Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12746265.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Fall_Out_Boy
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Stump/Pete_Wentz, Andy_Hurley/Joe_Trohman
  Character:
      Patrick_Stump, Pete_Wentz, Andy_Hurley, Joe_Trohman
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Teenagers, Drug_Dealing, Methamphetamine, Think
      Breaking_Bad, but_dumb_teenagers, Family_stuff_btw, Joe's_such_a_good
      brother, Smuggling, Crossing_the_border_at_one_point, Humor, Fluff, Smut,
      like_three_seconds_of_angst_maybe, oblivious_gays, Street_Rats, Kinda,
      Memes, More_emojis_than_the_emoji_movie_forgive_me_father_for_I_have
      sinned, Banter, lads, also, a_lot_of_shitposting, So_much_inspo_from_It's
      Always_Sunny, It's_dumb_kids
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-11-16 Updated: 2017-11-28 Chapters: 4/? Words: 14026
****** Lowlife (On hold!) ******
by ThatsWildPatrick
Summary
     Being poor.
     It was something people took for granted. Something you were born
     into, something you'd most likely stay in your whole life.
     Even if you did become successful, some people were already born with
     millions to their name, and the only way to get there if you weren't
     born like them, was to cheat your way to the top.
     Pete's tired of being poor.
     Patrick wants to help his dad.
     Andy's trying to help his mom.
     Joe just wants to go to college.
***** Say No To Drugs *****
Chapter Notes
     And here we are again, on fic number 8, I think? 'Write what you
     know' well boys and girls, I know teenage aus, so here we go again.
     Anyway, I really hope you'll all enjoy this one, this idea came to me
     while I was watching Breaking Bad and The Inbetweeners reruns, and 21
     Jump Street and South Park on my computer simultaneously while I was
     sleep deprived, so I hope it's kinda decent.
     Well, I'm not kidding about where the original idea came from, but
     since then, I've developed this a lot, and I'm really excited to
     write it!!! There's an actual story guys, whoa.
     Also- sorry about not uploading yesterday, but ya boi was too shook
     by HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON'T and by the UK tours, so pls forgive me.
     It'll be regular from here on out, I've promised that so many times,
     but I mEAN IT. I LOVE Y'ALL AND I WANNA WRITE STUFF FOR YOU.
     So, just to put it out there, there are gonna be some sadder themes
     in this; Stuff like poverty, mainly, but apart from that, this is
     just gonna be Teenage Shenanigans™ on steroids.
     ALSO !! IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING FINANCIALLY, I DO NOT ADVOCATE BECOMING
     A DRUG DEALER, IT'S A BAD IDEA. DRUGS ARE BAD, M'KAY, DON'T DO DRUGS,
     STAY SAFE.
     Okay, so, with that out of the way, I really hope you enjoy, I
     appreciate you all so much; Your readership, your feedback, your
     kudos, your bookmarks- it all really makes my day, and makes me want
     to keep doing this, so thank you all so much again!!!
 
Joe had a routine.

It was simple, and it'd been developed over years of doing the same thing every
day. He was pretty sure it was hardwired into his subconscious by now.
It all started with getting up in the morning, and like 90% of the population,
Joe always resisted the urge to throw his alarm clock across the room.
 
In the dim morning light that flooded in through split blinds, he slumped out
of bed, forcing himself to move while shutting up any interjections his mind
tried to make.
 
The bed is so warm though.
 
Shut up, brain.
 
Five more minutes won't hurt, the teachers are always late anyway.
 
Not gonna work this time.
 
You know what? Screw school, let's be a drifter.
 
No.
 
What about the cool, neighbourhood homeless guy?
 
Shut up.
 
What about a stripper?
 
Because he wasn't about to Magic Mike his life up, Joe grabbed his clothes,
pushed out of his room and made a beeline for the bathroom.
His eyes were barely opened into slits, but he still managed to grab the
toothpaste, turn on the tap, and stuff his toothbrush into his mouth.
 
He felt like keeping his eyes shut that long was a talent, but as he leant over
to spit into the sink, he finally rubbed at his eyes until they opened fully.
With a quiet, tired sigh, Joe shrugged out of his pyjamas and replaced them
with his clothes.
His dad's old Ohio state hoodie, and of course, obligatory jeans and sneakers
that were so worn away he looked like an apocalypse survivor. They
were…dubious;He'd been wearing them for three days straight, and while he
really wanted them cleaned, he really needed to be frugal.
His brother and sister were already a huge tax on laundry, with their instances
on playing outside until they were caked in dirt.

Dressed and kinda awake, Joe trudged down the stairs, systematically avoiding
the boards that he knew would creak under his soles.
It was quiet, the walls and rooms were devoid of his little brother and
sister's pattering footsteps and raucous voices; He knew they were still fast
asleep, and as he went to find his bag in the sparsely decorated, dark living
room, he was careful to be silent, and to make sure they stayed that way.
 
As Joe tugged the zippers of his old, beaten, and just plain grungy backpack,
he sniffed and shivered at the sudden chill that coursed over him.
The house still felt empty; Boxes marked with names and rooms still hung around
in the corners, and there was a cold, unfinished air to it.

They'd moved to Chicago for work; After his dad had been fired from mall
security back in South Russell, and after they'd almost been evicted from their
home, his parents had made the sensible choice to pack everything up and move
to the windy city.
 
Chicago was okay, he supposed. It was a big change from his old home, and it
was still a little jarring to only see concrete, neon, and lights, instead of
fences, pastures, and colonial houses.
He hadn't put up much of a fight when they'd moved; Sure, leaving his friends
and school behind had been hard, but it was a sacrifice he'd been willing to
endure for a better future.
 
Only, the 'better' future, was turning out to be quite a tricky present.
 
Joe sighed as he reached over to the coat hooks and grabbed his own, oversized,
and really cheap raincoat. He shrugged it on, and quickly tugged the straps of
his back over his shoulders.
Crooking his head, Joe glanced outside, squinting through the tiny gaps in the
curtains.
 
It was still dark, and the roads were only lit up by streetlights that powered
through steady rain. He'd woken up too early, but then again, that was part of
his special routine.
Most times he'd stay, and help his dad out with his brother and sister, but he
always preferred walking to school when it was all like this.

When the city was silent, when the sun was still sleeping, when the neon signs
and streetlights glowed, when the sheen of the rain flared up with every set of
headlights that dared attack it- that's when Joe loved Chicago the most.
 
Alright, he could give himself that luxury today. He'd walk to the bus station,
he'd wait in the rain. Then, he'd get to school early, he'd wait outside until
the gates opened, and then he'd go to the library- shit, he really needed to
catch up on Thermodynamics; Joe had tried studying the night before, but his
brother and sister had decided to make him their target for being clingy.
So instead of doing something to further his chances of success in life, Joe
had ended up playing shadow puppets.
 
…Okay, okay, fine. He may have enjoyed it a little.
 
Joe fished his keys out of his bag, twisting an arm bag and struggling until
the cold, blunt, and jagged metal sat in his hand.
His mom would be at work right about now, but he was pretty sure his dad had
come home a few hours ago. She was a waitress, he was a watchman, and both of
them were perpetually exhausted.
Random shifts that left them sleep deprived had became normal to them all, and
all of it was to keep the family afloat. And while they kept cheery smiles on
their faces, and while they tried to pretend it was all fine, Joe knew things
were tough on them.
 
Shit, Joe didn't even want to think about how much college would cost. He felt
like such a leech already, it wouldn't get any better when that time rolled
around.
 
Maybe being a drifter wouldn't be too bad.
 
Yeah, it'd be great! He could get a dog, he could steal a shopping cart or
something, it'd be awesome!
 
…Alright. Fine.
 
He wasn't gonna be a drifter.
 
And, he knew his parents always found a way to provide; Rain or shine, they
were always there with a solution, and Joe swore that if they got him into
college, he would not let them down.
 
He paced towards the door, leaning down and muttering curses as he kept missing
the keyhole. He squinted, he strained his eyes, he clicked his tongue, and
finally, the key slotted in. He should really buy a flashlight, the exact same
thing was always an issue on those dark mornings.
 
Whatever. Joe shrugged to himself and twisted the key, opening the door and-
 
"Joe?"

Joe's thoughts cut away as his dad's voice called out from the kitchen.
His dad came home in the small hours, and instead of going to sleep, like a
rational human being, he'd start making premature breakfast.
Maybe it made sense in his sleep-addled mind, but all it really achieved in the
ways of breakfast were reheated, microwave eggs.
 
Joe shut the door with a quiet sigh, and moved back towards the arch that
linked the small living room and the smaller, shoebox kitchen.
He poked his head through to find his dad; Eye bags, still in uniform, and
cooking breakfast. Joe could only smile sympathetically. "Yeah dad?"
 
His dad looked so tired as he smiled back at Joe, blue eyes that matched his
own struggling to stay open. "Do you want breakfast, son?"
 
No. Honestly, Joe didn't want breakfast. He'd never been one for it, he much
preferred going out to the city during lunch break, and eating some really
unhealthy mall food.
 
…And yet, the thought of his dad eating scrambled eggs in the dark by himself
was just too sad to ignore.
So instead, Joe smiled a little broader and nodded. "Sure dad." His dad made a
happy noise that was impossibly quiet, but Joe's smile grew a little sadder and
broader at it.
 
