Chapter Text
Gabe’s head is reeling for the remainder of the afternoon, barely able to concentrate on a word of Kafka before having to start the entire paragraph all over again, and repeat. When William drifts asleep in the sun, Gabe gives up on reading and fetches an umbrella so he won’t burn. He sits back in the shade and watches William’s boney chest rise with each breath. It’s hard to imagine that pale skin once covered with the hickies and scratches left by Gabe’s teeth and nails, perfectly marred. Now, the body that houses his favorite soul is a shriveled husk .
He leans in close to William’s pasty, cracked lips, but shrinks back. His breath reeks. William’s guts are cannibalizing themselves for any spare speck of calories. Gabe lays back on his chaise and turns on his side, watching William slumber. He reaches for his hand and strokes the tendon.
Was it even worth it, to admit my love to him? Gabe wonders. He’s going to die. No matter what you do, it’s too late.
Yes, it was worth it, says the other part of his brain. Every single word. It has to be meant to be, or all of this was for nothing.
But does this mean I’ve officially given up on Pete? He doesn’t think two soulmates so diametrically opposed can coexist in his heart. But even looking around is a reminder of how far his relationship with Pete has gone– he’s on a beach on a Pacific island, about to have a lavish wedding. Is it worth both the financial and emotional cost to give up now and swap his partner for a severe anorexic who might not even make it to the altar? Even if the waters are rough now, Pete is the safe choice. Pete is healthy, and successful, and out of all the celebrities in the world, Gabe should at least pride himself that he bagged Pete Wentz.
One more chance, and if Gabe can’t find the hidden essence of the man he originally fell in love with, then he’ll ring the death knells of their relationship for good and give it all up for a skeleton.
When the bus gets back a few minutes after 3 P.M, Ryan breathes a sigh of relief and instructs Jon, “As soon as I get into bed, I’m not moving for the rest of night. Let’s get room service.”
“Agreed.”
However, once they get inside the hotel, Gabe, who’s been pacing the lobby, spots them and rushes over, grabbing Ryan by the wrist. “We need to talk.”
“Oh, hi? Okay.” Ryan allows himself to be dragged away. “Can Jon come?”
Gabe stops and motions for a confused Jon to follow. Gabe leads them down the hallway and into a hidden corridor full of vending machines.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asks. “Did something happen to–”
“No, it’s not that, Bill’s fine and in his room,” Gabe whispers. “I just gotta ask… this is so stupid, I know, but what sort of vibes were you getting on the hike? I heard that Pete and Mikey were together for a lot of it. So I just want to know what their dynamic was. Like, just talking business? Being really comfortable with each other? Any weird innuendos or longing looks?”
“I wasn’t really paying much attention,” Jon admits. Ryan also nods.
“Yeah, I think they were pretty… normal?” Ryan agrees, leaning back against the vending machine. “Why? Have they been spending a lot of time together?”
“I don’t know. I just… I can’t help but wonder, what if this is how Pete’s trying to get back at me?” Gabe crosses his arms, looking down at the floor. “He thinks I spend too much time with William, so of course he’d try to spend a lot of time with his own ex-affair and try to make me jealous… are you sure you didn’t see anything? Like, think hard on it. I need to know.”
“Gabe, look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure this is entirely healthy,” Ryan says. “I think your concerns are valid– I just mean that the lack of trust and feeling like Pete’s pitting Mikey against you, that’s not healthy.”
Gabe pauses for a moment and sighs. “No, it’s definitely not. “
“Dude, you’re getting married this week–”
“Don’t remind me. I just…” Gabe takes a deep breath and collects himself. “Okay, I am uncomfortable with it, that’s all. I really want to give Pete one more chance, but with Mikey around, I’m just afraid that chance isn’t going to come. And of course I’ve been hanging out with William a lot too– but he’s dying, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I just think this entire thing would be a lot easier if Mikey wasn’t around to distract Pete and make him think of people other than me, you know? Like, Mikey’s divorced, right? He’s ready to fuck around, and Pete would be his first target, and what the fuck do I do if Mikey tries to get Pete? He loves me, I know, but he couldn’t resist that! I need to do something.”
