Fall Out Boy Preferences

Terrible Things (Pete)

"Boy can I tell you a wonderful thing?
I can't help but notice, you're staring at me."

You had noticed a tan, dark haired boy staring you at you from across the room.

Your friend had dragged you to a party at her cousin's house, much to your protest. You had spent the first few minutes with her, then she went off with a group of inebriated girls shouting something. You were a shy college girl, scared and alone at a party full of drunk, obnoxious frat guys, not a good mixture.

Not at all.

So, you stayed away from any of the action on the makeshift dance floor full of sweaty bodies grinding in each other. No thank you. A red cup of punch and a dark corner was all you needed, or so you thought. You felt like someone was watching you. Your eyes scanned the room, seeing nothing but drunks and sexual assault everywhere.

Then your eyes met his.

He was staring at you. Not at anything behind you, not at anything above you, at you. Sure, it might have seemed creepy if it was anyone else, but this guy was hot. Really hot.

Your heart fluttered as his eyes fixed on you, a red cup of what was most likely alcohol in his hand as he swished it around. His friend was talking, but it didn't look like he was paying attention one bit. All of his attention was on you, his lip caught between his teeth. You blushed lightly, turning your head away. Seconds had passed, surely he had lost interest, you thought.

Nope.

Your turned your head back in the direction where the boy was, and he was still staring at you. His gaze had softened and he didn't look quite as serious now. Why was he so interested in you?

"I know I shouldn't say this, but I really believe,
I can tell by your eyes that you're in love with me."

After a while, you grew annoyed by the staring. You stomped over and crossed your arms once you were in front of you.

"Is there some kind of problem?" you asked, your cheeks burning, he was even more attractive up close.

But like you would let him know that by staring. He shakes his head with an amused expression, which doesn't help your anger.

"Then why are you staring at me? What, got a thing for me?" you ask, earning a chuckle from him.

You scoffed, he thought this was funny! He thought you were funny, oh you'd show him funny. You were about to open your mouth to curse him out of his smug sense of self satisfaction and overall douchiness, when he spoke.

"Yeah, I do."

You froze, your lips parted in a small 'o' shape. Did...did you hear that correctly?

"What?" you asked, knitting your eyebrows together.

He just smiled and glanced at the ground, almost nervous.

"Girl, can I tell you a wonderful thing?
I made you a present with paper and string.
Open with care now, I'm asking you, please."

Somehow this smug, shameless, little fucker weaved his way into your heart, which wasn't easy to do. You respected him for his effort, the midnight phone calls (which you acted like you hated but secretly loved because you got to talk with him all night then you guys would nap together the next day), the presents (which you acted like you hated but secretly loved because he'd give you things like teddy bears and chocolates, correction; your favourite chocolates and you'd only give him one out of the whole box which kinda pissed him off but oh well), and the kisses he'd sneak in when you weren't looking (which you acted like you hated but secretly loved because he'd trick you into looking away then he'd kiss your cheek or he'd hide in the closet and wait for you to come in then jump out and grab your face and kiss you, which resulted in him getting punched because he scared you but he kinda deserved it).