To my darling ex-boyfriend,

It's been a while. Eight months and twenty-three days, to be precise.

I've still got my gorgeous Mikey. I don't know how I've managed to keep him this long, he's so perfect. I've now dated him longer than I dated you.

You're the same as you were. I hardly even notice you anymore. You're just a peripheral character.

It's so much better with Mikey. We don't do stupid cute stuff like dates or Christmases or movie marathons. We just get smashed or stoned or both, fuck each other's brains out, then leave. I can't remember the last time I was sober for more than twenty-four hours. It's fucking great.

And do you know what's even better? You're jealous. I see the way you look at me. When we were on tour, you'd hardly ever talk to me, just steal glances from behind your laptop. When we were on stage, I'd nuzzle your face, trace my hands down your body, kiss at your ears, just to see you flush pink. Your breath would hitch and you'd stumble over the words, it was the funniest thing. But it was all for show. As soon as the lights went out, we'd all be off to drink ourselves to death at some party, and you'd slope back to the bus, probably to cry over me. Just like I did for you.

But you missed your fucking chance. I bet you regret ditching me now, don't you? Now that I've got my life back on track, now that I have a boyfriend who's got more talent in his left buttcheek than you have in your whole body.

I'll never forget the first time you met him.

-

It was a few weeks after we'd got together, and we had a meeting about the upcoming tour.

Boring as always, it dragged on for hours, fucking bus rentals and flight planning and whatever. I'd been complaining about it to Mikey for a good portion of the last few days, and as an incentive, he'd offered to pick me up after and take me to his house. He also said he'd bought some handcuffs. It was quite difficult to concentrate on the meeting when thinking about what that meant.

He'd pick me up right outside the building. Which meant that you couldn't avoid meeting him. And I was going to make sure you met him.

I'd been really nice to you those past few weeks, letting you know that it was okay that you needed time, and of course I'd wait for you, basically just regurgitating whatever bullshit you said to me when we broke up. Because it was a break-up. You just didn't know it yet.

We walked out of the building together, you all smiley and bubbly, because you were happy back then, me scouring the parking lot for my knight in shining armour. You were talking about some shit I wasn't interested in, I was laughing along.

"...but Pete, they were talking about maybe South America, like, how cool would that be? We could play in Brazil, or, or Chile, or Ecuador! Isn't that where the nice cocoa beans come from? Imagine how good the hot chocolate is over there, I bet it's like, the best thi- who's that?" You stopped suddenly, staring ahead.

You'd spotted him before me. He was leaning against his car, waving at us, that beautiful smile on his face.

"That's Mikey." I shrugged. I kept walking towards him, and you trailed after me, suddenly silent.

"Who- Who's Mikey?" You kept staring. I don't blame you, he's hot as hell.

Just for drama, I didn't answer 'til we were right in front of him.

"This is my boyfriend." I announced, making said boyfriend giggle.

And your face, oh my god. Your expression didn't change, but everything was there in your eyes. Hurts, doesn't it?

"Hi, Pete, how was the meeting? And hey, Pete's friend." He grinned at you. Fuck you, his grins are all mine. You gave a weak smile back.

"Boring as shit. They want us to go to fucking South America? I mean what kind of loser wants to go there? This is Patrick, by the way." I said, shoving you in the shoulder.

"Great to meet you. So you're in the band?"

You nodded, tearing your gaze away from his face and settling it on your shoes. "I sing, and stuff."

"Oh, so you're the one with the amazing voice. Pete's showed me some of your guys' stuff, it's really good." He said sweetly. He's so nice, but I couldn't believe he was wasting compliments on you. I decided to intervene.

"Mikey's in a band too. They're fantastic, I've been to one of their shows. He plays bass, like me, and his brother sings." I boasted. Your eyes were still on the floor, but I knew you were listening. "His vocals are like nothing I've ever heard. They're so passionate, and the range, oh my god. To be honest, he makes all the other singers I've heard look like complete shit."