His dad tried his best, he really did, and Joe could totally endure sleepily
cooked eggs for him.
 
 
 
Even though Joe would've usually just leant on the counter, his dad always had
some saying about eating at a table, and honestly, he was too tired and dopily
happy for Joe to argue back.
He glanced up from his plate, and found his dad in the dim light. His eyes were
closed, and his head would occasionally drop, but the stubborn noises and
mutters he scolded himself with were enough to let Joe know he was actually
awake.
 
That was determination if Joe had ever seen it.
 
Seriously. If he was made to stay up all night, he'd pass out on the floor as
soon as he came home.
How his dad could find the resolve to make breakfast, then get his kids ready
for school, and then take them to said school was beyond Joe.
 
"How's school, bud?" The mumble was exhausted and generic, but Joe smiled
anyway, supplying an answer with a quiet voice that wouldn't rattle his dad too
much. "It's good. Thanks dad."
His response was a hum, and soon enough, the clumsy scrapes of fork prongs
against ceramic filled the room again. Wincing at each rake, Joe tried to
distract himself from the sounds. The plates were stacked weird, he should fix
that. There was a tear in the blinds, maybe he could stitch that back-
 
"What are you doing at school today?"
 
The question was another, generic try, and even though he was pretty sure his
dad wouldn't remember the answers by tomorrow, Joe dutifully supplied an answer
again. "Uh- I think it's, math, chemistry, history- there's some dumb speech
before lunch, I don't know." He glanced upwards, and couldn't help a tiny smile
when he spotted his dad stubbornly trying his eyes open.
"That's all, s'just…" Joe stabbed at the eggs with his fork lightly. "Stuff."
His dad hummed again, a little more enthusiastically this time, and Joe finally
pushed his chair out. He stood, and quickly fished his bag out from under the
table, before nodding at his dad.
 
"I'm gonna get going, dad." He hooked the bag over his shoulders again, leaning
towards his dad and raking him over in concern. He looked like he was about to
drop. "See you tomorrow?"
In a sudden move that made Joe jump, his dad stood and nodded eagerly, picking
up the plates and moving them over to the sink. "Y-yeah- yeah, I'll see you
tomorrow- have a good day, Joe."
"Okay, see ya dad." Joe nodded again, backing away to the arch and moving away.
By the time he was at the door, his dad's voice rang out again, chiming out
from the kitchen with some kind of realization and doziness all at once. "Make
good choices, Joe- I love you, bud."
 
"Bye, dad." Joe sighed quietly as he opened the door, feeling the cold of the
outside again, and it didn't take long before the house was behind him, and the
open road was in front.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The day had followed his plan, as always.
It wasn't like he'd made it, it'd just fallen into place. Honestly, if he could
choose how his days went, he'd much rather spend them under the bleachers or in
an empty classroom; He'd read, and smoke an endless supply of weed- and while
that was ideal, we couldn't all have what we wanted.

So, instead of messing around with a lighter and a book right now, he was sat
on a hard chair, in a cold lab, in front of a teacher who was the complete
opposite to his classroom.
 
Mondays were always the same, and while the days seemed to speed by, there were
some times when it'd all slow down. It would all become placid, and he'd
actually enjoy himself, and Chemistry class was one of those times.
That wasn't thanks to the teacher, though; He was a little too goofy for his
own good, and he tried a little too hard to relate to 'the youths'. Like, 80%
of the words that came out of his mouth made the entire class audibly cringe,
but patience was a virtue, after all.
 
But no, what really made Chemistry great, was the subject itself.
 
Maybe it was something about the preciseness. The exact measurements, the
careful movements, the control you had over every aspect of what you were
doing- it was just exhilarating to Joe. And yes, he was aware how geeky that
sounded, but in his defence, he was a neat guy, who liked things just as they
should be.
 
And his lab partner made it all even better.
 
When Joe had arrived at his new school, the lab partners had already been
distributed, obviously. And just when it'd looked like Joe would be jammed into
a group of three, or made to watch everything from afar- another new kid, fresh
from Wisconsin, had stumbled through the door. Andy Hurley; Late, apologetic,
and quiet.
 
The teacher had decided to pair the spares, and while Joe had been readying
himself for working with someone totally incompetent until graduation- the kid
was nothing like he'd expected.
 
He'd seriously wondered if the guy could read minds. Whenever Joe was about to
ask for anything, from a beaker, to a thermometer- Andy was there with the
thing already in hand. And he actually cared about being precise- unlike those
assholes who sat at the back of the classroom, who fucked up so much it was
almost impressive.
 
"Alright, so- remember to use a sand bath for heating- and be precise, guys."
The man clicked his tongue and pointed towards the back corner of the room, at
the fuck-up group. "Talking to you, Wentz." His finger lowered, but his eyes
pointed like spikes. "Keep him under control, Mr. Stumph."

An indignant- " Why do I have to-" followed by a chuckle rang out from behind
them, but Joe ignored it as he stood and glanced towards Andy. Their greetings
were always brief and awkward, and today, it was limited to a pair of strained
smiles before they both moved away to find equipment that wasn't broken, dirty,
or chipped.

It was no lie that this school wasn't the best in Chicago, not by a long shot.
It was inner city, working class- and all the other 'nice' terms used to
described people who were poor as shit.
Joe moved back to their desk with half of the equipment, and Andy quickly
joined him with the rest. They cleared the table, set everything up, working
deftly and in tandem, and soon enough, Andy was drawing out their results
table, while Joe was left measuring phosphoric acid.
 
Andy looked concentrated. His brow was lightly furrowed, and his light eyes
were fixed on the book in front of him. Watching him, and feeling the focus
that radiated from him like heat from a fire, almost made him forget about the
way the rest of the class were messing around. For a split second, Joe felt
like he wasn't in a shitty high school.
 
It was nice.
 
He dropped his eyes back towards the flask, and leant down to bring the scale
to eye level. Joe had never really talked to Andy. Well, he'd like, said 'good
morning' and 'hey' every now and then, but they'd never really…had a
conversation? Some part of Joe wished they could have one, a real one. Then
again, it wasn't like he hadn't tried before.
Thing was, Andy was smart. One of the smartest kids at school, actually, and if
Joe had to make a friend in this city, he might as well pick the smart, newer
kid.
 
The first time Joe had resolved to talk to Andy, he'd figured that the guy was
mute. And then he answered questions in class. So turns out, he wasn't mute.
Joe had been puzzled; Every time he tried to talk to Andy, he'd just answer
questions with 'yes', 'no', a single word, or a hum. It was a little fucking
annoying- okay, maybe a lot annoying.
But, it wasn't like he could force Andy to speak, right? And, the brief answers
probably just meant he wasn't interested in friends- which Joe supposed he
could understand.

He hadn't made an effort to be particularly friendly here- but, it wasn't like
he was a hermit either ; He was polite enough , and he'd had friends back in
South Russell, it was just that, thesekids were…ugh.
Joe didn't know how to explain it, but long story short- half of these kids
would be teen parents, and the other would be drug dealers and criminals.
 
That's just how it was, it would never change- but Joe wanted no part in it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Even though time slowed down in Chemistry- in the best way, of course, all good
things eventually came to an end.
Joe pushed his books back into his rucksack, and glanced up to his side just in
time to catch Andy staring at him. He held back a jump, and Andy ducked his
head back down to his own bag- which he quickly closed and hooked around his
shoulders.
While he'd expected Andy to power walk out of the room- just like he always
did, the kid hung back. His eyes flicked up to Joe, and he tried a small smile.
"We uh- We have a thing before lunch today, right?"
Joe blinked, stuck in stunned surprise for a second. That was the most words
he'd ever heard Andy say, and damn, now that he thought about it, the voice
didn't match him at all. It was high, quiet, and soft, whereas the rest of him
was normal teenage boy- glasses and like, one piercing aside.
 
He nodded, "Yeah, I think it's a safety thing or something." Andy made a small
'oh', but quickly flashed another smile and started moving away- a little
slower than normal, however. "Thanks."
Joe nodded again, eyes lingering on Andy as he moved away, "No problem."
 
 
"Oh man, you're totally gonna fail."

"Okay." The voice was terse, and sounded like it was holding back a figurative
punch in the face. "Listen. How many times do I have to-"
 
"Yeah yeah, you're never gonna 'distill something in real life '."
 
Joe glanced over his shoulder, squinting at the raucous group in the corner of
the room.
They single-handedly fucked up like, seventy percent of his lessons- Joe
seriously wondered what it was like to be that fucking stupid.
They all looked as ragged as he felt, and Joe could see the hints of tattoos
peeking out under sleeves and collars. But there was one in particular he
pitied, and one he could've rolled his eyes at for twenty years.
The one he pitied stood at the corner of it all, away from the others, and
trying to silently pack his things away.
He was pale, fair-haired, and tiny- compared to the others. But despite his
unassuming, kinda pathetic exterior, he had a face like thunder, and looked
110% ready to cut a bitch.
 
