Fight Night

Pete opened his eyes, the bright mid-day sun making them ache, and groaned. He defiantly had a black eye, and probably a few more bruises. He sat up, the blanket falling off his torso, and yeah, he could tell he had a few bruises. His face was sore, and his chest and stomach ached.

He fought three guys last night. He beat two of them -which he was pleasantly surprised by- but the third kicked his ass. Not that he didn't expect it, the guy was twice his size and probably twice his age. Twice the experience, twice the rage to get rid of in just one night. Pete had seen him fight before, he wasn't pay much attention, but he knows that he almost always won. Grinding his teeth together, Pete flung the sheets off him and stood up. It was harder than you'd expect, but hey, he probably fractured a rib so he had an excuse. Pete then walked -he refused to call it limp- to the bathroom.

And yes, there on his cheek was a beauty of a bruise. It was a dark blue, purple in some places, red in others, but he knew that by Monday it would be turning yellow, just like the others. He also didn't have a black eye, like he thought, which was a relief, because that shit sucked, but instead a cut right bellow his eye. All-in-all, not the worse that he's turned out. Pete let his fingers ghost over the swollen part of his face, and winced. It was probably right on top of another bruise, that was probably on top of another bruise, atop of another bruise, and so on. Pete knew that he probably let himself heal a bit, but he couldn't help it. Every week, when Friday rolled around, he made an excuse to not meet up with his friends, to not go on a date with his boyfriend, to not see anyone, and always ended up back at the dingy bar. Every week. Always on the list of the first fifty people.
He just couldn't help it. Pete has never felt more alive, and that makes him feel a little bit dead.

--X--X--

Patrick texted Pete earlier, Pete didn't text back, actually he deleted the text, but he wouldn't ever tell Patrick that. He just couldn't let Patrick see his face yet, not when it was all swollen and gross, he needed to wait until Monday, by then at least it would be slightly back to normal. And it's not even like Pete's self conscious about the injuries, hell no, everyone at school doesn't say any shit to him anymore, they think they'll end up worse than him, but he couldn't tell Patrick. It was pretty clear that Patrick, the little blond angel he is, was worried sick about Pete. He stopped asking questions though, whenever he did Pete would make a half-assed excuse, or say that nothing happened, or that he fell, or that he walked into a door (that one worked for a bit, because Patrick had seen Pete walk into a door once, but, how many time can you walk into a door before you remember it's there).

Patrick didn't like that Pete was lying, or that he was getting hurt, or that he was starting to avoid him, but honestly, Pete was his best friend, and Patrick knew that Pete was probably the best thing that has ever happened to him, so he didn't push it.

Pete knew that he couldn't avoid tell Pat forever, but, goddammit, he was going to try.
Eventually, Patrick did call Pete, because Pete was supposed to be his boyfriend, and that made it totally okay for him to worry.

Just like every Saturday, Pete made an excuse not to see Patrick, he said that his mom was off work and she demanded "Mommy-Son-Bonding-Time" which was the worst excuse yet.
Patrick knew Mrs. Wentz's working schedule (Pete had recited it many times in order to get Patrick to come to his house to have sex) she worked every other weekend, and the week, and last week he called the house phone and she picked up. And even if she was home, Mrs.Wentz was cool and did not demand that her son spend every waking moment with her.

Patrick frowned as Pete said goodbye then hung up, without waiting for a response. Patrick was worried about him, he came to school with bruises and cuts and he didn't talk to Patrick about things anymore, and Patrick tried not to sound like a lovesick 15 year old girl while talking to his friends about it, but he couldn't help it. He just wanted to make sure that Pete wasn't getting himself hurt, because he loved him, he really did.

