Chapter 3
Stitch’s kinkiness was a pretty consistent measure of his mental health. Happy Stitch liked to get his freak on a few times a month. He got kinkier as he got more anxious or depressed.
It had been three weeks since Stitch had tied Pete up. Pete couldn’t decide if it was a good, bad, or indifferent sign. It could be that Stitch was relaxed and happy, or it could be that he was quietly torturing himself by denying himself what he really wanted.
Pete pretended to read a magazine, but he was too antsy to pay attention. Stitch had his nose buried in a book about screenplay writing. He was re-working his script for Gel and obsessed with getting it just right. Pete watched Stitch frown at the book and mouth something to himself. Pete enjoyed going to the library with Stitch and watching him read. Stitch complained when he caught Pete staring, but he was usually too caught up in his research to notice. It made Pete think of going to the library with his mum when she’d gone back to school. She’d always looked so intense when she read. He would quietly entertain himself for hours until she noticed the time. When she’d invariably asked Pete why he didn’t remind her to do things like feed him or take him to the bathroom or the other boring tasks associated with mothering a small child, Pete had had no answer. Even when his tummy rumbled, he’d never wanted to interrupt his mother when she seemed so content. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d loved those times with his mum.
And Pete loved to watch Stitch at work. He looked at home in the library, in his cream-colored sweater and with his curls sticking out in every direction. For all the time Stitch spent popping pills and having sex in gay nightclubs, the library scene better suited him. His pale skin looked like marble under the harsh lighting.
Pete tossed his magazine under the table and said, “Oops.”
Stitch barely glanced at him before going back to his book. Pete glanced around to make sure no one was watching and crawled under the table. There weren’t many people in the library and they were in a secluded area, but getting done for getting freaky in the library was not on.
Pete pushed apart Stitch’s knees and ran his hands along Stitch’s thighs.
“What are you… Oh.”
Pete stifled a giggle as he mouthed Stitch through his jeans before tackling his belt buckle. When Pete had managed to set Stitch’s cock free from its denim prison (with a little help from Stitch), he had an epiphany. Whether Pete was running his tongue along the tip of his cock or taking it down his throat like he was auditioning to be a Renaissance Faire sword swallower, Stitch was unable to react. Their not being arrested relied heavily on Stitch’s ability to remain neutral as Pete did his best to make Stitch’s eyes roll back in his head.
Pete finally felt like he got it. He enjoyed his play time with Stitch, but he never really understood it. Crouched on his knees under a table in the library, he felt powerful. He felt possessive of Stitch’s body and thrilled by his ability to make Stitch squirm, even as he desperately tried to stay still. The feeling of power was electrifying. Pete worked his own cock and ended up splattering his come on Stitch’s jeans when Stitch slipped and let out a quiet “fuck.”
Pete sucked Stitch in earnest until Stitch grabbed him by the hair and held his head still as he fucked Pete’s mouth. It only took a few strokes before Stitch filled Pete’s mouth with his hot come. Pete waited until Stitch peeked down to lick his lips and swallow.
They made their best efforts to be both as fast as possible and totally casual as they packed up to beat a hasty retreat from the smell of semen and embarrassment. Pete smiled at Stitch’s bright red cheeks. It was usually Stitch who initiated their adventures, but Stitch was usually under the influence at the time. Sober Stitch was pretty reserved when it came to sex.
Pete liked seeing Stitch blush. It made him look softer and more touchable.
Pete gave Stitch a quick hug.
“Thank you, Henry.”
Pete noted Stitch’s physical reaction to hearing his actual name. Pete tried to disappear into his coat. He was nowhere near ready to tackle those feelings.
Stitch took Pete’s hand and kissed it.
“Thanks, Pete Sweet.”
Xxx
Pete said no the first time Stitch asked him to read his script. Eventually, Stitch talked him into it, promising he wouldn’t ask Pete any questions or make him summarize what he’d read. Pete didn’t have the greatest attention span, and Stitch’s script was long.
He’d be humiliated if he didn’t understand it.
