Bang, Bang, You're Dead [Pete]

[William Beckett]

Remember that the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless - Jon Ruskin

William was tired of being in the tourbus. He was tired of having everyone wait on him hand and foot. He wasn't an invalid; he could function himself, even if he was in pain still. His collar bone was getting better, but he still had the stitches in his arm. Very annoying, but oh well. The bruises and cuts on his forehead were still there, though he mostly covered them up with his hair the best he could. He tugged at the hood on his head, ducking his head and shoving his hands into the hoodie's pockets, trying to keep from having anyone see him. That was the last thing he needed. Questions weren't welcome, not right now. He knew his fans were wondering what happened to him but he wasn't ready to explain just yet. They'd get an explaination in due time. He had taken a cab to get the library, and why he chose this place he wasn't particularly sure. He wanted silence, and when he wanted that he usually just retreated to his room or something. But he wasn't a teenager anymore, and he wasn't at home, though he longed to be. He wanted to curl under his covers in his own bed and sleep for awhile, knowing when he woke up his parents would've made him something to eat, and they'd talk and talk and nothing would matter for awhile. Unfortuantly, he had responsiblities he couldn't leave. His parents, currently, couldn't afford to fly from Chicago to New York, but he had called them as soon as he could and assured them that he was alright. They had heard from Andy that William was in the hospital, so of course they were worried. They just couldn't afford to come down, though. He wanted to go home, though he knew he had to stay here. Stay here for his fans. Stay here for his band. Because he knew he was going to just be playing again when he got better. Everything would get better. All these thoughts ran through his head as he sat in a chair in the far corner of the library with a book he had randomly picked off the shelf, The Memory Keeper's Daughter. It wasn't exactly a book he'd read, but he had tried to keep his mind occupied and had grabbed the first thing he had seen. But, reading wasn't keeping him very occupied.

[Pete Wentz]

i'm lucky to be where i am today
not by myself, summers on the way
the jobs I'll be working, the money i'll spend, not making a living

[/b] Pete said, feeling odd, as if he had lost the ability to talk and he'd only just gained it back again. "How are you?" Pete asked. Pete was well aware mopey Pete wasn't as well loved as happy, sarcastic Pete was by the majority of people, but right now he wasn't bothered. Pete didn't want to be mopey Pete right now, but it wasn't as simple as thinking happy thoughts and hoping that it would solve all his problems. Being positive was only one quarter of the solution, and it rarely helped anyway. Pete glanced at the rows of books, he loved writing, he loved literary. There was something so magnificently wonderful about being able to write words down and then inspire feelings and reactions in people. Pete especially liked a certain series of books - the infamous Harry Potter series, although, in retrospect, Pete hadn't really found any people - grown up or otherwise, who didn't really like or feel interested in the world of Harry Potter.[/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

just making new friends.
and I'm trying my hardest to make the most out of every minute
not getting any younger, getting older. it's scary.

[William Beckett]

William's actions had become repetitive. Head down, fingers at the top of the page while he read. He was a decent reader, and he'd been here awhile, so he was about half-way through it. He was slowly becoming more absorbed in the book, which was a good thing. It put his thoughts at a halt; the only thing going through his head rigth now was the words on the page. William had tried to stay in the tourbus and read some but the guys seemed intent on making him the way he was before the crash. In all honesty, he wouldn't be happy until he was able to play a show again. It had become his life, and yes, he could manage without playing shows, but it made him happy to have his fans right infront of him, singing back to him the lyrics that he wrote. It was a truly wonderful feeling, a feeling that couldn't be replaced. He loved the electric feeling he got from it; the energy stayed with him even after the gig. It was usually when he was at his happiest; all he wanted was to get on a fucking stage and sing his heart out. But, he wouldn't be able to do that for awhile. Pooey. It was hard to pass time in New York; he wasn't familiar with it and the only people he knew were the people here from the festival. They had shows to play, except Fall Out Boy, but for some reason he had a feeling none of them were too happy, seeing as Pete had stayed in The Academy Is...'s tourbus one night, so he had avoided going over for a social visit. Plus, he didn't pry into Pete's problems; he knew if Pete wanted to talk about it, he would. And right now Pete was a mute, so he knew not to push him. A few minutes later, he heard a voice, and he jumped, the book falling into his lap. He laughed slightly, and found it an odd sound; it wasn't a forced laugh he used around his band, it was sincere. He looked up to see who had spoken to him. "Hey," William said to Pete. "I'm fine, even though you just about gave me a heart attack just now. Don't you know better then to scare your elders like that, sonny?" William joked. William was about five years older then William, even though Pete easily looked seventeen.