Chapter Text
It starts when Pete signs that band; Panic at the Disco they're called, and their lead singer is a bomb on stage. They make the charts and they make Pete's heart; especially the guitarist. The guitarist they call Ryan with stick thin legs and a rib cage you can see through his shirts, Ryan who won't touch a scrap of food if he thinks it has more calories than it's worth and seems to be stuck to vitamin water and carrot sticks. They're nice, he says when he gets laughed at, and everyone sends him a bemused look and continues to stuff their face with pizza.
Everyone but Patrick.
Ryan is some kind of angel smudged in eyeliner and clouded in smoke. He smiles like he's about to collapse any second and when Brendon hugs him Patrick notices the tense breath in, the sucking in of his stomach. Patrick notices the second glances in mirrors and the casual hands laced around stick thighs, fingertips touching with space to spare. Patrick notices all this and feels a terrible, twisting feeling in his own enlarged gut.
That's what Pete likes.
Well.