--X--X--

When Monday came around Pete walked into school, wearing his usual attire; skinny jeans, grey today, a loose tank top, that had a band's name on it that no one could read because it was so faded, converse sneakers, and a smirk on his face. The smirking hurt like hell, but it pulled the whole look together. The "I'm-Going-To-Kill-You-And-Your-Family-If-You-Mess-With-Me" look. The bruise has faded to a putrid yellow, with spots of light blue, the cut has scabbed over, and he still can't run because it hurts to breath sometimes. But, Pete knows he'll put all that aside by the time it's Friday.
As he's swirling the dial on his locker around, saying the combination in his head, he fells a peck on his cheek and smiles. Of course, it's the perfect son of a bitch, that he somehow tricked into thinking he was good 'boyfriend material', Patrick.
"Hey, babe." Pete says, yanking his locker open. Patrick grins, and replies with a, "Hello."
As Pete reaches inside what might as well be a metal coffin where books go to die, he sees Patrick frown at the sight of the bruise.
Cue Pete feeling guilty. And to make it worse, Patrick doesn't even mention it, he just hugs Pete from the side (Pete tried not to make it obvious that it hurt) and muttered 'I love you'.
Which makes Pete feel like shit, because he blew off his boyfriend all weekend just so he could punch some dudes in the face.

He just grabs his texts books, and says "Do you want to go out tonight? Like to a movie or something?" And Patrick shoots him his mega-watt smile, blushes a bit, and says, "Yeah, okay." Before he rushes off to get his own books before the bell rings.
Pete's first class is science.

--X--X--

It's not that Math class isn't totally boring or anything, but Pete's mind just seems to keep drifting back to the bar, and last Friday. He remembers the excitement he felt, the adrenaline, as he walked in, he never knew that a concrete room full of sweaty men could cause such a feeling. He knew what was going to happen in a few minutes yet he felt calm, relaxed.

The owner stepped into the middle of the room, everyone else was close to the wall,
"Welcome to Fight Club!" The owner shouted through the silent room.
"The first rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club!" Pete smirked, for once in his life he knew the rules by heart.
"The second rule is that you don't talk about Fight Club! If someone says 'Stop' or goes limp, the fight's over! Two guys to a fight! One fight at a time! No shirt or shoes! The fights go on for as long as they have too! If this is your first Fight Club," The owner looked around, grinning at the new faces, the unbruised, the ones that looked nervous, "You have to fight!" He stepped out of the middle, and the fights started.

Pete never paid attention to the fights until it was his turn. He slipped off his shirt and shoes, and stepped into the make-shift ring. He was fighting a newbie. Pete smirked, cracking his knuckles, wrists, and back. He newbie had brown hair, and a strong looking arms, but his chest was skinny and his legs were thin. The owner yelled, "Start fighting!"
Pete stepped forward and lifted his knee up to the new-kids stomach, elbowing him in the back. He didn't watch wrestling or boxing growing up, his fighting style was "Inflict-Pain-Fuck-The-Rules".
The newbie fell to the ground, and Pete kicked his ribs.

He failed a test earlier that week.
He straddled the newbie and punched him in the face.
His mom yelled at him for not doing homework.
The newbies nose was gushing blood.
He and Patrick had a screaming match.
The newbie coughed and sputtered, he was probably swallowing his own blood, he would have bruises and black eyes, just like Pete.
A kid in his class called him a fag, and pushed him into lockers.
Pete gripped the newbie's hair, pulling his head up, then slamming it into the hard ground. He hadn't said stop yet, he hadn't gone limp, and Pete was still mad.

"S-stop!" The kid finally yelled, and it was as if the newbie's skin caught on fire. Pete shot off him, stood up. He looked down at the male laying on the floor. Bleeding and pathetic, not even Pete lost that easily when he first came here. He held out his hand, none-the-less, and helped him up.
"Work on getting a first hit in, it'll make your chances better." He said, in a monotone voice, walking back to his clothes, and waiting for his next turn.

"Mr.Wentz!" The Math teacher snapped, making Pete jump, head shooting up.
"Pay attention!" The old man barked, going back to droning on about how to measure how fair a bear siting on top of a frozen pond would slide if it had a bullet proof vest on and you shot it, or some other shit that Pete would never apply to real life. Pete sighed, clenching his fists. It was only the first block on Monday, and he already wanted to be back at Fight Club.

--X--X--

It was the last block of the day, science, and Pete had it with Patrick. However, they sat at opposite sides of the room. Pete couldn't help but stare at his boyfriend during class. He liked how you could see Patrick taking notes, or how he raised his hand whenever the teacher asked them a question, but how you could tell that he was bored and didn't really care. That's one of the things Pete loved about Patrick, that he was so smart, without trying. Ms.O'Conner was the name of the teacher, she was a nice woman, but very strict, with black hair that was always falling out of its ponytail, and she never wore lipstick, she was married but, she said that "'Mrs' makes me feel old, and I don't want to be old, I'm hip!" and she was everyone's favorite teacher, no matter how much they hated science. Today she was teaching the class about space, and the oceans, and volcanoes and things like that (basically everywhere you wanted to explore as a kid, but then you found out "Hey, if you go there you die!").

