Title: Shattered Pieces
Band(s): Fall Out Boy, The Young Veins, Panic! At the Disco (mentions of TAI, THS, GCH, HM, CS, The Cab, and MCR)
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, secondary Brendon/Ryan
Word Count: 22, 385
Fanmixer(s): kittygrenade and _slashygoodness
Warning: contains mentions of suicidal thoughts, several bloody scenes
Plot: Pete Wentz has recently been admitted to Mornington Sanitarium after a suicide attempt (or going to Best Buy as he likes to call it). Apathetic to the world around him, Pete doesn’t know what to make of this new situation. He just knows that he has to be here in order to combat the dark emotional fog that surrounds him. He needs to find a way to be himself again, but first he has to feel. The world that Pete is suddenly in is filled with patients who think they’re vampires or angels, who haven’t talked in years and have survived horrors, who like setting things on fire and public nudity.
In addition to the patients, there’s the crazier staff especially orderly Brendon, who has a crush on the oblivious Doctor Ryan Ross. And then there is Patrick, Pete’s roommate and Mornington’s longest residing patient. Pete cannot help but be intrigued by Patrick, who has suffered a trauma that led to him having Dissociative Identity Disorder. So Pete and Patrick have to navigate Patrick’s alters and Pete’s depression and the general insanity of living at Mornington as they stumbled from friendship into best friendship into not love but very deep like for sure.
“I’ve be so fixated on one spot when the world is crashing down.” -7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)
“Your roommate will be Patrick,” said Doctor Ross in his same, monotonous voice as he led Pete throughout the clinic, through the too-white halls of his floor. He flipped the scarf over his shoulder. “There are no other rooms free in the long-term ward. So if you want to switch then you’ll have to wait until a room frees up.”
“Why would I…?” Pete began to ask. Doctor Ross cut him off.
“Most people have trouble keeping up with Patrick,” said the doctor with a shrug. The orderly who followed them, Brendon, glanced up from his clipboard. He seemed pretty; he was all smiles and chock-full of kindness when he and Pete were introduced.
“Maybe you should give Pete a head’s up, Ry. You always forget to do that.”
Pete gulped. This Patrick guy was a sociopath who was going to steal his virtue in the middle of the night like in some crappy dime store romance novel. Then (after defiling Pete) this Patrick was going to kill him with a plastic knife that he pilfered from mealtime. He stopped, a little surprised to hear his normal thought pattern again after so long.
Doctor Ross looked up and at Brendon before nodding.
“Right,” began the doctor, “Patrick has Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
Pete blinked. He tried to think about where he heard the term before. Drawing a complete blank, he looked at the pair, “Um…and that is?”
“You know it as Multiple Personality Disorder,” said Brendon before giving a reassuring smile, “Patrick and his altars are all pretty nice guys. Most people just can’t really deal with the sudden personality changes or separating the actions from the altars with Patrick himself.”
Pete nodded slowly, not really sure what to say.
“Patrick was in control during lunch. But the news of you coming could have triggered an episode. He gets very nervous around new people,” stated Doctor Ross simply, “It tends to happen in stressful situations.”
Pete continued nodding not really sure what to say. He licked his dry lips, suddenly feeling very nervous. The fresh emotion that broke through the thick wall of gray made him almost jump. He hasn’t felt anything that sharp in awhile.
Brendon knocked on an old oak door before opening it. He stuck his head inside the room.
“Brendon!” said a happy voice from inside the room. It was deep but also sounded like it was trying to be younger than it was.
“Vaughn,” said Brendon opening the door fully, “Where’s Patrick?”
“He was really nervous about meeting his roommate. So he went to go take a nap. And it was my turn to meet the new person,” said the faceless voice.
“Well I suppose you’ll have to meet Pete first. You know Patrick isn’t going to be very happy with you right?”
“I know but I was just tryin’ to help.”
Brendon sighed and softened his wide grin, “I know, kid. Now come out and meet Pete.”
There was a creak of a bed, followed by shuffling of feet inching closer and closer to the door. Pete looked up as the person, his roommate, walked out.
Another sharp crack of emotion shot through the gray fog hitting Pete square in the gut. He could feel his heart speed up impressively as he stared at his roommate.
