"Never Going to Let You Go"

The side of his face is hot and sweaty and his eardrum is sort of buzzing and tingling from all the chatter. Switching hands, Patrick drops his right arm and lets the blood run back to his elbow from where it has been bent for the past hour and a half. "I’m going to have to get off here in a few minutes." He warns quietly, unwillingly, he had waited until there was a lull in the conversation.

"You should drop out and enroll into the Pete Wentz School of Awesome. Then you wouldn’t have a curfew and we could hang out all the time." Pete’s voice is full of playfulness and Patrick laughs.

Sure enough, just as the digital numbers on his clock morph into 10:00, Patrick’s mom picks up the other line in her bedroom, "Patrick, Honey, it’s time to get off the phone." As a side thought, she adds, "Good night Pete." Because, really, Pete is the only one who calls her son. The chiding tone of his mom’s voice reminds Patrick that she thinks he should be hanging out with kids his own age-but Patrick’s already tried his luck with the guys in his grade and they’ve rejected his soft demeanor and bright eyes too many times to count.

"Good night Mrs. Stump." Somehow, Pete makes that sound flirty. A click sounds as Mrs. Stump disconnects her line. Patrick can hear the grin in Pete’s voice, "’Night to you too, Patty Cakes. Try not to dream of me too much." He hangs up before Patrick has a chance to say anything.

Despite Pete’s warning, Patrick falls asleep with Pete’s face painted on his mind, Pete’s voice echoing in his thoughts.

[//]

Since Pete suffers from bouts of insomnia and Patrick is a light sleeper, they’ve worked out a system to get around the phone curfew issue. If, after one AM, the phone rings a singular time, Patrick will sneak into the living room and grab the cordless phone, dialing Pete’s number even before he’s back in bed.

Tonight is one of those nights.

"Patrick Stump, you’re my hero." Pete singsongs into the phone.

The covers are pulled back up his chest as Patrick settles in for a long night. "You really need to stop watching John Hughes films." He pictures Pete playing the role of Cameron and rolls his eyes, because he knows that as much as Pete can be like Ferris sometimes-that deep down Pete really is Cameron. Then, Patrick idly wonders which character that makes him, because Patrick is no where as rambunctious as Ferris. Maybe he is Ferris’ girlfriend, Sloan, who takes Ferris’ antics in stride while still caring for Cameron’s well being. Patrick shakes the thoughts from his head reminding himself this is real life, not a movie, and it’s two o’clock in the morning.

"But you’re totally the Cameron to my Ferris." As if that explains and excuses everything. Which, maybe it does.

"Cameron’s the one that made the hero quote." Patrick can’t help but try to be the voice of reason. Rolling over onto his stomach, the phone is cradled between Patrick’s ear and arm from where he’s got his hands under his chin.

"Semantics." Pete sighs, "I always thought Ferris and Cameron where the perfect pair." Patrick decides he’s never going to have Pete figured out.

[//]

"Tell me I’m the first person you called." Pete croons into the phone.

It’s Christmas afternoon and Patrick is sitting on his bed in a sea of new sweaters, CD’s, and, embarrassingly enough, packages of cotton briefs. He’s got his shiny, brand new cell phone pressed up to his ear, smiling like an idiot. "No, I called a sex hotline first." He deadpans, despite the smile.

"Aw, you should have called me first. I wouldn’t even have charged you." This innocent flirting is something Patrick has only grown accustomed to within the last year; it still makes his insides feel twisted-because Patrick refuses to call it butterflies-when Pete says something overtly sexual to him. Because, that voice, Pete’s voice, does things to Patrick-and isn’t it so accurate that they’re discussing phone sex?

Patrick can feel the blush blooming on his cheeks before he even presses the subject, secretly admitting things he doesn’t want Pete to know, "I should have huh?"

He knows Pete’s just putting on a show, because that’s what Pete does, he plays along and pushes boundaries, but Patrick can’t stop the constriction in the base of his stomach when Pete’s voice gets lower, huskier, and he says, "Mmhmm, ‘cuz I’ve got a voice for phone sex just like you’ve got a mouth for kissing." Patrick waits for Pete to laugh, to break the intensity that shouldn’t be there. And he waits, and waits.

Patrick barely croaks out a "UmIhavetogodinner." before he hangs up and tries not to think about the implications of Pete’s words, and especially not the way his own breathing has gotten strained and short.

[//]

Pete is the one who starts texting. Patrick gets grounded for the next month thanks to the very expensive cell phone bill-but Patrick knows it’s worth it.

"whats up hot stuff"

Patrick rolls his eyes and types back: "Coming back from Competition." He’s managed to get a bench all to himself as he turns the volume up on his CD player, letting Bowie sing the hours away. He’s been in Ohio where the school band attended a nation-wide competition. Above Bowie’s lyrics, Patrick can make out incessant giggling coming from the back of the bus where, no doubt, a game of Truth or Dare (i.e. Let’s Get Physical) is going on.

"i know u told me u were leaving earlier but whut r u doin"

"Sitting on the bus. What else?"

"who with"

"No one." Patrick likes to remind himself that he doesn’t care that no one in Band ever spent enough time to get to know him; he reminds himself that he only joined Band as a way to spend more time with music-not as an attempt at socializing.

"all mine then?" Patrick is surprised by the question mark, seeing as Pete apparently has an aversion to using any sort of punctuation in his text messages. Now Patrick is thinking about what the added emphasis on his question means, how Pete’s voice would sound if he were mouthing it.

"Yes." A thrill of adrenaline rushes down Patrick’s spine because he can feel this conversation going somewhere, anywhere.

"good" Right after Patrick receives the text message, his phone rings and it’s Pete. "Hey." His voice is low and rough in Patrick’s ear compared to the music that had been playing there just a second ago. For Patrick, Pete has become more of a comfort and distraction than even music; this fact alone makes Patrick’s palms sweat with nerves and confusion.

"Hi." Patrick speaks softly, not wanting to share his conversation with anyone in the darkness. The only lights that come in through the dirty windows are from passing cars and streetlights; it’s late.

"You need to be here now." Pete states in a demanding manner.

"I’ll be back home in a couple hours." Patrick turns into himself, bringing the travel blanket his mom had bought specifically for this trip up to his chin-debating on covering his head too, just so he can pretend he’s in his bed or possibly with Pete. His eyes slip closed as he focuses on Pete’s words.

"That’s not now though." Pete’s pout seeps into his voice. "I can’t sleep without you." Which technically, in a way, is true. Patrick knows this. Pete’s been having trouble sleeping again lately, calling Patrick in the middle of the night, asking Patrick to talk him to sleep.

"Pete…we’re doing the same thing we do every night. What’s a few hundred miles between phone calls?" Patrick smiles despite himself; the sentiment in Pete’s words makes Patrick feel warm inside.

"Everything." This is the exact moment that Patrick realizes that all he wants is this, whatever this is, with Pete; he doesn’t need anyone else-he doesn’t want anyone else.