Science was the only class (besides art) that Pete didn't have to work hard in, because he understood most of the stuff.

He liked science, because Ms.O'Conner didn't yell at him for daydreaming, and didn't ask him question when he wasn't listening. She just accepted that Pete knew what she was saying, and went on teaching the idiots that sat at the back of the class texting.

Pete was still thinking about Fight Club, he would until Thursday, and by then he would be thinking about the next Fight Club. He was obsessed with it, addicted.
He remembers vaguely when he used to tell Patrick that he was addicted to love. Addicted to him.
Now he was taking him out because of guilt.

--X--X--

Patrick smiled as they walked out of the movie theatre, hand-in-hand. Pete wasn't distracted like he normally was, he was actually paying attention to Patrick. He was making jokes that made Patrick laugh and blush, and he was listening when the other spoke.

They drove while talking about anything and everything, Pete dropped him off, and went home. Normally, they would hang out for a while longer, but Patrick was tired and Pete wasn't going to argue, Fight Club makes you calm.
It's easier to deal with the world, even though you constantly want to punch people in the face. It was a weird feeling, but it was nice.

Like being on drugs.

And this was their first date in about a month so Patrick was all happy and excited when he got home, and if you asked him, he would totally deny that he was acting like a pre-teen girl.

--X--X--

It's Wednesday, and they've fallen back into routine. The bruise on Pete's face is a sickly yellow, and it's disgusting to look at. The date they went on is pretty much long forgotten, because Patrick is mad at Pete again.
Well, not really again, per say, he's been mad at Pete for a while, but the anger kind of goes away for a bit when he actually acts like they're dating. And Patrick just doesn't get it!

He doesn't get it at all. He doesn't understand what Pete's hiding, or why he's always hurt, or why he's moody and bitchy all the time, or why he always seem ready to fight someone. And as someone who understood most things for all his life, this pisses Patrick off.

And, Pete isn't dumb (well, okay, we can debate about this later) he knows that Patrick is tired of the excuses and the lies, and all of that. Pete also is aware that Patrick loves him, it's pretty obvious, but he knows that no matter how much Patrick loves him, or vice versa, Patrick would break up with him if he didn't tell the truth.

Which brought on another problem. How the Hell was Pete supposed to explain "Oh yeah, every Friday night I meet up with a bunch of sweaty, middle-aged men, and fight them, that's why I've been a shit human being lately, but I'm not supposed to talk about it, so".

Yeah, that'd go over well with Patrick.

Pete sighed, shoving his books into his locker, as the swarm of students in the hall way made their way to the cafeteria. He closed his locker, as Patrick appeared by his side. The blond boy was still mad, but hey, lunch time sucked and they never ate the food here, so it was better to spend time with the person you're pissed at (but love none-the-less) than spend it alone.

"Come on," Patrick mumble, making sure not to smile when Pete grinned at him, "I heard that someone spray painted Marilyn Manson lyrics on the school wall outside and they haven't covered the up yet." Pete let out a small sigh, but forced a grin (it still hurt his cheek if he did it for a long time).

"Okay." And they were off, walking in a silence that was in between 'holy shit this is really awkward' and 'I'm so glad that we aren't talking'. The pair made their way through the hall ways, making sure that no teachers caught them (they may love Pat but they wanted Pete to burn in Hell, I kid you not), as they walked towards the exit doors.

They were almost there, it was so close, just a few more feet then around the corner. But of course something just had to happen that made the day even shittier.
Nathan -football player, idiot, and possibly entitled to the "Worlds Biggest Shit Head" award- just had to come out from around the corner.

To say Nathan was slow was slow was an understatement, while almost everyone else in school had left Pete alone, Nathan still persisted in his mission to make Pete want to commit murder. So, of course, when they ran into each other, basically a Western stand off took place.

