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“I’m having boy trouble,” Pete said the second Bob connected to the call. “I need help. Immediately.”
“God.” Bob sounded sort of like he wanted to do a backflip into oncoming traffic, which was impressive, given the fact that they’d only been talking for, like, a second and a half. “Did you just say boy trouble? Like, unironically, and shit?”
“Well.” Pete threw himself down onto his bed with a grunt, toggling between Discord and Instagram, refreshing the latter every handful of seconds to see if there would be a new post from Mikey he could comment something totally witty and enrapturing on. “What else am I supposed to call it?”
“I don’t know.” Pete heard a rush of wind in his ears as Bob sighed. “Anything that makes you sound less like a fag.”
“Hey,” Pete whined. “Stop. You know I don’t like when you call me that.”
‘And you know I don’t like when you act like a fucking fag, so.” Bob sighed again. “Might as well get this over with. What are your moronic fucking boy troubles, then?”
“Mikey Way,” Pete announced.
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.”
And then Pete was off.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Bob said once he had finished his explanation. He could be wrong, but it sounded a little bit like the guy was speaking with his head in his hands. “Your plan to get Mikey—Mikey Way—to, what, fall madly in love with you is to send him a ship edit of your kins and say ‘this is us?’”
Pete smiled up at his ceiling. “I’m a genius, I know.”
“You’re a fucking dipshit is what you are. In what universe is this going to work?”
“This one, Bob,” Pete said like it was obvious. Because it was.
“Mikey doesn’t like you, Pete.”
Pete bristled. “Yes, he does.”
“Every time he talks to you he sounds like he’s six seconds away from decapitating himself with a meat cleaver. Take a fucking hint, man.”
“That’s just a front.” Pete waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t see the real him. Not like I do.”
“Jesus,” Bob muttered.
“What?”
“This—oh, my fucking God—the fact that he literally does not give a shit about you aside, this is a bad idea,” Bob said. “You are aware of that, right?”
There was something about Bob’s tone, so matter-of-fact, so completely confident—even though, come on, the dude had managed to hold down, like, a boyfriend and a half in the literal years he’d been out for, and those guys had been batshit crazy, so, really, who was he to lecture anyone?—that got right under Pete’s skin. He knew it definitely wasn’t, but the way he was talking almost sounded like a challenge.
And if there was anything Pete loved, it was a challenge. Especially a romantic challenge.
Especially if the romantic challenge came in the pre-packaged form of none other than Mikey Way.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pete sniffed back, rolling onto his stomach and re-opening Instagram to check Mikey’s page for the fortieth time that afternoon.
“Come on,” Bob said. “I’m trying to do you a solid here.”
“You’re trying to ruin my life is what you’re trying to do.”
“Mikey? Seriously?” The receiver crackled a bit as Bob snorted too close to the microphone. “Mikey fucking Way?”
“Can you not be a dick for, like, five seconds?” Pete huffed. “You just don’t get it, okay? None of you get him like I do.”
“It’s fucking Mikey, Pete, what the hell is there to get? The dude has the personality of a brick fucking wall.”
Irritation flared in Pete’s stomach, an unusual surge of protectiveness that made him want to reach through the phone and punch Bob in the nose. Except, well, at his word, Bob had maybe a foot of height on him, so that probably wouldn’t have gone over too well. Also, Pete wasn’t really a fan of punching people. Too much work. Usually didn't end up well for him.
Pointed exhalations, though, that he could do, so he let out another sigh, careful to make this the most mocking one he could manage. No doubt Bob picked up on it perfectly and was internally cringing at how stupid he was being. “Mikey does not have the personality of a brick wall,” Pete informed him. “Mikey,” and here he let out another sigh, letting a dopey grin work its way across his face as the mental image of the younger Way brother came to mind again, “is perfect.”
“Right. And I’m the president of the fucking United States.”
“You know, if you’re going to be mean about this, I’m just going to hang up on you,” Pete threatened. It’s not like talking to Bob was particularly riveting, anyways, not when he could spend another two hours scrolling through Tumblr trying to find the perfect art to tag Mikey in that would communicate both the depth and sincerity of the feelings Pete had for him.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” Bob insisted. Pete very much doubted this was true. “I’m trying to help your ass out.”
“How is this helping?”
“Look, jeez.” Pete could hear the sound of Bob shuffling around on the other line. “The dude has issues.”
“And you’d know this how?”
“Sexuality issues,” Bob said, all conspiratorial-like, ignoring his question. “Good luck trying to get with him if you’re a dude, is all I’m saying.”
Pete rolled his eyes. It’s not as if Mikey’s—well, Bob had hit the nail on the head with the phrasing—issues were a super well-kept secret. Everyone had found out one way or another that he liked guys, and everyone had found out equally quickly that he had some problems with being okay with that.
It’s just that Pete didn’t really care. Come on, it was Pete. He was practically made for Mikey. The two of them were straight out of a popular shipping troupes blog—the sunshine one and the grumpy one, or something equally adorable as that. Pete grinned into his hand for a second. God, they’re perfect.
So he just let out a faint laugh and said, “Big talk coming from the guy who blocked Frank for a week after he called you gay on his story.”
The shift was immediate. “Fuck you,” spat Bob. “You know that’s—I’m not fucking gay, you little freak. Don’t call me that shit. I’ve told you all a thousand fucking times not to call me that shit.”
“You like guys,” Pete reminded him, biting back a smile. “And you don’t like girls. Isn’t that, like, the dictionary definition of gay?”
