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Humming our Hallelujah	By : agra Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Fall Out Boy Views: 1712 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Fall Out Boy. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Humming our Hallelujah
- 1
Title: Humming our Hallelujah
Pairing: Pete/OFC, Pete/ Ashlee, Pete/Patrick
Author's Note: I havn't written anything in over a year and I've never written FOB. Warnings not listed formally:Drug use. These are by no means the real thoughts or happenings in the lives of the men (and women)mentioned in this fic. Everything is in my head.

Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?

I was mixing a new song on Garageband, as per usual, while the other guys were spread about the bus doing their own thing. Joe was in the back probably smoking and Andy was MIA so he might have been back there too, but one never knows. Pete was on the sofa, laptop and hood up, typing fast.

This was good. I took off my noise canceling headphones and called out to Pete to get his attention. “Come listen to this, Man, I like it a lot!”

“Mherm,” Pete answered….kind of. “Sounds good, ‘Trick.”

“You haven’t heard it yet, Asshole.” I watched Pete physically struggle to get his eyes away from the screen and look at me.

“What you say, ‘Trick?”

Normally I’d be mad, but it’s Pete and I’m in a good mood. I just wrote a fucking awesome song. How could I not be? “Come listen, Fucktard.”

Reluctantly Pete got up, swaying a little when the bus changed lanes. He put on the headphones and hit play and just let the music filter into his brain. Once. Twice. He took the headphones off. His face hadn’t changed. He didn’t say anything.

“What do you think, Peter? Isn’t it good? I’m really excited about it!”

Pete gave me a small smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it was genuine. Like he was tired, not like he was lying to me. “I’m the lyric man, if you say it’s good, its great.”

That wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but I’ll take the compliment. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Man.”

Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

I still really liked the song I had, but none of the scribbles of Pete’s fit. The main rift was only five notes and something needed to fit perfectly in there. I knew I had to wait for Pete to come to me though. After he’d handed me a napkin with the words “I blackmailed myself because I ain't got anyone else. "This is a stick up. Give us all your inspiration” scrawled across it in sharpie after watching a documentary about bank robberies I resolved to never ASK him for lyrics.

Pete’s been emo lately. I hate the term and I know he does too, but we’re not poster boys for the scene without reason. He’s been adding extra eyeliner to hide the circles with again. He was being over dramatic one night after a fight with her and said that they rings under his eyes are the only ones he wants to be buried with. Something about hating commitments. I think she wanted him to fly back to LA for their “two month.” Fuck that, girls are weird. Pete and I have talked about this. Six months, fine. A year, definitely. But there was no reason to celebrate monthly.

He’s got his hoodie on and up, as usual, but there’s just something about them…maybe that they’re not skin tight anymore that makes them just seem to swallow him and he lets them. He doesn’t talk as much and has been writing a lot. Some of its garbage. Some of its genius. His comparison to the scene as an Arms Race was the best line that directly called out the scene since Panic!’s “Camisado” However the line “We're so miserable and stunning and our love songs for the genuinely cunning,” pushed past mediocre to distasteful.

Speak of the Devil. Pete plopped himself next to me on the sofa and handed me the newest notebook…which looks like it’s been through the war already. I start paging through it immediately. Surprisingly Pete doesn’t leave. I’m use to getting The Book shoved under doors or in my bunk when I’m either not there or as Pete is passing from the back to the front of the bus. He doesn’t usually sit and wait for a reaction, just lets me pick and choose and sees what comes out at the end.

I page through just taking it in, not really reading in depth to it. A quintet on page seven popped out at me.

we keep the beat with your blistered feet
and we bullet the words at the mockingbirds singing
slept through the weekend and dreaming
of sinking with the melody of the cliffs of eternity
got postcards from my former selves saying: "How've you been?"

It was so Pete. Drama and pain and melodrama and real life all swirled with eloquence I wish I possessed. It painted a picture of an anime-rendition of Pete on a Grand Canyon like cliff with a postcard in hand staring out over the beautiful scenery seeing nothing. All bold block colours with no shading or details. Like a little kid cartoon or comic. I loved it.

Pete grabbed my hand as I turned the next page and removed it from the pages and turned back one. I had accidentally skipped a page. Apparently Pete wanted me to see it. He didn’t let go of my right hand so I used my left to hold the book open on my lap.

it's all a game of this or that, now versus then
better off against worse for wear

I rolled my eyes. It brought back memories of Dance, Dance. I started to say something about it but cut myself off. In the middle of the page was The Chorus. It wasn’t labeled or anything, but it stuck out like a purple mohawk at a formal dance.

hum hallelujah,
just off the key of reason
i thought I loved you
it was just how you looked in the light.
a teenage vow in a parking lot
"till tonight do us part"
i sing the blues and swallow them too

It was perfect! Hum Hallelujah. 1…2,3,4,5! Perfect! The melody exploded in my head and my hand twitched to pick up the laptop I’d placed on the table when Pete had handed me The Notebook. I didn’t realize I’d been holding Pete’s hand until he squeezed it. I looked at him and I knew I had the biggest grin on me face.

“Like it?” he said, this time the smile, though just as tired as before, did reach his eyes.