Jon raises a brow. “Something, as in, something to get Pete’s attention just long enough to have an honest talk and repair your relationship? Right? Because I don’t know how else you can fix this.”
“Yes, basically that,” Gabe says. “One night, with Mikey or any other distractions completely removed from the equation. After our interview with the Vogue journalist this evening, there’s dinner and the rest of the night, and maybe with the chaos of the schedule we can finally have some time to ourselves. I just need him out of our hair long enough to have a conversation with Pete. That’s it. We can both own up and get married, totally okay with each other. That makes sense, right?”
“Yeah…” Ryan and Jon say in unison, despite the skeptical looks they shoot at each other. Ryan goes on to suggest, “If it’s what you really think you need, we can try to steer Mikey away from wherever you guys are.”
“Oh my gosh, would you?” Gabe asks. “That would be incredible.”
“Of course,” Ryan says. “We’ll wine and dine him. Pretend we need advice on making a concept album or something, which is technically true. Nothing crazy. I’ve always wanted to be friends with a member of My Chem anyway– what teenager didn’t? It’ll be way too easy to shower him in praise.”
“Yeah, if we ended up friends with him at the end of this, it wouldn’t be too bad for us either,” Jon agrees. “It’s a win-win situation, really.”
“Thank you! Like, really, thank you. ” Gabe digs in his pocket for his wallet and hands Ryan his credit card. “Order whatever you want, maybe a couple more drinks than he needs– it wouldn’t hurt if he had a killer hangover in the morning and was up late. It’s on me. Just give the card back tomorrow.”
“Well, I sure don’t mind the free dinner,” Ryan says, tucking the card into his pocket. “We’ll do our best. You don’t have anything to worry about, alright? Just focus on getting things right with Pete.”
“What about Patrick?” Jon asks. “We can divide and conquer, if that’s necessary.”
“No, just focus all your energy on Mikey. Whatever it takes. Like, Patrick’s a problem, but not as much of an immediate danger. Anything to keep Mikey from fucking Pete– do you any of you have antidepressants? Maybe you could slip him one or two, that might lower his libido.”
“I really hope you’re joking, because we’re not drugging him,” Ryan says. “Plain alcohol is the furthest we’ll go.”
“Of course, I wasn’t being serious or anything… I’m just saying I support and love you two, no matter what methods you choose, and I’m deeply grateful.”
“Thanks?” Jon says.
“Yeah, um, sure. Anyways, we’ll text you later about how it goes.” Ryan groans, stretching his arms over his head. “Good luck with that Vogue interview. Jon, you find Mikey. I’ll start looking up restaurants.”
“So, you’re both a long way from home,” says the Vogue journalist, a notepad balanced on her knee. She’s dressed in a tasteful white blouse and black suit pants, hair tied up in a sleek ponytail. A recording device has been set up on the coffee table between them, golden evening sun streaming into the hotel room. “How did you fall in love with this little island that not many Americans have even heard of? Hawaii just legalized gay marriage in 2013– so why not there?”
“Well, we just thought Hawaii was so overdone,” Gabe answers. “Like, who isn’t having a wedding in Hawaii these days? We wanted more of a unique experience, for us and our guests.”
“Plus gay marriage wasn’t yet legal when we started planning our wedding last year, so it’s really recent,” Pete adds. “Also we’re planning on a lengthy honeymoon through Asia after the wedding, so the location makes sense. New Caledonia is, like, paradise, and only a couple hours flight from Sydney too. Of course we know having a wedding across the Pacific isn’t financially feasible for everyone; I mean, I come from a middle-class background, Gabe’s family are immigrants–”
“My dad went to medical school a second time in the States,” Gabe cuts in. “He worked hard to get where he is.”
