Only As Bright

It's not like they were even dating when it happened.

It's not like Pete was surprised by his own words as they left his mouth. What surprised him was how he didn't regret it seconds later, not hours later, not months later. A part of him liked to think he was in love with Gabe all along, maybe without even realizing it, maybe just without wanting to face the fact.

It all came down to the moment he said it: “Marry me, Gabe.”

Voice flat, face serious. Eyes softening as the silent seconds ticked by.

They were sitting on his porch, staring up at the stars, talking about life and existence and tons of other deep shit that would have usually made Pete's head hurt. But this time, he really listened to everything Gabe said. He might have even over-analyzed it, listened between the lines, ears perking up at every inflection of his friend's voice.

He liked how easy everything was with Gabe. They rarely fought; they just had no reasons to. And whenever they did fight, they usually ended up calling each other at the same time to apologize, talking too fast, speaking over each other until they both started laughing. Just like that, it was forgotten.

He liked Gabe's crooked smile and his stupid jokes. He liked the way Gabe sometimes started rambling in Spanish without realizing it. He would sometimes lay in bed at night, pretending Gabe didn't exist, thinking about every insignificant moment and how different it would have been had Gabe not been there.

He couldn't remember life before him. He didn't want to.

All these thoughts culminated, swirling around until they all clicked together in Pete's head like the pieces of a puzzle. It made sense all of a sudden, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before: they should get married. To anyone else, it was crazy. They had never dated, never done more than kiss at a party every now and again for an audience or a camera. But to him it made perfect sense.

Friends can grow apart. There's nothing concrete keeping them together. They'll eventually have a fight, turn to other friends for comfort, and forget about each other. Sometimes friends just stop talking—somewhere along the line someone forgets to return a call. Phone tag ensues, continuing until it becomes ridiculous, a chore, and then somebody gives up.

There's a way to never lose someone, Pete realized, staring up at the stars, Gabe warm against his side as the porch swing rocked back and forth. There's a way to never lose this.

There's a way for the deepest kind of friendship to be confirmed, written down, recognized by the goddamn law and put in the newspaper for everyone to see. You get married. You're stuck with them forever.

Pete exhaled shakily, nudged Gabe's hand with his own. “Hey,” he whispered, repeated himself a little louder. “Hey.”

Gabe looked over at him, eyes gentle and unknowing, tired and maybe a little heavy-lidded.

“Marry me, Gabe.”

He waited for a response, Gabe staying firmly rooted in his vision but the background moving behind him, stretching out like in those nightmares—the ones where you're running down an endless hallway, chasing something you somehow know you'll never catch. His breathing became manual, and he counted his long, slow inhales. One. Two. Three. Four.

“What?” Gabe sounded suddenly wide awake.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Pete winced quietly, eyes pleading; it was scary enough the first time. That's when Gabe must have realized he was completely serious, because his back straightened. He leaned forward and fixed his eyes to Pete. They were wide; shocked, still a little skeptical.

Pete stayed statue-still. He swallowed the lump in his throat after two or three tries. “I—um. Let's forget this.” He didn't mean it. He wanted an answer.

“What?” Gabe asked again. “I mean I...” He paused, looking uncomfortable for a moment. Nervous. “Are you like in love with me or something?” He asked all in one short, forced breath.

Pete's lips formed the words he wanted to say, his voice remaining absent no matter how hard he tried to talk. “I—I don't—I could be. Yeah.” He exhaled after what seemed like forever. “I mean. I must be, right?”

Gabe shrugged.

“I guess I just don't want to lose you,” Pete admitted quietly, his bottom lip quivering and his head spinning. His own voice sounded far away.

Gabe scoffed. “Pete, you're never gonna lose me. You're my best friend.”

“I've had plenty of best friends who have said that.”

Gabe furrowed his brows, forehead wrinkling and eyes gleaming with something suspiciously like sadness. “Wait, how many other best friends have you had?”

Pete almost cracked a smile.