“Love it,” I said back, “Even though I’m not the lyric man.”

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

Pete stumbled into my apartment late on Sunday. His nose and eyes were red and he looked worse for wear. That was an understatement. He looked fucking horrible. I asked him what was wrong as he collapsed onto my sofa.

“I’m crashing, but I’m no wave” he replied.

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. I wasn’t in the mood for his pretty words. Something was wrong. “What the fuck have you done to yourself, Wentz?”

Suddenly Pete’s eyes got wide and he tried to run. I was so shocked that he actually tried to run away that it was a good thing that whatever the fuck was wrong with him caused him to trip because I didn’t start moving until he was half out the door again. He fell hard on the front step, a bloody gash opening on his forehead.

“Fuck,” I muttered and went to get him. I pulled him to his feet, but he couldn’t stand. He was crying and shaking and fighting against me even though he was obviously incapable of supporting himself. I all but dropped him onto the loveseat and then sat holding him until he gave up the fighting and just cried into my shirt.

“What happened, Pete?” I asked him. I figured she’d broken his heart, this wasn’t the first time he’d come to me in the early morning crying.

However this was the first time he’d run.

Pete stiffened in my arms. ‘You’ll hate me,” he whispered.

“Will not,” I said and kissed his forehead. I was worried. This wasn’t broken hearted Pete…and yet it was. Why would I hate him for getting hurt again? Sure it was old, but it wasn’t something you hate someone for. It was definitely not something you hated Pete Wentz for, especially when you had to work with him. Especially when he’s your best friend. “I promise. What happened?”

Pete was shaking hard in my arms. “I….she…we…” he stuttered. I let him. This was Pete. The words would come.

“I….she” he said again and stopped. Stopped talking, stopped shaking, stopped breathing. “Cocaine,” He said. “She got me into cocaine. I’m coming off a high now.” Pete wouldn’t look at me, his eyes were glued firmly to the wall behind my right ear.

To say I was shocked would have been an understatement. But in the frozen state I was aware of one thing. I didn’t hate Pete and I had to let him know that. I’d bitch at him later for being stupid, but right now what mattered was that Pete know I don’t hate him.

I tried to catch his eye but he wasn’t having it.

“I don’t hate you, Baby,” I said after that failed.

“Yes you do, you should.”

“I don’t.”

“You d…” I cut him off with a kiss. I pressed my lips to my best friends and shut him up. I let him know that I didn’t hate him and that I loved him with a simple skin on skin contact. When I removed my lips from his Pete gapped at me. His mouth opened and shut once….twice….a third time and yet words did not form on his tongue. Finally he gave up and instead of talking he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. He was hesitant as if he thought is he did anything else I WOULD hate him. But when he worked up the courage to lick my lips I opened them for him. I accepted his tongue into my mouth and his faults into my life. I accepted his mistake and his flaws and everything that made him Pete. I accepted him into my body and I accepted him into my heart on a level I had never realized I’d left open for him. I accepted him, and he was beautiful.

she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

He was back. And he was high. She’d gotten to him again. He smelled like her, tasted like her (the bastard had the gall to kiss me as he came in smelling like her perfume and her sex) and looked like her. Nose running ruby red, eyes bloodshot, and a grin on his face that spoke of both the drug in his system and the fact that he’d gotten laid….as if the hickies weren’t enough to tell me that.

I knew it wasn’t his fault. She broke him. Pete was never a good recovering addict. He slipped, he needed constant attention, and this time he feel. Hard. She’d called and asked him to come over. I’d told Pete not to go or to let me go with him. He swore he was fine that he’d been clean for months, and he had, and the he wouldn’t slip up.

He’d lied. I got the story out of him as he crashed. According to him she’d all but cornered him screaming it was his fault that she was addicted. When he’d left her she’d gotten worse and worse. She’d then taken a hit and perked up. She’d gone on and on about how GOOD it felt and then moved on to tell him he was a pussy for quitting. What rockstar DIDN’T do drugs, who did he think he was? Better than her? He was shit. And shit like him fucked up everything. Shit like him might as well take a hit, he was going to fuck up anyway, might as well enjoy it.

She took everything we had built in him and tore it to shreds. But the end of her rant Pete more than willingly took the coke. Once high it wasn’t hard for her to remind him just how GOOD sex felt when high. Heaven on earth. Or hell. Or whatever.

Or whatever, this was over. I couldn’t do this anymore. The lapses I could take, but not the cheating. Formally I broke up with him, but we both know he broke everything with me the second he’d entered her warm heat and secured it when he screamed Hallelujah as he came.

Well baby I've been here before
I’ve seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya

The apartment was empty without him. But I got use to it. I was use to it. He called. He was sober again, she was out of the picture. “That’s good,” I said.

“’Trick…please….let me come home. I know you’ve got to be in a lot of pain. I want to make this better.”

“I don’t need you,” was my only reply. I hung up on him.

I got a letter in the mail a few days later.

we're the new face of failure
prettier and younger but not any better off
bullet proof loneliness at best
me and you setting in a honeymoon
if i woke up next to you

Anyone else would have cried at that. But I didn’t. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t need him. He’s done this to me before, other’s have. I’m destine to be alone, but that’s alright. I work better alone. I don’t sleep or eat right, but I get more done.