A sweet, rounded face that had adorkable, geek glasses with thick, black frames and was adorned with impressive sideburns was staring into Pete’s face. Strawberry blonde (more strawberry than blonde) hair fell messily around the neck’s nape with an ‘I Love Bingo’ trucker hat covering most of the mane. He was dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants that hug off his hips and a bright orange ‘Yo! MTV Raps’ shirt.
A dazzling grin broke over the young face. (How old was this kid? He barely had to be out of high school.)
“Hi! I’m Vaughn!” chirped the kid cheerfully.
“Vaughn? Where’s Patrick?” asked Ryan with a head tilt.
“Like I told B-den, Doctor Ry,” said Vaughn with a shrug, “Patrick was really nervous. It triggered a nap. It was my turn to meet the new roommate,” he then crossed his arms with a pout, “Didn’t you miss me, Doctor Ry?”
There was a quick upturn of Ryan’s lips, as if he was trying not to smile, “It’s not that I’m unhappy to see you, Vaughn…”
“But Patrick needs to be in control more in order for us to integrate and get better. Yeah, yeah, we known Doctor Ry,” said Vaughn as he uncrossed his arms. He looked as though he had heard this a million times before this moment, “You’re not mad are you?”
Brown eyes went into full-on puppy dog mode. Ryan honestly had no hope.
“No I’m not mad at you, Vaughn.”
Vaughn turned his attention to Pete. He looked at the dark haired man expectantly. After several moments, he leaned in and stage-whispered.
“This is where you tell your name.”
“Pete. My name is Pete.”
Vaughn grinned and grabbed Pete’s hand in his own.
“C’mon! I’ll show you to your bed. Do you like pudding?”
Pete looked at the doctor and the orderly. Brendon was trying to stifle giggles but held up his clipboard.
Vaughn is nine years old.
Pete read the message. He suddenly was thankful for some babysitting gigs that he had done in the past. He turned back to Vaughn and nodded slowly.
“Yeah I like pudding,” he answered in his not-used-to-talking voice.
“Awesome! Here’s the room. Your bed is the one closest to the bathroom.”
It wasn’t the kind of mental ward rooms that Pete had seen on T.V. Instead of plain white walls, they were a soft blue. The furniture wasn’t cold metal and clinical but it looked like it came from a secondhand furniture store. One side of the room, Pete’s side, was bare with his suitcase and duffel resting at the foot of his bed. The other side, Patrick’s (or Vaughn’s as it seemed to be), looked to be totally lived in. There were posters of musicians on the walls, books piled on the desk, and papers strewn at random intervals. Framed photographs lined one shelf and an impressive hat took residence on the other. In the corner, there was a small acoustic guitar. The only way to tell this was a room at an asylum was the bars outside the windows and the fact that the bathroom had no door.
Vaughn plopped himself with little grace on the made bed. His attention was off of Pete, allowing the man to get acclimated to his environment. Instead, Vaughn was focused on a journal with suns, moons, and stars decorating the cover. A pink tongue made an appearance as the boy (man…child?) wrote in the book.
Slowly, Pete began to settle in. He made up his bed, shoved clothing in random drawers in a bureau, and set up his eyeliner in the medicine cabinet. He worked mechanically, reminding himself of the time that he went to soccer camp. The blandness of the motions was comforting to him in an odd way.
Once there was nothing left to unpack, Pete stood in the room feeling shadowed instead pains of emotions. He turned to ask Vaughn something but he had nodded off. An arm was curled around his head and his glasses dangled off his face as he slept. Pete sighed before grabbing a book and sitting on the bed.
He wondered how long until dinner.
“Our gossip lips stuttered every word I said. I said.” –The Music Or The Misery
Patrick cracked open his eyes feeling disoriented and dizzy. He blearily peered at the window. The sky was painted in violent purples, rosy pinks, and burning oranges. It was a little bit after two in the afternoon the last that he remembered. And then…
Nothing, nada, bupkiss.
Shit. He had a Black Out.
Which meant that one of his altars met the new roommate…and probably scared them. Then Patrick was going to be roommate-less in two days. Patients tended to get better with incentive. And dealing with Patrick’s brand of insanity tended to be enough.
Patrick wondered when life started being so cruel to him. He has a thing with meeting new people but God why is it that he NEVER meets the person first?! Patrick cocked his head as he heard someone shuffle on the bed across from him. He turned over and stared.