With trepidation, Pete locked himself in the bedroom with Stitch’s laptop. He immediately felt anxious looking at the screenplay format and the unfamiliar abbreviations, but when he started reading the story, he found it was easy to get caught up in the tale. It was about a man, Sam, entering middle-age, who began dating a much younger woman he met through a BDSM fetish site. Sam was obsessed with not being perceived as pathetic, and his self-consciousness drove him to ever more awkward moments as he tried to present himself as a knowledgeable man of the world. After attending a disappointingly banal sex party and running into his mother’s best mate, Mrs. Rooney, Sam decided to give up on the relationship entirely.
Pete ignored Stitch knocking at the door until Stitch jimmied the lock.
“Is it that bad?” Stitch asked with a pained expression.
“Why does he just leave her?” Pete asked. “She tried so hard, and he really seemed to like her.”
Pete wilted under Stitch’s knowing look, but he kept speaking.
“It’s just sad that she gets chucked like that. The rest of it’s really funny. It’s just a sad ending.”
Stitch sat on the bed and put his arms around Pete.
“She went through all the awkward bits, too. It’s not like it was easy for her or she didn’t feel silly sometimes, but she kept trying to make Sam happy, and then he just…”
Pete stopped when he felt tears coming on. He couldn’t cry over Stitch’s comedy.
Pete tried to push all his thoughts aside when Stitch kissed him. It was usually easy to forget about the real world when he was in bed with Stitch, but his mind kept wandering back to Stitch talking about moving out while Pete’s wrists were still red from being tied up.
“Want to talk about it?” Stitch asked.
Pete used his thumb to rub out the worry lines on Stitch’s forehead and said, “Not really.”
Stitch looked concerned, but he allowed himself to be pulled down on top of Pete for a snog. Pete felt better with Stitch’s weight on him, holding him down. He felt safe.
“Tell me how to make you feel better.” Stitch pitched his voice low as he spoke, and it sent a tingle up Pete’s spine. “Anything you want.”
“I want you on top of me, inside of me, and as close as possible. Lots of kissing.”
Stitch stayed on top of Pete, kissing him as he used his long fingers to prepare Pete to be entered. Pete could tell Stitch was thinking hard, but had no idea what he was thinking about. Stitch was an enigma, and Pete was an open book. Pete wasn’t sure it was a good combination, but he couldn’t see a way around it. Stitch had good reason for his protective shields, and Pete wasn’t bright enough to be deep.
Stitch never stopped kissing Pete for more than a few moments. They kept kissing as Stitch entered him and fucked him with long, slow thrusts. Stitch’s cock twitched when Pete whispered, “Oh, Henry.”
“Fuck me harder, Henry. Fuck me with that big, beautiful cock,” Pete held Stitch tight, keeping him close so Pete’s cock rubbed against Stitch’s belly as they made love. “Make me come for you.”
Stitch groaned as he tried to shag Pete right through the mattress. Stitch loved it when Pete talked in bed, even if he had a pretty limited vocabulary. It was the only place where Pete’s constant chattiness was a good thing.
Pete closed his eyes tight and focused on the feeling of Stitch’s cock against his prostate and the feeling of being stretched and filled until he came hard. Stitch kept kissing him as Pete spent himself between their bodies.
“Come inside me,” Pete pleaded. “I love the way it feels when you come inside of me.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. He watched Stitch make his beautifully ridiculous come face, and he felt so much love for the man inside of him that it almost hurt, like there wasn’t enough room in his body for all the feelings.
Stitch stayed on top and inside of Pete as they exchanged gentle kisses, and then Pete burst into tears. Henry held him tight as Pete sobbed.
“I know, Pete,” Henry said in a soothing tone. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Pete had no idea what Henry was talking about, but he felt calmed by his words. As long as Henry knew what was going on, they’d be fine.
Xxx
Pete awoke in an empty bed, but his surge of panic was short-lived. Henry’s laptop was open on the bed.
He blinked at the bright screen and saw that Stitch had added to the ending of the film. When Sam chucked his younger girlfriend, Andy, she freaked out about being dumped while dressed like “Catwoman fallen on hard times” and asked Sam to find her inhaler. As Sam searched through her black bag, an item he had fetishized throughout the film as a mysterious and feminine vessel, he found that in addition to her toys, prophylactics, and lubricants, she also kept the bag stocked with first aid supplies and asthma and allergy medicine. Sam was newly intrigued by Andy’s neuroticism and asked for a do-over.
Andy and Sam were comparing anti-anxiety meds when Stitch walked back into the room.
