TheThreshold.13
Title: The Threshold.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author :
burgerking.
Rating : PG-13ish
Author's Notes : 1. Sorry for the long wait, but this update is huge.
2. This is chapter 13 out of 14.
3. The ending of this chapter is ironic on purpose!
4. Keep in mind that in this story, even though FOB is the same band as in real life, Patrick is older than Pete.
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
The establishment of Fall Out Boy ultimately lead to several surprises for the four boys. In the few short years since they had left high school, their band’s popularity had absolutely skyrocketed. Patrick wasn’t quite sure when, exactly, he had stopped being a nerd in the background and started being someone whose fans staked out on his lawn… but this life wasn’t necessarily bad, nor was it good. It was different.
Besides, regardless of the newfound obsessions and enormous audiences, there were some things that had stayed the same over the years. It didn’t matter how many zero’s were in their bank accounts; Joe, Andy, Pete and Patrick were still the same four dorks from Chicago that they always had been. Saturday was always Movie Night on the tour bus.
Perhaps the most significant thing that hadn’t changed was the ambiguous relationship that still existed between Patrick and Pete. Patrick had never officially declared that they were a couple, and eventually the matter had faded into the back of both boys’ minds. They thought about it from time to time, sure, but nothing was ever said. Pete had even taken to fooling around with other boys (and occasionally girls, as not to make the fans suspicious) just to see Patrick’s reaction; which had been, apparently, neutral.
That’s not to say that they didn’t have their moments, though, and the most intimate ones actually occurred as a result of Pete’s irrational fear of flying. More and more often now, touring required the band to take planes to their destinations, and on some days, this would be too much for Pete; it would cause him to regress into a panic attack. But Patrick - being Pete’s best friend above all else - would always take him to a secluded corner of the plane and soothe him with gentle kisses.
Of course, Pete caught onto this behavior relatively quickly, and he would sometimes exaggerate his condition in order to attract Patrick’s attention. He was a terrible actor, though, and Patrick could always tell the difference. A true fit of paranoia would leave Pete unresponsive to the kisses, whereas an imitation often involved Pete’s tongue in Patrick’s mouth. But Patrick never said a word about it, just kissed Pete until he was satisfied. It was times like these when Pete was certain that everything was okay between the two of them. Times like those that he spent curled up in Patrick’s lap, writing songs at 4AM, or sleeping in his best friend’s bunk when he was feeling lonely.
Still, there were also days when Pete would move in for a kiss in the middle of a set, and Patrick would pull away. Pete never slept on those nights.
Today, though, concerns such as these couldn’t be further from the minds of Pete and Patrick. It was the day before the band would be setting out on their first headlining tour, and for the sake of simplicity, all four young men were staying at Patrick’s house for the night. Excitement was buzzing all around, though with a bit of bittersweet nostalgia hanging in the air as well. They knew that tomorrow, there would be no turning back - Fall Out Boy would become something bigger than they had ever expected, and more important than they might have hoped.
Amid all of the chaos, Patrick was lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling as he had done so many times during his high school years. Somewhere, tucked away between thoughts of worry and self-doubt, he could almost remember a time when he had stared up at that same ceiling and thought about the quirky athlete who had bothered him at work that day. He turned to his side. Here, too, there were memories of that same athlete; though this time, he had been curled up against Patrick’s body, apparently hiding from some undisclosed horrors…
“Stumpy? You in here?”
Patrick grinned at the sound of the familiar, creaky voice that floated in from the doorway. Oh, it felt right to have Pete in his room again - it was almost like he had never left. In fact, fleetingly, Patrick wondered if there had ever really been a time when he had been in this room - this bed - and not had a part of Pete with him in some way. He doubted it, as that simply would not have been him. True, it would have been some out-dated, obsolete version of Patrick Stump… but it still wasn’t him. These days, there could be no Patrick without Pete, no Pete without Patrick.
“Yeah, hey, I’m in bed,” Patrick finally replied, with something affectionate in his voice. Not surprisingly, it was only a matter of seconds before he saw Pete swagger into the room, a toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth. Of course, Patrick’s eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep, and to “see” Pete was to do little more than recognize a blur of tan skin and ebony hair... But it was enough.
“Stuuumpyyy,” Pete repeated, drawing out his vowels far longer than was necessary or even reasonable.