"Just get the nerd to help you." The louder ones who he supposed were to blame,
nudged the smaller's partner, and the kid Joe recognized as 'Wentz' rolled his
eyes. "He sucks at this too. He's a music nerd."
The 'music nerd' glared, and snatched his bag up as he stalked away. Wentz
offered a glance after him, but as his friends spoke up again, his attention
moved.
Another snorted from two seats down, shaking his head as he all but threw his
book into his rucksack. "Oh dude- unlucky. But hey- are you coming to soccer
after school-"
 
Alright. He'd heard enough.
With a shake of his head, Joe hitched his bag up and moved out of the room,
weaving past seats and people- all while something burned into the back of his
head. It kinda felt like…like someone was staring at him. But, that was dumb,
right? Nobody would just stare at him like a fucking weirdo.
He glanced back a few times, but it rendered nothing; Everyone was going about
their business, and clearing the classroom to head to their next lessons.

Their next lessons…Yeah, Joe couldn't waste any more time eavesdropping, he
needed to get to Spanish. Stat.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Joe sucked at Spanish.
That wasn't the discovery of century or anything, but his tongue just wasn't
cut out for it. He tried to put the slightly cringeworthy events of trying to
pronounce the words out of his head, and decided to glance around the hall
instead.
It was rundown, like everything was; It wasn't falling apart or anything, there
were no rats, or cockroaches, or pigeons nesting in the rafters- it wasn't that
bad, the farthest it went was chipped paint and dust.
Joe bounced his leg in boredom as he glanced around, idly watching the rows
fill up as classes were filed into their seats.
 
The air was filled with the electric buzz of muttering, and as soon as the last
of the students were sat, three guys in police uniforms stepped up to the
shallow stage, but the muttering stubbornly continued.
 
"Drugs."
 
The police officer began, voice firm and charismatic as he stood center stage.
"Anyone know what drugs are?"
 
Duh, dipshit.
 
Apparently the rest of the whole fucking school felt the same way, because the
rows stayed silent and their eyes stayed lidded, but that didn't deter the cop.
"Well, drugs are chemicals."
He nodded, as though it was some newfound, revolutionary news. "Chemicals- just
like the ones you use in Chemistry class."
 
Shocking.
 
"And those chemicals change the way you work, so, for example- caffeine is a
legal drug." Joe was pretty sure he'd heard like, twelve versions of the same
message here. Honestly, at this point they could just give them all 'Drugs are
bad, m'kay' stickers and let them leave; It would have the same impact.
 
"But, the drugs we're here to talk to you about today, are the illegal kind."
Joe blinked. Slowly. "These are drugs like, heroin, cocaine, meth, speed- these
are the types of drugs that are extremely dangerous, especially to young,
impressionable people, like yourselves."
Joe squinted. 'Impressionable', this guy seemed like a dick already.
 
"Yes, in fact," Another cop took over from The Dick- as Joe was gonna call him
for the rest of his life. "A few days ago, our department took down a meth
operation."
The applause didn't come, and only a few mutters rang out from the crowd, but
these cops were either deaf, or blind, because they weren't deterred and kept
speaking with their enthusiastic, cocky voices.
 
"50 kilograms, 40 packages- imported from Mexico." The man raised his chin to
the students, "Now, does anyone want to guess how much that was worth?"
 
Joe braced himself for the silence, and the inevitable shudder of cringe as the
cops cleared their throats and kept speaking. "Well it uh- it would be worth
fifty million dollars."
It felt a little like a punch in the gut. Fifty million? Million? Fifty- god,
that was more money than Joe would ever see in a lifetime.
The rest of the hall seemed to react the same way, the mutters finally dropping
silent. The cops had satisfied, slightly smug smiles on their faces, but now
that they had the crowd's attention, they weren't about to let it go
 
"It's a huge business- and it can very easily make it's way to you."
 
Fifty million. Joe was still wide eyed.
God, he wondered what it'd be like to have that much money. Maybe not as a
result of meth, but still- he could hardly imagine it.
Just- having zero worries about the future, not having to work shitty jobs,
being able to buy anything you wanted.
Shit, Joe had been wanting an electric guitar for years now- that was the first
thing he'd buy, after like, paying the house's mortgage or something. His dad's
old acoustic was worn and chipped, and he could only imagine what it'd be like
to walk into a store and just buy a new one.
 
"Meth is an extremely destructive drug. It destroys lives, wrecks families, and
hurts our community-" The Dick took over again, and it firmly snapped Joe out
of his thoughts. "And busts like that one, save lives. Kids' lives, just like
yours-"
There was no point in daydreaming or wishing, Joe would never be that rich. He
was damned to a life of saving, scrimping, and being frugal, even though he was
so tired of it, it hurt.
 
"Now, does anyone know the signs for when someone is using drugs?"
 
Isolation, irritability, mood swings, weight loss, constricted pupils. Joe let
himself zone out, he knew all this bullshit already, and frankly, he didn't
care about listening to another cop lecture him about not taking drugs- he
already knew he shouldn't.
 
That blunt pressure in his gut was still there, and Joe couldn't help the
slight indignation that crept through him. There were kids that were richer
than he'd ever be, and no matter how much he tried to 'logic' himself out of
the thought, it stayed there, firm and frozen and invading him.
The unjust feeling didn't go away by the time the presentation had ended, and
it was still there by the time he was trudging over to the changing rooms for
gym.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Joe yawned as he trudged the short distance to the bus stop. A combination of
waking up early, agonizingly long lessons, and gym, had really left him drained
and teetering on the edge of sleep. So, when he walked into something solid and
stumbled back with a grunt, he couldn't be too surprised at himself.
He blinked upwards, only to find-
 
Oh.
 
Great.
 
It was the idiot from Chemistry.
 
'Wentz', if he remembered correctly, offered a slight smile that was more
concerned than polite.
"Oh- sorry, I just-" Wentz's wide brown eyes suddenly lit up, and he shook his
head with a kind of eagerness Joe hadn't seen from him before. "It's okay,
dude. Hey- uh-" He idly pointed, brow furrowing a little. "You're…Joe Trohman,
right?"
 
Okay. That was pretty creepy.
 
Joe, pushing back any stalkerish thoughts, nodded and rubbed at one of his eyes
to distract himself- and to wake himself up. "Yeah- we're in Chemistry
together, I think."
Pete nodded eagerly again, a broad grin on his face before he offered a polite
handshake. "I'm Pete." Joe didn't know if he was having some kind of
hallucination right now, because the idiot from Chemistry being polite and
having a friendly conversation with him seemed kinda otherworldly.
Regardless, Joe's parents hadn't raised an asshole, so he took the hand and
shook it firmly- just stopping himself as he tried to introduce himself again.
 
"Yeah uh- nice to meet you, dude." Joe tried instead, and despite the words
being laced with confusion, Pete beamed a little brighter.
 
"Yeah, great to meet you too."
 
Apparently, Pete hadn't been done at the first introduction. No, he'd stuck
around- actually sitting next to Joe on the bus.
Joe was confused- they had nothing in common, why was he even trying to have a
conversation?
Every time Pete brought up a soccer team, Joe could only shrug or sigh
silently, and soon enough, the conversation dried up, because, honestly, unless
it was about guitars or schoolwork, Joe struggled. Just as he'd expected, they
ended up sat in complete silence, eyes raking over the rest of the bus seats.
Joe knew everyone in school a little. It wasn't like they were friends, though;
He could recognize faces, but the names were a little harder. Regardless, he
could pick out a few people of note.
There was that pale kid- the one that always worked with Wentz- Pete. Pete. Joe
kept forgetting that, he'd never been good with names, after all.
He wondered if that partnership was voluntary, or if the teacher had stuck him
with Pete to be a 'good influence'. Yeah, that seemed more likely.
 
His eyes drifted over to the other aisle, finding- Andy. He was pretty sure
that was Andy, anyway.
He was sat next to someone, but they weren't talking. Instead, Andy's head was
bowed, and he looked to be reading something. Huh, Joe wondered what it was-
 
"You're the smart kid, right?"
 
Joe's brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked over to Pete. "What?"
Pete just raised his eyebrows and shook his head lightly, voice lilting like
his words were obvious. "Like, the kid that's good at Chemistry?"
 
Oh no. Did he want tutoring? Shit- Joe was good at science, but he wasn't a
miracle worker.
Joe made a quiet noise of realization but quickly shrugged, leaning back in his
seat and letting his eyes rake around instead. "I- I mean, I don't know. I'm
okay, but-"
 
With a click of his tongue, Pete chuckled and leant back too, nudging Joe in
the ribs with his elbow. "Nah, c'mon- don't do yourself like that. You and that
Andy guy- you guys are good at all that Chemistry stuff, right?"
Joe shrugged again; He hated being cocky, but Pete was pretty much forcing it
out of him. "I guess so." Pete fell silent then, squinting a little as the
ghost of a smile made the corners of his mouth twitch. In the end, he only
supplied a quiet word, before going back to glancing around the bus in total
silence. "Cool."
 
Okay, so. Joe was just gonna pretend this wasn't weird at all.
 
 
 
 
The pale kid was one of the first to get off the bus, and as Joe craned his
neck to watch him hop off, he kept his stare as he walked towards a really bad-
looking apartment block.
Damn, he lived there? Joe's own house wasn't great, but that- broken windows,
graffiti, windows packed together like sardines, and metal stairs that
connected floors. It looked miserable, and Joe could smell the chemicals and
grime from here.
 
As the bus pulled away again, Joe couldn't seem to budge his mind from the kid,
when something occurred to him. He and Pete worked together in Chemistry,
right? He might know something about him.
Joe turned his head to Pete, finding him idly picking at the chipped edges of
his phone. "Hey uh, who's your lab partner?"
 