Across the way was the prettiest guy that Patrick had ever seen in his life. He gulped as he took in the expanse of deeply tanned skin, the soft features of the face, and the curve of the man’s hands as he cradled the book. His new roommate (Peter, supplied his mind) was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans that looked to belong to someone’s younger sister, a white tank, and a dark red hoodie. His raven colored hair was swept over his forehead which led Patrick’s attention to the man’s made-up eyes. He shifted slightly, glad that he wore sweatpants and pissed that he was still a virgin.
“Uh…hi,” said Patrick cautiously.
The guy on the bed turned looking at Patrick with dead brown eyes. The strawberry blonde haired man tried not to shudder. There was a reason that he didn’t like sharing with attempts. They had that exact same look like nothing in the world ever mattered and nothing ever will. It was as though their eyes were glassy as Death’s scythe slowly fell on the rest of their body to catch up.
However, Patrick also saw a spark in those eyes. It was the faintest glimmer, but it meant that he wasn’t completely gone, like there was this intense happiness inside of the other man waiting to burst out and reclaim the world as its own.
“Hey,” said the guy in a rough voice, “Have a good rest, kid?”
Patrick huffed and crossed his arms. He wasn’t a kid! Well not compared to the guy across from him. Then he stared at the journal brought out. Ryan suggested journals so that the personalities could have something be tangibly theirs. Also to give a hint to Patrick or whoever came next who used to be in control. He sighed as he picked up the book, so it was the child personality, Vaughn. That made sense in his head.
“I’m not a kid,” began Patrick slowly as he walked over to swap out hats. He settled on the one he had on earlier. He gave the roommate a shy smile, “My name is Patrick.”
Dark eyebrows shot up into a hairline. The guy stared at him as if trying to tell the subtle change in posture and voice that took over when Patrick swapped out personalities. After several moments, the guy nodded and stood from the bed. It creaked slightly not used to wait on it.
“My name is Pete, Pete Wentz.”
“Patrick,” said Patrick again and after a pause, “Stumph.”
In the beginning, his past roommate’s eyes would spark with recognition and pity would fill their faces. However, it had been years and years since his name had last appeared on the news. Even the media got bored with the token crazies after a long time. And most of the people at Mornington tended to be on the younger side. So the news that came with his name wouldn’t be as strong in their minds.
It was cold comfort that Patrick could be anonymous again.
It meant that people were forgetting. That what happened to his family was slowly resigned to the books, a couple of boxes in some lock-up, and somewhere completely hidden in Patrick’s mind.
Patrick wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“So what time is dinner around here?” asked Pete from his spot on his bed. He was staring at Patrick with those lifeless eyes. Patrick glanced at the clock.
“Dinner’s served at six. Bed’s usually at nine.”
“Exciting lives you lead here.”
Patrick felt his mouth upturn in a smile. He shrugged.
“You get used to it.”
“I don’t plan on it,” said Pete his attention back on the book on his knees, “How long have you been here?”
Patrick picked at a string on his shirt, “Four years.”
If Pete was surprised, then he certainly didn’t show it. Patrick was used to a reaction of some sort. He seemed to be something of an oddity even amongst the people in the long-term ward. However, Pete Wentz didn’t even blink but just seemed to accept it.
Patrick hugged his legs and knew that name sounded familiar.
Pete Wentz…Pete Wentz…
Then the images hit him like a freight train. A memory overtook his mind.
He’s fifteen and the world hasn’t gone weird. He’s fifteen and he’s normal, sane. He’s fifteen and he will go home to his family, safe and sound. Nothing has happened yet. Everything is innocent.
Patrick isn’t crazy. He doesn’t even know what a sanitarium is.
He is close to be totally alone in the world, but he remains in blissful ignorance.
He’s finally able to put that fake I.D. that Kevin got him to good use. Telling Mom that he’s staying over at Mike’s house, Patrick goes to some skanky bar on the outskirts of Chicago. Cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air, giving the club a hazy atmosphere. Patrick smells stale beer and tastes the sweat from the people grinding to the beat of the band playing.
He had heard good things from what friends had said on the scene. Still he makes sure to stick close to the door in case they suck.
Patrick has discriminating tastes at fifteen.
Then the band comes out. The crowd of sweaty, gyrating scene kids are possibly breaking sound barriers. However, Patrick cannot pay attention to that.