That got your attention.

You looked up at me, confusion and anguish touching your eyes, before you took a breath and shook it off. "So, uh, how long have you two been, uh...?" You trailed off.

"A few weeks. It's nearly our month anniversary, isn't it, babe?" I cooed, grabbing Mikey's hand and lacing our fingers together. We grinned at each other, before I lowered my gaze back to you. You were staring at our interlocked hands like the nerdy kid stares at the school bully right before they get beaten up.

"Mikey?" Called a voice from somewhere.

"Joe?" Mikey shouted back, a smile lighting his face. Joe and Andy were walking towards us, and Mikey ran over to them like an oversized dog. "Man, I haven't seen you in ages!"

They did the typical slap-on-the-back man-hug, punching each other on the shoulders.

"You two know each other?" I called over to them.

"Yeah, we go way back! Met this dude at a show back before the band." Joe yelled, before introducing Andy and getting lost in conversation. I smiled as I saw Mikey laughing. He's so hot.

I turned back to you. You were staring after my boyfriend, knotting your fingers together.

"Gorgeous, isn't he?" I remarked, studying your face for any signs of envy. There were too many to count.

"Yeah..." You said wistfully, gazing back down at your shoes.

"It's funny, I met him the night we broke up. It was like losing a dime then finding a dollar." I laughed. You didn't.

When you stayed silent, I decided to torture you even further. "He's amazing. My god, you should see him in the bedroom. He's a literal angel, but also kinda devilish, if you know what I mean." I elbowed you in the side, winking.

You still didn't react, just stayed staring at the floor. Man, what does it take to get a fucking response out of you?

Wait. I know.

"And his body, too. He's so lean and toned, it makes such a change." I said, malice creeping into my voice. You looked up. I let my eyes flick down to your bulging belly, lingering for just enough time for you to follow my gaze.

You flushed tomato red, turning your face away from me and pulling you hat down lower. But before you did, it was too late. I'd already seen your bottom lip wobble and your nostrils flare, the tears gathering in your eyes. That's more like it.

"Well hello again," I said to Mikey as he, Joe and Andy wandered towards us. But my smile disappeared when I saw that Joe had a really weird look on his face.

"So," He said, with a great degree of authority, "You're dating Mikey now?"

Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit. I hadn't even thought about Joe. Mikey must have told him. So he knows me and you broke up. I prepared myself to be skinned alive.

I nodded slowly.

"So you two aren't together any more?" He gestured at me and you.

I shook my head.

"Why?"

To be fair to myself, I only twisted the truth a little bit in my answer. "Well, Patrick just didn't feel the same way about me as I did about him, so we agreed that maybe it was best if we stayed friends. So now I'm with Mikey. Don't worry, it wasn't a messy break-up or anything, we're good, aren't we Pat?" I slung an arm round your shoulders and gave you a friendly shake.

You nodded obediently, finally looking up at Joe and smiling wide. Fucking hell, that looked almost genuine. You're a better actor than I thought you were.

He narrowed his eyes at you, just to make sure, but you fooled him good, beaming at me, then back at him.

"Okay..." he said, still a little sceptical.

"Look, Joe, the way I see it, isn't it better like this? It's like you said all along, if we split up badly, it would ruin the band. Now I don't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt, you don't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt, and Patrick doesn't have to worry about Patrick getting hurt. And, let's face it, you love my new boyfriend." I let go of you and snaked my arm around Mikey's waist.

Joe sighed in defeat. "It's true, I really do." He reached out and high-fived Mikey, who grinned. "Okay, well, I guess that's everything sorted. Well done, Pete, you picked a good one."

He gave my boyfriend a final poke in the chest, before walking off to his car and yelling goodbyes back at us.

That was easier than I thought.

Ha, now you didn't even have Joe on your side.

Andy left next, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze and us a short wave.

Now you were back to being the third wheel. One more little thing to make you squirm, though.