"Patrick." Pete looked up with wide, questioning eyes, before crooking his head
to look out of the window. He made an understanding noise, seemingly answering
his own enquiries, before turning back to Joe. "Yeah- he doesn't live there,
he's just visiting his dad."
"Oh." Joe nodded slowly. Yeah, Joe couldn't really see Patrick living somewhere
like that, but, if his dad lived there, then he couldn't have been doing too
good-
 
"Are you friends?"
 
Pete shook his head instantly, pairing it with a snorted chuckle. "He tolerates
me." Joe nodded again, giving another small 'ah', before Pete decided to
salvage the conversation before it died again. "Are you and Andy friends?"
Similarly, Joe quickly shook his head. "No, just- lab partners." Pete's stare
seemed to linger for a second, but ultimately, he nodded- more to himself than
to Joe, and gave into silence again.
 
Joe cocked his head at the ceiling, eyes drifting over the uneven pieces of
metal, riddled with dents and occasional stains.
 
Huh.
 
Today had messed up his routine.
 
Sure, the cop presentation was out of the ordinary, but- but this? Talking to
the idiot from Chemistry? Getting invested in other people, and their lives?
That was weird.
 
Joe leant back, crossing his arms and leaning his head against the window.
Screw it, if today was a little different, he should just enjoy it, right?
Because, it'd all go away soon. Pete would probably forget any words they
exchanged the second he stepped off the bus- and the same went for Andy that
morning, only, he'd probably already forgotten.
Joe glanced back at Pete, watching his face screw up in concentration as he ran
his fingers over the slight cracks on his phone's screen. This was fucking
surreal.
 
Tomorrow would be normal again.
 
It had to be.
 
 
 
***** To Text, Or Not To Text *****
 
Patrick didn't stay over at his dad's house often.
It wasn't out of choice; If it were up to him, he'd live there- rats,
cockroaches and everything, but his mom didn't like him staying there for those
exact reasons.
Last night, however, he'd accidentally turned off his phone. So, with the buses
being a little too risky to ride at night, and without a mountain of panicky
texts from his mom, Patrick had stayed over with his dad.
He lived alone, he had done since the divorce. And, while that had been fine
for a while, it really concerned Patrick now.
 
That morning, Patrick woke up on the couch, curled up in a spare blanket his
dad had insisted he take. With a yawn, Patrick dropped a hand to fumble around
in his bag, until his fingers found the cold metal of his phone.
He rolled onto his back as the phone struggled to life; It was old, and he'd
tried to take care of it, but there was only so much you could do against age.
 
8:00 am.
 
Thank god, he still had half an hour to spare. That would be enough to make
sure his dad got up, ate breakfast, and was okay before he left for school.
Forcing the sleepy complaints to the back of his mind, Patrick shifted off the
couch and stretched, wincing at the pops and cracks that made him sound like a
fucking glowstick.
 
Patrick stepped over to the bedroom door, trying a knock on the wood before
just barging in. When a reply came, the voice was half-startled and half-
asleep. "Patrick? Isthatyou-"
Patrick opened the door and poked his head through, trying a sleepy smile at
his dad, and hiding the grimace that tried to surface at the sight of a brace
and a cast. "Yeah- it's just me, dad."
 
His dad moved to stand, and Patrick was by his side in a second. He could never
really keep his eyes away from the brace around his dad's neck, and the cast
engulfing his left leg; It looked painful, and the way he grimaced with every
step was enough to confirm all of Patrick's suspicions. Being a roofer was
dangerous, he supposed- More dangerous than his dad had expected, anyway. And
this was the result; Taking a fall at work had left him with a broken leg, a
fractured neck, and the lack of a job.
 
Patrick helped his dad walk to the kitchen, letting him lean on his shoulder,
giving him his arm to grip, and enduring the pained hisses that would ring from
his dad occasionally.
He was wincing with every step, and Patrick winced right along with him, but
when they reached the tiny kitchen, the struggles would be over briefly.
 
As his dad tersely sat down, Patrick moved over to the worktops. He opened the
cupboards- Patrick held back a sigh. Empty. And, shit- the fridge wasn't even
plugged in.
He shifted over to the pantry, crooking the door open and crossing his fingers
that there would be something he could fashion into breakfast for his dad. And
just when all hope had almost been lost, just when Patrick had been expecting
empty shelves-
 
Eggs.
 
Patrick let out a sigh of relief- there'd be no morning sprint to the grocery
store today, and he reached forwards to check the small carton box.
Two eggs, that would be enough for one breakfast. Shit, but he'd have to get
his dad groceries- how long had it been like this? Had he been eating properly?
Fuck, maybe- maybe Patrick could ask his mom to let him stay over more, just to
make sure he was-
 
"Patrick?"
 
His dad's voice was a hoarse whisper, but it was just loud enough to jolt
Patrick from his thoughts. Patrick glanced over his shoulder, and his dad only
smiled sadly. "Don't worry about me so much, son."
 
No.
 
Patrick would worry about him, because he was his dad; The guy who had raised
him, who had taken him to the park after hard days, who had always been there
with a solid word of advice. But despite the little rant reeling off in
Patrick's head, he only nodded and smiled.
He could put arguments aside for another day.
 
"Fried or scrambled?"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Patrick slumped towards his locker, unlocking and opening it with a yawn.
Calculus had really taken it out of him; It was yet another subject he fucking
sucked at.
Whatever, it wasn't like people carried phones everywhere nowadays, that
calculator would save his damn life at some point.
Patrick pulled his bag away from his shoulders, quickly opening the zipper and
pulling out the books that would be useless for the rest of the day. Math,
history- Patrick slotted the books away, when-
 
A white piece of paper, sticking out from the pages of his history book.

He hadn't remembered making a bookmark, huh. With a cocked head, Patrick
reached for the book and opened it, quickly grabbing the folded paper.
Opening it up, Patrick squinted down at the chicken scratch on the note.
 
come to the computer graveyard, 12:00
 
Well, this Tuesday was off to a bad start.
 
Patrick blinked down at the note that had, somehow, shown up in his bag after
history class. It was ominous, and the handwriting was some of the worst
Patrick had ever seen, but it was familiar, somehow.
He squinted down at the paper. The computer graveyard; The old, dusty room were
all the broken machines were kept in the dark. It was ominous, to say the
least, and Patrick was like, 70% sure this was about something shady. And a
little intriguing.
Shoving the note in his pocket, Patrick paced away, making a beeline for the
Physics department. He knew it was dumb, but, some part of him wanted to go.
Patrick's life wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with excitement and
intrigue, but, an ominous note that was inexplicably in his bag- something like
this was…pretty cool, actually.
 
Yeah, there was a tiny chance this might be a serial killer or something, but
what was life without occasional death threats?
 
…Okay, maybe Patrick shouldn't give into his curiosity here. Getting murdered
in the computer graveyard was not worth the mystery.
 
Right?
 
No- no, Patrick was not looking to- Oh, but this was kinda cool, it was like
spy movie shit- Nope, not getting stabbed today.
He should go- but, goddammit, it was probably dangerous as hell- Screw it, his
life was way too boring anyway- NO. Patrick was not going, and that was final.
 
But what if it was something important?
 
Then, the motherfucker who wrote it could come say it to his face.
 
Okay, valid, but-
 
Patrick shook his head sharply, before furrowing his brow decidedly. He was
gonna go, it was too intriguing not to. But he was gonna be careful, and ready
to bolt if things went sour.
He nodded to himself curtly, mind made up and brow furrowed, as he joined the
line outside of the classroom.
 
Fine, he'd listen to the note.
 
…And hopefully not die.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
A full morning of anxiety finally passed as 12:00 pm rolled around, and, as per
instruction, Patrick stood at the door of the computer graveyard.
He could smell the layers of dust from out here, and he was already bracing
himself for the piles of cockroach corpses inside. This place never got cleaned
as it was, but this abandoned storage room had been untouched since the fucking
civil war.
Patrick tried to squint through the glass, but it looked dark inside and he
could barely see a thing. Oh, shocker- he'd continue seeing nothing until he
actually faced his fears and went inside. Patrick inhaled deeply.
 
Alright, time to be brave.
 
With a nod to himself, he cautiously twisted the handle, keeping his inner
cheek trapped between his teeth as he did so. Okay, take it slow. Calm, calm,
slow- don't freakout.
The door clicked as it opened, and with his heartbeat thundering like a storm
in his ears, Patrick poked his head through the gap.
 
And Patrick still couldn't see a fucking thing.
 
The lights were out, because of course they were, and the room was dim. This
had 'serial killer' written all over it, screw this- curiosity was not worth
this shit. He was not going to be the dumb white girl in every slasher film
ever.
Patrick moved to turn on his heel, but before he could take a single step-
 
It was a guy.
 
Or- wait, no- two guys.
 
Two guys that…kinda looked familiar, but that he couldn't quite remember-
 
"Uh- hey." One began. Curly haired and confused looking, huh- Patrick swore
he'd seen this guy before.
John? No, that didn't sound right. J- It started with J. That much he could've
bet on. Joseph? That felt too long somehow- Wait.
 
Joe.
 
Joe, T-something- it was that guy from Chemistry. Patrick knew he'd seen him
before.
Patrick tried a strained, polite smile, praying a question about what he was
doing here wouldn't come. But- wait. This guy was here too. That meant-
 
"Do you guys know why we're here?"
 