He’s too busy staring at the bassist and trying desperately to suppress the hard on that is trying to make an appearance.
The bassist is fey-like with red tipped bangs against inky black hair. He’s full of energy, laughingly teasing the crowd and getting them into an absolute frenzy. He reminds Patrick of that character for that Shakespeare play, Puck, who caused mischief and mayhem wherever he went.
Patrick stays through the whole show.
He doesn’t talk to the guy after. He catches a couple of glimpses of his big smile and bright laugh before leaving.
He leaves with a name though.
The band is Arma Angelus.
Pete is kind of crazy back then but happy.
Patrick isn’t crazy but happy.
It’s strange how life can change so fast.
“You’re the bassist from Arma,” said Patrick out loud.
Pete looked and stared at him for a couple of beats. The red head flushed realizing that he probably embarrassed himself. Mornington allowed the whole ‘brain to mouth’ filter to kind of die. It was still alive during some moments but most of the time…no. A twitch of lips was all he got from Pete. It was like his mouth wanted to break out into the big smile but forgot how.
Patrick masturbated to that grin for months after the concert.
And now he’s rooming with the guy.
The bathroom was now missing the door.
This meant that Patrick was totally and completely fucked.
He closed his eyes and tried to find his happy place. However, all he could think about was how screwed to hell he was.
“So you were a fan?”
“Kind of? I mean I went to a show you played once. It was the last live show I went to before all this,” he gestured around the room to make a point. He shifted his feet suddenly feeling even more awkward than normal. God this was freshman orientation all over again.
Before Pete could respond, Brendon (God bless him) appeared and announced it was time for dinner.
“Honey is for bees, silly bear, besides there’re jellybeans everywhere. It’s not what it seems in the land of dreams. Just lower your head and go to sleep.” –Lullabye
Excerpt from The Journal Of Psychiatric Medicine article by Doctor G.R. Ross
The problem with Patrick is that he effectively stopped contact with the outside world at age fifteen. He admitted that he was the never the most popular guy in school. Frankly he seemed fine with that. There is a reason why one of his personalities was created. It was to deal with the media attention after the crime against Patrick’s family was committed.
Pete, however, seemed to need the attention. The picture that his family painted for me in preliminary interviews was that, while Pete was messed up, he also seemed to be well liked by those who knew him. He looked like the life of every party and the mastermind behind every crazy scheme in his friend’s and family’s lives.
When I first met the apathetic patient in my office, I admit that I was skeptical. I could not see how this seemingly emotionless young man was the life of any party. After a week in Mornington and under close supervision and regulated medication, he seemed to have rediscovered a part of himself.
“It –expletive- sucks to be sad all the time. I mean don’t get me wrong. There’s this fog there that seems to always be trying to choke the life out of me, but I’m reading to shank that –expletive-. Plus Patrick also helps. He doesn’t put up with my whiny b.s. I think it’s because he wants the door back up in the bathroom and he’s sick of me moaning about not having shoelaces. He’s told me those are his reasons anyway. Personally I think it’s just because he thinks I’m awesome.”
Pete seemed to acclimate to Mornington quickly.
Patrick was a completely different case from what I heard.
When he was brought in, one of his altars remained in charge for a couple weeks or days or hours. The shifts were unpredictable and frequent. When they finally relinquished control to Patrick, he was completely dead to the world. He would sit and stare out of the window.
And it was like that for months. Patients tried to talk to him but he would just stare through them.
He was put on suicide watch for a substantial amount of time. His altars were worried, his previous doctor was worried, and his first orderly was worried. Patrick just seemed to be locked away.
He only snapped out of it when some woman who played the piano for the amusement of the patients came in…and that was after two months. Apparently she didn’t realize the piano was out of tune.
From what I heard, Patrick snapped told to get out or get someone to tune the goddamn thing before taking her place and pounding out Beethoven’s Ninth.
Which is the way to go in these cases.
So both had relatively different experiences when they first entered Mornington, yet somehow, they became friends. I suppose you could say that opposites attract. However, it didn’t seem like it would be that easy. The phrase ‘opposites attract’ was created to explain why unlikely people end up together.
Maybe they just felt a connection. Pete saw the inner demons in Patrick, and Patrick saw someone that would try to understand. I never really got too clear on that. Their orderly, Brendon Urie, told me not to question it, that some things were just meant to be.
