The first time Patrick Stump meets Pete Wentz—like, really meets Pete Wentz, not just glimpses him in the hallway or hears about whatever teacher he's terrorized lately with his shenanigans—is in the middle of his French test.
He wishes he could say he was actually taking his French test. He's not. He's not even in class at the moment—he's in a bathroom stall with a wad of tissue paper held to his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood coming from his nostrils. Because of all the times for blood to start gushing out of his nose, of course it has to be in the middle of his fucking French test. And of all the reasons to skip French class—honestly, he's not sure whether he's relieved or pissed that Joe didn't have Kleenex. On the one hand, French is fucking boring, but on the other...that test is worth a hundred points, and he has a B- in the class. Damnit, Joe.
The nosebleeds are a relatively new (and, frankly, obnoxious) occurrence, having started up when he moved out to San Francisco the summer before freshman year. As similarly, excruciatingly hot as both San Francisco and Chicago summers can be, at least in Chicago, there's moisture in the air. Out in California—end of drought status be damned, it's still fucking dry out here.
Suffice it to say, things were better when he lived in Chicago. Less heat, more snow, and no fucking nosebleeds.
"You're from Chicago?" says a braying voice from the stall next to him. "Dude, me too!"
Patrick flushes and groans internally. As if being stuck in a dingy, vaguely smelly stall for the next fifteen or so minutes weren't bad enough—apparently a) he not only said his whole monologue/rant about California versus Chicago and the goddamn nosebleed dilemma out loud, but also b) some asshole was actually listening, and well—that's just fucking embarrassing.
"Mind your own damn business," he mumbles, a bit nasal given his current situation. He pulls the tissue away from his nose and grimaces at the large, dark red puddle that permeates it, then finds a relatively untouched spot and dabs his nose. It comes away still red but not quite so dark. Progress, he thinks darkly.
"Shit, sorry, man. Hehe. Shit. Get it, like we're in a bathroom?" Patrick sighs and rubs at his eyes with his not-bloody hand. "Just trying to make conversation, y'know? I know, like, no other people from Chicago who go here. There's like, that one kid from fuckin' Paraguay and those two brothers from Jersey or some shit, but like, no Chicago people. Who am I supposed to watch Cubs games with? Not Gabe fucking Saporta, lemme tell you."
ugh yes i know it's been done to death but lynn and halsey, dudes.
(this is highkey a plea for more pvris fic pls pvris is adorable i love them so much??)
and yes i'm aware that the snippet i posted is a peterick snippet but lynn and halsey exist in this universe too!! and they are equally awesome.
so the gist of it is they go to high school together.
(that's it. that's the fic.)
and there's humor (ryan threatening to dump brendon over his meme-iness) but also drama (because since when do i write anything other than angst for bandom haha) with pete being sad and lynn being jealous and all kinds of other shenanigans and it'd be great, guys, trust me.
