It had basically become routine for them. Pete would text Gabe about needing to get trashed and not wanting to do it alone, Gabe would invite him over because he didn't want to risk drunk Pete being alone, and they would hang out till the sun came up or one of them passed out. Or both.
And as both of them were sprawled out on the couch, drinks abandoned on the table as the tv drawled on about something about viagra or whatever the fuck kind of pill it was talking about (Gabe referred to all tv pills as viagra to piss pete off), it seemed as if it was just another part of routine.
Sometime ago, Pete had started talking. Gabe had been listening intently at first, but drunk Pete was...well, Drunk Pete. His conversations and words jumped from subject to subject, causing Gabe's head to spin as he tried to follow it all. Not to say he wasn't listening to any of the blabber, of course. He was trying, he was always trying for Pete.
Pete was saying something about lyrics, that Gabe knew. Then it went to bass, then...Gabe's face. He checked back into reality.
"What?"
"I said has anyone ever told you how nice of a face you have?" Pete tilted his head back a little so he could make eye contact with Gabe, though upside-down due to his head resting on one of Gabe's legs. When Gabe didn't respond, he went back to his more comfortable position before speaking again. "Who am I kidding? Of course you have."
Gabe swallowed, hard, to get past the lump in his throat. Had Pete just told him that he found him attractive? Drunk Pete, sure, but still Pete. Drunk Gabe was utterly confused.
Gabe spoke only after having a few minutes of trying to recuperate. "What do you mean, Pete?" Pete, who's eyes had been closed as he leaned back against the warmth that was Gabe, looked at him with a sly smile on his face that resembled a frown from Gabes view.
"I mean you look like good shit, Saporta. I'd tap that." It was typical Pete peeking through right there, courage enhanced by the buzz in his mind. The grin on his face was Pete, drunk or not, and Gabe wanted to slap him, or kiss him, or fuck him till he couldn't breath. Probably all if he could. Gabe wasn't too picky.
"Stop it, Pete." Gabe said, forcing himself to laugh to attempt and dull the edge to his words, though it was more sad than anything. "Don't dig us both into a hole here over a joke."
Pete turned over then, sitting up, a confused frown and piercing eyes meeting Gabe's. "Joke?" Gabe could smell the alcohol on his breath. Or maybe it was his own. Either way, he could smell it, a reminder of danger danger danger going off in his head, a blaring alarm that his consciousness was screaming. Perhaps he wasn't as drunk as he had thought or hoped. "Who said I was joking?"
"Me. I did." Gabe said, trying to meet Pete's stare, trying to keep his chill even though he could feel the electricity in the air. "Because you're Pete Wentz, my best friend, and there is no way you just said you wanted to fuck me without it just being the buzz in your veins."
Pete scoffed, moving back from him. "Really, Gabe? I think it's pretty obvious even sober me wanted to hook up with you. If you want to be drunk too, fine, fix it up with the liquor on my lips and go with it!"
"It's not that, Pete! I know you'd regret this in the morning. I know you'd hate me if I did." Gabe had at some point abandoned his drink on the side table, his arms wrapping firmly around his stomach in an almost personal hug. "Please, don't make me choose like this. I can't lose you as a best friend. I can't have you leave me like people seem to do."
Gabe wasn't sure when he had started crying, but he had, and he hated it. He hated breaking down, hated the feeling of a drop trailing down his cheeks, the reminder it left behind. He couldn't help but watch as Pete's eyes softened.
"There's very few things you could do to make me leave, Gabe. This is definitely not one of them." Pete sighed, rubbing his eyes before resting his face in his hands, pausing as he seemed to gather himself. He looked up seeming more tired than anything.
"I'm sorry." Gabe whispered, a pang in his stomach following his words as he fought back another tear. He hated when he got emotional, he tried to hard to hide it well.
"No, no, don't apologize." Pete said, rushed, guilty almost. "Don't apologize for doing nothing wrong. Don't apologize for me not having the guts to confess sober." He took a deep breath, hands twisting together. "I think we need to talk. When we aren't drunk. Or hungover. I think...we both have a lot we've been hiding from each other."
Gabe was silent other than a nod, an almost uncomfortable silence between them before Pete went to get up.
"I should...go. I'll see if Patrick or Joe can pick me up or something." He reached for his phone, beside his all but forgotten drink, but before he could grab it Gabe's hand was there too.
"Wait." Pete stopped, meeting Gabe's eyes just before he dropped them. "Maybe you could stay? So you don't have to worry about getting a ride and dealing with them bickering and...yeah." He gave him a small, hopeful smile. He didn't want to be alone.
Pete gave him a small smile back, his voice quiet and almost hesitant as he went back to the couch. "Thank you."
Gabe didn't respond verbally, he didn't have to, just opened his arms so Pete could lay down against him just as they had done so many times into the routine before, only different.
A different Gabe couldn't quite name or place, but a different he was okay with, one he knew he would be able to name when tomorrow came.
One he hoped he could feel from now on.