Pete and Patrick stopped walking, and so did Nathan, and they just stared at one another.

"Are the fags ditching school?" Nathan asked, laughing, like he told the worlds funniest joke (oh god, Pete hated his laugh).
"Hello, Nathan." Patrick said quietly, still trying to be polite. Nathan just rolled his eyes, and sneered a bit.

"So, Wentz, I heard you got your ass kicked, is it true?" Pete's fist were clenching, because no, he did not get his ass kicked. Not anymore.
Who he was at Fight Club might be different than who Patrick knew, or his mom knew, but it didn't matter who or where he was, he did not get his ass kicked.

"What? Not goin' to answer me?" Pete really wanted to hit him. "Whatever. I never took you as a coward, Wentz. No, that was always you boyfriend." Pete wanted him to bleed.
Nathan smirked, thinking he got to him, "You're both bitches."

Now, what you must understand is that Pete doesn't care if someone insults him. But if they insult Patrick, that's it, you need to start ordering Lilies and digging a grave. And since Pete already had so much rage and hatred built up, he let it out on the one thing he could.

Nathan.

In a flash, Nathan was on the ground and Pete was punching him, just like he wanted. Nathan's nose gave a sickening crack, and it was bleeding profusely.

"Pete!" Patrick shrieked, "Pete, stop it! Stop!"

The fight ends when someone says stop or goes limp. It was burned into his brain, so he stopped. Patrick pulled Pete off of the moaning, bloody mess that was Nathan. Then Patrick kneeled down, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He snapped, at Pete. Any anger that was released in the brief -but wonder- moments was back.

"Nothing's wrong! He fucking deserved it!" He growled back. Patrick rolled his eyes, "You broke his nose, Pete, he has to go to the hospital, you can go to jail!"
Pete was about to reply, when Patrick started helping Nathan up, and snapped, "Don't. Just don't. We'll talk later." And he glared, and for someone who was just about as scary as a pixie he could give a nasty glare. Pete watched, shocked, as his boyfriend, the person who was always supposed to stick up for him, help the guy he punched to the nurses office.

Friday couldn't come fast enough.

--X--X--

Patrick stayed with Nathan at the nurse's office, not because he wanted too, but because the nurse demanded it. She had given Nathan a tissue, and called his mom, so she could take him to the hospital (or nearest clinic) to get his nose properly fixed, then asked him how it happened.
"Pete Wentz hit me." He said in a nasally voice, then winced when she touched his nose softly, to see how much it was swelling.
She turned to Patrick, "Is this true?" She said in a voice that made it seem like she didn't expect him to tell the truth. He sighed, and nodded, "Yeah. He punched him." The nurse nodded, seemingly surprised that he agreed with Nathan, and said, "You may go now, Mr.Stump." And he exited the office in a blink of an eye.

Lunch was not over yet, but it almost was, and dammit, he wanted to know what was going on once and for all!
After going through the hallways for a bit, he finally found Pete, walking aimlessly. Patrick stalked up to him, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him towards the exit, not to the back where they normally go, but to the front, where the parking lot was, "Come on." He hissed.

"Where are we going?" Asked Pete, it was almost like he didn't break someone's nose.
Patrick didn't reply, and soon they were in his car, driving to his house. When they got inside, Patrick hissed, "Sit." And Pete sat. He knew better than to annoy a pissed off Patrick, it was like trying to put lipstick on a rattlesnake, it would end badly, and you would be wasting lipstick (well, not in this case...).

"What the hell is going on!" Patrick shouted. Pete had been acting weird for months, for months Patrick had been wanting to ask this, wanted the truth.
"Nothing is." Pete replied.

"You know that's shit, Pete! Of course there's something going on! You broke someone's nose today, you come to school hurt, you're angry, you don't talk to me anymore, you don't make stupid jokes, or laugh, or smile, it's like you're a whole different person!" Pete stared at Patrick, his eyes held a mixture of anger, sadness, and hurt, each one dominating his face for a second before another on bubbled up.

"And I don't know what to do about it, because I don't know what happened, if it was something I did, or someone else did, or if someone's hurting you, or anything!"
Pete opened and closed his mouth, trying to find something to say. He wanted to tell Patrick the truth, he really did, he wanted to tell him everything and he wanted Patrick to tell him everything would be okay, and that he was fine, he wanted everything to be normal.