“No, how many best friends have you proposed to?” Gabe's voice was rising in pitch, and now Pete was grinning ear-to-ear.

“None,” he said simply, smile slowly reducing to the slightest quirk of his lips. “Huh, I guess I am in love with you,” he added. It was quiet, almost inaudible, and it took hims a moment to realize he had said it out loud.

Gabe stared at him, looking confusedly at his mouth like there was spinach in his teeth. Pete fidgeted uncomfortably. “Um, Gabe—”

He was cut off by Gabe kissing him, not even starting slowly but diving into the kiss like they were in a crashing plane. The blood in Pete's head swirled around, roaring in his ears as their tongues brushed. Pete returned it as best as he could, trying to ignore the dull burn in his lungs as the need for air steadily increased. He whimpered and pulled back for air, gasping, pressing their foreheads together. He didn't realize his fingers had become tangled in Gabe's hair until he had to reclaim his hand to wipe the back of his mouth.

“So, uh,” he began, eyes meeting Gabe's questioningly. “We're cool, then?”

Gabe laughed and stood up, smiling wider than Pete had ever seen before as he reached out a hand. Pete grabbed it and was pulled up next to him, still slightly out a breath. “We're engaged,” Gabe whispered, just like Pete had heard him whisper other times he was incredibly happy or excited about something. He beamed.

Their lips crashed together again, arms twining around each other.

*

Pete never in a million years imagined it would be so hard to get both of their bands on a conference call. They ultimately decided it would be much less painful than trying to call everyone individually, leaving awkward voicemails, and waiting.

“So we, uh,” Pete said, clearing his throat. Gabe squeezed his knee, and he couldn't hide the smile so apparent in his voice. “We have some news for you.”

“Oh god,” Alex and Ryland groaned in unison just as Patrick asked if everything was okay.

“Yeah, everything's...um. We're getting married.”

Absolute silence.

Vicky laughed first, and everyone joined in one by one. Pete gnawed on his bottom lip, sharing a concerned glance with Gabe. “I told you they wouldn't believe us,” he whispered.

“Nice one, guys. What's up?” Vicky asked, coming down from her laughing fit.

Gabe winked at Pete and snatched the phone out of his hand. His smirk was enough of a sign that he had a plan. “Meet us at the courthouse at noon on Saturday if you want to be there for the ceremony. We're going to grab lunch afterward, probably at McDonalds or some shit so don't dress up or anything. Housewarming gifts are appreciated.” He grinned and Pete rolled his eyes.

“Wait, you're not—” Alex started. Gabe cut him off.

“See you then,” he said, hanging up and setting the phone on the coffee table. “That's how it's done.”

Pete smiled at him, staring in wide-eyed disbelief, laughing intermittently. “What if no one shows up?”

“Their loss,” Gabe shrugged, leaning back onto the couch. Pete followed him, tracing patterns on the leather cushion between them.

“Hey, so...do you think we should go pick out rings? Or something?” He bit his lip.

Gabe smiled. “Tomorrow.”

“Well, what did you have in mind for tonight?”

“Bad eighties horror movies and snuggling,” he pouted.

“You're on, Saporta.” Pete beamed fondly.

*

That night, Gabe crawled into bed with Pete, bare skin brushing against bare skin. It was warm under the covers, a soothing contrast with the cool air of the bedroom. His arms snaked around Pete's waist and he hugged him closer.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into Pete's hair. He could feel the other man smiling against his neck. “I love you, querido.”

“Yeah. You too.” Pete slithered up enough to kiss Gabe once, quickly, the first time since the night before, and as unusual as it was, it was really nice for a change.

Just this, just us, forever, Pete thought, burrowing into the warmth all around him.

*

“I like this one,” Gabe decided, jabbing his finger into the glass right above a classic gold wedding band.

“But it's boring,” Pete complained. “You're not boring. We're not boring. It doesn't represent us.”

“It represents marriage.”

“Well, this one,” Pete said, pointing to a platinum one with inset diamonds, “represents marriage with a little more style.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “What if we get gold with diamonds?”