“Call me—that one more time and I’ll rip your skin off and wear it as a fucking cape,” Bob snarled into the phone. “I hope Mikey gives you herpes. Shitass.”
“He can’t even give me herpes,” Pete lamented, rolling around some more and allowing the customary wave of misery that always appeared whenever he started thinking about this particular issue to crash into him. “He lives so far away, Bob, you don’t even understand. My life fucking sucks.”
“You make me so ashamed to like men,” Bob said, tone dead serious, and then the line went dead.
Pete pulled the phone back from his ear to check whether or not Bob really had hung up on him—he had, the dickhead—before sighing. Oh, well. Knowing him, it would take about five seconds before there was a new post on Bob’s story, undoubtedly some long-winded rampage about how he was uncomfortable with labels and had boundaries he needed everyone to respect and if he could bother to learn everyone’s stupid pronouns then they should grow a fucking brain and stop calling him the g-word. If Pete was super lucky, he might even get a carrd shoutout.
Not that he cared, though. The only thing on his mind right now was his plan and, Bob’s approval or not, he wasn’t sleeping tonight until he executed it. It was simple enough anyways. Step one: strike up a conversation with Mikey—easy enough, given how well they got on practically 24/7. Step two: send him the post.
Step three: sparks flying.
Easy as breathing, Pete reopened Instagram, swiped to his direct messages, and found his chat with Mikey. Breathing through the sudden surge of anxiety in his chest—it was going to work, of course it was going to work—he started typing.
hiiiiii mikeyway ^__^
There was a few second’s pause, and then three dots emerged at the bottom of the screen, flashing rhythmically as Mikey typed out a response.
Hey.
Pete had to stuff his face into his hands to keep from smiling too hard. Fuck Bob. The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. Everyone knew Mikey exclusively used “hi” as a greeting, so him saying hey to Pete had to mean something. Something romantic.
how are u doing today babyboy!
Did you not see my post about petnames?
i see all ur posts silly goose :) i have ur notifs on. i’m the #1 mikeyway fan remember?
Pete could almost picture it: Mikey sitting cross-legged on his bed, beanie pulled low over his eyes, cradling his phone in his lap as he bit back a smile just like the one plastered across Pete’s face right now. No doubt the admission that Pete had his notifs on was having the desired effect, sending Mikey into a fit of giggles, or something equally adorable
You have my notifications on?
of course i do dummy! i love seeing ur posts
Wow.
Yep. Mikey was in love with him. Pete saw the dots appear at the bottom of his screen again and his heart nearly exploded out of his chest—double text! Mikey was double texting him!
So, about the petnames.
what about them mikeyway!
I don’t like them.
Playing hard to get, then—probably he thought he came on too strong with the double text. Pete just smirked. How transparent.
but theyre so cute :((
Idc. They make me uncomfortable.
even when i use them?
Yep.
they suit u so well though!!!
Huh.
what else am i supposed to call u when u are literally such a honeybear
Gross.
Pete giggled. Adorable and funny? God, he was so lucky.
fine fine fine. guess you’ll just have to stay good ol mikeyway for now
For now?
;)
Now, onto phase two.
anyyyyyyways! i have something for u mikeyway
Oh. Cool.
wanna see!!!
Sure.
Pete closed out of the messages and hurried over to his saved posts. Maybe making a folder for things that reminded him of Mikey was a little preemptive given they were still just stupid friends right now, but given how well this conversation was going, Pete didn’t think it would be that way for long.
And, besides, it made finding the thing he wanted to send to Mikey all the easier.
“He’s gonna love this,” Pete muttered under his breath as he selected the send post option and scrolled through the recommended accounts until he got to Mikey’s—it was weirdly far down, even though Pete was pretty sure they spent entire days messaging each other sometimes. “You’re a genius, Wentz.”
He got a message notification from Mikey a few seconds after the post sent and hurried back into their messages, biting back another huge grin.
What is this.
it’s an edit silly!
I mean, I got that. Why Dirkjake?
well i know u just kinfirmed dirk and i’m literally jake in the flesh and all ^__^ so i thought u would like it!!
I see. It’s a good edit, I’ll give you that.
Pete let out a muffled screech into his pillow. Mikey liked the edit!
it’s so good we look soooooo cute tbh dirkjake IRL
Haha, yeah.
we are literally them, Pete typed out, and then punched the backspace key a few times. Too repetitive. Not bold enough. He needed something more, something—
“Oh!” Pete snapped his fingers, an idea popping into his head. He grinned again. God, he’s good. He’s so good and he and Mikey are so perfect it hurts.
usintheboyfriends i think?
There was a long, long pause. Then, just when Pete was starting to maybe panic a little bit, Mikey did what Pete had been hoping he’d do for as long as he could remember—months and months and months and months.
He liked the message.
He liked the message! Pete had to stop himself from leaping up off his bed and dancing around the room. Mikey liked his message! Mikey liked the fucking message and everyone and their mother knew that Mikey liking a message equaled Mikey agreeing with whatever had been said in it, meaning that he had wholly, irrefutably, completely just agreed to being Pete’s boyfriend.
Oh, my God. Pete dropped his phone to the side and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. They were dating. Mikey had liked his message and now they were boyfriends and in love and dating. This couldn’t be real. There was no way this was real, except it was, because they were dating and Mikey was perfect and Pete was a motherfucking genius.
Without thinking, Pete reached for his phone again and opened Instagram, this time navigating towards his messages with Bob.
ur not gonna believe what just fucking happened, he typed out as fast as his shaking hands would let him. not. gonna. believe.