The other guy- huh, Patrick could've sworn he'd seen him before too. Was- Was
it Andy? That seemed to fit, but he couldn't be too sure.
"I just- well, I got this note-" He held out a tiny piece of paper that
resembled Patrick's own- chicken scratch, smudged ink, uneven folds, the whole
messy deal.
 
There was a sigh from behind them, and the three turned to glance back over to
the door, only to see-
 
Pete Wentz.
 
Alright, mystery solved- Pete was being a stupid dick. As per usual.
 
Just as Patrick rolled his eyes and moved to stalk away, Pete swung the door
open wide and motioned the three of them inside. "Jesus- I said in the
graveyard, guys."
"Uh…what is this, exactly?" Andy began, brow furrowed lightly, but Pete only
shook his head. "Inside, or I'm not telling you."
 
With an aloof stare, Patrick glanced back at Joe and Andy. "Anyone have a
pocket knife just in case?"

Pete made an indignant sound, "Kni- don't be an asshole, Patrick."

" Don't remember being on first name basis." Patrick mumbled darkly as the
three relented, pacing inside and only looking slightly on edge when Pete
closed the door behind them.
 
 
"Alright boys." Pete clapped his hands, before moving to stand in front of
them. "You're all here for a reason."
Patrick glanced over at Joe- who thankfully, gave him the same confused look
back. Well, at least Patrick wasn't missing some gigantic plot point or
something, that was good to know.
 
"A very important reason, actually." Pete's Adam's apple bobbed, it was subtle,
but Patrick caught it; He'd seen the same gesture in Chemistry class, during
all those times when they were handed worksheets that Pete very definitely
couldn't do.
But, Patrick couldn't do them either, so he couldn't judge, he supposed.
 
"…And that reason is?" Joe spoke up, loosely crossing his arms. Pete regained
his composure in a split second, glancing up with a charismatic, salesman's
grin and confident eyes. "Something that could change your entire life."
 
Fuck- Patrick was done with the drum roll. He sighed heavily and rolled his
eyes at Pete. "Just spit it out already."
 
Pete huffed bemusedly, but it only lasted a second before his face contorted
back into charismatic confidence. "We make-"
He took a glance around at the others, eyes wide, already reassuring them at
something he hadn't even said yet.
Patrick wondered how bad it could really be. Seriously- sure, Pete was dumb,
but he wasn't totally brain dead. This plan might be a little on the dim side,
but whatever, Patrick could lend him a few minutes of his time to-
 
"Meth."
 
Alright. It was a really bad idea. Pete was an idiot.

Joe and Andy seemed to think the same, but before any of them could make a move
towards the door, or muster a snarky comment, Pete launched into action.
 
He held out a hand, eyes suddenly wide in panic and voice holding a note of
desperation. "Wait- fuck- Just hear me out. I swear I thought about this-"
Joe squinted, arms crossed tightly now. "When your plan is 'cooking meth',
somehow, I don't think you thought about it that much, alright?"
 
"Yeah, like- three minutes at most." Patrick nodded, still firing a judging
look Pete's way.

Joe nodded again, raising his brow and pointing Patrick's way in
acknowledgment. "And that's generous."
 
Pete couldn't stay silent for a moment longer. He barked out his words, and
they were teetering on desperate pleads and angry orders. "Aren't you tired of
having no money? It's fucking exhausting-" He inhaled shakily, and his exhale
was trembling even more, all as he tried to calm himself down.
When he spoke again, it was calm, low, and composed. "I don't know about you,
but it isn't fucking fun to watch your little brother go to bed hungry every
day, alright?"
 
Patrick didn't even miss a beat. "It's illegal, dipshit." He scoffed, the
hunger was besides the point.
Sure, Patrick understood; He didn't have any younger siblings, but it was heart
wrenching enough to watch his parents starve- But, all of that didn't change
the fact that cooking meth, was illegal.
 
Pete squinted. "I'm aware, Patrick."
 
Joe shook his head, "Money can't buy happiness- whatever you're hoping to
achieve, it isn't worth the jail time, alright?"

Pete squinted, tone dropping like a rock to the bottom of a lake. "It's not
about happiness. Wanting to pay rent, and being able to eat every day isn't too
out there, dude-"
 
"Alright- Alright. Fine." Joe started, spine straightening as he suddenly found
a spark of fight. "Fine- we do it your way. We do all that, 'stuff'- and we,
inevitably, get caught-"
Pete shook his head instantly. "We wouldn't get caught."
 
"That's what everyone says." Andy murmured from where he leant against a dusty
table, stacked high with chairs, the shells of computers, and odd bits of
shattered hardware.
Joe nodded, and quickly cocked his head, but his eyes stayed firm in a
challenge. "What then? We just throw our fucking lives away like that? I don't
know about you, but I'm not eager to go to prison, alright?"
 
Damn straight, Patrick was too small to go to jail. He'd become a prison bitch
in three seconds, and that wasn't what he'd been planning to do with his life
honestly.
 
"We won't get caught." Pete's voice was firmer now. "I've thought this out- I
have a plan. A good one. We won't get caught." Joe sighed and shook his head
again, and Patrick could help but join him. Pete glanced between them all, brow
furrowed.
He inhaled and exhaled again, seemingly to calm himself down once more, before
moving forwards to press more notes to each of them.
 
"Think about it. When you change your mind, text me."
 
"If- we change our minds." Patrick squinted, hardly even wanting to look down
at the note. Pete stopped in front of him, eyes darker in the dim light of the
storage room.
 
"When."
 
And with that, Pete turned and strode out, leaving the three, bewildered boys
standing in the graveyard, notes in hand, and brains still a little stunned.
Well, on the bright side, this was the most eventful Tuesday of Patrick's life.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"Dad?"
 
"Yes, son?"
 
Patrick looked up for his dad, giving him a wide eyed, slightly pleading look.
Pete's offer had been on his mind all day, and his phone was heavy in his
pocket; A reminder of the life that was just out of reach, but one he might
have a chance at. All he had to do was send a measly text-
 
God fucking damn it. Pete had cursed him.
 
After school, he'd made the trip to the grocery store, and the whole time he
picked up the cheapest, and of course, worst packets and cans, he couldn't help
but rake his eyes over the expensive ones.
Higher up on the shelves, he could hardly reach them, but their labels- and
their price tags, had made a lump settle in Patrick's throat.
He imagined what it'd be like to be able to actually buy that stuff. To make
his dad- damn, even his mom, an actual breakfast, rather than just frying a few
eggs.
 
When he'd walked past the music aisle- on his way to the checkouts, he hadn't
been able to help gazing longingly at the masses of albums; Some older, classic
ones he recognized from childhood still sat on the shelves, new and gleaming-
demand was still high.
His parents had sold all their copies a long time ago, but Patrick really
wanted to listen to those again- properly, on a fucking turntable, not on his
phone.
 
But- no, even when he'd reached the checkout, he had to keep reminding himself.
It was illegal. It would be throwing his entire life away. And Patrick couldn't
do that to himself, he couldn't do it to his family either.
 
And yet, the kindly look in his dad's eyes made him want to grab his phone,
call Pete, and beg to let him join.
 
"There's- there's something I- I'm not sure if I should do."
His dad blinked, but offered a reassuring look anyway. "Well, what is it?"
 
Oh yeah- my lab partner wants to start a meth operation, whaddaya think?
Patrick shook his head, no, he couldn't tell his dad about this; God knows how
he'd react. Patrick's dad understood, somehow, and tried again. "Alright- well,
what's the problem?"
Patrick's eyes flitted down to the table, he bounced his leg, and he drummed
his fingers on the table. "It- It could help people. A lot of people."
 
"Doesn't sound like a problem." He chuckled, trying to bring some light to
Patrick's sombreness…but, his dad knew him too well.
He raised a dubious eyebrow, "But there's something bad about it too, right?"
He tried a knowing smile, leaning forwards as far as the neck brace would allow
him. "You wouldn't look that pale if there wasn't."
 
Patrick inhaled deeply, and shakily nodded with a whisper. "Yeah." He looked
up, eyes serious and burning. "It could-" Get him imprisoned and super raped.
"…mess some stuff up."
 
"Uh huh." His dad nodded to himself, and Patrick could practically see the
gears spinning in his mind, generating the advice that would light the fucking
way right now.
 
"Well, Patrick- I think it's all about priorities." Okay, that made sense. "You
need to decide what's most important to you- and, if the consequences are worth
it."
 
Were his parents worth some, pretty hard, jail time- and, you know what?
Patrick didn't give himself enough credit, he wouldn't be the bitch, he'd make
someone his bitch.
But- besides that, were his parents worth it? Fuck- they were. He couldn't even
try and argue with that one.
 
Maybe, prison wouldn't even come into the equation, though. Pete had said he
had a plan. He'd promised they wouldn't get caught.
Maybe- maybe Patrick could try it out. Like, go along once, just to see how it
went, and if everything went smoothly, he could stay. For a little while. Just
until he had enough to get his dad some treatment- or, to help his mom pay the
mortgage, or maybe he could buy back all those old albums. Oh god, maybe a new
guitar- or a drum kit, Patrick's mouth was fucking watering-
 
"Son?"
 
Jolted from his thoughts, Patrick looked up with wide eyes, only to find his
dad smiling at him gently.
 
"You're smart, and I know you'll make the right choice- whatever you decide to
do."
 
