Lopsided Smiles // Petekey // TW TW TW

6. Caesar Salad

a/n- i wrote most of this at 5am and the rest at like 8pm BLASTING the hey! album and blurryface, have fun >:) 

"Sit down," the woman invited with a grim tone that her smile couldn't cover up. "I'm Maya."

Pete shook the hand she had extended. "I'm Pete, this is Patrick. We n- I need to get Ricky to take me to Chris."

Maya sighed, scrunching up her lips in thought. "Did Chris... hurt someone?" It hurt her to say it and it hurt the recipient to hear it, but what was the point of stalling?

He nodded.

"Ricky should be home soon."

The three of them decided on discussing things that really meant nothing, like news and varying other topics they didn't care for. The only reason for doing so was to compensate for the lack of stability in the more important occurance. Pete and Patrick had taken the lush couch, and Maya sat in a huge armchair. After a few minutes of chatting about meaningless nothings to cover up the pounding of the worry in their minds, the front door swung open to reveal a cheery man who looked all too similar to Gabe Saporta.

The man's face was glad and shocked. "Pete?!" His face shifted into a grin as he hung his coat, tossing his keys onto the shelf hanging by the door.

The two had only known each other through Gabe, and they had gotten along fine, but Ricky was a significantly older than his two brothers. They hadn't known each other well, because Gabe was possessive, even though Ricky had had a girlfriend.

Pete brushed aside all emotions. "Hi, yeah, it's me. I need your brother. Chris, not Gabe. I never wanna see Gabe again."

"Oh... Why?" Ricky asked with pure concern showing through, very on brand for him. He was always putting others before himself, unlike the rest of his family. Maya stood so Ricky could sit in the armchair, and she sat in his lap quite perfectly.

"I'm sure you know why. Someone I care about is with him and has been for too long, and now he's missing," Pete explained bitterly, but as nicely as he possibly could. The pain and distress was grabbing his words by the throat and twisting them until they were in just as much pain as Pete knew Mikey probably was.

"Do you... Do you know his boyfriend?" Patrick spoke up softly, just loud enough to be heard properly. He wasn't one for speaking up, but Pete wasn't one for falling in love with people and having to explain that they were in danger.

The older man's face revealed his concern to the fullest. "Yeah, Mikey Way. Poor kid... I'm pretty sure they're still together, for whatever reason- You know him? How is he?"

Pete was almost comforted by Ricky's concern, but he didn't pay enough mind to it for it to help, nor did he notice that Mikey's full name had been revealed. "I know him, yeah. And I care a lot."

"Pete doesn't admit to caring or feelings, so you know this is serious," Patrick cut in, regretting it instantly, but luckily for him, no one seemed to hear. At least, they didn't acknowledge it.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, making Patrick feel guilty for his poor word choice, Ricky spoke.

"I have an idea."

~~~

Mikey only missed three things: Coffee, work, and Pete Wentz.

He wouldn't admit to that last one to anyone for anything.

The scrawny boy sat on the floor of the basement, leaning against the wall, wondering how long one could live without food and water. He had been brought water, but no food yet. Wasn't it, like, a week?

Who came up with weeks, anyway? Days are from the sun and rotation and all that, obviously, but what about weeks and months? He knew there were originally ten months, October being the eighth, which made sense, but Julius Caesar came along and added another two: July and August. Fuck Caesar. Mikey didn't even like salad.

Back to weeks. If weeks are seven days, why are months varying numbers of days and weeks? Each month is a unique span of time, like a year, but years have the same number of days, as do weeks. What makes months so special? How does any of that work?

Mikey had slept more in his containment than he had in a very long time, on another note. He wasn't sleeping long, but he took frequent naps that always ended in some form of a nightmare, mostly caused by trauma. But he didn't know it was trauma, it was just life.

Pete would tell him otherwise.

God, that short guy that was so, so appealing in every way possible, ways Mikey didn't even know. He hated it- how alluring Pete was. And how he was so thoughtful and didn't hesitate to comfort him for a second in the cemetery that night. That was so nice- too nice. It couldn't last. Chris had been like that. Sure, he hadn't had the same sparkle in his eyes or the magically hug that shouldn't have helped as much as it did like Pete had. But they'd loved each other, and Chris changed. Pete could change, too.

Then again, Chris came from a rough family with a tendency for violent behavior.

But Mikey didn't know about Pete's family, did he?

There were voices upstairs, and Chris came down the stairs hastily, slamming the door behind him. Mikey was startled; he pressed himself against the wall as much as he could, as if he could phase through and run away.

Chris grabbed a rag off of a dusty shelf, along with some rope, and Mikey instantly understood what was about to happen, but he didn't understand why. Yet, he remained silent as Chris shoved the rag in his mouth, dragged him to a support pole, and tied his wrists together around it.

"Listen, sweetheart," he snapped, "make one peep, and no, I won't kill you. But you'll want me to. Stay fucking silent."

Mikey nodded silently, scared out of his mind and very confused. But he wasn't about to ask, that's for sure. He watched with teary, wide eyes as Chris scoffed and disappeared up the stairs.

What the hell did he do? He hadn't once tried to get out. He didn't complain, he wasn't loud... He just silently sat there, thinking to himself about Pete.

Why did he have to do that?