Dear Patrick,

Well.

I think it's fair to say the date didn't quite go to plan.

It was a shame, because the plan was so damn good. I'd spent the whole day going over every little detail, trying to get everything right, down to the last second. Normal people would say it's unhealthy to obsess over something like this, but it was that or gradually drink myself out of consciousness.

I called Andy a few hours before, to ask some advice, seeing as this was pretty much my first proper date ever. That was a bad idea.

"Wait, so where did you say you were taking him?" He'd asked, buzzing down the phone at me.

I told him the name of the restaurant, and after what must have been some extremely speedy Googling, he found it.

"That's where you're going?" He said, an air of caution creeping into his voice.

"Yeah. Why? Is there a problem? Is it closed? It's closed isn't it, oh for fuck's sake what the hell am I-" I started to panic, before Andy cut me off.

"No, no, it's fine Pete, calm down dude, I just thought that maybe it's a little bit too posh? Like, for a first date?"

"Really?" Uh oh. I'd never been on an actual date before, I had no idea where to take you so I figured we'd go somewhere fancy. But I discovered I'm horrifically inexperienced at this.

"Well...I guess usually people start off going somewhere not too fancy, just to make things less formal. I mean, you don't want to scare him off, that's all."

"You think I'll scare him off? Oh god, should I book somewhere else? But it's too short notice to go somewhere else! What do I do Andy, please, help!" I hopped around my bedroom frantically, my voice climbing up the octaves.

"Okay, you're taking this way too seriously. Calm the fuck down." I could almost hear the eye roll as he spoke. "First of all, it's Patrick, you've known him forever and he's not going to care where you take him. Second, I'm kinda amazed you even managed to book a place like this because it's fancy as hell, so stick with it. And third, the most important thing is that you be yourself, he likes you for normal Pete, not stressed-out frantic oh-my-god-it-must-be-perfect Pete. So snap out of it."

I stopped pacing. Why is Andy always right? I sighed, flopping down on the bed. "Sorry. I just...I've never done this before, I don't know the rules."

"Look, don't think of them as rules, just...good manners I guess."

"Right, so what's good manners on a date?"

"Be nice, dress smart and don't expect anything of him. That last one's kind of important."

"What do you mean, don't expect anything?" I spat, getting more worked up every second.

"Just, um, how do I put this, don't expect to go anywhere below the waist at the end of the night."

I almost laughed out loud. "I'm not going to fuck him on the first date." More's the pity.

"How do you know what you're gonna do, you've never been on a damn date!"

"Shut up."

"You shut up!"

I huffed down the phone at him and earned an irritated tsk in return.

"Andy," I said tentatively.

"What?"

"Can you help me choose what to wear?"

And that is how Andy Hurley lost an afternoon to playing dress-up with his bassist.

-

It was four minutes to six.

I sat in my car, breathing at the steering wheel and staring at the hands of my watch tick slowly round and round. And round.

It was going to be fine. It was going to be fine.

I mean, it's not like we needed to run through the awkward small-talk sketch, I already know pretty much everything about you. We could just talk like best friends do, happily and easily, but maybe with some hand-holding. I could handle that, right?

It didn't seem like I could, however, when I was standing outside your place, as if the door was holding me at gunpoint. Just do it, just knock.

I had waited for this for so long. A few months ago, I would have killed to be in this position. But that was just it. The build up had been so massive, and I knew that whatever happened tonight, it would never match up to the hundreds of times I must have imagined it. I could never live up to my own expectations. This was a mistake. I couldn't do this. Oh shit. I shouldn't have kissed you, I shouldn't have asked you out, I'm only going to be disappointed when it's not as perfect as I think it's going to be. I need to leave. Now.

"Pete!"

Crap.

You'd opened the door. You were looking at me excitedly, a grin spread over your face and a spark in your eyes. I jumped, snapping out of my reverie and probably looking like a complete idiot as I looked blankly at you. Then I actually looked at you.

Damn.

You were wearing a grey blazer and trousers with a black shirt underneath, with the top two buttons undone. You fiddled with the trilby on your head as I picked my jaw up off the floor.

I'd seen you all smart before, for awards shows and weddings and stuff, but this was different. This was only for me. And oh my god it was amazing.