Pete smiles politely. “Right, that’s what I meant. Realistically we know, not everyone has bucket loads of money, so we paid for a lot of flights. We wanted all our family here without breaking the bank.”
“Oh, you paid for so many flights,” Gabe remarks. “Even for people you haven’t seen in years. Pete is so generous.”
“It sounds like a lot of planning went into your big day– could you give an idea of the scope of a destination wedding?”
“Well, Gabe’s the one who’s been coordinating most of it with the wedding planner. Babe?” Pete gently nudges him. Gabe’s head snaps up from his phone.
“Oh, sorry. Just a second.” Gabe finishes a text and then pockets his phone. “So, wedding planning. Uh, it’s been stressful for sure. Especially when you’re trying to convert currencies all the time and trying to figure out how much catering is gonna cost. Catering was a huge hassle, there’s some members of my extended family who keep kosher so we’ve had to import a lot of food from Australia and put up the catering team in the hotel. We have to fly out the rabbi for the wedding ceremony, too. Our flowers are getting imported Singapore… and I’m not sure how much our tuxedos cost, maybe like ten grand each? Pete, you got anything to add?”
Pete shakes his head, teeth gritted. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“If you’re comfortable giving maybe a ballpark estimate, how much does this all cost?”
“I’m not sure exactly…” Gabe starts.
“A little over one million dollars,” Pete says. Gabe glares. As the journalist scrawls down the number, Pete leans over to whisper to Gabe, “At least the outrage over our expensive fucking wedding will be publicity for the album.”
“What was I supposed to say?” Gabe hisses back. “There’s going to be so many photographers, I can’t just lie! We didn’t talk about this before.”
“We would have if you went on the hike earlier.”
Gabe leans back in his seat, smiling lightly and pretending that the venom in Pete’s voice didn’t cut straight through his heart.
“So, you’re only a couple days from the big wedding,” the journalist says. “How are you feeling, leading up to the big day?”
“A little anxious,” Gabe says, “but mostly excited.”
“So excited.” Pete looks over to Gabe, letting his eyes linger to fake a sense of longing. “I don’t think there’s much to worry about at this point, with everything set in stone. I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with anyone else.”
“I feel the exact same way,” Gabe says. “I’d never be able to give Pete up. He’s basically mine now.”
“And I’d say the same. He’s going to be keeping me on a very tight leash.”
The journalist takes a little too long finishing up her notes on that answer. Gabe hopes she hasn’t noticed that not once during the interview did Pete’s hand touch his, not once did Pete lay a hand on his back or sling an arm around his lover’s shoulder. There were a few inches between their spots on the couch, but an immeasurable distance between their hearts.
“So nice for them to pay for our dinner,” Pete remarks. “It’s really the cherry on top of the ten grand each designer tuxedos.”
“They really did cost ten grand,” Gabe states, sitting down. “You said you wanted designer, so I got designer. All the extravagances were vetted by you.”
“I wonder if they tapped this place,” Pete says aloud, peeking under the table. “There’s no way they’d pay for our dinner without an ulterior motive. They know we’d be rich enough to afford it.”
“It’s Vogue, Pete, they’re not exactly known for investigative journalism. It’s all expensive high heels and lemon juice cleanses. Wiretapping is below them.”
“After that disaster of an interview? Anything’s on the table.” Pete leans over a potted plant by his chair and inspects the rim of the pot. “Do you even know what a wiretap looks like?”
“Do you?”
Pete shrinks back and picks up the menu. “I feel like I’d recognize a wiretap.”
“Oh my god, it’s Vogue, Pete. Not the fucking Kremlin.” Gabe flips open the menu and pretends to look, although he’s already decided on a meager salad and a copious amount of alcohol. He taps the table a few times before sighing and looking up. “Look, I’m sorry the interview didn’t go the way either of us wanted it to. We should have gone over it beforehand.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Pete’s menu falls away from his face, revealing his exhausted disposition. “The hike tired me out. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I think we were a little overzealous with planning activities.”