“What’s up?” prompted the other, watching as Pete seated himself at the foot of the bed.
“The tour costumes are here,” came the response, along with an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I left ‘em out in the hallway. Try yours on while I wash my hair, okay? We don’t need to find out that they made it too small five minutes before we go out!” Pete chuckled a bit, but Patrick didn’t really find the comment funny in the least. And perhaps this showed through his expression, because Pete suddenly cut his laugh short. “You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Just tired.”
“Are you lying? You’re lying.”
“Maybe I am.” Patrick’s eyes were back on the ceiling now, sliding in and out of focus.
Pete sighed. “Ah, whatever, man,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I’m gonna go make these locks beautiful, and then come back to check up on you. Just try on the outfit for me, that’s all you gotta do. Pretty easy, no matter how emo you are.” He stood, then, and departed with a playful slap on Patrick’s thigh.
No more words were exchanged after that, though Patrick listened intently as Pete took his leave with a somewhat off-key rendition of How Soon is Now. The words faded away quickly, out of the room, down the hallway, and then were gone. Patrick was left with only the echo of Pete’s words in his head: “We don’t need to find out that they made it too small.” …Too small? Funny, he thought, that Pete had failed to mention any other possible troubles.
He placed a hand on his stomach. It wasn’t that he was worried about Pete’s view of him, he just wasn’t fond the idea of standing under a spotlight with more than a few extra pounds emphasized for everyone in the world to see.
This was absolutely, in no way what-so-ever, about Pete.
No, wait. Scratch that. It was about Pete. Entirely.
In all honesty, Patrick didn’t fear being seen in public any more than he feared monsters under the bed. A scary thought, sure, but only for the split second before it becomes obvious that no real threat exists. Patrick couldn’t care less if every preteen girl in the world thought he was fat (maybe that would even keep them off his lawn.) But he knew that if that impossibly trim kid with the bass so much as looked at him funny, he’d be emotionally scarred for the rest of his life.
That wasn’t a rational way of thinking, and he knew it. But somehow he doubted that he’d ever really be satisfied with himself, no matter what the reality of his appearance was. After all, he’d been told by plenty of girls that he was - well - good looking, but he never allowed himself to believe them.
The grouchy glares up at the ceiling continued for a good five or ten agonizing minutes. Eventually Patrick sat up with a reluctant little grunt, deciding that he ought to try on his outfit and get it over with… The last thing he wanted to do was to disappoint Pete.
He climbed out of bed and soon found himself wrestling into his new pair of pants, certain that he would rip the seams apart before they were half-way up his thighs. The whole horrific ordeal was over with in a matter of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Patrick. And now that he had finally managed to squeeze into his new outfit, there was just one last thing to do: inspect it in the mirror. He let out a tiny sigh of defeat and staggered over to the closet, a funeral march looping in his ears.
His eyes moved shyly from his feet up to the reflection, almost as though he were looking upon some risqué scene that he knew he really shouldn’t be seeing. Naturally, the result wasn’t nearly as bad as Patrick imagined it was: the suit was snug yet comfortable, it wasn’t too small, and it didn’t make him look fat. But even so, he met his own eyes with a loathsome scowl.
“You’re disgusting,” he said aloud, calmly, like he’d rehearsed it a million times. “You can blame the metabolism all you want, but you’re still a pig.” He shifted back on his heels a little bit, finding himself terribly amused by this lack of self-esteem. “Pay close attention, Patrick: No one in the world could ever love someone like you.”
“That’s totally not true,” interjected a voice from the across the room. Patrick nearly choked.
“I thought you said you had to wash your hair!” he said accusingly to the reflection of the person approaching him.
“Right. And that was ten minutes ago, Stumpy.”
“Oh.” Patrick frowned down at the floor, humiliated. Pete said nothing at first, just strolled up and wrapped his elaborately tattooed arms around the waist of the other man.
“So. This is what you’re upset about?” He buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I was exaggerating on purpose,” insisted Patrick, “I wasn’t being serious.”
“Then why even say something like that, if you know it’s not true?” Pete let go of his friend suddenly, making an extravagant and unexpected move over to the bed. Patrick followed. “Trick, you’re gorgeous, and I may have to keep the two of us locked up in here until you realize it.”
“Try it,” Patrick dared, “You’ll have to sleep eventually.”