The first rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club.

"Nothing is going on." Pete said, in an oddly monotone voice.

The second rule of Fight Club is that you don't talk about Fight Club.

"I'm not doing anything." He continued, "I'm not cheating on you, if that's what you're thinking. I love you-" He got cut off by Patrick's hand against his face.

Patrick Stump slapped Pete Wentz.

Pete stared at his boyfriend. Patrick was fuming, but was slowly registering that, oh god, he hit Pete. The bitterness was slowly melting away to regret, and he probably would have apologized within the next five seconds.

If Pete didn't decided to punch him in the stomach. It was just, like, all the emotions that he's been getting out at Fight Club came out at that moment, as Patrick coughed and sputtered. Maybe it was because Patrick slapped him, that it triggered the 'Hit back' reaction, or maybe it was because deep down he really wanted to. But for whatever reason, it unlocked emotions that didn't get out in one measly evening, and it just didn't stop.
Pete hit him again, and again, and again.

Soon Patrick was on the floor, and Pete just kept on going. Patrick was crying, and Pete just ignored it.

"P-pete!" Patrick sobbed out, "Pete, p-please, stop!"

When someone says stop the fight is over.

Pete looked down at Patrick, and actually realized what he did. Patrick was crying, arms around his stomach, and face bloody and bruised. He had hurt Patrick. Not some guy he didn't know that wanted to fight, but his boyfriend, the guy who he loved, and loved -at one point, the chances are looking slim now- him. He didn't want to fight Pete, just know what was happening. Pete opened his mouth.

"Go!" Patrick screamed, still crying. "Go the hell away!"
And Pete wanted to argue, wanted to say sorry, wanted to help. But he was disgusted by what he did, frightened by it too, so he ran out of the house. Maybe, if he ran fast enough, he could run away from himself too.

--X--X--

Patrick wasn't at school the next day, and the principal called Pete's mom, who scolded him ("Didn't I raise you better than to waste your energy on assholes!"), then the consoler called and wanted to talk to Pete. His mom said yes, she said, "You've been acting strange, and shit happens that make teenagers do strange things." that make Pete smile a bit, "I just want to make sure you're safe, and are punching people who deserve it, not because you're on drugs!"
Pete agreed, because he loved his mom, and even though he was a 'cool mom' who was 'hip' and 'with it' she was worried. Pete had enough with worrying people.

So Pete missed almost two blocks talking to this woman who kept trying to get him to tell her who he felt.
"What did you feel when you hit him?" She would asked. "Damn fucking good!" Pete would snap, because there's a certain joy you get from seeing the person who bullies you with a broken nose.

Andy came up to Pete too, and asked if he knew where Patrick was. Andy was more of Patrick's friend, than Pete's, so they didn't normally get together unless Pat was there. Pete had to swallow his guilt and say, "I have no idea."

On Friday, the day that Pete would normal love, Patrick came back to school.
He had a bruise, a big black and blue one, on his face, he winced when anything touched his chest and he got to sit out of P.E because he couldn't run. Every time Patrick winced, or every time he would shrug when someone asked him what happened, Pete felt guiltier. It's like accidently hurting a baby bird.
You want to fix it, you really do, but you don't know how, so you're left watching it wriggle around on the ground trying to get up, and fly back to safety, but it can't, and you can't do anything.

School couldn't end fast enough.

--X--X--

When Pete got home, he was surprised to find his mom.
"I thought you had work?" He said, making her jump (she was watching Desperate House Wives, of all things)
She shrugged, "Jaime wanted to work some extra shifts -she's having a baby soon- so The-Boss-Man let me off early." Pete was actually pretty happy that his mom was home.

"Hey, Kid," She said, suddenly, "Make yourself useful and get me some chips, will you?"
Pete laughed, and went to get a bag of chips from the kitchen, before flopping down next to his mom.
Time seemed to fly by, as they made fun of the women on TV, watched some shitty horror movie on TV (it was actually pretty scary they both screamed twice), and made dinner together. It was actually really awesome that they got to spend time together. Because even though it was awesome that his mom was easy going, and cool when Pete did stupid stuff - "Teenagers do stupid shit, what do you think I did when I was your age? Go to church? Ha!" - sometimes he just wanted his mom to be his mom, and not his best friend.