I must have stared for an uncomfortably long time, because when I looked back up at your face, it was bright red.

"Um...Pete?"

I'd forgotten that I was actually supposed to say things to you. What the hell do I say to you? Say something smart.

"Yeah, no, you just...wow."

Great job.

"Not too bad yourself." You grinned, looking me up and down. My stomach did a little pirouette. "Let me just get my shoes on."

You left the door open and wandered back into your apartment, looking under tables and behind sofas until you found what you were looking for. I just stood in the doorway, like an idiot, as always, my mind shouting a thousand things at once. Am I going to fuck this up? Should I have done this, said that? Am I actually going to be able to get through this evening without having a heart attack?

"Shall we get going then?" you chimed, now suddenly right in front of me, shiny black shoes making your feet look more attractive than I ever thought feet could look.

I didn't trust myself to speak so I just nodded, holding my arm out like they do in the movies. You shut your door behind you and linked our elbows, smiling at me and giving my hand a squeeze. Holy fuck, does this mean you're excited?

I allowed myself to relax a little, smiling back at you. Forget butterflies, there were full-blown eagles flying around my stomach.

We walked down the steps to my car, and you didn't let go of my arm the whole time. You nattered away about something to do with what you had for lunch, whilst I tried to listen to all the voices in my head at once. I was so nervous of getting something wrong, I couldn't do anything right.

So I just guided you to the passenger seat in stony silence, before walking round to my side. I could feel your eyes on me. Was I walking weird? Did you not like my walk? Is there a special date-walk everyone knows about apart from me? Oh god, oh god, I can't do this.

"So where are we off to?" You asked when we were on the road.

I didn't say anything, just pointed towards the SatNav, at the restaurant address.

"Wha- Really? But Pete, isn't that place, like, really posh?"

No. No, no. This was just what Andy said would happen.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, I just thought it would be nice and I didn't want to put you under pressure or anything I just...wanted to go somewhere nice. You know, for our first ever date." I finally spoke! And sounded like a scared chipmunk. I kept my eyes locked on the road.

You laughed. "No, Pete, don't worry, it's just...If I'd have known I'd have worn a proper suit." You gazed down at your shirt and quickly did up the top two buttons. I tried not to think about how you would look in a 'proper suit', for the sake of not crashing the car.

"Nah, you already look per- pretty good." I stammered. That was close.

You breathed a small laugh, "Thanks. So are we nearly there yet?" You bounced up and down in your seat, drumming on the dashboard and staring intently at the SatNav. Did I mention you're the cutest thing I've ever laid eyes on?

As if on cue, the restaurant finally appeared, its long driveway leading to white stone steps and big oak doors. I say oak, I have no idea what type of wood they were, oak just sounds most impressive. I was terrified of this place. We got closer, and closer.

Holy shit.

It was even worse inside. I felt like an intruder, with my stupid fringe and eyeliner, and the weird looks people were giving us weren't helping my nerves. You lightly held my hand as we were ushered to our table, and I could just feel the judgement radiating off the people we passed. I swear I heard someone whisper faggots when they thought we were out of earshot.

But it didn't seem to bother you in the slightest. You'd been grinning for a large part of the evening, your eyes lighting up when you saw the web of crystal chandeliers across the ceiling and the deep red carpets. You cheerfully munched on the bread the waiter had given the table, breaking it up into little pieces and putting the tiniest amount of butter on every piece, then popping them one by one into your mouth.

I didn't feel like eating. I just tried to smile and laugh in the right places as you talked about god knows what, nearly knocking over our wine glasses several times with your elaborate hand gestures.

That was another problem. I rubbed the back of my neck as I stared at the dark red liquid in front of me. It was so tempting. No, Pete, you know what'll happen. I spent the first half of the meal trying to convince myself it was poisoned. Which, in a sense, I suppose it was.

In between the starter and the main, I suddenly noticed that you'd stopped talking. I looked up, my gaze having found a home amongst the cutlery on the table for the last half-hour.

You were staring straight at me, your head cocked to one side and your brows knitted together.

"Pete, are you okay?"

I nodded, my basic response to any question.

"Seriously, dude, you've barely said a word all evening. Is everything alright?"

