Chicago Undiscovered.
Chicago Undiscovered
Pete Wentz and William Beckett
Summary: An altercation between what one believes is right, and the desires one has within oneself.
The best feeling, Pete mused, is the feeling of discovery. It's seeing that sunrise for the very first time and discovering what beauty is like. It's listening to that band play that one song and discovering that someone else understands. It's having your very first kiss and discovering what love feels like. It's like sitting through your very first funeral and discovering the meaning of loss and abandonment. It's all of those things and so many more. It can encompass the world, or it can be in your own backyard. It can travel to the stars and to the moon, or it can be in your bedroom. Discovery is everywhere, depending on how hard you look.
Chicago felt like that for him. Every time he walked around a street corner downtown, every time he sat on a bus and waited to get to the studio, every time he opened his window in the morning and breathed in the cold air of Chicago, it felt like a new discovery to him.
And that feeling followed him on tour. He dreamed of Chicago, he wanted to be in Chicago at every moment, experiencing it. In a way, he needed Chicago. He felt like it was his city; like no one else in the world had the same connection to Chicago. Not like he did. Born and raised in its city limits, he had played in it, sang about it, danced it in, loved in it, been loved in it, drank in it, almost killed himself in it and for some reason every time he left he was excited. Maybe it was the fact that he would soon be coming back to Chicago to re-discover it again. He didn't know. He was just sure of one thing; he would always have the memory of Chicago and the memory of the man attached to the city.
*
As Pete rolled out of his bunk, he scanned the hall for intruders. Sensing that everyone was still dreaming, he crept down the hall and into the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror for a while. He poked and prodded the bags under his eyes, he sighed at his his sunken cheeks, noticed his weary expression and knew he had them for a good reason. This new tour was killing him. He opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of Advil. Of course, in his case, they weren't really Advil. They were medication to keep his brain clear and focused and the bottle was even labelled 'Pete's' to protect the rest of the band.
"Pete!" someone yelled. Probably Joe. "Hurry up! We're leaving!"
Pete sighed and unceremoniously pounded back on the door, signalling that he had heard him. He leaned on the sink and hung his head. The past few weeks had been absolutely chaotic and Joe wasn't making anything better by being impatient. He'd been shaky and nauseous and scared of everything; of being attacked by a fan, of being talked about in the press, of his band mates , of himself. But he didn't let any of that show. Outwardly he was confident and exuberant; no one knew he was back taking Xanax and whatever else he could find from the rest of the pill poppers on tour. It helped, sometimes.
He opened the door and stepped out, walking right into Patrick. Little Patrick. He was the only one who knew Pete's secret and he wasn't even sure why. Andy, he knew, would be totally accepting and tell him it was what he needed to do. Joe would be completely sympathetic and relate in any and all ways possible. But Pete needed stability and when he was a wreck, Patrick was there every time to straighten him out. And with what was happening lately, he needed it.
A knock came on the door and Patrick silently gestured toward the small, cramped table on the bus. Joe sat up and opened the door, his excited voice alerting to the rest of the group that someone was there.
"Let them in, Joe." Andy laughed as he turned back to his comic book. From where Pete was sitting, he could see a little mop of brown hair and smiled; William Beckett.
They had met in Chicago 11 years ago. Pete was just discovering the Chicago music scene and William had been at that one show that completely set Pete up for what he was doing then. William had been sitting in a corner, and was completely unremarkable, yet Pete's eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the small club. Beckett had been sitting with his friends, talking and chatting and watching the band give it all they had. Charismatic Pete walked up and, being Pete Wentz, used a cheesy pick up line.
They spent the whole rest of the night playing 20 questions and quizzing each other on their musical knowledge.
This relationship they'd started only bloomed into something special, something Pete had discovered and treasured along with his memory of Chicago. He associated all things Chicago to William, and all things William to Chicago. It was safe to say that Pete had finally discovered the one thing that made him feel like things might be ok.