“I was just getting some soup,” Stitch explained, holding up his bowl. He’d been living almost entirely off of Pete’s homemade soups for weeks. It made Pete nervous, being responsible for Stitch’s nutrition. Pete did his best to hit all the food groups so Stitch stayed healthy until he went back to eating takeaway once in a while.
“I was reading the new ending… Is that okay?”
Stitch gave a tight smile. “That depends on what you think.”
“I love it. It’s sweet and funny and…” Pete was out of words. He wasn’t sure how to convey how much he enjoyed the new ending. It was still dark and edgy, but there was hope and romance in the new ending.
Stitch stared hard at his soup and his cheeks turned pink. “I’m still working on happy endings. They don’t come easily to me.”
Xxx
Once Gel had begun the process of casting, Pete had figured Stitch would calm down. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Amazingly, Stitch was actually worse once the script had been finalized. Gel clearly respected Stitch’s opinion, but Stitch wasn’t so much flattered as immobilized with fear. Normally, Pete let Stitch drag him out of bed in the morning and force him to get to the kiosk on time, but now their roles had reversed. Stitch would lie in bed and stare at his beeping alarm as it got louder and louder until Pete physically pulled him out of his cocoon of blankets. He gave Stitch clothes to wear and fed him breakfast and drove him to work on his scooter, the only place where Stitch seemed himself.
“You should write something else,” Pete suggested during one of the many lulls at the kiosk. “You could write about us, you know, working in a kiosk. Talking to customers… eating sandwiches…”
Pete couldn’t think of a third thing. There was really nothing interesting about working at the kiosk, other than being with Stitch and meeting new people.
“Someone already made that movie and called it Clerks,” Stitch replied with a hint of a smile.
Pete tried to think of another idea, but he had no idea what kind of things Stitch was interested in writing. He seemed to fancy writing exaggerated versions of his own foibles, but Pete didn’t dare suggest Stitch write about his substance abuse, Charles, or his anxiety about being gay. Stitch had called Pete an enabler, so Pete had looked the word up and had to admit Stitch had him dead to rights. He turned his back when Stitch added whiskey to his coffee and pretended not to notice when Stitch took a break from the kiosk and returned suddenly full of energy and with an apparently itchy nose or glassy-eyed and lethargic. Stitch was easier to deal with when he was self-medicating. Drunk or high, Stitch was chatty and let Pete in on what was really going on in his head. Of course, Pete couldn’t bring any of those topics up when Stitch was sober, or he’d get paranoid and more closed-off than usual. So Pete pretended not to know that Stitch had changed his phone number so his parents couldn’t reach him and ask uncomfortable questions, but that he’d already relented and given the new number to Charles, who was contacting him nearly every day. When Stitch spent the night talking about how much he didn’t want to wake up the next morning, or ever again, Pete tucked his fear away and hoped that the thoughts of suicide went away when Stitch was sober.
In bed, he called Stitch by his real name. The rest of the day, Pete tried to avoid calling him anything, but of course Stitch noticed. If Pete tried to use a term of endearment to avoid saying ‘Stitch,’ Stitch would reply by calling Pete ‘mate’ or ‘you, with the hair.’ If Pete and Stitch could live on a desert island, things would be perfect between them, but there were so many people and so many expectations that they had to live with. Stitch was afraid he was wasting his life, but all Pete had ever wanted was someone to come home to. With Stitch, Pete had everything he needed. He didn’t need Stitch to be a knight in shining armor; he just needed someone who loved him and made him feel happy. For all his sadness, Stitch was quirky and funny and he liked to fuck in public, but he went red and awkward when Pete kissed him on the cheek in private. He was perfect.
“I really like you, Stitch.” Pete said it because it was on his mind. “I like being around you. Even without the sexy stuff, even before I realized I was ready to actually be with a guy, I just liked being around you.”
“You still have trouble calling me Henry. I can’t make you that happy.”
“You make me nervous! That don’t mean I ain’t happy!”
Pete immediately felt silly, but Stitch wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist and began to sway.
“Let me take you dancing tonight,” Stitch purred. “I promise I’ll be fun and not totally stressful.”
“Just a little stressful?”
“I am who I am.”
“Popeye?”
