Notes: Various ficlets, written for many people in response to a meme.
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Patrick/Bob, FOB/MCR
Patrick fell in love with Bob somewhere between the chips and the soda aisle.
He wasn't entirely sure when it happened, but he knew that he wasn't in love with him when they were stocking up on organic crunchy things for Andy, and he was when Bob caught a case of Coke that was tumbling out of his hands.
He stood there blankly for a minute, holding up his corner of the box and staring at Bob.
"Hi," Bob finally said.
"Hi," Patrick replied, then blinked and shook his head. "Um."
"That everything?" Bob asked, prying the box away from Patrick and settling it into the cart while he peered at Patrick's list.
"Yeah, I think that's it," Patrick said. He flipped the paper over to look at the To Do list on the back, making sure that he hadn't accidentally written fall in love with Bob Bryar there. He hadn't.
"Well," he said aloud as he steered the cart down the aisle after Bob. "This is problematic."
"What is?" Bob asked.
"I am," Patrick told him, and Bob broke into one of those smiles that made Patrick's insides do funny twisty things.
"Well yeah. I knew that. I live with you, remember?" He reached out and tugged at the brim of Patrick's hat.
"Oh!" Patrick made Surprised Face. "Is that why you're food shopping with me? And here I thought you were just enjoying the pleasure of my company."
Bob's smile softened a little. "That too, Stump," he said. "That too." Then he was taking the cart from Patrick and zipping off towards the checkout, humming something Patrick didn't recognize.
"Yeah," he said to the soda bottles beside him. "This is going to be bad."
Then he hurried off to catch up with Bob before he could accidentally set the self-checkout to Spanish again.
Pete/Patrick, FOB
One year, two months, and seventeen days after meeting Pete Wentz, Patrick discovered he was in love.
He was reasonably sure it didn't actually happen then, since Pete wasn't doing anything particularly exciting at the time. Actually, he was sleeping, which was pretty much the least exciting thing he could be doing.
In fact, he might have been drooling on Patrick's shoulder a little.
The tiny noises Pete made when he was dreaming were just one of the several hundred things Patrick had learned about him in the past year, two months, and seventeen days, and as he sat there listening to them in the darkness of the van, he realized he was in love.
"Fuck," he said aloud.
In front of them, Andy's eyes cracked open. "Fuck?" he repeated.
Patrick nodded, closing his eyes and tipping his head back on the seat as Pete breathed against his neck. "Fuck."
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One hour, thirteen minutes, and twenty seconds after meeting Patrick Stump, Pete discovered he was in love.
Patrick had just opened his mouth to sing.
Jon/Spencer, P!atD
"Jon Walker, you are an idiot."
Jon looked up from the tv and smiled brightly. "Hello, Ryan. Why yes, it is a lovely morning, isn't it? Slept well, I presume?"
Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the doorframe, a deep frown on his face. "I'm not kidding, Jon. This has gone on long enough, and I am sick of it. You? Are fucking up my band."
Jon felt his smile turn a little uncertain. "I'm sorry?"
"Come here," Ryan said, and crossed to the couch, grabbing Jon's arms and hauling him to his feet. He turned Jon towards the bunks and propelled him in front of him until they were standing in front of Spencer's bunk. Then he twitched back the curtain and looked at Jon expectantly.
Jon looked from Spencer, who was still fast asleep, to Ryan, then back again. "I don't get it," he finally said.
Ryan sighed the deep sigh of someone who is clearly surrounded by morons. "Come on," he said, and shoved Jon back out into the living room, this time steering him past the couch and over to the kitchen table, where he sat them both down in front of Brendon's computer. He pressed up against Jon's side to type for a minute, then turned the computer to him, where a video of one of their interviews was playing on youtube. "Watch this," he said. "In fact, watch all of these."
Jon grimaced. "Do I have to?" he asked.
"Yes, Jon, you have to, because you are an idiot. As soon as you discover why you are an idiot and figure out how to fix it, you are free to stop watching. Until then," Ryan pointed furiously at the screen, then climbed over Jon to go make himself breakfast.
So Jon watched.
He watched them being snarky, and funny, and occasionally completely at a loss for words. He watched Brendon making faces, and Ryan being earnest, and he watched himself and Spencer sitting in the background most of the time, whispering, trying to make each other laugh.