Patrick smiled weakly.
His dad really overestimated him.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
To text, or not to text. That was tonight's question.

Patrick stared down at the black phone screen, eyes raking over all the tiny
dents and chips in the glass.
The thrum of the bus' engine filled his ears, drowning out every thought he
could've had to argue back.
 
He tipped his head back against the bus seat, sighing quietly as he stared out
of the window. The streetlights passed by steadily, but all Patrick could think
of was Pete. Wait- that sounded- No, fuck- what he said, his words, not Pete
himself.
 
'When you change your mind'
 
Shit, he'd hate to give Pete the satisfaction, but, maybe he had to put pride
aside.
This wasn't for him, after all. This was for his family.
This was so that his mom wouldn't hide in the bathroom and cry because they
were a few dollars short on mortgage. So that his dad could be treated by an
actual doctor, god knows he needed physical therapy. So that, Patrick could pay
them back for all they'd done, before they were too old and worn to actually
enjoy their reward.
 
With an audible gulp, Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat, and looked down
to his phone. He tapped the screen to life, and before he knew it, he was faced
with a blank message, ready for his words, ready for him to relent.
Sighing deeply, Patrick nodded to himself and reached into his bag, easily
finding the note where he'd tossed it on top of his notepads carelessly.
 
He unfolded it, and took his time in typing out the number.
 
708
South Chicago.
 
Was he sure? Was this really worth it? No- before all that, would it even
fucking work? Pete wasn't the brightest button in the box, per se.
 
451
 
Then again, Joe and Andy were smart as hell- and besides, Patrick could walk
out whenever he wanted to. Pete wasn't some big bad drug dealer that was gonna
hunt him down for leaving.
 
6812
 
Fuck. Here we go.
Patrick clenched his eyes shut for a moment, forcing himself to think of his
parents.
 
PatrickStump: Pete?
 
PWeezy: sup patrick
 
PatrickStump: Did you change your fucking username to sound street?
PatrickStump: I swear to god.
 
They deserved more.
 
PWeezy: maybe i did maybe i didnt
PWeezy: what do u need
 
PatrickStump:...Are you gonna make me say it?
 
PWeezy: ???
 
They all deserved more.
 
PatrickStump: Fuck, I'm gonna regret this.
 
PWeezy: dude what
 
PatrickStump: I'm in.
 
 
And Patrick was gonna get it for them.
 
 
***** And That's The Tea! *****
 
Patrick gave in first.
 
That night, Pete had been sitting on his bed, purposefully ignoring his
homework, and staring at his phone while trying his best not to throw up.
The gravity of what he'd done had really kicked in after some time, and Pete
was convinced he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.
His brother, his sister, and his mom and dad- they'd all sparked the urge to do
something in Pete; It wasn't their fault that Pete was an idiot, of course, but
regardless, Pete could've screwed himself over.
 
All it would take was one call to 911, one visit to the police station from any
of the other guys- and Pete could be arrested. Or, he was pretty sure he could
get arrested. Was planning a crime arrest-worthy? Pete wasn't sure.
Shit, if he was going into this business he should really check up on a few
laws- he was pretty certain his dad had an old law book somewhere.
Pete had made a note to look for it, trying his best to distract himself from
the whirlpool in his stomach.
 
To be honest, Pete was really regretting his offer. Maybe he should've just got
good at Chemistry, yeah- that would make sense, he was just gonna fuck up if he
brought more people into it.
 
Oh, fuck.
 
Who was he kidding?
 
Pete could've studied Chemistry for a thousand years, he could've been taught
by fuckin' Galileo or some dead Chemistry asshole like that, and he would've
never been able to make anything resembling meth. And non-toxic. The non-toxic
part was pretty important, actually.
He’d done the best he could do, in the circumstances; Finding people smart, but
still desperate enough to join him had been hard enough, and yet- Pete was
convinced it hadn't worked, he’d expected a total of zero texts- hell, he'd
expected a cop showing up at his door to whisk him away to jail. And yet-
 
PatrickStump: I'm in.
 
Pete had fallen to his knees. Pete had cried- no, Pete had sobbed. Pete had
heard the choir of angels, beckoning him to Heaven.
 
Alright, maybe it'd been less dramatic than that, but the point still stood-
Pete had a chance. One down, two to go, and while Pete had expected the other
two…and the smarter two, to hold fast, Andy had broken next.
 
…Broken was a strong word, but that didn't change the fact that Andy had woken
him up that exact night, at like, 3am. Sleep was always a struggle for Pete,
but after hours of fighting his thoughts, he'd been finally asleep when-
 
Andy: Hey, so, about the thing- I'll do it.
 
Now, Pete, being half-asleep and squinting at his phone like it had insulted
him, only managed back simple words until Andy spelled it out for him.
 
PWeezy: whjat thingf>????>>>
 
Andy: Are you okay?
 
PWeezy: ?????
 
Andy: Oh, it's late
Andy: You're probably exhausted, sorry I'll text you tomorrow
 
PWeezy: waidsit
PWeezy: fucwaaift
 
The second Pete's brain had got with the program, his eyes had snapped open,
and he'd shot up in bed with a gaping jaw.
 
PWeezy: wait
PWeezy: youre in????
PWeezy: forreal?????????
 
Andy: Yeah, sure.
 
Pete had promptly tried not to scream the house down. He'd done it. He'd bagged
a nerd. Sure, he'd only bagged one so far, but one was enough for now.
 
PWeezy: awesome
PWeezy: computer graveyard aftr school tomorrow kay??
 
Andy: Okay, sure
Andy: Goodnight, and sorry for waking you up
 
PWeezy: np !!!
PWeezy: night !!
 
Pete didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

It didn't take long before Joe gave in either.
The morning after, Pete had been halfheartedly stabbing at a waffle with his
fork, but his eyes had been firmly on his phone, hidden under the table and
showing off a proud lack of notifications.
But, the second he'd glanced away, it had buzzed in his hand. He'd jumped,
stomach twisted into a knot and eyes wide as he looked down to see-
 
JT: I'll do it.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Now, Pete didn't know about their 'motives' or anything, but at the moment, all
he had to focus on was getting the ball rolling.
He was determined to see this through. He wasn't going to chicken out now- he
had actual willing people that could help here, and he had to act quickly if he
wanted to keep them.
 
Pete paced around in the computer graveyard, nose twitching at the dust, and
eyes firmly on his phone. He'd barely been off it since those three messages
came in; Pete already had a plan, but the first step was arguably the
trickiest. And the most expensive.
 
There was a knock at the door, and Pete glanced up briefly, before moving
towards it. He opened it, only to find pale skin, strawberry blonde hair, and
glasses.
 
Patrick.
 
Pete couldn't help the smile that split over his face, and he ushered Patrick
inside in silence.
Patrick looked suspicious. Obviously. Pete was pretty sure that the constant
disdainful look on his face was the result of one of two things; Either, Pete
was really fucking annoying- which, valid.
Or, Patrick had a serious case of resting bitch face- which Pete had himself,
he understood the struggle.
 
 
"So," Patrick began, obviously not to comfortable with the dead silence in the
dim room. "How are you?"
Pete blinked. He was pretty sure there was a whole host of more interesting
things to ask about right now, but regardless, he nodded. "I'm great, than-"
Another knock rang from the door, and thankful for the distraction, Patrick
sighed and Pete moved back over to it.

It was Joe and Andy that time, stood behind the door, looking nervous and even
quieter than usual. Pete tried a smile; Okay, he really needed these guys calm.
If they were a little too frazzled, or too distracted…Well, Pete didn't know
much about Chemistry, but he was pretty sure chemicals could do some fucked up
shit.
 
In order to put them at ease, Pete started as soon as they walked in. Small
talk could be left for the queue outside of class. "So, the first thing we're
gonna need is a place to…to…"
 
Pete made a gesture with his hand that somehow got the message across, and left
the other three nodding wordlessly.
None of them were still comfortable saying it out loud he assumed- well, Pete
knew he wasn't, but the amount of dancing around the word 'meth' between them
was enough.
 
"Yeah, so…I was thinking about where we could do it-"
 
"We're not doing it at your house, right?" Patrick crossed his arms loosely,
"Because, we're definitely gonna get caught if-"
 
"We're not doing it at my house, Patrick- I'm not  that  stupid."
 
Pete shook his head and stuffed his phone in his pocket, before standing up
straight. "I did some research a while ago, and the one thing people who get
caught have in common, is that they…"
 
He sighed; This 'avoiding the word' thing was getting tricky.
"Did 'The Thing', in one place."  Their eyes looked blank, so Pete glanced
around and tried again. " Ellet.  23 4 8 Congo St."
He'd read too many meth bust articles at this point, he was impressed how much
he could actually remember when he cared.
"One of…the things, was taken down after a neighbour noticed a weird smell.
There were a hundred bottles, and every bottle was worth five hundred dollars."
 
"Fifty grand." Joe hissed to himself, burying his face in his hands.
"Holy shit." Patrick breathed, eyes wide and somehow amazed.
 
"So."  Pete nodded firmly. "T hey got caught because they stayed in one place.
They were sitting ducks. "
Joe' s head shot up, and he  shook  it  instantly. "We are  not  alternating-
that shit is coming nowhere nea r  my house."
 
Thankfully, Pete's plan was a little smarter than that.
 
