Voices

The one thing most people don’t realize about Pete Wentz is that he has an amazing voice.

Sure, Patrick can sing.  Patrick can sing like no other motherfucker and he knows it.  He can hit all the right notes and belt out songs with so much passion that it will knock your fucking socks off, leave you breathless even.  He can take words and shape them into masterpieces and jumble them in just the right slur so that you can’t help but surrender to the velvety smoothness of his voice.

But Pete.  Pete’s voice has powers, unbelievable powers.  It’s rough and gravely, like tires on rocks.  He can make it loud and crazy, shrill and boisterous, and it will make you laugh.  He can make it raw and low, like a rumbling thunderstorm, that will enrapture you and make you want to turn up the volume.  He can make it soft and quiet, rendering you into putty in his hands to have his wicked way with you.

Everyone who has ever met Pete has heard these different versions of his voice.  Whether they notice the difference or not, Patrick has no idea.  Whether they realize or not, no one ever resists Pete’s crazy suggestions when he turns on his persuasive tone, no one ever doesn’t laugh when he goes crazy and high pitched, and no one never ever can rip their gaze away when he speaks low and even.

It wouldn’t have mattered if Pete was the fugliest guy on earth, his voice would still held immense power over all who listened.  Except Pete isn’t fugly, he is anything but.  When he talks, you see nothing else except him.  His coffee skin seems to glow with the attention and his thousand watt smile lighs up charmingly.  He is captivating enough when he is silent but when he opens his mouth and the soothing cascade of words flows, Patrick surrenders all defense and original train of thought and succumbs to the magic.

And the worst part of it?  It’s not that Patrick has absolutely no resistance whatsoever against.  It’s that Pete knows.  He knows.  And he uses it to his advantage.  He has Patrick wrapped around his little finger like a star-struck roadie who fetchs his coffee for free and looks up at him in awe and total fangirliness.  (If Patrick is honest with himself, there still is a bit of a fangirl left inside him.  It is Pete Wentz from Arma, for Christ’s sake.)  He can get Patrick to do the most ridiculous things ever with one look and a few seconds of pleading before Patrick gives into his voice.

At least, Patrick argues with himself, at least Pete uses it for some good, too.  When Patrick is feeling particularly shitty and his self esteem is at an all time low for being compared to Pete’s good looks again (Because, seriously.  No one can compete.  The guy’s a fucking sex god but once and a while Patrick would like to be appreciated and not criticized for not being as amazing as him.) and he shuts himself inside the bathroom, Pete uses his persuasive voice to draw Patrick out slowly. 

He comforts him with that soft rumble and consoles him with candy and the secrets that have been swirling around in his head since the last time this happened.  Because when Pete reveals his inner most thoughts to Patrick (even if they don’t make any sense at all) in this tentative voice that Patrick can’t describe, it feels almost as if Pete trusts him and no one else. 

Patrick dwells many nights on the voice that Pete uses because it’s not one of his normal ones.  It’s shy and hesitant, almost frightened, as if he worries what Patrick will make of the unknown and untread world that is Pete’s mind.  The more Patrick thinks about it, the more he thinks that Pete sounds vulenerable and young and self-depicrating and severely fucked up.

Maybe that’s Pete’s real voice.  The one that he only lets Patrick hear.  And that is enough for Patrick right now.