Chris Month Day 3
Feb. 3rd, 2008 07:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIt's Chris ficlet time. We're moving into strange pairings now, where people will recoil and I'll end up with maybe two comments *g*
So have this in all it's strange, unbeta read, probably makes no sense glory.
Chris first meets Pete Wentz in a field.
Granted, it’s a cordoned off area accessible only if you have the right wrist-band, but still, a field.
It’s the time of day when the sun is at its highest, and Chris can feel sweat prickling under his arms, down his back. Wiping at his forehead, he bypasses the striped marquee filled with tables and chairs, an assortment of people sheltering in the shade, drinking water and listening to the dulled thud of music from the stage.
If he’s honest, he doesn’t know why he’s here. While there’s novelty at being able to mingle unnoticed in the crowds, it’s still too hot and Chris is considering going home when he sees Pete. He’s sitting on the grass, back against a metal barrier, and looking as lost as Chris feels.
It’s why Chris wanders over and settles himself down, despite not knowing Pete at all.
“Hey,” Chris says, and he flashes a smile when Pete looks at him, bangs falling into his black lined eyes. He looks tired, worn out and Chris remembers that bone weariness of the seemingly endless tour.
“Hey,” Pete says, and he shades his eyes, looking at Chris before recognition obviously strikes and he suddenly smiles. “I know you. Ryan’s talked about you, though he preferred your opposition.”
“So I’ve heard.” Which is true, though Chris isn’t about to admit it was his sisters that told him. The Ryan Ross loving freaks that they are.
They’re quiet then, Pete opening his sidekick, tapping out a message as Chris raps his fingers against his thigh, following the beat of the music that fills the air.
“Do you miss it?”
The question is unexpected, and Chris looks at Pete, who’s looking right back at him. Chris considers hedging, pretending that he doesn’t know what Pete’s asking, but he can tell it’s genuine interest, from someone who loves music too.
“Every minute of the day.” Chris shrugs, his shoulders pressing against the sun warm metal of the barrier. “I still sing sometimes, mess around in my studio.”
“But it’s not the same.”
Chris smiles, a tiny curl of his lip. “Nothing like it.”
Pete reaches out, rests his hand on Chris’ knee, shifts so he can rest his head against Chris’ shoulder, and it should be strange, feel too much from someone he’s met minutes previously, but it doesn’t. Instead it’s a reminder of before, when personal space was never an issue, and it’s second nature to ease back into the role. Sit with Pete’s hair tickling against his neck, his body pressed against Chris’ own, quiet as they watch the world walk by.
“Patrick would work on something with you. He’s amazing,” Pete says suddenly, and he’s sitting up, reaching for his sidekick.
Chris laughs and holds out his hand. “Does he know you’re pimping him out?”
“Of course,” Pete sounds like the thought he wouldn’t tell Patrick everything is insane. “He’s awesome.”
“I’m sure he is, but I’ve got my own guys if I need them.” Chris says, hoping Pete will understand.
He does, looking intently at Chris, before nodding and reaching to his side. He holds up a plastic cup filled with melting blue ice, taking a sip before offering it to Chris. “Want a drink? It’s blueberry slurpie, blueberries are gross, but at least it's cold.”
Chris takes the cup, slurping up a mouthful of ice as Pete shows off his blue tongue. Then settles back, the cup passed between them until only a dribble of ice water remains.
So have this in all it's strange, unbeta read, probably makes no sense glory.
Chris first meets Pete Wentz in a field.
Granted, it’s a cordoned off area accessible only if you have the right wrist-band, but still, a field.
It’s the time of day when the sun is at its highest, and Chris can feel sweat prickling under his arms, down his back. Wiping at his forehead, he bypasses the striped marquee filled with tables and chairs, an assortment of people sheltering in the shade, drinking water and listening to the dulled thud of music from the stage.
If he’s honest, he doesn’t know why he’s here. While there’s novelty at being able to mingle unnoticed in the crowds, it’s still too hot and Chris is considering going home when he sees Pete. He’s sitting on the grass, back against a metal barrier, and looking as lost as Chris feels.
It’s why Chris wanders over and settles himself down, despite not knowing Pete at all.
“Hey,” Chris says, and he flashes a smile when Pete looks at him, bangs falling into his black lined eyes. He looks tired, worn out and Chris remembers that bone weariness of the seemingly endless tour.
“Hey,” Pete says, and he shades his eyes, looking at Chris before recognition obviously strikes and he suddenly smiles. “I know you. Ryan’s talked about you, though he preferred your opposition.”
“So I’ve heard.” Which is true, though Chris isn’t about to admit it was his sisters that told him. The Ryan Ross loving freaks that they are.
They’re quiet then, Pete opening his sidekick, tapping out a message as Chris raps his fingers against his thigh, following the beat of the music that fills the air.
“Do you miss it?”
The question is unexpected, and Chris looks at Pete, who’s looking right back at him. Chris considers hedging, pretending that he doesn’t know what Pete’s asking, but he can tell it’s genuine interest, from someone who loves music too.
“Every minute of the day.” Chris shrugs, his shoulders pressing against the sun warm metal of the barrier. “I still sing sometimes, mess around in my studio.”
“But it’s not the same.”
Chris smiles, a tiny curl of his lip. “Nothing like it.”
Pete reaches out, rests his hand on Chris’ knee, shifts so he can rest his head against Chris’ shoulder, and it should be strange, feel too much from someone he’s met minutes previously, but it doesn’t. Instead it’s a reminder of before, when personal space was never an issue, and it’s second nature to ease back into the role. Sit with Pete’s hair tickling against his neck, his body pressed against Chris’ own, quiet as they watch the world walk by.
“Patrick would work on something with you. He’s amazing,” Pete says suddenly, and he’s sitting up, reaching for his sidekick.
Chris laughs and holds out his hand. “Does he know you’re pimping him out?”
“Of course,” Pete sounds like the thought he wouldn’t tell Patrick everything is insane. “He’s awesome.”
“I’m sure he is, but I’ve got my own guys if I need them.” Chris says, hoping Pete will understand.
He does, looking intently at Chris, before nodding and reaching to his side. He holds up a plastic cup filled with melting blue ice, taking a sip before offering it to Chris. “Want a drink? It’s blueberry slurpie, blueberries are gross, but at least it's cold.”
Chris takes the cup, slurping up a mouthful of ice as Pete shows off his blue tongue. Then settles back, the cup passed between them until only a dribble of ice water remains.