“At least tomorrow morning we can sleep in,” Gabe says. “Nothing going on until the bachelor party. That’ll be nice. And that gives us, um, plenty of time to talk. Because I know this morning we didn’t really get to finish our conversation and we should do that.” Before I go making any incredibly stupid decisions.
“That’d be great.” Pete forces an uncomfortable smile, and reaches in his pocket. “I still have that list–”
Gabe groans. “Oh, no.”
“We’ve gotta finish the list, babe.”
“Can’t we talk it all out without a damn list? It’s all so cut and dry otherwise. Too businesslike. Let’s talk straight from the heart or something.”
“I don’t think we should talk straight from the heart right now.”
Gabe’s voice croaks. “I don’t know what the hell you mean by that.”
“Shit– no, I don’t mean it like that, don’t cry!” Pete folds up the list and shoves it into his pocket. “Okay, okay, see? I’m putting it away. Let’s just talk about normal things. We’ll get to the serious stuff later.”
Gabe nods, dabbing at his eyes with the cloth napkin on his lap. “Okay. Um, how was the hike this morning?”
“Oh, it was gorgeous, but so long. I took a ton of pictures, I’ll show you when I get the camera later. For some reason Patrick thought it would be a great opportunity to tell me that he promised Brendon a role in our music video, so that is going to be hell to get out of.”
“Nooo, he seriously told Brendon he could be in a video? Are you kidding?”
The conversation glides naturally until the waiter takes their orders and pours them each a glass of wine. As Gabe takes his first sip, Pete continues to describe the hike. “So at some point I ended up walking next to Mikey, and I was telling him about Patrick’s awful idea, and he suggested we should just stick Brendon in a costume the whole time so nobody knows it’s him–”
That’s when Gabe’s stomach starts to curdle. His wine sips turn into gulps, and now his glass is half-empty, half-full. “You and Mikey have been talking a lot, haven’t you?”
“Eh, not much.” Pete shrugs. “Here and there, mostly catching up on the past couple years.”
“Did you hear he’s divorced?” Gabe asks. “You should be careful.”
“Gabe, he’s divorced, not the town whore with a scarlet letter on his chest.” Pete chuckles and takes a sip of his wine. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t tried to beguile me. Are you jealous?”
“So you can’t trust me with Bill,” Gabe says quietly, “but I’m supposed to trust you with Mikey?”
“Unlike you, I haven’t kissed Mikey in years.”
“You haven’t kissed anyone?”
“Of course not!” Pete quickly grabs the bottle of wine and takes Gabe’s almost-empty glass. “Uh, here, have some more wine. It’s good, right? I can almost taste the hints of cherry wood.”
“You’re full of it. You never can taste the wine notes.”
“I totally can,” Pete says defensively, corking the bottle. He pushes Gabe’s glass roughly, wrinkling the tablecloth. A drop of wine splashes over the side. “Oh. Sorry.”
Gabe takes the glass with seething silence, and refuses to say a word more until their appetizer arrives: black pudding samosas with apples. He remains tight-lipped while Pete thanks the waiter and uses a fork to pick up a samosa, gingerly taking a bite. Gabe’s utensils remain untouched, and he only moves to take a sip of wine.
“Aren’t you going to try one?” Pete asks. Gabe shakes his head. Pete huffs and stabs a samosa with his fork, dropping it on Gabe’s plate. “Eat it.”
Gabe scrutinizes the fried dough. Droplets of oil still glisten on its surface, but his fork remains metaphysically out of reach. You’re getting too fat for him, says that voice, like an old, warm friend. Mikey’s still so skinny. Why would he love you now?
“Oh my God, are you ignoring me?” Pete demands. “What did I even say? Like, Jesus, Gabe. At least eat if you’re not going to talk. How much did you even have today? Because if you were spending the entire day around William, I assume it’s not much.”