“Platinum without diamonds,” Pete argued.

“What's with you and platinum?” Gabe asked, smiling. Before Pete could answer, Gabe was flagging down an employee and pointed to Pete's platinum, diamond-studded bands. “We want two of those,” he grinned, placing his hand at the small of Pete's back.

“I'll get the sizer,” the woman nodded. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison with matching smiles. Pete turned to Gabe as soon as the saleswoman was out of earshot. “What the fuck was that?”

Gabe shrugged, smiling ear-to-ear. “I don't know why,” he began, “but I have this overwhelming urge to make you happy.”

Pete angled his head up and stood on his tip-toes, pressing his lips to Gabe's and kissing him like there was nobody else in the store. They only pulled away, faces heated, when they heard the woman politely clear her throat.

*

“Do my eyeliner,” Pete commanded, holding out the eye pencil to Gabe who was busy picking out a hoodie. “And wear the purple one.”

“Isn't purple a little inappropriate?” Gabe asked, quirking an eyebrow. “And I don't know anything about eyeliner,” he added.

“I want you to wear it,” Pete insisted. “And it goes around your eyes. Unless you're Ryan Ross. Then any part of your face is fair game.”

“And why do you want me to do it for you?” He pulled the purple hoodie off its hanger, shrugging it over his shoulders. It fell over his silver studded belt. Pete smiled.

“It seems ceremonial,” he said, shrugging. Gabe finally rolled his eyes, snatching the eyeliner out of Pete' hand.

“C'mere, loser. And close your eyes.”

*

“The look on Vicky's face was priceless when you showed her the rings,” Gabe laughed, thumbs rhythmically stroking the side of Pete's waist. He pulled closer, further into the warm nest the covers created.

“I know. The only person that didn't look surprised was Andy.”

Gabe chuckled, leaning his forehead against Pete's. “He hardly ever shows any emotion anyway, so.”

“You're right,” Pete amended, closing his eyes while Gabe kissed him, pretended they were back in that courthouse with seven pairs of wide eyes on them, matching rings now on their fingers, kissing.

Forever, Pete had thought as they stepped outside. The same cars were still in the parking lot. The same broken traffic light was still blinking. But this time when Gabe grabbed his hand he felt the cold platinum of the ring pressing into his finger. He twisted his own, wondering if Gabe had maybe been just as in love with him all along.

His eyes opened, and he couldn't stop the giddy laugh that erupted when he looked at Gabe again. His husband. Gabe was his motherfucking husband. It was too amazingly strange. “What?” Gabe asked, smiling, pulling Pete against him by his waist, kissing the side of his neck slowly. It work; he calmed down, melting in Gabe's arms.

“It's just that, we're married.”

“That was the idea,” Gabe murmured, and Pete grinned at the flick of a warm tongue against his jaw.

“It's awesome, dude.”

“I'm your husband, you can't call me dude anymore.”

“Would you rather sweetheart? Honey? Dollface? Angel? Or—”

“No,” Gabe stopped him. “Dude is just fine.”

Pete smirked, pressing his forehead to Gabe's neck. His breathing just started to even out, the black behind his eyelids becoming deeper and warmer, when Gabe whispered, “So do we get to consummate this thing now?”

Pete groaned, beyond tired. “No. I'll fall asleep.”

Gabe laughed pompously. “It's impossible to fall asleep when Gabe Saporta is f—”

“Shut up,” Pete chuckled, slapping his hand over Gabe's mouth. He didn't want to move. “We kind of have the rest of our lives for that, Gabe.” He held up his left hand, the ring catching the light
from the lamp on the nightstand. “Remember?”

“No, I actually forgot.” Gabe rolled his eyes, grabbing Pete's hand to intertwine their fingers. “But you're right,” He sighed. “You're right, baby.” He said it before he could stop himself, biting his lip, but the words were already gone. He waited until he could feel Pete kiss his neck, smiling against it, his nose pressing into the skin behind his ear. He exhaled slowly, sinking back into the pillow and falling asleep before he could worry any longer.