Pete laughed as Stitch bent him over at the waist and held him in a headlock, threatening his “mop you call hair.” Stitch was complicated, but he made Pete happy, and that was all that really mattered.
It had been three weeks since Stitch had tied Pete up. Pete couldn’t decide if it was a good, bad, or indifferent sign. It could be that Stitch was relaxed and happy, or it could be that he was quietly torturing himself by denying himself what he really wanted.
Pete pretended to read a magazine, but he was too antsy to pay attention. Stitch had his nose buried in a book about screenplay writing. He was re-working his script for Gel and obsessed with getting it just right. Pete watched Stitch frown at the book and mouth something to himself. Pete enjoyed going to the library with Stitch and watching him read. Stitch complained when he caught Pete staring, but he was usually too caught up in his research to notice. It made Pete think of going to the library with his mum when she’d gone back to school. She’d always looked so intense when she read. He would quietly entertain himself for hours until she noticed the time. When she’d invariably asked Pete why he didn’t remind her to do things like feed him or take him to the bathroom or the other boring tasks associated with mothering a small child, Pete had had no answer. Even when his tummy rumbled, he’d never wanted to interrupt his mother when she seemed so content. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d loved those times with his mum.
And Pete loved to watch Stitch at work. He looked at home in the library, in his cream-colored sweater and with his curls sticking out in every direction. For all the time Stitch spent popping pills and having sex in gay nightclubs, the library scene better suited him. His pale skin looked like marble under the harsh lighting.
Pete tossed his magazine under the table and said, “Oops.”
Stitch barely glanced at him before going back to his book. Pete glanced around to make sure no one was watching and crawled under the table. There weren’t many people in the library and they were in a secluded area, but getting done for getting freaky in the library was not on.
Pete pushed apart Stitch’s knees and ran his hands along Stitch’s thighs.
“What are you… Oh.”
Pete stifled a giggle as he mouthed Stitch through his jeans before tackling his belt buckle. When Pete had managed to set Stitch’s cock free from its denim prison (with a little help from Stitch), he had an epiphany. Whether Pete was running his tongue along the tip of his cock or taking it down his throat like he was auditioning to be a Renaissance Faire sword swallower, Stitch was unable to react. Their not being arrested relied heavily on Stitch’s ability to remain neutral as Pete did his best to make Stitch’s eyes roll back in his head.
Pete finally felt like he got it. He enjoyed his play time with Stitch, but he never really understood it. Crouched on his knees under a table in the library, he felt powerful. He felt possessive of Stitch’s body and thrilled by his ability to make Stitch squirm, even as he desperately tried to stay still. The feeling of power was electrifying. Pete worked his own cock and ended up splattering his come on Stitch’s jeans when Stitch slipped and let out a quiet “fuck.”
Pete sucked Stitch in earnest until Stitch grabbed him by the hair and held his head still as he fucked Pete’s mouth. It only took a few strokes before Stitch filled Pete’s mouth with his hot come. Pete waited until Stitch peeked down to lick his lips and swallow.
They made their best efforts to be both as fast as possible and totally casual as they packed up to beat a hasty retreat from the smell of semen and embarrassment. Pete smiled at Stitch’s bright red cheeks. It was usually Stitch who initiated their adventures, but Stitch was usually under the influence at the time. Sober Stitch was pretty reserved when it came to sex.
Pete liked seeing Stitch blush. It made him look softer and more touchable.
Pete gave Stitch a quick hug.
“Thank you, Henry.”
Pete noted Stitch’s physical reaction to hearing his actual name. Pete tried to disappear into his coat. He was nowhere near ready to tackle those feelings.
Stitch took Pete’s hand and kissed it.
“Thanks, Pete Sweet.”
Xxx
Pete said no the first time Stitch asked him to read his script. Eventually, Stitch talked him into it, promising he wouldn’t ask Pete any questions or make him summarize what he’d read. Pete didn’t have the greatest attention span, and Stitch’s script was long.
He’d be humiliated if he didn’t understand it.
With trepidation, Pete locked himself in the bedroom with Stitch’s laptop. He immediately felt anxious looking at the screenplay format and the unfamiliar abbreviations, but when he started reading the story, he found it was easy to get caught up in the tale. It was about a man, Sam, entering middle-age, who began dating a much younger woman he met through a BDSM fetish site. Sam was obsessed with not being perceived as pathetic, and his self-consciousness drove him to ever more awkward moments as he tried to present himself as a knowledgeable man of the world. After attending a disappointingly banal sex party and running into his mother’s best mate, Mrs. Rooney, Sam decided to give up on the relationship entirely.