Gabe glares at him and gingerly picks up the samosa, placing it back on its original plate. Pete grits his teeth, jaw tight.
“You didn’t say anything,” Gabe says simply. “I’m not hungry.”
Pete leans back in his seat, staring at him in exhaustion. “Seriously? This shit? You can’t just threaten to relapse because you’re not happy with me.”
“I don’t know where the hell you’ve been for the past couple of months. If you’d paid attention, you’d know I’m not going to therapy anymore. I drive to the Santa Monica pier and walk to Venice and back.”
“You do?” Pete’s jaw drops. “God. Well, excuse me for the fact that I can’t read your fucking mind. Whenever I ask you how therapy was, you just say, ‘oh, fine.’ How was I supposed to know you’re not going?”
“Well, I feel like when I told you I lost five pounds in a month, that should have been some sort of sign.”
“You never want to talk about it! How the hell am I supposed to approach it?”
“I don’t think conveniently forgetting is the best way to go about it.”
“You’re thirty-four!” Pete hisses, picking up a samosa and shoving it in Gabe’s face. “Do you want me to remind you to eat all the time? Do you want me to throw you in a hospital again? I’m not a fucking mind-reader!”
“Oh God, Pete, fine, I’ll eat the fucking samosa!” Gabe wrenches it from his hand and takes a bite. The dough is flaky but the thick filling is too bitter– Gabe grabs the napkin from his lap and spits in it. “It’s not worth the calories.”
“It tastes fine. And seriously, you’re spitting in a cloth napkin? Someone’s going to have to clean that, you know.”
Gabe balls up the napkin and places it on the table. “Maybe we should just go–”
“No, because if I do, you’re not going to eat for the rest of the night and you know it.”
Gabe unsatisfactorily grunts and grabs the wine bottle, once again filling his glass to the brim. “Fine. I can play this game.”
“This isn’t a game,” Pete mumbles. He downs the rest of his wine, then takes the bottle to fill his own glass as well. “Okay, whatever we do, we just need to discuss anything other than controversial topics. And get drunk.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll work.”
“Just play along, for fuck’s sake. We’re getting married in two days and the last thing we need is to be excessively miserable.” Pete takes a swig of wine and digs in his pocket for his phone. “I’ll google some conversation starters…”
“Are you kidding?”
Pete ignores that remark. “Okay, so how about this one: if there was an extra hour every day, what would you do with it?”
“Walk to Playa del Rey.”
“What is one smartphone app you can’t live without?”
“MyFitnessPal.”
Pete clicks off his phone. “Fine, I guess you can’t even handle conversation starters like a mature person.”
“We’re getting married, it’s pathetic that you think we need conversation starters.”
“What’s pathetic is that you’re causing problems on purpose, asshole.” Pete raises his hand to signal the waiter. “Let’s just go back to the hotel.”
Gabe feels a rush of relief– mainly because he doesn’t have to eat dinner.
The taxi back to the hotel is long and quiet, and their distance is equally palpable in the late-night stillness of the hotel lobby. Pete carries two takeout boxes– he’d asked for their main courses to go, citing that he didn’t want Gabe complaining he was starving in the middle of the night. Gabe is pretty sure that is never an occurrence– he rolls over a lot and clutches his stomach when extreme hunger strikes, but at least he has a shred of decency not to say shit.
Pete jabs the ‘up’ button for the elevator, watching the number as it descends floor to floor. “Gabe?”
Gabe’s arms are crossed. “Hm?”
“I know you don’t really feel like talking right now, but… I just want to say I do care about the fact you lose weight. I know I say that all the time, but no matter how much we argue, it still stands. Of course I care. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me.”
“Okay.” Gabe nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks.”
They watch the elevator momentarily stop at the 4th floor before continuing its descent.
“I’m sorry I thought the list was stupid,” Gabe admits. “It wasn’t stupid. Maybe it’s an idea worth trying.”
