The first time Patrick saw him, he was sitting outside the principals office with a bloody nose. He never did know why he was there, or why he was bleeding. It turned out that being sent to the principal for fighting was almost like a past time for Pete Wentz, Patrick would find out eventually.
He wasn't sure what it was that caught his eye, really - it could have been the blood, making his stomach turn, or the Mickey Mouse shirt and luminous pink sneakers combo. Whatever it was, from the first time Patrick saw Pete, he couldn't get him out of his mind.
The first time Patrick spoke to Pete was on a cold winter's day. Christmas vacation had started a few days previously, and Patrick was walking through the local park on his way home from his piano lessons.
Pete was sitting on a park bench, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around his knees. He looked like he was shaking, and it made Patricks heart ache.
"Uh, are you okay?" He'd asked in a shaking voice.
Pete had looked up, his eyes wet and his cheeks rosy, and shook his head. "No." His voice was so small, not like Patrick was used to, the yelling and laughter in the school canteen.
He bit his lip, and sat down on the bench. "What's wrong?"
"They won't stop yelling," Pete whispered, leaning his chin on his knees. "It hurts."
Pete made a hissing sound, which Patrick took for a 'yes'.
They were silent for a few minutes, before Pete spoke up again. "You're Patrick Stump, right?"
"I see you around school. You never talk to me."
Patrick sighed. "I never talk to anyone."
Pete cocked his head slightly. "You're talking to me now though."
Patrick nodded. "I guess I am."
They were silent again, as Pete stretched his legs down, rolling his head around on his neck.
"They're getting a divorce," he said, a tone os resignation in his voice.
Pete nodded. "That's why they keep yelling. He doesn't want one, but she does."
Patrick bit his lip. "Do you want them to get divorced?"
Pete shrugged. "I just want it all to stop."
The first time Pete kissed Patrick, they were in Pete's bedroom at his dad's place, guitars in their laps.
They'd just finished an attempt of What's My Age Again?, when Pete leaned over, and pressed his lips against Patricks. It lasted less than five seconds, before he pulled away, a blush along his cheeks.
Patrick had stared as Pete returned to the fret board, muttering about chord progressions.
The first time they held hands was at the carnival. They were walking amongst the crowds, bumping into each other's shoulders, when Pete slid his hand into Patrick's gloved one.
Patrick looked down at their hands, and back up at Pete, who wasn't even looking at him, a small, shy smile on his face as they fought their way through the crowds.
The first time they made love was after Brendon's Graduation party.
Clothes discarded on the floor of Brendon's parent's bedroom, they lay on thier backs, panting, spent, staring at the ceiling.
That was the first time Patrick told Pete, "I love you."
The first time they broke up, was half way through their first year of college. Pete wouldn't answer his cell phone, no matter how many messages Patrick left him, begging him to call back.
Eventually, Pete confessed - he'd been with Mikey, it hadn't meant anything, he was drunk, he couldn't remember much.
They'd both cried, and yelled down the wire, before Patrick hung up, sliding down the wall, arms wrapped around himself, sobbing uncontrollably.
The first time Patrick saw Pete after he cheated, he'd cried. So had Pete. He'd begged, on his knees, arms wrapped around Patrick's legs, burying his face in his thighs, pleading, sobbing.
"I love you so much," Pete had cried, eyes screwed up. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Patrick had bit his lip, tears rolling down his cheeks, hands buried in Pete's hair.
"Okay," Patrick had said, getting to his knees, pulling Pete's rosy face into his hands. "Okay."
"I love you so much," Pete and whispered against Patricks lips, hands shaking as they rested on the back of his neck. "I love you 'Trick..."
Patrick nodded, and pressed a gentle, wary kiss on his boyfriend's lips.
Pete would never break his heart again.
The first time Pete proposed, Patrick said no. He'd smiled, and shook his head, saying, "Not now, babe," before he got on with his composition.
Pete had pouted, and stomped out of the room.
It was a few months later, when he asked again, this time down on one knee, in the centre of the park they'd first met, the little ring box open in his hand.
Patrick had smiled, and gave a small laugh, his breath freezing in the Chicago Winter air, and said, "Yes."
Pete had smiled, and jumped to his feet, wrapping his arms around his fiancee, and swinging him around in circles.
The first time Patrick held little Ava in his arms, he cried. Pete had stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder.
"She's ours," he'd whispered, kissing Patrick's neck gently.
Patrick nodded, and sniffed, staring down at thier daughter, so silent and small in the bundle of blankets.
"She's so beautiful," Patrick smiled, resting his head against his husbands.
"Just like you," Pete had smiled against his ear.
"First day of the rest of our lives," Patrick sighed happily.
"First day of a million new first times," Petes smiled, lifting a hand up to stroke his baby daughter's cheek.