He watched how Spencer got fifteen times more beautiful when he smiled, and how almost every time that happened, Jon was right there next to him, making it happen.
"Oh," he said, nearly an hour after Ryan had put him there. "Oh."
As he walked back to the bunks, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Ryan was sitting on the couch, grinning triumphantly down at his notebook.
He crawled into Spencer's bunk and sat at the foot of it, one hand resting lightly on Spencer's leg as he watched him sleep. Spencer shifted, at the noise or the touch, and he rolled over to peer down at Jon with sleepy eyes.
"Hey," he said. "'t's you."
"It's me," Jon agreed quietly.
"You ok?" Spencer asked, rubbing at his eyes a little.
"That depends on your definition of ok," Jon said. "But yeah. I think I am. I do, however, have kind of a confession to make."
"Isn't it a little early for confessions?"
"A little, yeah. Do you think that should stop me?"
Spencer rolled onto his back and yawned, stretching his legs so his feet pressed up against Jon's side. "Confess away," he said.
"Spencer Smith, I am an idiot," Jon told him, and crawled up the bed to kiss him.
Brendon/Spencer, P!atD
You would think that after living on a bus with three other guys for as long as he'd been, Brendon would have learned to whisper.
You'd be wrong.
"Spencer," he hissed in an absurdly loud stage whisper from the other side of the curtain. "You asleep?"
Spencer rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into his pillow. "Not anymore," he mumbled.
There was a swish of fabric, and then Brendon was pressing up against Spencer's back, one arm wrapping around his waist, nose cold as it touched his neck. "Hi," Brendon breathed, smelling faintly of alcohol and mints. Spencer closed his eyes and willed Brendon to go to sleep. Instead, Brendon wound his legs in between Spencer's and started tapping some rhythm against Spencer's hip. "Hi," he said again, a little louder.
"Hi, Brendon," Spencer whispered back. "It's three in the fucking morning. Go to sleep."
"'Kay," Brendon agreed, but Spencer could still feel him fidgeting against his back.
He sighed deeply. "What is it, Bren?"
"'m not tired," Brendon whined.
Spencer twisted around to face him. Brendon had makeup smeared across his cheek, and Spencer almost reached up to wipe it away. Instead, he curled his arm over Brendon's waist and rested his forehead against Brendon's shoulder. "Yes you are," he told him. "You're exhausted, and you just need to stop moving for about thirty seconds to realize it." He trapped Brendon's jittering feet to the bed with his leg.
"Spencer?" Brendon whispered exactly thirty seconds later.
"If you tell me you're not asleep yet, I'm going to punch you in the face."
There was a long pause. "'Night, Spence," Brendon finally said.
"Good night," Spencer said, and waited with his eyes closed for Brendon to fall asleep. He didn't. He relaxed against Spencer, limp and comfortable, but his breathing didn't change.
"Hey," Spencer finally whispered some time later, and Brendon shifted a little in his arms.
"Hmm?" he said.
"Why am I always the one who's lucky enough to get you crawling into my bed in the middle of the night?" His voice went slightly dry and sarcastic on lucky. "Why don't you ever bother Ryan like this?"
Brendon didn't answer, and when Spencer opened his eyes he found him looking at Spencer steadily. "Can't," he said, and Spencer stared at him blankly until he added, "not like this." He stretched out a little, legs rubbing against Spencer's. "Anyway, I bother him other times." He paused. "All the time, really."
"And Jon?"
"�would kick my ass."
"So that leaves me."
Brendon nodded. "Plus," he said, turning his head so his mouth brushed Spencer's hair, "You're you."
Spencer was glad for the dark that hid his sudden blush. "What does that mean?"
"It means that you might be�" Brendon paused for a moment, then brushed a kiss against Spencer's skin as he continued, almost like an apology, "kinda bitchy when you're tired�" Spencer frowned "�but you, Spencer Smith, give the best hugs in the band. Or possibly in the world. Which makes you the most fun to sleep with."
Brendon rolled over again and backed up to fit his body all along Spencer's. Spencer tucked his knees up against Brendon's legs and wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to the back of his neck.
"Go to sleep, Brendon," Spencer told him.