No. No it really isn't.

"Yep, fine."

But you saw right through that one. Scowling, you leaned towards me, as if the lines on my face would show you what was wrong. "Please tell me?"

I tried so hard not to cave. But then you brought out the puppy dog eyes. You know, you really don't play a fair game. I sighed, leaning back in my seat.

"I...well, I'm just nervous, I guess." Nervous was one way of putting it. Cripplingly afraid of fucking up and ruining the one good thing in my life was another.

"Nervous? About tonight? Why?" You said, amused, because you don't think you're anything special. You're everything special.

I shrugged. "I don't know, I just..." Go on, for once be honest about your feelings. "I've been looking forward to this for kinda a long time, and I don't want to fuck it up."

I'm so glad I said that.

A smile spread across your face, your eyebrows rising in surprise. You looked at me for a long while, as if you were taking in every detail of my face. "Pete, I..." You searched for what to say, not taking your eyes off me. "That's so sweet. But please, don't be nervous, it's only me."

"Exactly."

You blushed, giggling again. "You moron, you're not going to fuck it up. Plus, this should be easy, I mean, we can skip all the boring stuff because we already know each other so well. Just talk to me, like you do normally. Because god knows, normally you never shut up." You grinned.

"Hey!" I protested, feigning offence. "I didn't book a fancy restaurant and spend four hours getting dressed to be insulted!"

"Four hours? Are you serious?"

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "Creeped out yet?"

"Don't worry dude, you creeped me out ages ago."

"Again with the insults."

"That's what I'm here for."

I grinned. This was good. I could do this. It was gonna be okay. I saw your hand lying on the table between us and with a surge of confidence, I reached out and took it gently. You smiled, tangling our fingers together. I breathed out. I suddenly couldn't believe how complicated I'd made all this, because looking at our joined hands and your dazzling smile, it was so simple. The restaurant, the suit, the worrying, it all didn't matter, because I was with you, and you have this weird power to make me forget everything else.

The rest of the meal was as perfect as I'd dreamed it'd be.

-

"No, I'm sorry, Sinatra and Metallica have nothing in common." I'd stated, as we were waiting for the bill, after a meal of something French and with not enough sauce for my liking.

"Okay, maybe not musically, but emotionally, they're actually quite similar."

"Look, Patrick, I know you're a musical genius and whatever, but I really beg to differ-"

"Listen to what they sing about! It's the same feelings, the same passion that-" You stopped abruptly, worry creeping across your face.

"Are you okay?" I said, still constructing my counter argument against Sinatra.

You swallowed hard. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." You shifted slightly in your seat. I should have picked up the warning signs right there and then. But I didn't.

I also didn't notice how quickly you got up after we got the bill, thanking the waiter briefly and throwing down a tip. You grabbed my arm and walked out of the restaurant just a little too quickly.

I just carried on chatting away, wandering towards the car. If I'd have realised, I would've walked quicker. But I didn't.

The drive home was made up of me talking and you nodding along. I remember thinking that it was as if we'd swapped places over the course of the evening. Now I was the chatty one. I didn't stop to think why.

It was only as I was walking you back to your place that I finally twigged something wasn't quite right. I struggled to keep up with you as you powered up the stairs, eyes firmly on the ground.

"Patrick, are you sure you're okay?" I pulled you back, trying to get you to face me, but you brushed my hand away and made towards your door. You grabbed your keys from your pockets, frantically trying to find the right one. Your hands shook as you tried to get the key in the lock, and after the third attempt, I decided to intervene. I placed a hand on your shoulder, and another on your wrist, guiding the key into place and helping you turn it.

I opened my mouth to ask again what was wrong, but you were gone. You'd slammed the door open and dashed out of sight, leaving me bewildered and concerned.

I looked into your apartment, feeling as though I was intruding, even though I'd been here millions of times before. Do I go in? Okay, I have to know what's up with you.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. Where the fuck were you?

Then I heard a sound coming from the bathroom. A sound I knew all too well, thanks to my ongoing affair with alcohol. It was the sound of someone emptying the contents of their stomach. 

Oh. Oh. 

Everything made sense now.