We had to start our own record soon. I couldn’t hide under Gym Class Heroes or TAI or Panic! or anyone now. The music was written, most lyrics were there. We were ready to go to studio. We’d delayed because of Pete and I’s break up as well as his recovery.

I’ve done this a million times it seems. I produced tons of tracks for friends and I was no stranger to the studio. I could go through the recording parts of this album in my sleep. But I needed to be awake. I had to put more than melody to Pete’s words I had to put soul into them.

I’ve got this. We’re good. I called up Pete, Andy, and Joe. Well, texted Pete. I didn’t want to actually talk to him. Told them to meet me in the studio next week, “Infinity” as we’d dubbed it, was under construction.

I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Things went surprisingly well all through recording. We all loved the new album…even if I did hit Pete in the face over lyrics for Carpal Tunnel. I still thin his “love songs for the genuinely cunning” was crap, but I ended up just doing what I did for Sugar. There’s a reason the fans get to argue over the wording to songs.

Once it was done we got ready to tour. It was a good thing everything was set when Pete walked into my place with his arm around Ashlee. I would have post-poned the tour other wise. Between that and the album leek 2007 was shaping up to just not be my year.

The worst part was not that Pete had someone new, but that he flaunted it. Pete was always bad about obsessing and talking too much about his girlfriends, but this was worse than the worst I’d ever seen him previous. Maybe its because we all knew it was bullshit, but he made sure we all knew that he “loved” her.
Just before the Honda Civic tour I couldn’t take it any longer. I flipped shit on him and told our manager to post pone. I was in no shape to tour, I yelled at them, with Pete.

For some reason no one argued with me.

Then Pete came back. Oh he’d been around for months now, but he didn’t come back, really, until he came back this time. He broke it off with her and came to say he was sorry. He screamed outside my house for hours that he was sorry, that he was an ass, that he was a immature little bitch, and every other thing that really, he was.

He broke down crying a few hours into it and I let him in when it began to rain. He was sorry, I knew. I was sorry too. There was a chance, after her, that I was going to give him another shot. But after Ashlee I knew I’d never be able to love him like I had before. Friend we could be, but never lovers, not again.

Well there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?

Things are different on tour. At least in comparison to every other tour. Pete doesn’t make jokes on stage about how he knows I’m gay from wikipedia and we’re all so high most of the time that no one cares. In Philadelphia we all had to be carried off stage practically. Andy was was totally out of it between his solo and the pot. The TAI guys put on an awesome show every night and William in his painted on jeans makes Pete jealous to the point that we have to force him to eat and remind him that everyone thinks Bill’s a woman so he stops trying to fit into Becket’s pants.

Time was, before we were involved, that Pete told me all about who he hooked up with, but between the drinks and pot he either forgot who they were, how it was, and to tell me about it. Not that I wanted him to, but it was different. We were different.

There were no kisses on stage, though Pete did strip every night. Happytree Friends graced the display screens and technicolor reflected off Pete in a way that made the shadows disappear and he looked healthy for once, even though he wasn’t. The fro was back and we began comparing Joe to Ray Toro, usually finding it as funny as Joe did. Bunch of pot heads.

Pete was sorry, so I came back….but I never really came back.

And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

I was dreaming. I knew I was because Pete was there, in my apartment, in my room, in my bed, in me.

His thrusts were slow and perfect. This wasn’t fucking, this wasn’t getting off, this was love. This was sex that lasted for hours not minutes, this was Pete inside me for the first time, the last time, the best times. This was our love. Was. Was. Was.

Rewind. Pause. Play. His lips on mine, then my neck, chest, hip, thigh, cock.

Fast-forward. Stop. Rewind. Play. He entered me slowly. I feel muscles not meant to stretch, stretch and the pain hurts so good. His head is inside me suddenly and we both moan. The friction is dry and hot in spite of lube, precum, and sweat. He moves forward slowly until I feel my ass pressed firmly against those hips that I left hickies on earlier and bruises on two nights ago. He was making a matching set on me now, holding my hips hard and he moves in and out, in and out, in and OH RIGHT THERE and he hits RIGHT THERE over and over again and I cum moaning his praises.

Rewind. Rewind. Pause. Rewind. Play. I lick the ring of muscle around his hole and his gasps into the pillow. Lube. One finger. Two. Scissor. Three. He says he’s ready. Fast-forward. Play. Pete releases onto the bed, my hand on his cock pumping hard and I thrust like my life depends on it. Fast-Forward. We wake up sticky, spent, stinky, and happy.

Fast-forward. Fast-forward. Fast-forward. Pause. Fast-forward. I wake up alone.

Well maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who'd out drew ya

I should have hated Pete, but I couldn’t. I hated them. All the “hers” in all the songs and all the fan fictions and all the journal entries on all the .coms. Ashlee was not the last girl to get my Pete, but she was the last one to get to me.

And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

This time it was me on Pete’s front step late on a Sunday. Humming our Halelujah.

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
- 1
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Humming our Hallelujah