As William entered the bus, he saw Pete and smiled that happy smile Pete had always admired. All teeth and all excited to see him. But Pete also saw William's tired expression and how painful it was for William to walk towards him. He gently set himself down on the seat next to Pete and snuggled up to Pete's shoulder. Suddenly Pete felt as though they were in their own world, with the shouting and chaos surrounding them.
Pete leaned into William and wrapped his arms around the tired singer. "What's wrong, Will?" he whispered into his ear.
Will closed his eyes and sighed. Pete was concerned; not only because of William's exhaustion, but because he felt left out of the singer's activities lately. In every town they stopped in, Will wanted to discover it, like they'd discovered Chicago. Pete thought that the discovering of a city should be shared with someone you're close to and told William this, so William invited his friend Gabe along.
Gabe was the singer of Cobra Starship, a band Pete was really good friends with. Whist he was fine with William hanging out with Gabe, he was worried that Gabe was trying to get closer to William than he should be. It was common knowledge amongst the bands touring that Gabe was attracted to the lanky, thin singer and Gabe had a reputation for destruction. He was out of control; parties til 4 in the morning, hookers, drugs, alcohol; it was all part of his downward self-destructive cycle and he was slowly bringing Will in with him.
The three little words William whispered to Beckett attached themselves to his very soul. "I miss Chicago."
"Oh Will." Pete whispered back, tightening his grip on him. The rest of the band were getting ready for the long trip, but when the Butcher called to William, he felt William's body relax and let go.
"Will, come on. We've got to get back to the bus."
"No." Will said, opening one eye to regard Butcher. "I'll travel with these guys, if that's ok."
Patrick was watching Pete. Pete was looking at William. "Yeah, that's fine with us," Patrick said and met Pete's eyes. His gaze was telling him one thing, and one thing only; do not get too involved, or you will get hurt.
"Yeah. We'll make sure he gets some sleep too." Pete said with a laugh, but he understood Patrick perfectly.
Pete Wentz and William Beckett
Summary: An altercation between what one believes is right, and the desires one has within oneself.
The best feeling, Pete mused, is the feeling of discovery. It's seeing that sunrise for the very first time and discovering what beauty is like. It's listening to that band play that one song and discovering that someone else understands. It's having your very first kiss and discovering what love feels like. It's like sitting through your very first funeral and discovering the meaning of loss and abandonment. It's all of those things and so many more. It can encompass the world, or it can be in your own backyard. It can travel to the stars and to the moon, or it can be in your bedroom. Discovery is everywhere, depending on how hard you look.
Chicago felt like that for him. Every time he walked around a street corner downtown, every time he sat on a bus and waited to get to the studio, every time he opened his window in the morning and breathed in the cold air of Chicago, it felt like a new discovery to him.
And that feeling followed him on tour. He dreamed of Chicago, he wanted to be in Chicago at every moment, experiencing it. In a way, he needed Chicago. He felt like it was his city; like no one else in the world had the same connection to Chicago. Not like he did. Born and raised in its city limits, he had played in it, sang about it, danced it in, loved in it, been loved in it, drank in it, almost killed himself in it and for some reason every time he left he was excited. Maybe it was the fact that he would soon be coming back to Chicago to re-discover it again. He didn't know. He was just sure of one thing; he would always have the memory of Chicago and the memory of the man attached to the city.
*
As Pete rolled out of his bunk, he scanned the hall for intruders. Sensing that everyone was still dreaming, he crept down the hall and into the bathroom, where he looked at himself in the mirror for a while. He poked and prodded the bags under his eyes, he sighed at his his sunken cheeks, noticed his weary expression and knew he had them for a good reason. This new tour was killing him. He opened the cabinet and took out a bottle of Advil. Of course, in his case, they weren't really Advil. They were medication to keep his brain clear and focused and the bottle was even labelled 'Pete's' to protect the rest of the band.
"Pete!" someone yelled. Probably Joe. "Hurry up! We're leaving!"
