Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

22: Spoilers: World War III Takes Place In Ryan Ross' Living Room

Patrick felt like dying.

Patrick felt like curling up into a ball, closing his eyes, and never opening them again.

Because he'd truly messed up this time and the screaming and yelling between the people around him: friends, ex-friends, and could-have-been-lovers alike, was far too evident of that.

He wanted it all to stop and he wanted to wish everything away, but for the first time, he felt himself lost, confused, and utterly helpless, because for the first time, he looked at people and saw nothing: nothing but anger, and conflict - emotions so loud they were screaming: a kind of passion that could damn near kill him, but not at all in the way he wanted.

If he was going to lose his hope, his personality, he may as well lose his mind as well, but perhaps at the hand of a bullet and not that of his own creation, well, destruction.

Because he'd screwed up, and he'd screwed up for real this time, and the way Mikey looked at Pete like he didn't trust him anymore was all that he needed to know that he was the problem here, but the thing was that Patrick Stump could solve any problem, except himself.

It was his fault that Brendon looked like slapping Ryan, because Brendon didn't like secrets, and Patrick had practically forced Ryan into one. And it was his fault that Frank looked conflicted and confused - having known barely anything about the whole mess up until it had come and slapped him, well Pete, in the face; he had enough problems of his own and it was entirely Patrick's fault that he'd gained another. And it was his fault that Ray looked more and more upset every time he tried to calm Mikey down and in consequence every time Mikey shot him down for it.

This mess was entirely of his own creation, and it was just those stupid fucking feelings of his that he could never quite supress enough; he should have thought about everyone else and the impact his irrationality and emotions had inflicted upon the people he cared about most, and in fact now they had become the people that he shouldn't even be allowed to care about at all.

Patrick Stump reckoned he didn't even deserve anyone to care about, because he noticed far too much and said everything when nothing was needed and nothing when everything was needed; he was the fuck up - the marriage proposal at the funeral - out of place and wrong, and perhaps just there for the sake of it.

But there was nothing he could do sat alone on the sofa in the house that Mr and Mrs Ross had foolishly left Ryan in charge of all week - perhaps this was something that, although foolish, Brendon Urie should be personally thanking them for. There was nothing Patrick could do but sit alone and watch as his friends yelled and his vision grew fuzzy and he felt like his organs were abandoning his body like a sinking ship, and perhaps that would have been okay just to pass out then and there, but Ray noticed, and he shouldn't have.

"Patrick, are you okay- guys, guys, he looks like-" Ray brought the room to silence and that was one thing Patrick was thankful for at the very least, but still, he couldn't quite trick himself into thinking that the luxury of silence was something he deserved.

"Fuck, he's going to like pass out or something-"

"Brendon, did it not occur to you that screaming it at him would in no way help the situation at all?" Pete rolled his eyes: things had always just been a little bitter between the two of them, and Patrick almost passing out in Ryan's living room did nothing to change that.

"I'm sorry." Patrick finally stuttered out a response, Ryan rushing to the sofa to support him and try his best to ensure that they didn't have an unconscious mentally traumatised ginger kid on their hands.

"Patrick, this isn't your fault okay?" Ryan seemed to be the only one at all capable of comforting him, as the rest of Patrick's 'friends' stood in a gaping silence.