Pete ignored Stitch knocking at the door until Stitch jimmied the lock.
“Is it that bad?” Stitch asked with a pained expression.
“Why does he just leave her?” Pete asked. “She tried so hard, and he really seemed to like her.”
Pete wilted under Stitch’s knowing look, but he kept speaking.
“It’s just sad that she gets chucked like that. The rest of it’s really funny. It’s just a sad ending.”
Stitch sat on the bed and put his arms around Pete.
“She went through all the awkward bits, too. It’s not like it was easy for her or she didn’t feel silly sometimes, but she kept trying to make Sam happy, and then he just…”
Pete stopped when he felt tears coming on. He couldn’t cry over Stitch’s comedy.
Pete tried to push all his thoughts aside when Stitch kissed him. It was usually easy to forget about the real world when he was in bed with Stitch, but his mind kept wandering back to Stitch talking about moving out while Pete’s wrists were still red from being tied up.
“Want to talk about it?” Stitch asked.
Pete used his thumb to rub out the worry lines on Stitch’s forehead and said, “Not really.”
Stitch looked concerned, but he allowed himself to be pulled down on top of Pete for a snog. Pete felt better with Stitch’s weight on him, holding him down. He felt safe.
“Tell me how to make you feel better.” Stitch pitched his voice low as he spoke, and it sent a tingle up Pete’s spine. “Anything you want.”
“I want you on top of me, inside of me, and as close as possible. Lots of kissing.”
Stitch stayed on top of Pete, kissing him as he used his long fingers to prepare Pete to be entered. Pete could tell Stitch was thinking hard, but had no idea what he was thinking about. Stitch was an enigma, and Pete was an open book. Pete wasn’t sure it was a good combination, but he couldn’t see a way around it. Stitch had good reason for his protective shields, and Pete wasn’t bright enough to be deep.
Stitch never stopped kissing Pete for more than a few moments. They kept kissing as Stitch entered him and fucked him with long, slow thrusts. Stitch’s cock twitched when Pete whispered, “Oh, Henry.”
“Fuck me harder, Henry. Fuck me with that big, beautiful cock,” Pete held Stitch tight, keeping him close so Pete’s cock rubbed against Stitch’s belly as they made love. “Make me come for you.”
Stitch groaned as he tried to shag Pete right through the mattress. Stitch loved it when Pete talked in bed, even if he had a pretty limited vocabulary. It was the only place where Pete’s constant chattiness was a good thing.
Pete closed his eyes tight and focused on the feeling of Stitch’s cock against his prostate and the feeling of being stretched and filled until he came hard. Stitch kept kissing him as Pete spent himself between their bodies.
“Come inside me,” Pete pleaded. “I love the way it feels when you come inside of me.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. He watched Stitch make his beautifully ridiculous come face, and he felt so much love for the man inside of him that it almost hurt, like there wasn’t enough room in his body for all the feelings.
Stitch stayed on top and inside of Pete as they exchanged gentle kisses, and then Pete burst into tears. Henry held him tight as Pete sobbed.
“I know, Pete,” Henry said in a soothing tone. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Pete had no idea what Henry was talking about, but he felt calmed by his words. As long as Henry knew what was going on, they’d be fine.
Xxx
Pete awoke in an empty bed, but his surge of panic was short-lived. Henry’s laptop was open on the bed.
He blinked at the bright screen and saw that Stitch had added to the ending of the film. When Sam chucked his younger girlfriend, Andy, she freaked out about being dumped while dressed like “Catwoman fallen on hard times” and asked Sam to find her inhaler. As Sam searched through her black bag, an item he had fetishized throughout the film as a mysterious and feminine vessel, he found that in addition to her toys, prophylactics, and lubricants, she also kept the bag stocked with first aid supplies and asthma and allergy medicine. Sam was newly intrigued by Andy’s neuroticism and asked for a do-over.
Andy and Sam were comparing anti-anxiety meds when Stitch walked back into the room.