It was only when he went to bed, it was around 12:30 but he was tired, that Pete really realized what happened.

He missed Fight Club.
And he was happy about it.

--X--X--

The weekend came to an end much too quickly for Pete's liking, and Monday hit him like a ton of bricks.
For the first time in a couple months, he walked into school without a new bruise, or cut. He wasn't as angry or tense either. A lot of people seemed to notice this, including Patrick. However, he continued acting like Pete didn't exist, and that they didn't date for almost two years.

This kind of broke Pete's heart, but he knew he deserved it, actually he probably deserved a lot more. But Pete was a stubborn ass bitch (that was in love, so that's about ten times more stubborn), so he devised a plan. Not a plan to get his boyfriend back, but a plan to get his best friend back. However, if his best friend happened to be his boyfriend, he wouldn't complain, but really, he just wanted his best friend, his partner in crime, his ying to his yang back.
Pete really only just realized how lonely Fight Club made him feel.

He spent a whole day coming up with the plan, and another day plucking up the courage to do it. He couldn't do it at school. No, Patrick's friends were questioning what happened to make them not looking at each other, much less act make them not act all gross and coupley.

So on Wednesday, he was a little bit nervous, and he repeated the plan in his head about every three minutes. He made a mental note that he would tell the whole, pure and complete truth. No excuses, no alibis. Just the truth, even if the truth got him another slap to the face.

--X--X--

Patrick was laying on his couch, watching TV. He finished his homework earlier, and his mom ordered Pizza last night, and in an amazing -and unexpected- turn of events, there was extra slices left for him to eat for dinner. So Patrick was as content as a fish in water.

"Patrick, sweetie, I'm going to pick your Dad up from the airport now, do you want to come with me?" Asked his Mom. The airport was about a hours drive, and Patrick didn't really feel like moving, and he hadn't even mention to his Dad "Oh yeah, I'm single now because my boyfriend, whom you always slightly disliked punched me in the face". Patrick shook his head 'no', and his mom rolled her eyes mumbling something that sounded like, "Teenagers", and walked out of the house.
He heard the car pull out and drive away as he went back to watching his funny little show.

For about ten minutes, everything was quiet except the TV, until someone knocked on the door. Patrick groaned, and turned off the TV -no need to waste energy, right?- and opened the door.

There, on his front porch stood Peter Wentz, looking as awkward and guilty as humanly possible.

"What do you want, Pete?" Patrick asked, slightly surprised at how rude he sounded, but then brushed it off, because hello, he was talking to his ex-boyfriend.

Pete, whose hands were behind his back, handed over a medium sized bouquet. Patrick recognized some of the flowers, thanks to his grandmothers strange obsession with gardening. There was some red, purple and white Tulips, some pink and red Roses, Daffodils, red Carnations, a couple of Marigolds, Forget-Me-Nots, and Jasmine. It was quite beautiful, even though some of the colors didn't match, it was sweet none-the-less.

"I'm sorry." Pete muttered, looking at his shoes, still holding the flowers out. Patrick could tell he was blushing at the cheesiness that he bought Patrick flowers. I mean, Pete was gay, but this was a little too gay.
Patrick grabbed the flowers, careful not the damage any, "The flowers are very pretty, but you're not forgiven."

"I expected that." Now that shocked Patrick a bit. Even though he knew that Pete was actually relatively sensitive, he had never been good with apologizes.
"I just," Pete sighed, "I just want to explain, then you can tell me to fuck off for the rest of you life."

Patrick just stared at him, "O-okay." He stepped to the side, "Come on, I swear to god if you lie, I will kill you."
Pete nodded, and stepped carefully into the house, as if it might collapse if he went to fast. Patrick went to the kitchen, and put the flowers on the counter, he didn't know where any vases were.

Pete stood awkwardly in the living room, when Patrick came back, "Sit." He said.
Pete sat.