Pete only laughed. “You should know by now that sleep, for me, is manufactured in a medicine cabinet.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get artsy,” said Patrick through a smirk. “That stuff won’t work on me.”
“Are you sure?” Pete raised an eyebrow. “Seems like it’s worked a lot in the past.”
Patrick was quiet, secretly acknowledging that Pete’s metaphors could make him melt quicker than anyone else in the world. He had a feeling that Pete was acutely aware of this fact, and wasn’t particularly surprised when the dark-haired boy reacted to the silence by leaning up against his friend and placing his own hand on top of Patrick’s. Patrick bit his lip hard and - after a split second of hesitance - tightly intertwined their fingers.
“Pete,” he said quietly, forgetting the topic at hand, “What are we?”
“Now you’re the one being artsy. Very profound, Trick.”
“Shut up.” With his free hand, Patrick gestured back and forth between the two of them. “What is… this?”
“I dunno.” Pete shrugged. “It could be anything you want it to be, I guess.”
“Anything, huh?” Patrick looked down at their hands. “How about a relationship, then?”
“Sure. I can live with that,” replied Pete, doing his best to appear nonchalant. It was a valiant effort, but the fact still remained that he would never be able to put one over on Patrick; the older one could tell that he was, in fact, thrilled.
At first, something in the back of Patrick’s mind warned him that this would not end well. Pete always seemed to be getting into some sort of trouble, and he was constantly flirting with anything that moved. It lead Patrick to doubt that any real commitment would come of this new relationship.
And so he decided, right then and there, that he’d have to take things especially slow. He’d have to be sensitive to Pete’s volatile moods if there was going to be any hope for the two of them, and most importantly, he’d have to save the I Love You until he really, truly meant it. He wondered how long, exactly, that would take. A few weeks? A few months? A few years?
That’s when the tell-tale sound of a Sidekick blared out and Pete jumped to his feet, almost instantly typing out his reply to whatever friend had just messaged him. He was on that stupid thing all the time, Patrick observed, and he always got so wrapped up in it. Really, it was one of those dumb habits that Patrick had never built up an immunity to, and it grated on every last one of his nerves…
“I love you,” he blurted out suddenly.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author :
burgerking.Rating : PG-13ish
Author's Notes : 1. Sorry for the long wait, but this update is huge.
2. This is chapter 13 out of 14.
3. The ending of this chapter is ironic on purpose!
4. Keep in mind that in this story, even though FOB is the same band as in real life, Patrick is older than Pete.
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
The establishment of Fall Out Boy ultimately lead to several surprises for the four boys. In the few short years since they had left high school, their band’s popularity had absolutely skyrocketed. Patrick wasn’t quite sure when, exactly, he had stopped being a nerd in the background and started being someone whose fans staked out on his lawn… but this life wasn’t necessarily bad, nor was it good. It was different.
Besides, regardless of the newfound obsessions and enormous audiences, there were some things that had stayed the same over the years. It didn’t matter how many zero’s were in their bank accounts; Joe, Andy, Pete and Patrick were still the same four dorks from Chicago that they always had been. Saturday was always Movie Night on the tour bus.
Perhaps the most significant thing that hadn’t changed was the ambiguous relationship that still existed between Patrick and Pete. Patrick had never officially declared that they were a couple, and eventually the matter had faded into the back of both boys’ minds. They thought about it from time to time, sure, but nothing was ever said. Pete had even taken to fooling around with other boys (and occasionally girls, as not to make the fans suspicious) just to see Patrick’s reaction; which had been, apparently, neutral.
That’s not to say that they didn’t have their moments, though, and the most intimate ones actually occurred as a result of Pete’s irrational fear of flying. More and more often now, touring required the band to take planes to their destinations, and on some days, this would be too much for Pete; it would cause him to regress into a panic attack. But Patrick - being Pete’s best friend above all else - would always take him to a secluded corner of the plane and soothe him with gentle kisses.
Of course, Pete caught onto this behavior relatively quickly, and he would sometimes exaggerate his condition in order to attract Patrick’s attention. He was a terrible actor, though, and Patrick could always tell the difference. A true fit of paranoia would leave Pete unresponsive to the kisses, whereas an imitation often involved Pete’s tongue in Patrick’s mouth. But Patrick never said a word about it, just kissed Pete until he was satisfied. It was times like these when Pete was certain that everything was okay between the two of them. Times like those that he spent curled up in Patrick’s lap, writing songs at 4AM, or sleeping in his best friend’s bunk when he was feeling lonely.