I ran to the bathroom, and sure enough, there you were, on your knees, arms braced against the rim of the toilet, choking on your dinner. Your hat and glasses were strewn on the floor beside you, your head bent low. I blinked a few times, mentally cursing, before springing over to your crumpled form, kneeling beside you.

"I'm sorry," You gasped at me, before throwing up again violently, your shoulders shaking and your face tinged greyish-green.

I gaped at you. How could you possibly think you needed to apologise?

"Go away, Pete." You breathed heavily, batting me away. "This is fucking disgusting, get out."

"Patrick, I-"

"Seriously, you don't need to see this."

I obligingly got up, giving your back a quick rub before leaving the room. But I had no intention of leaving you to suffer.

I ran out to the kitchen and grabbed you a glass of water, filling it full of ice too, because I knew you'd be burning up right now. But before I went back to you, I had to allow myself a bit of a breakdown.

Why. Why tonight? Why, of all the dates in the world, was it this one, this one, the one that so much rested upon, that got fucked up? I'd planned it so well, it was going so well, you'd enjoyed yourself, I'd enjoyed myself, and this was how it had to end? God, fate, luck, whatever, fuck you.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I'd save the rest of my little rant for later on tonight, accompanied by pills and whiskey. Shit, shit, shit.

As soon as I got back to the bathroom, I grabbed a flannel and ran it under cold water, before sitting beside you again. You groaned at me, motioning for me to leave, but when I gave you the water, you looked at me as if I'd handed you a Grammy. You took it and downed the whole thing in one, gasping for air when you'd finished and bowing your head once more. I took the glass from you and held up the flannel, guiding it towards your face.

You looked at it, then at me. "What the fuck is that for?"

"For your face. You're really hot."

"Why thank you."

I rolled my eyes, "No, seriously Patrick, you're boiling, this'll help, it's soaked in cold water."

"Trying to get me wet on the first date, Wentz?"

"You're an idiot, Patrick." I shoved the flannel at you, wiping the sweat from your clammy skin as you screwed your eyes shut. You're sassy when you're sick. I tried to act like it didn't turn me on. "So what d'you think caused...er...this?" I asked, nodding at the contents of the toilet.

You shrugged. "That posh food obviously didn't agree with me."

I heard you gag, and you leant over the toilet once more. But there was nothing left to puke. Whatever it was, it had to be out of your system by now. I bet it was those fucking weird eggs. 

Typical. I take you to the best restaurant in Chicago and they fucking poison you. I'm planning the hate mail already.

"I'm so sorry, Patrick. I knew I should've just ordered pizza."

You laughed weakly, flushing the toilet and slumping next to it. "Nah, don't worry about it. It was a nice place, probably nothing to do with the food either, just my stupid insides." You sighed, shifting around a bit. "Okay, I think I'm alright now."

"Really? You sure?" I watched you trying to get up, your hands still shaking wildly. I jumped to my feet and helped you stand, guiding you toward the living room and sitting you down on the couch. You sank into it gratefully.

I didn't really know what to do then; Andy hadn't prepared me for this situation, so I just ran around, gathering stuff I thought might help, blankets and pillows and a big empty bowl just in case your dinner decided to make another grand reappearance.

You kicked your shoes off and curled up down one end of the couch, and I did my best not to aww at you as I tucked the blankets around you and the pillow under your head. Why are you so cute even when you're sick?

You huffed into the pillow as I sat down next to you, a pained expression on your face.

"I told you I'd fuck up." I sighed, folding my arms and looking at the floor. All the excitement I'd felt before had deflated into disappointed guilt. I was already picturing what would happen when I got home; I could almost smell the hangover.

"I told you, Pete, don't worry about it."

I fiddled with a piece of loose thread on my shirt. "I just...I wanted our first date to be perfect."

You grinned at me, the look in your eyes reminding me of sunshine or honey or something. I couldn't quite pinpoint it. You breathed out heavily. "I would say something suggestive like the night's not over yet, but I'm kinda icky. I think I got the worst of it out of me, though." You laughed, ever the optimist.

Still sulking, I couldn't muster anything more than a mumble. "Does this mean I don't get to kiss you?" I had so been looking forward to that.

"Are you kidding? I'm disgusting, you don't want to kiss me." You shifted around on the sofa so you were sitting up, facing me. You weren't green any more, but your already pale skin was even paler. Still fucking beautiful, though.