*

Gabe woke up to Pete asking a question in a tone that was far too serious for a first-thing-in-the-morning conversation.

“What?” Gabe asked, his voice sounding echoed and distant, lost in the fog of sleep. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus them.

Pete was sitting up next to him, biting his thumbnail worriedly. “Hey,” Gabe said, sitting up, pushing away the vertigo that momentarily overwhelmed him to lean his head on Pete's shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“What are we going to tell the fans?”

Gabe froze. Because, well...

He hadn't really thought about that. At all. And now the damage was done: they were married. Not that it was damage at all, really, he'd do it all over again. But it was inevitable—they had to make an announcement.

“We're going to have to make an announcement,” Gabe said.

“Your blog or mine?”

“Um. Twitter?” Gabe raised an eyebrow.

Pete lightly slapped the back of his head, and Gabe caught his hand before he could pull it away. He brought it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “Not Twitter, dumbass,” Pete said, trying not to smile. “I can't fit my love declaration for Gabriel Saporta in one hundred and forty characters.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Your blog,” he said.

*

So, hey guys.

We kind of have a little announcement for you. No, scratch that. It's a really fucking big ass announcement.

Surprise! I'm married. Surprise! You already know the person.

What followed was a picture of Pete and Gabe, taken on Vicky's cell phone, Gabe's arm around Pete's waist just like in a million other pictures on the internet. This time, however, they were holding up their left hands, outfitted with matching rings, smiling like complete idiots.

Yeah, and for those of you that don't believe me, here's a clipping from the New York Times.

Pete had chopped it roughly out of the paper, successfully scanning it into the computer after two or three tries. Their names were circled an unnecessary amount of times in red ink.

And as for those of you that think I somehow forged that, just buy a fucking copy of the New York Times, okay?

I know this is out of nowhere and it happened really fast for us to (you have no idea) but nothing will change with our bands, promise. Except for we might be touring together a little more often.

Love is really fucking weird. It's like an annoying saleperson that just won't leave you alone, and you finally just go, jesus christ, if I buy your shit will you go away? No, actually it's not like that at all. It's awesome.

Love, Pete

He closed his eyes, counted to five, and hit 'save post.'

Well, that was that.

Now, even if he deleted it, people would have screencaps of it. It was out there forever now, impossible to take back.. He wondered how many girls were screaming right now, how many others were crying because oh my god, Pete Wentz likes boys and now I have no chance with him. He logged off quickly, shutting his laptop down and setting it on the coffee table.

He wanted to go to sleep and forget the world.

*

One month later

“Look what I have,” Gabe chimed, his suspiciously sing-song voice echoing as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen. Pete closed the fridge, looking up to find Gabe holding a copy of Star magazine.

“Um,” Pete said, raising an eyebrow. “Why, exactly?”

“Because we're in it,” Gabe grinned, beginning to finger through the pages. His eyes shone with adorable excitement when he seemed to find what he was looking for.

Pete groaned at the first sight of the page: the creepy paparazzi shots of celebrities at sidewalk cafes taken from behind bushes, lounging on their balconies, taking a glance out their windows. This was exactly where he didn't want to be.

He scanned the page until he found it: a picture of he and Gabe walking on Broadway, looking up at his favorite record store as they passed it, smiling, hand-in-hand. His eyes gravitated straight toward the caption.

Newlyweds Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy and Gabe Saporta of Cobra Starship share a stroll through the city.

“We make a pretty picture,” Pete said, grinning as Gabe set the magazine on the counter and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft as always, gentle but insistent, his hands warm and solid on his hips.

“Yeah,” Gabe sighed, leaning in for one last kiss, quick and close-mouthed, and they were both breathless. “Hey,” he whispered. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Pete replied, but the best part was that it didn't feel automatic. It felt like there was substance and truth behind it; it felt real. “I promise.”