He smiled, and pulled his phone out of his pockets, thumbs working the screen
quickly before he found the fateful address. The first step to a new page in
his life. It was scary as hell, and yet, Pete was oddly fond of the shudder
running over his spine.
 
"So, we're gonna learn from their mistakes, and we're gonna do it somewhere
mobile."
 
Three furrowed brows, three crinkled noses, and three pairs of crossed arms.
Pete sighed, but nodded firmly with a smile, waiting for the inevitable
question.
 
"What the fuck do you mean by 'mobile'?"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"An RV? Are you fucking kidding me?"
 
"Did you watch like, one episode of Breaking Bad and take it as a manual, or
something?"
 
"This seems too expensive."
 
Alright. Pete was gonna be systematic about this.

He turned to Patrick first, "Yes, an RV. We can keep changing location" The boy
tried a shake of his head, "But-"
Pete raised his brow, and nodded reassuringly. "I've read a lot of articles,
Patrick. Just trust me here."
 
Joe next. "Bitch, do I look like I have Netflix?" Joe said nothing. Damn right.
Pete knew he looked poor, might as well take advantage of it.
 
And finally, there was Andy. "It's not expensive, because a cat lady used to
own it and it's decked in hair. I reserved it, there's cat shit everywhere,
it's a mess."

They were silent, stood in the dirt of the used dealership with blank looks on
their faces. Pete smiled triumphantly; He'd thought this out, they just had to
give him a chance to prove that no, he wasn't completely brain dead. He was
gonna give the student athletes who were bad at everything else a good name.
Hopefully.
 
"Any more questions?"
 
"Can you even drive?"
 
Pete squinted for a moment, considering his answer carefully; He didn't want to
spook them now, he'd gotten this far. "I can drive a little bit."
 
The defeated shrugs and dull eyes were enough to put his worries at rest.
"Alright," Pete pulled out his phone, and made out a group chat; Shit, they
might need a code name for meth- and for the group chat, just in case like, the
NSA started poking around there.
After careful consideration, he named it-
 
Stay Frosty
 
Or basically, a fun way of saying: 'Be paranoid, kids'.
…Okay, so, he'd never been the best at titles when put on the spot, but that
would have to fucking work for now.
He ignored the stares on him, the tiny scoffs, and the rustling as the others
crossed their arms, and instead, typed out a bunch of chemicals he'd spent way
too much time researching…shit, his internet history was gonna look shady as
fuck.
 
"Okay, so we're gonna need some…stuff," He refrained from an overly dramatic
wink, "to make the… stuff."
"Keep it down, Pete." Patrick hissed, nervously glancing around with wild eyes.
Pete stopped himself from rolling his eyes, and instead, dropped them back down
to the screen.
 
PWeezy: acetone, lithium, toluene, hydrochloric acid, pseudoephedrine, red
phosphorous, sodium hydroxide, sulfuric acid, anhydrous ammonia
 
Pete waited with a bated breath as the others checked their phones, three
buzzes altering them to messages, and a group chat that-
 
"Group chat-  frosty-  goddamnit."
"What does that even mean?"
"It's military lingo, I don't fucking know."
 
Okay, they already didn't look too happy about the group chat.

 Patrick raised his eyes again, crooking a brow at Pete. "Are those the most
words you've ever written down?" Pete rolled his eyes that time, and it felt
fucking amazing.
 
Andy however, stuttered out a string of words that Pete hadn't…really thought
about before. "Where are we supposed to get this stuff?" He gestured at his
phone with a sharp exhale, "I mean- hydrochloric acid, where can we get that?
We can't just buy it."
 
Joe chewed his lip, supplying the answer that Pete didn't have. "…We need a
lab."
 
"Oh great, just point us to the closest one then."
 
Joe's jaw writhed under his skin, and with a slow sigh, he he pointed in the
general direction from where they'd come.  His words were a low mutter.
"School."
There were three slow inhales of realization, followed by three long groans.
 
"God fucking damn it."
"We can't steal from school."
"There's no other way- we're not gonna find hydrochloric acid anywhere else."
 
"Alright,"  Pete  clapped his hands and made a move away from them, and towards
the dirt cheap dealership. "I'm leaving the Chemistry stuff to you guys-" Pete
finger gunned at the other three, before pointing to himself decisively. "I'm
gonna go get the RV."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
And get the RV he did.
They stood inside, looking around with craned necks and questioning cocks of
their heads.

Sure, it was safe to drive, but it looked like a cat lady den; From the hair,
to the scratches, to the…weird stains- Pete was thankful none of it would
actually stay.
It was small too, but that's what a couple hundred dollars could afford in the
RV market.
 
Pete had tried to save up, but he'd still been short a good fifty…so, he may or
may not have stolen it from his dad's wallet.
 
Or borrowed.
 
Borrowed was a better word.
 
Borrowed was a word that didn't make Pete feel like a garbage human being.
 
There was along table on one side, obviously supposed to be a kitchen. Well,
it'd definitely be used to cook something…
That joke needed work, all his jokes needed work-
 
Joe shook his head, pressing a hand over his nose with a squinted glance at
Pete. "This smells awful, dude."
 
Pete stared for a second, shaking his head slowly. "It's not your new summer
home, Joe- it's gonna be a meth lab."
 
Meth. The word made them all freeze up.
It was the elephant in the room, a grim reminder of what they'd actually be
doing. Pete needed to fix it; They couldn't be so sensitive when talking about
these things, so, for the meantime, they needed a substitute.
Pete squinted to himself, raking his gaze over the RV idly. Meth- what could
work as a code name? It needed to be something innocuous, something mundane and
innocent. If it sounded too much like a street name for a drug, that would give
them away in no time.
It also needed to make sense in the 'making' concept of things. What did people
make? Everything, he supposed; Everything from houses and bricks, to tea and
coffee.
Tea. Huh. That sounded really innocent.
 
What the hell, it wasn't like they were building a brand here.
 
"Let's call it tea."
 
Patrick blinked. "That's stupid."
Pete held back a sigh and only crossed his arms. "Do you have any better
ideas?"
 
Silence.
 
"No, no you don't. Tea it is."
"Alright, fine- tea. But, what are we actually gonna do about…" Joe gestured
at- the whole place with a hand. "This?"
Andy nodded, quietly musing over the table as he scratched at his jaw. "It's
really unhygienic, we're gonna contaminate everything."
 
Pete hummed for a moment, before the light bulb lit up over his head, and his
face brightened along with it. "Extreme Home Makeover."
 
Joe quirked an eyebrow, Andy stayed silent, but Patrick gave a long suffering
sigh. "Y'know, I didn't really sign up for cleaning up cat shit."
Pete squinted. "You said 'I'm in' and that means you're in for the whole
process, Patrick- I have receipts."
 
"Alright-" Andy cut off the beginnings of the argument with a sigh, "Where do
we start?"
Pete lazily gestured to the torn couches, "We gotta…rip all this shit out, I
guess."
 
They all sighed, in varying volumes and different levels of exhaustion.
 
It was gonna be a long day.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
South Chicago was, thankfully, home to a whole host of junkyards.
And thankfully, not many people had any business hanging out at them at four in
the afternoon, so they were left to their task without questions, and without
prying eyes. Which Pete was grateful for, it would just take one slip up, and-
 
"Are you sure we can't pay someone to do this?"
"We're not rich yet, buddy." Pete shook his head at Patrick, tearing away the
last square of rotten carpet from the floor.
His voice was muffled by the sweater he'd tied around his face, because he was
not gonna breathe in a mountain of cat hairs for this bullshit. "Gotta clean
some gross stuff first."
 
Patrick groaned behind his own mouth cover- a jacket he'd tied over the lower
half of his face in a bulky mask, as he ripped away another moth bitten
curtain.
Light flooded into the RV like a river, showing off every speck of dust and
hair that floated through the air.
Pete sighed, there was a lot more cleaning to be done.
 
Patrick seemed to have thought the exact same thing, and Pete understood the
reluctance, completely.
The clouds of musty dust that burst up every ripped carpet was blinding. The
sheer amount of cat hair behind the seats- honestly, Pete had no idea cats even
had that much hair.
But, slowly but surely, the RV was looking more and more bare, leaving behind a
long table and a space for possibilities. Horrible, illegal possibilities.
 
Joe and Andy slumped back over from where they'd carried a seat away; They
looked sore and exhausted already, and admittedly, Pete hadn't thought making a
little bit of meth would be this taxing.
Then again, if they were gonna do this properly, and not get caught, they would
need to work hard.
It tired Pete out already, but he had to do this. He just had to. He needed it,
his family needed it.
 
And Pete knew, Patrick, Joe, and Andy, all needed it too.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"Careful, careful."
 
"Take your time."
 
"Go slow, slow- slower. Slower, Pete, do you know what slower means?"
 
Pete moved at a snail's pace, eyes squinting, heart thundering in his ears, and
hands restrained from trembling.
With a tiny sigh, he brushed the last pile of dirt into the pan, and tossed it
outside, watching it disappear in the breeze.
 
"FUCK YES-"
"Oh my god- finally- Jesus Christ-"
Joe literally sobbed.
 
Pete was pretty darn proud of himself.
That last pile of dust had been the bane of his fucking life today, he was
gonna be screaming about it on his deathbed, he was pretty sure.
Between breezes, people accidentally stepping in it, and of course, nudging it
just the wrong way, it had spread everywhere like a bomb once again. But now,
it was done, it was all gone, the work was over.
That clump of cat hair and dust was gone in the wind now, and Pete could
finally, finally, after so much work, after the way every muscle in his goddamn
body  ached , he could  finally -
 
"And now, we disinfect it."
 