"I really do." The sincerity in my voice surprised even me. I leaned forward, just a little.

Don't think I didn't see you staring at my lips.

"Wait one second." Suddenly you jumped up, untangling your legs from the blankets and running towards the bathroom. Oh crap, you're gonna throw up again.

I heard some scuffling around, listening out for that excruciating coughing sound I'd heard before, but none came.

After a couple of minutes speculating about what the hell you were doing in there, and trying my utmost not to let my mind wander into places it shouldn't, you opened the door.

You'd changed into your pyjamas, and maybe you'd even combed your hair, because it wasn't sticking up every which way like it normally does. Seeing my eyes light up, you blushed and ducked your head, walking over to me and plopping down on the sofa again.

The first thing I noticed when I sat down was this gorgeous sweet aroma, wafting towards me in time with your breathing.

"What the hell is that smell?!" I exclaimed, sniffing around in the air between us.

"Mouthwash." You said, shrugging. "Now I won't taste like shit."

"You smell like fucking bubblegum!" I leaned towards you, my nose barely an inch from your face. I stuck my tongue out, meaning to lick at only the air, but ended up slobbering all over your cheek.

You yelped, swatting me away, but giggled all the same, wiping at your face with your sleeve. "Ew, Pete! You don't lick bubblegum!" Then, you got this little wicked spark in your eyes, a smirk appearing on your face. "You blow it."

I stopped dead, searching your face all over for something to tell me what the hell I should do next. Were you suggesting what I thought you were suggesting? I mean, Andy had said no sex, but surely blow jobs don't count? Do they count? I didn't know. My eyes flicked down, momentarily resting on your pyjama bottoms. If you wanted me to, um, pleasure you, then I sure as hell wasn't saying no. I'd spent long enough thinking about it. "Okay."

I looked back up at you. You laughed slightly. "I was joking."

"I wasn't." Staring dead into your eyes, I shuffled just a little bit closer.

And you shifted a little bit further away. My heart dropped. I'd gone too far. I'd scared you off. Forget the restaurant, it was me who'd put the pressure on you. "Uh, maybe...maybe not tonight."

I coughed, scrambling back down the other end of the couch. "Of course. I'm sorry." Too far, too far.

But you didn't let it dampen the mood. You flashed me one of your sweet smiles, you know the ones that make me melt on the inside. "So are you gonna kiss me? Or do I have to come over there and kiss you myself?"

That was when I realised I couldn't take another second without your lips on mine. I lurched across the sofa at the same time you did, closing my eyes as we sank into the kiss. I caught your face in my hands, gasping slightly as your fingers tangled in my hair, tugging at it just enough to make me wonder if my pants had always been this tight. I pulled you closer, so that our chests were touching, and moved my hands to the back of your neck. Heat coursed through my body as your lips parted, letting me taste you. You tasted like bubblegum too.

We stayed there, lost in each other's mouths and breathing in each other's scent. My lungs were filled with nothing but you.

Finally, after what was probably the longest make out session I'd ever had, we broke apart. I flopped backwards, breathing hard, a big bundle of happiness in my chest. Wow.

"That was...fucking...oh my god." I heard you sigh.

"Yeah." I breathed back.

They were all the words we needed.

We both slept on the couch that night, tangled in each other's arms. I'd forgotten what that was like.

-

I'm back home now. We said our shy goodbyes the next morning, me still in my suit, tie and all. You've recovered from whatever you had that night, you're all bright and perky again. I can't stop smiling. I haven't drunk a single drop of anything that might make me forget that night, I haven't had a nightmare since. I actually look forward to waking up in the morning.

Because the truth is that although that date was, let's face it, a disaster, it was one of the best evenings of my life. I might have poisoned you, but then you poisoned me, and I don't ever want to get you out of my system. Plus, you didn't give a definite no to the blow job suggestion. Maybe next time? No, no, I can't think about stuff like that, I've already had to have one cold shower today. 

But fucking hell, Patrick, you sitting there with your cheeks all flushed and your lips all swollen was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. To hell with sunsets, the colours in your eyes are all I'll ever need.

I love you so much.

From Pete xxx