“Thanks. If you’re up to it, tomorrow morning–”
Ding. The elevator doors slide open, and sandwiched between Ryan and Jon’s intimate embrace is… Mikey Way. Although still fully-clothed, hands wander as if otherwise. Ryan’s lips are on Mikey’s, Jon’s on the crook of his neck. Their heads snap toward the open elevator doors, eyes widening at the sight of Pete and Gabe.
The takeout boxes crash to the floor. Pete’s jaw hangs open. “Uhhh…”
Mikey waves. “Hi.”
“Shit, sorry!” Ryan springs toward the elevator button. “That wasn’t supposed to— uh, we didn’t realize the elevator was going down!” After jabbing the button furiously a few times, the doors slide shut.
As the elevator chugs up, Pete and Gabe stand frozen, eyebrows high. Gabe reaches for his phone to look at the last text Ryan had sent twenty minutes ago: mission successful. Gabe now realizes he and Ryan have two different definitions of that word, but how was he supposed to know Ryan and Jon wanted to have a fucking threesome with Mikey?
After a minute passes, Pete says quietly, “I think it’s safe to go up now,” and presses the up button. The elevator ride is just as hushed, and there’s a weird energy left by that certain sight that makes Gabe shiver, because how the hell did we get here?
When they’re back in their room and Pete shuts the door behind them, he turns to Gabe, who’s still pale and holding his breath. “That was insane,” Pete says.
“Seriously.” Gabe carries the takeout boxes to the mini-fridge and kneels down, shoving them in. “I did not expect that.”
Pete wanders aimlessly around the room, arms crossed. “But… really gets the blood flowing though.”
Gabe shuts the mini-fridge and stands, looking over. “What do you mean– oh. It… does?”
“Look, I’m not usually so into the idea of threesomes. I like having one person all to myself. But…”
“Mikey and Ryan kissing makes you wanna get it on,” Gabe finishes, slightly disgruntled.
“Are you mad?” Pete asks. “I mean, I’m not saying I want to join them or anything. I’d only ever have sex with you, of course. I just can’t help that it was a total turn-on.”
Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose. Does Pete expect him to believe he doesn’t want a taste of the forbidden fruit? “I know, you can’t help that kind of thing.”
“I mean, you can’t say it didn’t intrigue you, right?”
Gabe looks straight at him and says, “No, it really didn’t. All it did was confuse me. How are you not freaking out about this? Is this, like, a normal occurrence?”
“Well, when three men love each other very much…”
“That’s not funny right now.”
Pete nods slowly and drops onto the bed, hands crossed in his lap. “What if… can I just make it up to you? Everything? Please? Whatever you want me to do? Like, you’d rather I’d be thinking about you than the elephant in the room… or elevator… right?”
Gabe pauses. “I don’t know. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go make it a foursome?”
“No!” Pete exclaims defensively. “Never! At least, not these days.”
“These days? What?”
“Gabe, believe me when I say that there is only one person I want to fuck right now.”
Gabe exhales through his nose. “Fine, we can have sex.”
“Are you sure? That didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”
Gabe begins unbuttoning his shirt. “I said ‘yes,’ Pete, what other answer do you want?”
“You didn’t say ‘yes,’ you said ‘fine.’”
“Okay. Yes, let’s have sex.” Gabe shrugs off his shirt and glances down at himself. At least he didn’t eat a bite of dinner; his stomach is nice and flat, skin stretched taut over his hip bones.
Pete rises up from the bed and steps toward Gabe, eyes fluttering shut as his hand lands on Gabe’s waist. The kiss is so deafeningly silent that the sound of a zipper going down startles Gabe. Pete’s breath is hot on his neck as he tugs him toward the bed.
Pete’s mostly the vocal one, his loud gasps drowning out Gabe’s habitual moans. Gabe’s eyes are either closed or focusing on the ceiling, because he doesn’t want to know if Pete’s eyes are closed too, imagining a thinner face and a thinner body and a thinner voice.