Patrick's POV

As I drifted off to sleep three days later, I thought about what we got done.

Music was antidote for the venom, running rampant in my blood. We started coming up with ideas and actually recorded a few things. It took us five minutes to write a song, an amazing song.

It all started when I was simply fooling around with my guitar, playing random rhythms mixed together. Pete would look down at me and ask me to play it again. I would, and it would get better.

"Andy! Joe!" Pete presses his phone to his ear, "Get in here! We're onto something!"

He scribbled down lyrics from time to time, casually lowering down for me to look at. We worked as a team.

Pete kept a close eye on me. I don't blame him, after what I almost pulled. It's going to take a while before I gain his trust back. Trust that I can be okay on my own.

"What makes us us?" Joe asked, trying to connect to lyrics, "What makes us different from other bands?"

"We're cooler than them," Andy joked.

I laughed a little and Joe rolled his eyes, "No, I mean why are we unique?"

"I think," I started, glancing at the three of them to make sure I wasn't interrupting, "We're unique because we create a genre for ourselves. We're not really rock or alternative or punk. We're Fall Out Boy. People know what our music sounds like, but don't necessarily know what we look like or who we are. I've said this before, but that's a great feeling. Our music will live on forever."

I felt something, an odd feeling, that I would need that for later. Pete jotted it down, nodding.

"Good," Joe said, "We're our own genre. What else?"

"We're an American band of white, weird men," Andy snarked again.

Joe scowled, "Andy! Not now!"

Pete stopped him, "Wait, he could be onto something... American... What makes Americans American?"

"We all stand as one and fight together," I added.

"We mostly all agree on the same decision," Joe said.

Andy was the man with the answers, "We're all weirdos."

Pete snapped and stood up, "I love you, man!"

Andy smiled, "Love you too?"

Pete laughed to himself and walked around in a tight circle, "American Psychos!"

"America Suitehearts?" Joe asked, "Isn't that too similar?"

Pete jumped up again, "American Beauty!"

I saw what he was getting at, "American Beauty American Psycho, the perfect oxymoron."

"But what's behind it? What does it stand for?" Joe questioned.

"American Beauty," Pete said and started counting with his fingers, "love, life, happiness, pretty much anything good you can find in life."

"American Psycho," he continued, "weaknesses, false hope, lack of confidence, darkness - the things we all feel without Leah."

I nodded, it's all so captivating, "Change. We all fear some kind of change."

Pete jumped up and down, dancing, "Yes! Oh god, I could almost kiss you!"

"Please don't," I smirked and told him, even though he wasn't listening.

"I've got to start writing this down," he said and ran towards his journal.

What I really started to get out of this was the fact that we were all trying to capture our rages. I watched Pete as he wrote. What we feel is permanent and impermanent at the same time. We could change, with this album. We could totally turn our name around and use a different style or sound, but do we want to? Yes, change is good, but not if you're a musician and no one else appreciates the change.

What we need to start doing is activating ourselves. Live rather than exist. Protect our dreams, especially broken ones because without the cracks... the light can't get through.

Rock and roll doesn't necessarily mean a band, I've found. It doesn't mean a singer and it doesn't mean a lyric, really. It's that question of trying to be immortal. It's the thought that there will be a tune that people will remember. That feeling leaves tingles up my spine.

This was the song that took five minutes to make. This was going to be known as our title track. We just set up our album.

I stayed a little while after everyone left. Pete was reluctant to leave me be, but I edited chords and listened to some things that we already finished. This was turning out to be great. It's our baby being born, listening and recording is the ultrasound. I'd guess early 2015 will be it's birthday.

When you love someone and lose them, you turn to someone or something to show that same affection for. Today, it was music. Most people, in my situation, would turn to drugs or alcohol, I have music. Music is my happy pill, the healthy addictive kind. And now, suddenly, I'm eager to start this new album.

The whole day replayed in my head as the clock struck twelve. 20 days and counting...