“I was just getting some soup,” Stitch explained, holding up his bowl. He’d been living almost entirely off of Pete’s homemade soups for weeks. It made Pete nervous, being responsible for Stitch’s nutrition. Pete did his best to hit all the food groups so Stitch stayed healthy until he went back to eating takeaway once in a while.
“I was reading the new ending… Is that okay?”
Stitch gave a tight smile. “That depends on what you think.”
“I love it. It’s sweet and funny and…” Pete was out of words. He wasn’t sure how to convey how much he enjoyed the new ending. It was still dark and edgy, but there was hope and romance in the new ending.
Stitch stared hard at his soup and his cheeks turned pink. “I’m still working on happy endings. They don’t come easily to me.”
Xxx
Once Gel had begun the process of casting, Pete had figured Stitch would calm down. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Amazingly, Stitch was actually worse once the script had been finalized. Gel clearly respected Stitch’s opinion, but Stitch wasn’t so much flattered as immobilized with fear. Normally, Pete let Stitch drag him out of bed in the morning and force him to get to the kiosk on time, but now their roles had reversed. Stitch would lie in bed and stare at his beeping alarm as it got louder and louder until Pete physically pulled him out of his cocoon of blankets. He gave Stitch clothes to wear and fed him breakfast and drove him to work on his scooter, the only place where Stitch seemed himself.
“You should write something else,” Pete suggested during one of the many lulls at the kiosk. “You could write about us, you know, working in a kiosk. Talking to customers… eating sandwiches…”
Pete couldn’t think of a third thing. There was really nothing interesting about working at the kiosk, other than being with Stitch and meeting new people.
“Someone already made that movie and called it Clerks,” Stitch replied with a hint of a smile.
Pete tried to think of another idea, but he had no idea what kind of things Stitch was interested in writing. He seemed to fancy writing exaggerated versions of his own foibles, but Pete didn’t dare suggest Stitch write about his substance abuse, Charles, or his anxiety about being gay. Stitch had called Pete an enabler, so Pete had looked the word up and had to admit Stitch had him dead to rights. He turned his back when Stitch added whiskey to his coffee and pretended not to notice when Stitch took a break from the kiosk and returned suddenly full of energy and with an apparently itchy nose or glassy-eyed and lethargic. Stitch was easier to deal with when he was self-medicating. Drunk or high, Stitch was chatty and let Pete in on what was really going on in his head. Of course, Pete couldn’t bring any of those topics up when Stitch was sober, or he’d get paranoid and more closed-off than usual. So Pete pretended not to know that Stitch had changed his phone number so his parents couldn’t reach him and ask uncomfortable questions, but that he’d already relented and given the new number to Charles, who was contacting him nearly every day. When Stitch spent the night talking about how much he didn’t want to wake up the next morning, or ever again, Pete tucked his fear away and hoped that the thoughts of suicide went away when Stitch was sober.
In bed, he called Stitch by his real name. The rest of the day, Pete tried to avoid calling him anything, but of course Stitch noticed. If Pete tried to use a term of endearment to avoid saying ‘Stitch,’ Stitch would reply by calling Pete ‘mate’ or ‘you, with the hair.’ If Pete and Stitch could live on a desert island, things would be perfect between them, but there were so many people and so many expectations that they had to live with. Stitch was afraid he was wasting his life, but all Pete had ever wanted was someone to come home to. With Stitch, Pete had everything he needed. He didn’t need Stitch to be a knight in shining armor; he just needed someone who loved him and made him feel happy. For all his sadness, Stitch was quirky and funny and he liked to fuck in public, but he went red and awkward when Pete kissed him on the cheek in private. He was perfect.
“I really like you, Stitch.” Pete said it because it was on his mind. “I like being around you. Even without the sexy stuff, even before I realized I was ready to actually be with a guy, I just liked being around you.”
“You still have trouble calling me Henry. I can’t make you that happy.”
“You make me nervous! That don’t mean I ain’t happy!”
Pete immediately felt silly, but Stitch wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist and began to sway.
“Let me take you dancing tonight,” Stitch purred. “I promise I’ll be fun and not totally stressful.”
“Just a little stressful?”
“I am who I am.”
“Popeye?”
Pete laughed as Stitch bent him over at the waist and held him in a headlock, threatening his “mop you call hair.” Stitch was complicated, but he made Pete happy, and that was all that really mattered.