When you Wish Upon A Star 1/?
Title: When you Wish Upon A Star
Pairing: Furture (lol furture) Peterick
Summary: Pete Wentz is a robot, it's the furture, Patrick Stump is a lonely music geek.
Rated: PG for now
A/N: am I really doing this?
Patrick Stump was a fairly wealthy young man, who went to a private school, and had a nice enough home life. So perhaps, he was a little bit of a geek for 20th century music and movies (Stars Wars is still fun even if it's two centuries later), and he kind of had no friends. He had a couple, but apparently not enough for his mom to not buy him a companion bot for his birthday.
It'll be like a tutor."
"For what?" Patrick was doing Above Average in all of his classes.
"Music." Patrick has to mentally scoff, he'd do better teaching a robot than being taught in that field. Outwardly, Patrick sighs and looks back to his mom.
"Where is it?" His mother smiled before answering.
"Your room, I sent him up to tidy things...he has quite a few functions."
"He?" Patrick asked, his mother nodded.
"Well..I know you like all that old music, the..screamo? I was looking around and someone was selling a replica-bot of one of those singers you liked and, well....It was pretty cheap, and they did all the reprogramming themselves."
Patrick nodded slowly, half turned to the lifter pad, ready to head to the upper level. He stepped onto the pad and his mother started walking away before he spoke up, "Which...which singer?"
His mother waved a hand, "One of them, I'm not sure..I just know you mentioned the band before; Armando Las Angeles, or something."
Patrick taps the pad with his foot and it begins to raise, and he tries to think of what band his mother was talking about. He stepped off on the second floor and watched monotonously as his door slid open when it recognised his presence. Walking in and setting his laptop bag down, he didn't notice the thing sitting very still on his bed. When Patrick turned around and gasped loudly out of shock, the robot just smiled and spoke.
"Hey dude, my name's Pete. Your mom's a nice lady. Her name is Patricia."
Patrick stood all his five feet almost four inches and stared at the thing on his bed. It looked nothing like any of the generic androids he was used to seeing advertised, which was a relief. Patrick really did want to call it a person, it looked just like the real thing, sounded like it too. Whoever had ordered him must have spent a lot of money on it. Tanned snythoskin, dark almost curly hair slightly longer than what Patrick remembers of his pictures, a couple tattoos. Very custom, and it seemed odd that someone would sell it.
"How old are you? I'm only 2, even though I'm built to look 21." The bot grinned widely, exposing perfect white teeth, it seemed almost amused at being a two year old model of something that was being reproduced a new version each week.
"Sixteen," Patrick responded, " but my birthday's coming up."
"I love birthdays. I love balloons, and music, and clowns. Do you like those things?"
"Uhh..."
"I alphabetized your music collection and reorganised your clothing by color and made your bed and did you know you had a sock under your bed, it was very dirty, you're flushed are you feeling well?"
"Pete..." Patrick said cautiously.
"That's my name, don't wear it out. Did you know I was made after this guy from a band? I can sing just like him, it's cool wanna hear?"
"Do you- can you just shut up?" Patrick managed to say, a little too loudly, but hopefully Pete heard it over his own voice.
"Sorry, Master Patrick." Patrick blushed, opening and closing his mouth without words, feeling like a fish, so he stopped. Pete had shut up, that was the important part. He took his laptop out of it's case and set it on his desk, preparing to do the assignments he hadn't finished in class.
"Homework?" Patrick looked over at Pete, who was kicking his dangling legs against the bed. Pete was shorter than Patrick had expected. Patrick just nods in his direction, he doesn't see how Pete's eyes glow for a moment, scanning the laptop. "Your computer has a Trojan, and the answers to your math homework are 1.222844, the constraints and the profit function, f(x) = 1/x, undefined variables, and x equals 3, 45, and negative 8."
"That's cheating." Patrick says, watching the voice command of his laptop kick in and fill out his homework before he can stop it. Pete just shrugs happily.
"You have a nice guitar."
"Thanks..." Patrick responds, pretending to be checking if Pete's answers were right, they are.
"I tuned it for you."
"YOU TOUCHED BETSY?" Patrick is officially angry with this bot, and does not blame it's previous owner for getting rid of it.
"Sorry, Master Patrick."
"Hey, don't..j-just..like..Just Patrick, okay?"
"Okay." There was quiet while Patrick checked his messages, nothing but spam. "Episode IV was my favorite."
"What?" Patrick asked turning towards Pete.
"A New Hope...Star Wars." Patrick's eyes lit up at that, none of the weird scanning electronics lighting though, just the regular emotional response type.
"Episode V was so better though." Patrick responded smiling slightly, Pete smiled back and accessed his files on opinions and debate.
They argued the qualities of Han Solo, and how Princess Leia's dresses got shorter before moving onto the subject of the late 1990's Chicago Hardcore Scene. By the time they were sharing favorite Bowie songs, night had fallen and it was late enough that Patrick's mother interrupted them and called bedtime.
"Mom, I'm almost 17...bedtime, really? Where's Pete gonna stay?"
"Yes, really. I'm sure he can just go on standby and stand in the corner or something right?"
That sounded odd to Patrick after the conversation he and Pete had shared. Pete however just replied politely, saying that'd work fine, and Patrick's mom left for her own room. Pete stood from the bed for the first time since Patrick had seen him and asked which corner Patrick wanted him in.
"Uhh...whichever you want?" Pete chose the one on the far side of the room, near the closet hutch. And stood there, eyes open, not blinking.
Patrick tried not to let his skin crawl as he got changed for bed, he couldn't help feeling he was being watched, though Pete had gone on standby.
"You're...You're not really on right now right?" Patrick asked, feeling paranoid in the quiet before slipping a shirt over his head and pulling the perfectly made covers back from his bed.
"I was running updates still."
"Oh." Patrick blushed again, Pete had seen him mostly naked, great.
"You're self conscious about your body?" Patrick responded back with a quiet 'yes'. "That's not cool dude, you aren't ugly. I'd even say you were cute."
Patrick pondered Pete's overuse of the word 'dude' and tried to bury his face further into his pillow so Pete wouldn't see how red he was after being called 'cute'.
"Goodnight, Mas- Patrick." Patrick mumbled something back, and let himself drift off, thinking about it being his birthday tomorrow, and sleeping in.
Part 2