"Wait what."
 
 
Pete glared at the disinfectants on the shelves, but Andy only huffed bemusedly
at him and a Windex bottle off.
 
Goddamnit. Why was cleaning this hard? Had it always been this hard?
 
…Had Pete ever actually cleaned something?
 
He was pretty sure dealing with the nuclear wasteland that was his bedroom
wasn't this hard; His arms ached from carrying stuff, his legs ached from
crouching under tables, and his neck- oh god his neck.
And his spine, his fucking spine was fucked, he wouldn't be surprised if he had
severe scoliosis here-
 
"Anhydrous ammonia."
 
Pete froze. That was…one of the ingredients. Pete's eyes flicked over to Andy,
who just looked back with a small smile and shook the bottle a little. Pete
pointed at it, brow raised and eyes wide. "In there?"
Andy nodded quickly, "Yep. We just need to distill it."
 
"And…how'd you do that?"
 
Andy, to Pete's surprise, held back the 'You don't know that?' comment, and
instead, supplied a quiet answer as he glanced around for anyone who might've
been a little too close by.
"Well, water loses its ability to hold ammonia as it heats up, so if we boil
it, the ammonia gas will just kinda, drift off, I guess. But, we'll catch it
with-"
 
Pete listened, almost entranced by the explanation. It made sense to him. Why
did it make sense to him? Pete sucked at Chemistry.
 
"And then we put it in a cold trap, and-"
 
This was fucking surreal. And Pete could hardly believe he was still following
it by the time Andy came to a stop, with a proud smile on his face. "-And then
we get anhydrous ammonia. Easy."
 
"You're really smart, man." Pete sounded like he'd just been punched in the
throat. By knowledge.
"Thanks, but- I'm not that smart, really." Before Pete could even fucking
formulate a rebuttal, Andy handed the bottle to him, and looked down at his
phone.
Pete craned his neck to see the screen- as subtly as he could, of course; Andy
was scanning over the list, brow furrowed and beady eyes focused.
 
"Acetone, lithium- huh." Andy nodded to himself, quickly typing out something
that made Pete's phone buzz in his pocket. With a free hand, he checked the
group chat- not wanting to make it even more obvious that he'd been staring at
Andy's phone.
 
Andy: Joe, Patrick?
 
JT: yep??
 
PatrickStump: Yeah?
 
Andy: Can you guys get nail polish remover, batteries, fireworks, and drain
cleaner?
Andy: And a chemistry kit.
 
JT: What kind of party are you having?
 
PWeezy: lol
 
Andy: Just do it
Andy: For the tea
 
PWeezy: that was the best code name ever i stg
 
Andy stuffed his phone back into his pocket, and Pete did the same, ignoring
the few buzzes that followed. "Alright," Andy turned to him, eyes scrunching
closed for a second before he nodded decisively. "We need brake fluid, salt,
cold medicine, metal foil, and matches."
Pete nodded slowly, and refrained from making- what he already knew would be an
awful joke that would just make this whole thing fifty times more awkward.

With a nod that was more to himself than to Pete, Andy puffed out his cheeks
and furrowed his brow, determinedly starting down an aisle- straight towards
the brake fluid.
Pete looked down at the Windex in his hands, the large plastic filled with the
ocean blue liquid that would, with some treatment, become meth.
 
This was really happening, and for once, Pete was speechless.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"MOVE THAT BUS."
"Shut up, Pete." Patrick sighed from his left. The four boys were- to put it
lightly, destroyed. They looked around at the insides of the RV; It was clean,
it was fucking clean. They'd cleaned it all up in a day, and it was all sterile
and ready to go.
And, on the table, sat the mountain of everything from fireworks to brake
fluid- with the kids chemistry set sitting behind it all.
Apparently, those things were actually useful, as long as you didn't use the
chemicals they came with- but the equipment was totally fine.
 
All that was left was to steal the hydrochloric acid, but that was an issue for
another day. Pete was busy making a new plan already.
 
Everything smelt like chlorine, rather than cat and old person now, and the
masks- that were all filthy, at this point, had been blissfully cast aside.

"So," Joe breathed, eyes wider than usual as they raked over the blank insides
of the RV, "This is it."
The others nodded slowly, everyone's minds no doubt ticking with the same
thoughts, and flooding with the same fears.
 
"Alright, I'll leave this at a parking lot, and tomorrow-" Pete began, taking
charge with a sharp nod and a confident look in his eyes. "We'll meet at the
graveyard again."
The nods that were his replies looked a little stiff, and Pete could feel the
fear settling in the air, like a thick, heavy cloud of curling smoke.
 
This would be the real test. This would be the real show of commitment.
 
If they showed up tomorrow, it would be the point of no return. The start of
their new lives.
 
Pete could feel the doubt settling into his own stomach, but he'd fight it, he
knew he could. But, he was worried the others wouldn't.
…Then again, maybe they'd go home, doubt and fear heavy on their minds. Maybe
they'd decide to chicken out, they'd text Pete with an apology, and they'd
pretend it had never happened.
 
And then, they'd see the reasons why they had even done this today.
 
They'd see brothers, sisters, moms, and dads. They'd see them exhausted,
hungry, filthy, or miserable, and they'd find that same fire that had driven
them to accept the first time.
Pete just hoped they'd throw a log on that fire, and that they wouldn't smother
it instead.
 
Pete glanced around at the others, finding blank eyes that expertly hid their
thoughts, and Pete prayed that they'd stay.
 
 
He hoped someone would hear it.
 
 
 
***** A WEEK WITHOUT UPLOADING, SHE COMES BACK WITH AN AUTHOR'S NOTE *****
 
Okay, so, on a more serious note, there's some stuff I wanted to say, and I
hope you'll hear me out here.
First off, I am so, so sorry for just disappearing like that. I have my
reasons, and a lot of them at that, but I still don't think it's acceptable
(for myself, anyway) to go quiet for so long.
I know it might not seem like that much time, it might seem a little ott, and
you might be sitting there thinking 'dude, chill out with the drama', and-
that's understandable. I mean, I'm not even sure if it's really been a week,
but since I have a rigorous schedule, it literally feels like years, and coming
back is really tricky/embarrassing, somehow.
 
I really appreciate you all, I really want to stress that here, since it's the
root of what I'm gonna do/the choice I've made.
The fact that you take actual time out of your days to sit down and read this
stuff (that, I've always been told was awful, prior to this whole thing ahaha),
is really amazing to me. And, that simple fact, combined with all the comments
and all the amazing feedback, is really crazy, in a good way.
 
And that's where my- I don't want to call it an issue, but it kinda is one,
stems from.
I want to write good stuff for you, and I want to enjoy the process too.
I'm gonna be completely honest here, I hope it isn't weird, but for some
reason, my will to write certain stories keeps dipping/dying. I think I know
why, and it's totally my own fault- that's what happens when you don't plan
stuff out, kids. And normally, I would force myself to keep writing until it's
all done, and I can call it a day.
It's usually happened towards the ends of stories, so, I normally buckle the
hell up and keep going, but sometimes the block is just too big, and this is
one of those times.
 
Don't get me wrong, I love this story; I have so many ideas for it, I know
where it needs to go, and I'm really happy with the setting- I'm a slut for
teen aus, always will be. But, for some reason, no matter how much I drive
forwards, I just cannot write it.
 
Not kidding, I've had five different, patchy drafts of chapter 4 in my
documents for ages.
I've tried everything from taking it slow, to sitting the fuck down and
writing, but none of it works, and I only end up with more fragments of a
chapter- not an actual update.
 
It's really hard to admit it, but I don't think I can write this story right
now. I just lost every speck of motivation for it, and it's so sad to realize
because I really pride myself on seeing things through, but I just can't. Not
yet, anyway.
 
But, I want to make this clear: I will come back to this story.
 
As I said, I love the idea, but I need to write it in a better headspace-
literally, just so it can be funnier, it's about the quality too. If you're
feeling kind of low, it kinda carries over to the whole tone of the story, I've
found. And, I respect/love this idea too much to just toss it out there,
knowing it could be better.
 
So, I don't know if this is just extreme writer's block, but I'm pretty sure it
isn't, because I keep drifting away to other ideas that I really want to write.
I don't want to use 'therefore' but I'm gonna use 'therefore', I'm gonna put
this one on hold. I'll come back to it one day- and I don't mean in like, ten
years, I'll probably be up to it in a few months honestly.
 
In turn, I'm also going to shift through the ideas I have, I'm gonna annoy a
few mutuals with them, and I'm gonna find something else to write in the
meantime. Something I can write better, right now.
If this pisses you off, makes you sad, or even if you literally couldn't care
less, I really hope you understand. The whole point is to enjoy this whole
process, and when it starts being about placating, and numbers, I'm pretty sure
it shows.
 
So, this got long, and I'm sorry about that lol, but once again- I'm sorry, but
I promise to do better with the new one, and I will 100% come back to this.
Thank you, and, I'm awkward, so this ending is not smooth at all.
 
TL;DR: I'm putting this one on hold, and I'm gonna start a new story in a few
days. Will come back to this one. Promise.
 
 
 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!