Still, there were also days when Pete would move in for a kiss in the middle of a set, and Patrick would pull away. Pete never slept on those nights.
Today, though, concerns such as these couldn’t be further from the minds of Pete and Patrick. It was the day before the band would be setting out on their first headlining tour, and for the sake of simplicity, all four young men were staying at Patrick’s house for the night. Excitement was buzzing all around, though with a bit of bittersweet nostalgia hanging in the air as well. They knew that tomorrow, there would be no turning back - Fall Out Boy would become something bigger than they had ever expected, and more important than they might have hoped.
Amid all of the chaos, Patrick was lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling as he had done so many times during his high school years. Somewhere, tucked away between thoughts of worry and self-doubt, he could almost remember a time when he had stared up at that same ceiling and thought about the quirky athlete who had bothered him at work that day. He turned to his side. Here, too, there were memories of that same athlete; though this time, he had been curled up against Patrick’s body, apparently hiding from some undisclosed horrors…
“Stumpy? You in here?”
Patrick grinned at the sound of the familiar, creaky voice that floated in from the doorway. Oh, it felt right to have Pete in his room again - it was almost like he had never left. In fact, fleetingly, Patrick wondered if there had ever really been a time when he had been in this room - this bed - and not had a part of Pete with him in some way. He doubted it, as that simply would not have been him. True, it would have been some out-dated, obsolete version of Patrick Stump… but it still wasn’t him. These days, there could be no Patrick without Pete, no Pete without Patrick.
“Yeah, hey, I’m in bed,” Patrick finally replied, with something affectionate in his voice. Not surprisingly, it was only a matter of seconds before he saw Pete swagger into the room, a toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth. Of course, Patrick’s eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep, and to “see” Pete was to do little more than recognize a blur of tan skin and ebony hair... But it was enough.
“Stuuumpyyy,” Pete repeated, drawing out his vowels far longer than was necessary or even reasonable.
“What’s up?” prompted the other, watching as Pete seated himself at the foot of the bed.
“The tour costumes are here,” came the response, along with an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I left ‘em out in the hallway. Try yours on while I wash my hair, okay? We don’t need to find out that they made it too small five minutes before we go out!” Pete chuckled a bit, but Patrick didn’t really find the comment funny in the least. And perhaps this showed through his expression, because Pete suddenly cut his laugh short. “You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Just tired.”
“Are you lying? You’re lying.”
“Maybe I am.” Patrick’s eyes were back on the ceiling now, sliding in and out of focus.
Pete sighed. “Ah, whatever, man,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I’m gonna go make these locks beautiful, and then come back to check up on you. Just try on the outfit for me, that’s all you gotta do. Pretty easy, no matter how emo you are.” He stood, then, and departed with a playful slap on Patrick’s thigh.
No more words were exchanged after that, though Patrick listened intently as Pete took his leave with a somewhat off-key rendition of How Soon is Now. The words faded away quickly, out of the room, down the hallway, and then were gone. Patrick was left with only the echo of Pete’s words in his head: “We don’t need to find out that they made it too small.” …Too small? Funny, he thought, that Pete had failed to mention any other possible troubles.
He placed a hand on his stomach. It wasn’t that he was worried about Pete’s view of him, he just wasn’t fond the idea of standing under a spotlight with more than a few extra pounds emphasized for everyone in the world to see.
This was absolutely, in no way what-so-ever, about Pete.
No, wait. Scratch that. It was about Pete. Entirely.
In all honesty, Patrick didn’t fear being seen in public any more than he feared monsters under the bed. A scary thought, sure, but only for the split second before it becomes obvious that no real threat exists. Patrick couldn’t care less if every preteen girl in the world thought he was fat (maybe that would even keep them off his lawn.) But he knew that if that impossibly trim kid with the bass so much as looked at him funny, he’d be emotionally scarred for the rest of his life.
That wasn’t a rational way of thinking, and he knew it. But somehow he doubted that he’d ever really be satisfied with himself, no matter what the reality of his appearance was. After all, he’d been told by plenty of girls that he was - well - good looking, but he never allowed himself to believe them.