"Only if you come with me," Brendon said, barely audible, muffled in the pillow.
So Spencer smiled and closed his eyes, and he did.
Spencer/Bob, P!atD/MCR
"Spencer has a crush on Bob!" Brendon announced to the room.
Spencer pressed himself further into the wall and wondered if the My Chem bus was in the habit of eating visitors. Considering the shape it was in, it wasn't entirely unlikely.
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be very hungry at the moment.
"Everyone has a crush on Bob now," Frank said. "It's because he's a rock star." He sat down in Bob's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck, as if to prove his point. Bob dumped him onto the floor. Frank decided loudly that he'd rather sit there anyway, since Bob's lap was kinda bony. Bob kicked him.
"Are they always like this?" Spencer managed to whisper to Mikey.
Mikey looked over at Frank. "Hey, Frankie, Spencer wants to know if you're always like this," he said.
Spencer decided that he didn't like Mikey all that much.
Frank crawled out of range of Bob's feet and leaned back against Gerard's legs. "Aw, are we scaring the Panic boys?" he asked. "That's so cute."
"No," Ryan said quickly.
"Apparently not enough, if they're getting crushes on us," Ray said. Then he paused. "Well by us, I mean Bob. And by they, I mean Spencer."
Spencer buried his face in his knees.
When he finally lifted his head, Frank was right on the other side of his legs, peering at him. "It's a drummer thing, isn't it?"
"It's not�I'm not�" Spencer gave up.
Frank nodded. "Drummer thing," he told the room with authority.
"I hate you," Spencer said to Brendon.
"No you don't," Brendon replied. "You love me." He paused. "But not as much as you love Bob," he added.
"Ok! Well!" Spencer stood up. "I think I'm going to go, you know. Hide for a while. And plot ways to kill Brendon." He left the bus without saying goodbye.
There was really nowhere for him to go, so he just sat down in the grass by the bus, sulking. He wasn't entirely surprised when he heard the door slam shut again, but he didn't look up. It was either Frank coming to annoy him some more, or Jon trying to make him feel better, and he wasn't in the mood for either.
"Hey," Bob said, and Spencer felt himself turn pink enough to match Brendon's hoodie. "Sorry about�" Bob waved a hand at the bus.
"About Brendon?" Spencer asked. "I'm pretty sure it's not your job to apologize for him."
"Frank's kind of an asshole," Bob said, which wasn't really a response to that, but was pretty true anyway.
"I don't, you know!" Spencer blurted out. Bob looked question marks in his direction. "I mean, I don't. Um. Haveacrushonyou."
"Oh," Bob said. He nodded. "Too bad."
"I mean, I�wait. What?"
"It's too bad," Bob repeated slowly, as if giving Spencer time to hear each word. "You're pretty hot."
Bob was turning to head back into the bus when Spencer called out "I lied!"
"What?" Bob turned towards him.
"I�lied. I'm a liar."
Bob smiled, tiny and secretive. "I know," he said. He crossed over to sit beside Spencer in the grass. "I'm very perceptive," he told Spencer.
"I believe that," Spencer said a little breathlessly, feeling the heat of Bob's skin just inches from his own.
"Also," Bob said, "Frank was right." He leaned in to kiss Spencer, quick and soft. "It is a drummer thing."
Andy/Patrick, FOB
Andy Hurley is not in love with Patrick Stump.
That is a very important distinction to make, because he knows that some of the things he feels for Patrick could very easily be confused with being in love. But they are actually other things cleverly disguised as that.
Because Andy's a pretty smart guy, all things considered. And he knows that it's monumentally stupid to fall for someone in your band.
So he hasn't.
Except for the part where he totally has.
He didn't mean to, not in the beginning. It's just�then Patrick started existing, all the time, and in Andy's personal space. He was falling asleep with his legs on Andy's lap in a tiny van, and he was singing in hotel showers where the walls were way too thin, and he was strutting around stage in front of Andy every night without the slightest idea of how goddamn seductive those hips of his were.
Ok, so maybe Andy has a crush. He's willing to admit that. He has crushes on lots of guys, and he's not in love with any of them.
Not even Patrick.
Especially not Patrick.