I told him that Destiny was not a good concept. Brendon answered me.
“Destiny? Who cares about Destiny? I’m talking about certainty. I believe that people are given a certain number of life choices or decisions or events in our lives that lead us on this path. I think that Patrick and Pete’s paths always met.”
It was something to consider. Patrick’s altars were always so fiercely protective. It took months for them to fully trust Brendon and myself, not to mention the other staff and patients. How could they trust Pete so readily?
Maybe they realized that Patrick was sick of being insane.
“I keep telling myself. I keep telling myself. I’m not the desperate type.” -7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)
It was weird, but Pete was kind of digging the whole scene at Mornington. It had been two weeks, but he had never felt more at ease with his surroundings. Probably because these people didn’t know him, didn’t have expectations for him to be the zany, funny guy. He didn’t feel pressured to try to fake happiness or any other emotions.
Plus it was comforting to know that there were people more messed up then him. There was a guy who thought he was a vampire, a pyromaniac, a chick who believed she was an angel, a mute, and so many others that had scars that went as deep as his or even deeper. This was the first time in months that he was actually having conversations with people and not feeling like his every move was being dissected.
He also enjoyed talking with Brendon, his and Patrick’s orderly. He was bright and bouncy all over the walls and whistling. Pete thought that his (obvious) crush on Ryan was cute…especially coupled with his doctor’s obliviousness to it.
Patrick, though, was what Pete enjoyed the most of Mornington.
Pete never realized how much he missed feeling until he had Patrick around him. For some reason, Patrick was breaking through the fog, allowing Pete to feel. He liked the sharp bursts of emotion that flooded him. The younger man always seemed like he was waiting for Pete to bolt, like he never expected for him to hang around long.
“That’s because Patrick’s had twelve roommates before you,” said Siska, crossing his legs. The hem of his bathrobe rode up and Pete really hoped that he was wearing underwear, “It’s a record. People couldn’t really deal with his brand of crazy. Plus in the beginning, he was real bad.”
“Nah man, can’t tell you that much. B-den is a cool dude but he and Patrick are besties. He will be on me like stink on French cheese. If you’re that curious, then ask him yourself.”
Pete rested his arms on his knees leaning forward watching Patrick, who was having an intense conversation with one of the nurses. He tilted his head to the side and nodded making up his mind.
Patrick turned his head from the conversation giving Pete a silent raise of an eyebrow. Pete could feel the slightest tug of his mouth in a corner.
“You and me are best fucking friends you hear?”
Patrick’s other eyebrow joined the one raised. The hat wearing nineteen-year-old turned and looked at Jon.
“Did he just-?”
Jon, whose mouth was twitching in suppressed laughter, nodded.
“I think he did.”
Patrick sighed and shrugged.
Pete allowed the twitch to become a small, disused smile. He turned his attention back to General Hospital. Anymore of that show, there was a good chance Pete was going to pull his hair out. He looked at Siska.
“I’ll give you two Hershey bars if you streak through the hallway.”
“Mo-fo, I knew that I liked you,” said Siska standing and shedding his robe. He then ran as fast as he could through the hallways with the nurses and Butcher chasing him all the way. Pete was totally right about the no underwear thing by the way.
Sometimes, you had to create your own chaos. Plus he was tired; the gentle tendrils of bemusement that wrapped around his heart made him feel more awake.
Several hours later, he was looking at Ryan. The young psychiatrist was staring at Pete with a mild expression on his face.
“I see that you’re settling in alright,” said Ryan from his spot in the large armchair. His long limbs were folded in the red plush and his cheek rested against the knee.
“I suppose insanity suits me,” said Pete as he fiddled with a loose thread, “People don’t expect much from here.”
“Did you feel that people expected much from you in your life?”
“I’ve been bounced from band to band like a cheap hooker at a gangbang. People expect me to be loud, have this endless energy, and when I can’t, they lose interest in knowing me. I’m obnoxious and have annoying habits. I’ve been half-crazed my whole life. I know it’s amazing that I lasted this long without offing myself.”
Pete paused in the comfortable silence.