The grouchy glares up at the ceiling continued for a good five or ten agonizing minutes. Eventually Patrick sat up with a reluctant little grunt, deciding that he ought to try on his outfit and get it over with… The last thing he wanted to do was to disappoint Pete.
He climbed out of bed and soon found himself wrestling into his new pair of pants, certain that he would rip the seams apart before they were half-way up his thighs. The whole horrific ordeal was over with in a matter of minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Patrick. And now that he had finally managed to squeeze into his new outfit, there was just one last thing to do: inspect it in the mirror. He let out a tiny sigh of defeat and staggered over to the closet, a funeral march looping in his ears.
His eyes moved shyly from his feet up to the reflection, almost as though he were looking upon some risqué scene that he knew he really shouldn’t be seeing. Naturally, the result wasn’t nearly as bad as Patrick imagined it was: the suit was snug yet comfortable, it wasn’t too small, and it didn’t make him look fat. But even so, he met his own eyes with a loathsome scowl.
“You’re disgusting,” he said aloud, calmly, like he’d rehearsed it a million times. “You can blame the metabolism all you want, but you’re still a pig.” He shifted back on his heels a little bit, finding himself terribly amused by this lack of self-esteem. “Pay close attention, Patrick: No one in the world could ever love someone like you.”
“That’s totally not true,” interjected a voice from the across the room. Patrick nearly choked.
“I thought you said you had to wash your hair!” he said accusingly to the reflection of the person approaching him.
“Right. And that was ten minutes ago, Stumpy.”
“Oh.” Patrick frowned down at the floor, humiliated. Pete said nothing at first, just strolled up and wrapped his elaborately tattooed arms around the waist of the other man.
“So. This is what you’re upset about?” He buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I was exaggerating on purpose,” insisted Patrick, “I wasn’t being serious.”
“Then why even say something like that, if you know it’s not true?” Pete let go of his friend suddenly, making an extravagant and unexpected move over to the bed. Patrick followed. “Trick, you’re gorgeous, and I may have to keep the two of us locked up in here until you realize it.”
“Try it,” Patrick dared, “You’ll have to sleep eventually.”
Pete only laughed. “You should know by now that sleep, for me, is manufactured in a medicine cabinet.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get artsy,” said Patrick through a smirk. “That stuff won’t work on me.”
“Are you sure?” Pete raised an eyebrow. “Seems like it’s worked a lot in the past.”
Patrick was quiet, secretly acknowledging that Pete’s metaphors could make him melt quicker than anyone else in the world. He had a feeling that Pete was acutely aware of this fact, and wasn’t particularly surprised when the dark-haired boy reacted to the silence by leaning up against his friend and placing his own hand on top of Patrick’s. Patrick bit his lip hard and - after a split second of hesitance - tightly intertwined their fingers.
“Pete,” he said quietly, forgetting the topic at hand, “What are we?”
“Now you’re the one being artsy. Very profound, Trick.”
“Shut up.” With his free hand, Patrick gestured back and forth between the two of them. “What is… this?”
“I dunno.” Pete shrugged. “It could be anything you want it to be, I guess.”
“Anything, huh?” Patrick looked down at their hands. “How about a relationship, then?”
“Sure. I can live with that,” replied Pete, doing his best to appear nonchalant. It was a valiant effort, but the fact still remained that he would never be able to put one over on Patrick; the older one could tell that he was, in fact, thrilled.
At first, something in the back of Patrick’s mind warned him that this would not end well. Pete always seemed to be getting into some sort of trouble, and he was constantly flirting with anything that moved. It lead Patrick to doubt that any real commitment would come of this new relationship.
And so he decided, right then and there, that he’d have to take things especially slow. He’d have to be sensitive to Pete’s volatile moods if there was going to be any hope for the two of them, and most importantly, he’d have to save the I Love You until he really, truly meant it. He wondered how long, exactly, that would take. A few weeks? A few months? A few years?
That’s when the tell-tale sound of a Sidekick blared out and Pete jumped to his feet, almost instantly typing out his reply to whatever friend had just messaged him. He was on that stupid thing all the time, Patrick observed, and he always got so wrapped up in it. Really, it was one of those dumb habits that Patrick had never built up an immunity to, and it grated on every last one of his nerves…
“I love you,” he blurted out suddenly.