"Explain." Patrick was pretty much done with all the excuses, he didn't care if he was sounding harsh, he just wanted the truth.
So Pete told him the truth. The whole, complete truth. He told Patrick how a few months back he had been at a weird bar and heard about Fight Club, and how it happened every Friday, and how every Friday -except the last- he went after he heard about it. He told him about how the first rule of Fight Club was that you don't talk about Fight Club, and how the second was that you don't talk about Fight Club, and how he felt like for once in his life he wanted to follow the rules, because he fucked up everything else. He told him everything.
Everything from his first fight to him last.

By the end they we both almost in tears. Pete because he never realized how fucked up all of this was, and Patrick because of how much his boyfriend was hiding from him.

"Oh, Pete.." Patrick could only sigh. He reached his hand up and stroked Pete's face. He couldn't imagine him going out ever week to get hurt.

"I'm sorry." Pete mumbled, because what else was he supposed to say.

"Are you going to keep going?" Patrick asked. Pete shook his head, "No. No. I'm going to talk to my mom about getting me meds or something." He sighed, because one of the first reasons he went to Fight Club was to avoid that. But Fight Club seemed to have made more problems than it fixed.

Patrick sighed, "Good." Then smiled, "Hey, there's extra pizza, want some?" Pete looked at him strangely, then nodded.

Patrick got up, and brought two plates back, each with pizza on it. All that Patrick wanted Pete had given him. He wanted the truth and an apology, and Pete had given him that. Patrick was still a little mad that he had hidden it for so long. But the enigma that was Pete Wentz was a mystery that no one had yet to full understand.

--X--X--

Patrick's mom and dad came walked through the door, while Pete and Patrick were laughing at some stupid joke on TV, that probably had the word 'penis' in it. Patrick's mom had told his dad about Pete during the car ride, so they were both confused.

"Hey, Dad. Hey, Mom." Patrick had said when he saw them, his head was currently in Pete's lap. Pete waved a little uncomfortably, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Stump."

"Hello, Pete." Mr Stump said a little suspiciously. "Patrick, sweetheart, can I speak to you? In the kitchen? Now." Said his mom. Patrick sighed and got up. I mean, parents, ugh.

When in the room where all the food was stored (AKA Heaven) Patrick's mom opened her mouth to talk, but then spotted the flowers, "Where did you get those?"

"Pete."

"Oh." She said. Pete had never seem very romantic, "Well, why is he here?" She hissed, like she remembered why she called him in here. She had always liked Pete, he made Patrick laugh, and got him out of the house. But obviously, she would always chose Patrick and his safety over Pete.

"He apologized, I forgave him, everything is fine, I'll explain later. Bye." He started walking out.
"Well, at least tell me if he's staying the night." She said, quietly, she was glad that they worked it out, but she'd never admit it.

"No." He said back, smiling. When he got to Pete, who was still very awkward looking, he grabbed his hand.

"Come on." He smiled, pulling Pete to the stairs.

--X--X--

Pete squirmed around on the bed giggling, as Patrick tickled him. They didn't have sex. No, they just laid and talked for a while. Then they laid and made jokes. So now they were laying and tickling each other.
When Patrick finally stopped, and Pete's laughing died down, he asked, "What time is it?"
Patrick looked at his clock, "Woah, it's, like, ten." Pete sighed and sat up.
"I need to go, my mom wanted my to help her move furniture or something." Patrick grinned.
"Bye."

As Pete was leaving Patrick's bedroom, he turned around and asked, "Hey, Patrick? Are we like, dating again, or?"
Patrick smiled, "Yeah, we're dating. Unless you don't want to, of course."

"I want to." Pete smiled.

--X--X--

After Patrick and Pete had explained things to both their parents, and Pete's mom had signed him up for therapy, they never really talked about Fight Club.
Nobody wanted to bring it up, because Fight Club brought back bad thoughts. And even though Pete stilled noticed members when he walked down the street, the guys with black eyes, and bruises, and stiches, and missing teeth, he didn't really feel nostalgic. More glad that he got out before it was too late, unlike them.

Fight Club was for broken fighters. People who fought because they couldn't love, or make art, or make good memories on their own.
It was for people who fought because that was all they could do. Fight, and wait. Wait, and fight.

Pete wasn't a fighter, he was a lover, a laugher, a dreamer.

Pete never brought up Fight Club because the first rule of Fight Club was that you don't talk about Fight Club.
And he was still slightly proud that for once he learned the rules by heart.