“I have trouble sleeping most nights because I have all these inner demons and not a fucking clue where they came from. When I do get uninterrupted sleep, it’s usually from pills… I mean, before this depression spell, I was at peace with my life. I accepted that I probably was never going to be famous and, fuck it, I was cool with that. But when the spell hit, I was just bored with life. Have you ever heard of George Sanders?”
“One of the three suicides?” asked Ryan from his seat.
“All About Eve was one of my favorite movies growing up. That probably says something about me but we’ll psychoanalyze that later. Anyway George Sanders was bored too. Offed himself in a bathroom with five bottles of Nembutal and was found two days later. I just went a different route and with less pills. And a less cool suicide note.”
“Why Best Buy?”
“I am preferring to think of that part as a ‘fuck you’ to corporate America.”
“Mhmmm,” Ryan reached for a journal and scribbled something down, “So how have you been sleeping, Pete?”
“Not well,” Pete paused, “Am I supposed to tell you if I have an attack of insomnia?”
Ryan’s bottom eyelid twitched and Pete took that as a ‘yes’.
Needless to say, that night ended with Pete held to the bed while Travis McCoy as Brendon apologetically administered the sleep-aid.
Patrick was laughing his ass off, the douche.
“I confess I messed up. Dropping I’m sorry like you’re still around...” –‘A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me’ Fall Out Boy
Pete groaned, feeling the sunlight hit his face. Blearily opening his eyes, he sighed as the feeling of being drugged from the sleeping pills he was force-fed the night before settled over him. He hated how sleep aides made him feel the next day, like a hangover of tequila, which Pete could never really hold all that well... It always left him feeling out of his body and hypersensitive to everything around him at the same time. This is how most sleeping pills left him, out of touch and in touch with the world at the same time. A mess of comparing contradictions and contradicting comparisons all messed up in his head.
His arms also hurt. Pete was going to spit orange juice over Travis later. They didn’t have to stab him with a needle. Those things freaked Pete the hell out.
“You’re awake,” said Patrick from across the room simply, “Another ten minutes and I was going to have to wake you for breakfast.”
He heard footsteps, deliberate and slow, work the room. It reminded him of a jungle cat stalking its prey. The black haired man stretched on his bed.
“You better hurry and get dressed.”
Pete listened for a second to the tone of Patrick’s voice. It was slightly deeper, rougher and held an edge of world-weariness. Knowing that this was another of his roommate’s altars, Pete sighed and asked, “So what’s your name?”
He heard the footsteps pause somewhere on Patrick’s side of the room, “Hatter, they call me Hatter.”
Pete nodded and rolled out of bed. He stretched and could feel a calculating stare on him. He wondered if this was how people who get stalked felt. He shuddered before saying.
“I know who you are. Vaughn told us.”
“There’s more?” asked Pete slowly. Hatter’s lips twitched into a smile. He liked this guy.
“Only one other, you’ll meet him when he’s ready,” answered Hatter cryptically. He was dressed in a dark red shirt that fell to mid thigh and covered his hands. A black hat was firmly on his head and his legs were clad in grungy jeans that brushed over his bare feet. In short, Hatter looked like a dude that Pete would never, ever want to mess with in his life.
Brendon poked his head into the room after knocking, “Hey guys! Time for brekkie!”
“When the fuck did you go British, Urie?”asked Hatter with a quirk of an eyebrow.
The dark hair orderly laughed pushing up his bright red glasses with ease, “Hatter, it’s been awhile man. I’ve been doing it for about a week now. Gotta mix it up y’know?”
Hatter raised an eyebrow before shrugging, “Whatever man. Is it the usual order of crappy hospital food?”
“In one, my friend. You haven’t been scaring Pete, have you?”
Hatter smiled, sharp and dangerous, “We were just getting to know each other right, Pete?”
Pete nodded, pulling on a t-shirt, “Totally. We’re BFF’s now. We were going to gossip over boys and braid each other’s hair later on while listening to Brittney Spears.”
Hatter snorted before leaving. Brendon stared at Pete in awe.
“Dude, I have never heard him do anything resembling a laugh in the time I have been working here.”
“What can I say? I’m magic. Nice scrubs by the way. Pink is totally you.”
“Bite me. They were the only clean ones I had.”
“Oh but I would think Doctor Ross has that covered.”
Brendon’s flush confirmed Pete’s suspicions of a mega-crush as he walked past the bright red orderly to follow Hatter to breakfast.Part Three