Patrick's P.O.V

"You ready for school, pat?" I nodded, pulling my scarf up around my nose to protect myself from the cold. "Now, don't be nervous, alright? Everyone's gonna love you," my mom smiled at me, the smile that always calms me down, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I hoped she was right.

"Mama?" I asked, biting my lip nervously and glancing up at her.

"Yes, tricky?" She responded, her silky smooth voice instantly relieving some of my anxiety.

"Are you sure?" The gentleness that was in her eyes was my favorite thing about her.

"Patrick, there are so many people in this world, that some people are bound to not like you. But you can't pay attention to those people, you gotta block out the bad and only remember the good, buddy. Because one day, you're going to be the most amazing thing this world has ever seen, i just know it. And then all those kids that didn't like you, they're gonna wish they were nice to you," she told me, as we walked up to the door of the school.

I always remembered that day, and i tried to take my moms advice. I tried to block out the bad and only listen to the good, but in high school there isn't a whole lot of good. There are, however, copious amounts of bad. It got harder and harder to listen to my moms advice. Especially since she died. I was only twelve years old, and sure there were a few kids who pitied my situation, but mostly people just bullied me for it. Which I never quite understood.

So naturally I was hoping that switching schools would be better. I figured maybe it was just the area i was in, and that if i moved it would get better.

Boy, was I wrong.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?" The teacher, a rather bland lady in my opinion, asked me. I wanted to say no, really, really, badly, but the way she was looking at me told me I didn't really have a choice. I shyly cleared my throat, adjusting the fedora on my head.

"Okay," I walked to the front of the room and kept my eyes on the ground. "Um.. I'm Patrick Stump, I moved here from Chicago," I kept my voice soft and quiet, pushed up my glasses, and sat back down. The teacher rolled her eyes and started her lesson. We had already gone over this stuff at my old school, so I looked out the window ruefully, glaring at the trees that surrounded the school. I longed to be in my bed, reading a book, and drinking a hot cup of coffee.

I could feel everyone looking at me.

I hate school.

Pete's P.O.V

Man, school was boring.

Blah blah blah. Boring kids boring teachers.

I sat with my earbuds in, music blasting way too loudly. Some random girl was chatting away, next to me, she probably thought I was listening. I wasn't. I didn't really listen to anyone. I guess i was someone people wanted to be friends with, but everyone should've known by now that i didn't want to talk to literally anyone.

The bell rang, and i left the girl sitting with her mouth agape. As I was walking down the hallway towards my study hall, I heard a faint whimper in between songs. I took out my headphones, it was probably just some kid getting beat up, which I normally don't care about. I don't know though, somehow I just knew I needed to walk down that hallway. When I rounded the corner, I could see Ryan Ross and Mikey Way leaning over someone, yelling horrible things and kicking the poor kid.

"Mikey. Ryan. Stop," they looked up at me, I'd never talked to them before. Again, I don't talk to anyone.

They hadn't stopped, so I did what any good citizen who also happened to like beating people up would do, i grabbed Mikey by his shirt collar and threw him on the ground.

"Stop." Ryan paused, looking at Mikey, then at me again, and backed off.

"Whatever, Wentz," he grumbled, yanking Mikey off the ground and walking away, mumbling angrily the whole time.

I looked back at the boy on the ground, and my god— all I could think about was how beautiful he was. He had blood on his cheek and a bruise appearing on his jaw, yet for some reason, that didn't take away from his appeal at all. He was gorgeous, in a totally unique way. He had fluffy strawberry blonde hair, hidden underneath a black fedora. He had a baby face and rosy cheeks, and the prettiest eyes I'd ever seen in my whole life. His black hipster-ish glasses sat low upon his nose, and he wore a black shirt topped with a soft looking red cardigan.

The way he looked at me sent something I never thought I'd feel shooting through me. He looked at me as if I were his savior, and all I could feel was this aggressive protective instinct, it was odd. It was like he had this child like innocence, and i felt compelled to protect him from every cruelty of this wretched world.

"T-thank you," he stuttered quietly, fixing his fedora from its crooked angle atop his head. He shakily stood up, bending down to pick up his books. I beat him to it, scooping them all up and giving him a crinkly eyed smile.

"No problem. I'm Pete," I told him, turning to look at his schedule, which he still clutched in his hands.

"I'm Patrick," Patrick. What a wonderful name.

"Nice to meet you, Patrick, what class are you heading to?" He gave me a tiny smile, which I'm almost positive lit up my entire life and brightened my whole existence.

"Study Hall. You?" He asked.

"Sick, man, me too," Patrick gave a real smile at that. I started walking, gesturing for him to follow me.

I take back what I said before. Maybe some people are interesting. Perhaps I could adjust to talking to someone.

That someone just happened to be positively adorable, and just happened to be named Patrick.