Pete sighed and unceremoniously pounded back on the door, signalling that he had heard him. He leaned on the sink and hung his head. The past few weeks had been absolutely chaotic and Joe wasn't making anything better by being impatient. He'd been shaky and nauseous and scared of everything; of being attacked by a fan, of being talked about in the press, of his band mates , of himself. But he didn't let any of that show. Outwardly he was confident and exuberant; no one knew he was back taking Xanax and whatever else he could find from the rest of the pill poppers on tour. It helped, sometimes.
He opened the door and stepped out, walking right into Patrick. Little Patrick. He was the only one who knew Pete's secret and he wasn't even sure why. Andy, he knew, would be totally accepting and tell him it was what he needed to do. Joe would be completely sympathetic and relate in any and all ways possible. But Pete needed stability and when he was a wreck, Patrick was there every time to straighten him out. And with what was happening lately, he needed it.
A knock came on the door and Patrick silently gestured toward the small, cramped table on the bus. Joe sat up and opened the door, his excited voice alerting to the rest of the group that someone was there.
"Let them in, Joe." Andy laughed as he turned back to his comic book. From where Pete was sitting, he could see a little mop of brown hair and smiled; William Beckett.
They had met in Chicago 11 years ago. Pete was just discovering the Chicago music scene and William had been at that one show that completely set Pete up for what he was doing then. William had been sitting in a corner, and was completely unremarkable, yet Pete's eyes settled on him as soon as he entered the small club. Beckett had been sitting with his friends, talking and chatting and watching the band give it all they had. Charismatic Pete walked up and, being Pete Wentz, used a cheesy pick up line.
They spent the whole rest of the night playing 20 questions and quizzing each other on their musical knowledge.
This relationship they'd started only bloomed into something special, something Pete had discovered and treasured along with his memory of Chicago. He associated all things Chicago to William, and all things William to Chicago. It was safe to say that Pete had finally discovered the one thing that made him feel like things might be ok.
As William entered the bus, he saw Pete and smiled that happy smile Pete had always admired. All teeth and all excited to see him. But Pete also saw William's tired expression and how painful it was for William to walk towards him. He gently set himself down on the seat next to Pete and snuggled up to Pete's shoulder. Suddenly Pete felt as though they were in their own world, with the shouting and chaos surrounding them.
Pete leaned into William and wrapped his arms around the tired singer. "What's wrong, Will?" he whispered into his ear.
Will closed his eyes and sighed. Pete was concerned; not only because of William's exhaustion, but because he felt left out of the singer's activities lately. In every town they stopped in, Will wanted to discover it, like they'd discovered Chicago. Pete thought that the discovering of a city should be shared with someone you're close to and told William this, so William invited his friend Gabe along.
Gabe was the singer of Cobra Starship, a band Pete was really good friends with. Whist he was fine with William hanging out with Gabe, he was worried that Gabe was trying to get closer to William than he should be. It was common knowledge amongst the bands touring that Gabe was attracted to the lanky, thin singer and Gabe had a reputation for destruction. He was out of control; parties til 4 in the morning, hookers, drugs, alcohol; it was all part of his downward self-destructive cycle and he was slowly bringing Will in with him.
The three little words William whispered to Beckett attached themselves to his very soul. "I miss Chicago."
"Oh Will." Pete whispered back, tightening his grip on him. The rest of the band were getting ready for the long trip, but when the Butcher called to William, he felt William's body relax and let go.
"Will, come on. We've got to get back to the bus."
"No." Will said, opening one eye to regard Butcher. "I'll travel with these guys, if that's ok."
Patrick was watching Pete. Pete was looking at William. "Yeah, that's fine with us," Patrick said and met Pete's eyes. His gaze was telling him one thing, and one thing only; do not get too involved, or you will get hurt.
"Yeah. We'll make sure he gets some sleep too." Pete said with a laugh, but he understood Patrick perfectly.