can I come up?"
"Wentz, go home, try to get some sleep. I'm sure whatever it is, you won't care as much in the morning." Patrick shuts the window again, turns an uncaring back on his friend as he turns off the light.
Gnawing his lip, Pete shivers in the chill twilight breeze and steps gingerly to the front porch. There's a bench swing that hangs from the overhang, and he's spent his fair share of time on it in the past. Slept on it a few times, even. Tonight he curls up on the left side and stares at the welcome mat until his vision and mind go black.
In the morning, he wakes up to Patrick staring at him in confusion, still clad in pajama pants and clutching a mug of coffee. "You worry me sometimes, you know that?" The younger man squints at him behind his glasses and leans against the front door. "You worry my mom too, obviously."
Pete looks down and realizes he's covered in the afghan that usually lays across the back of the couch in the living room. Most likely the woman of the house had seen him when she went to leave for work and was afraid he'd freeze. "Pat's a good woman," he smiles, pulling it tighter around himself.
"You never did answer the question." Patrick blows the steam from his cup before sipping. "What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"
"It's..." Pete chews the corner of his mouth in frustration, pissed off at himself for not knowing what words to use. "The thing is... I'm not perfect." He looks up at Patrick, who's listening with an intrigued look now. "I'm not perfect, I know I'm not, and... well, shit, you're not perfect either. You're... you get bossy sometimes, when you don't get your way, and you've got this thing you do where you're acting like you're being self-deprecating, but underneath it you're really thinking that you're hot shit."
"So... you woke me up to tell me neither of us is perfect and that I'm actually a total dick?"
"I have a point, bear with me. You have those things, but... but for the most part, you're... you're incredible. You listen, and you're caring, and you have the most epic patience for a jackass like me."
"I left you to freeze on my front porch."
"Anyone else would've thrown something at me. And it makes me... it makes me feel like an ungrateful asshole, because here you've given me everything, you waste your time and energy and patience on me for months on end... and I come stomping through and interrupt your first night off from me in forever because I'm greedy and pitiful and want you near me 24/7." Pete stares at a spot just behind Patrick's head, a knot in the oak front door, because if he looks him in the eye, he might pass out.
And Patrick, he stands there with his coffee and his compassionate eyes and nods as he lets it all sink in. Sighing under his breath, he moves to sit down next to Pete and wraps a gentle arm around his shoulder. "What a perfectly dysfunctional co-dependent pair we make," he chuckles, pulling him in tighter. "Wanna know a secret?" Pete nods. "Sometimes I'm terrified of the day you stop wanting me around. I don't know what I'd do with myself if suddenly you didn't need me anymore. I'm not sure I'm still equipped to do anything but be Pete Wentz's personal shrink, wingman and cuddling implement."
"You mean it?" Pete's trembling a little under the afghan, unsure of how to take this.
"I mean it." Patrick pulls away so Pete has no choice but to look him in the eye. "As long as you still want something from me, I'll always have something to give."
A cheerful giggle of relief escaping him, Pete's eyes drift down to the now-cooled mug of coffee. "Can we start with some of that? I'm kinda freezing my gnads off right now."
And Patrick laughs back, helping him to his feet. "Of course. It would be a tragedy if you lost those."
After the ninth rock hits the glass, a light comes on and a shadow falls across the grass below. The window goes up to reveal a very cross Patrick, sans hat or glasses and squinting tiredly down at the lawn. "What the unholy fuck do you want, Pete?"
"Your phone's turned off," he replies in a tone like it's the meaning of the universe.
"Yes, it's turned off. I'm trying to sleep. Y'know, sleep? That thing you don't do and I don't get to do enough of when we tour?"
"I need to talk to you. I went to your apartment, but you weren't there. How come you're at your parents'?"
Patrick stifles a yawn in annoyance. "I leave my utilities off when I'm not at home, the water's back on now but the power won't be back til tomorrow. Now seriously, what the fuck is so fucking important?"
"I need to talk to you." Pete stares up at the tired young man silhouetted in the pale light of a desklamp, a touch of desperation ringed around his eyes along with the usual kohl. "It's... I can't say it here. Can I come up?"
"Wentz, go home, try to get some sleep. I'm sure whatever it is, you won't care as much in the morning." Patrick shuts the window again, turns an uncaring back on his friend as he turns off the light.
Gnawing his lip, Pete shivers in the chill twilight breeze and steps gingerly to the front porch. There's a bench swing that hangs from the overhang, and he's spent his fair share of time on it in the past. Slept on it a few times, even. Tonight he curls up on the left side and stares at the welcome mat until his vision and mind go black.
In the morning, he wakes up to Patrick staring at him in confusion, still clad in pajama pants and clutching a mug of coffee. "You worry me sometimes, you know that?" The younger man squints at him behind his glasses and leans against the front door. "You worry my mom too, obviously."
Pete looks down and realizes he's covered in the afghan that usually lays across the back of the couch in the living room. Most likely the woman of the house had seen him when she went to leave for work and was afraid he'd freeze. "Pat's a good woman," he smiles, pulling it tighter around himself.
"You never did answer the question." Patrick blows the steam from his cup before sipping. "What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"
"It's..." Pete chews the corner of his mouth in frustration, pissed off at himself for not knowing what words to use. "The thing is... I'm not perfect." He looks up at Patrick, who's listening with an intrigued look now. "I'm not perfect, I know I'm not, and... well, shit, you're not perfect either. You're... you get bossy sometimes, when you don't get your way, and you've got this thing you do where you're acting like you're being self-deprecating, but underneath it you're really thinking that you're hot shit."
"So... you woke me up to tell me neither of us is perfect and that I'm actually a total dick?"
"I have a point, bear with me. You have those things, but... but for the most part, you're... you're incredible. You listen, and you're caring, and you have the most epic patience for a jackass like me."
"I left you to freeze on my front porch."
"Anyone else would've thrown something at me. And it makes me... it makes me feel like an ungrateful asshole, because here you've given me everything, you waste your time and energy and patience on me for months on end... and I come stomping through and interrupt your first night off from me in forever because I'm greedy and pitiful and want you near me 24/7." Pete stares at a spot just behind Patrick's head, a knot in the oak front door, because if he looks him in the eye, he might pass out.
And Patrick, he stands there with his coffee and his compassionate eyes and nods as he lets it all sink in. Sighing under his breath, he moves to sit down next to Pete and wraps a gentle arm around his shoulder. "What a perfectly dysfunctional co-dependent pair we make," he chuckles, pulling him in tighter. "Wanna know a secret?" Pete nods. "Sometimes I'm terrified of the day you stop wanting me around. I don't know what I'd do with myself if suddenly you didn't need me anymore. I'm not sure I'm still equipped to do anything but be Pete Wentz's personal shrink, wingman and cuddling implement."
"You mean it?" Pete's trembling a little under the afghan, unsure of how to take this.
"I mean it." Patrick pulls away so Pete has no choice but to look him in the eye. "As long as you still want something from me, I'll always have something to give."
A cheerful giggle of relief escaping him, Pete's eyes drift down to the now-cooled mug of coffee. "Can we start with some of that? I'm kinda freezing my gnads off right now."
And Patrick laughs back, helping him to his feet. "Of course. It would be a tragedy if you lost those."