Pete/Joe, FOB
"Do you think we're missing something?" Patrick asked, looking at Andy over the top of his computer.
"Hmm?" Andy turned a page in his book. "Missing something about what?"
Patrick turned his computer around. There was a picture of the four of them on the screen, Pete lying with his head in Joe's lap. He pressed a button and there was another picture, this one with Joe hanging over Pete's shoulder, arms around him. Another, and there was Pete kissing Joe's cheek. Pete jumping onto Joe's back. Joe with his arm around Pete's waist. Pete and Joe holding each other up as they laughed hysterically.
"I just�don't you feel like�we're missing something?" Patrick shrugged helplessly.
Andy stared at him for a minute or two. "I haven't missed any of this. Where have you been?"
Patrick waved his hands around at the bus. "I've been right here, Andy. In this band, with you, and Pete, and our very very straight friend Joe. And then there's stuff like this." He pointed to Joe kissing the side of Pete's head.
"Patrick." Andy stared at him some more. "Joe's been in love with Pete since�" he gestured off to the left. "Forever. Since before you even met them."
"No, he's�" Patrick blinked. "He." He peered at the pictures again. "Oh."
"Yeah. They got their own bus."
"Yeah, but I thought that was�" Patrick flailed a little. "I mean, we have our own bus. And we're not�"
Andy just kept looking at him.
Patrick slumped back against the couch cushions. "Really?" he finally asked in a tiny voice.
"Really."
"Huh." He poked at the buttons on his computer for a few minutes. "Oh!" He finally said. "Now I understand the Hemmy thing!"
Frank/Patrick, MCR/FOB
Patrick was sprawled out on the grass with his iPod blaring when someone walked up and blocked the light that was pouring down on him from one of the parking lot lamps.
He covered his eyes and squinted up into a vaguely Frank Iero shaped shadow.
"You know," Frank said, nudging the headphones off Patrick's ears with his shoe, "there are other buses around here. Just because you were kicked off yours doesn't mean you have to sleep on the ground. Plus, there is a chance that those buses will start moving at some point. You wouldn't want that to happen without you on them."
"I wasn't kicked off," Patrick said.
"I'll bet," Frank said. "Come on." He offered Patrick a hand up. Patrick frowned. "Look, I happen to have a bus. It has air conditioning, and movies, and I'm reasonably sure that Gerard made cookies. It also has people, who will either hang out with you or leave you alone. Whichever you prefer."
Instead of waiting for Patrick to take his hand, he leaned down and grabbed both of Patrick's wrists, tugging him upwards.
"Yes, clearly you guys in My Chem are very perceptive about when people want to be left alone," he grumbled, but he let Frank pull him to his feet.
"We are," Frank told him, reaching up to hang Patrick's headphones around his neck. "You don't."
"I don't what?"
Frank grinned. "Want to be left alone," he said, and rested his hand low on Patrick's back as he steered him off towards his bus.
Patrick/Gerard, FOB/MCR
Patrick tries to explain sometimes, to people, how he fell in love with Gerard.
Those are always the times when he remembers why he makes Pete write his words for him.
It's not like there's one moment that he can look back on and say that's it, that's when it happened. It wasn't like that, like some novel or movie. It was just two kinda lonely guys, hanging out and playing music, watching tv, talking for hours about everything and nothing. It was kisses stolen backstage, quick hugs in public, late night phone calls across state lines.
It's Gerard, beautiful and flawed and so fucking perfect for Patrick in every way, showing up in a state where he shouldn't be, just so he can stand backstage and listen to Patrick sing. Patrick sees him there, watching, when he's halfway through Golden, and his voice catches, falters for a moment before returning even stronger than it had been.
They didn't have to put it into words, in the beginning. Not for the people who mattered. They already knew, could tell from the way that Patrick's clothes started showing up tossed around My Chem's bus like he was one of the band, and the way that Gerard's fingers would brush against Patrick's wrist as he reached across him for something at the table.
In the end, Patrick usually gives up, smiles and shrugs a little helplessly. People seem to get it. After all, it's nearly impossible not to fall in love with Gerard Way.
Gerard, when asked about it, doesn't even bother trying to explain. "He's Patrick," he says, as if that says everything that needs to be said.
And maybe, for Gerard, it does.