"Okay, I better be going as w-" You started, but stopped abruptly as I brought Mikey's face to meet mine and kissed him, tangling our tongues together and wrapping my arms around his neck. I moaned a little into his mouth just for added effect, before pulling back and looking at you. I wanted so bad to see the look on your face.

But you weren't there. You were already pacing away from me, towards your car. I'd wanted to make you cry, goddamnit, now I'd never know if I'd succeeded.

I could have sworn I saw you wipe your eyes, though.

Smirking after you, I let go of Mikey.

"So that's your ex. I thought you said you'd ended on good terms?"

"We did." I snapped, gesturing at the car and dragging him over to it.

"Then why did he just run off crying?" He walked round to the driver's side and got in.

"I don't know." I shrugged once we were both in the car. "He cries at everything. Pussy."

"He seems sweet though."

"So? Just 'cause he seems all cute and candy-floss on the outside, doesn't mean he's not a dick underneath." I snapped, louder than I meant to.

"Alright, sorry." He held his hands up in defeat. "Just saying what I think."

"Well don't."

"But," He carried on cautiously, "isn't it kinda unhealthy to be around each other all the time? I mean, with the band and everything? When I first met you, he'd got you cut up real bad, so..."

"So what?"

"So I assumed that you'd stopped talking to him when you got with me. I thought the evil ex-boyfriend who hurt my Pete was out of the picture completely, and now I find out he's the lead singer of your band." His voice was still level. Mine wasn't.

"Why, are you jealous or something?"

"Should I be jealous?"

"Ha! Jealous of Patrick? Mikey, no-one's ever been jealous of Patrick. You're worth a hundred of him!"

"Pete, isn't that a little har-"

"No, it's not, it's the truth! Now can you stop talking about my stupid ex and start the fucking car so we can go home and fuck each other senseless!" I yelled, slamming my fist down on the dashboard.

There was a small silence. Mikey breathed out slowly.

"Okay. I'm down for that." He gave me a smile and a wink, before complying to my demands.

The handcuffs came in real handy that night.

-

Ever since you found out that I'd moved on, found someone better than you, you pretty much blanked me out for the rest of the year, only talking to me when you really had to. We'd be all nicey-nicey on the outside, for Joe and Andy and everyone else. But your smiles are sad and your laughs are empty.

And you're so in love with me.

I couldn't be sure at first. Maybe you were just pissed at me for fucking someone else the night we broke up, maybe it was the fact that he's so hot and you were jealous. But, over the next few months, the signs began to show. The circles under your eyes, the way you walked like there was a tonne of bricks on your back, the way you tried to avoid me but couldn't help yourself staring. I know the symptoms, and they were written all over you.

I wrote a song about that, for the new album. I've written lots of songs about you, and you know it. It's my subtle way of reminding you how over we are. I wrote those lyrics for you to choke on.

But we still smile for the cameras all the same. The press knew we were together, and it knows we broke up. It also knows I'm going out with "hottie, Mikey Way" from "that other emo band." You always hated all that stuff, we mostly kept to ourselves but there were always rumours. You'd read the odd article, with some headline about how out of your league I was, and I'd tell you to forget about it because they've got it all wrong. But I'm not there any more. You ditched me, so you don't get to cry on my shoulder. And the headlines are even worse now. They know Mikey's better than you, and they aren't afraid to say it.

When we were on tour, I'd see you reading them. Hunched over your laptop in the dark, breaking the never google yourself rule, chewing on your lip, the articles blaring out at you. With every click, you'd get closer to tears. Before, I would have run over to you and slammed the screen shut, hugged you and kissed you and told you that everything they said was lies. Now, I'd just smirk. Because now, I know it's all true. And so do you.

-

I don't really know why I wrote this. I mean, it's not like I need to get over you anymore.

I guess I'm just bored. Today sucks, I can't go out anywhere 'cause everything's shut. I've always hated Christmas. Why the fuck does the world have to stop every 25th of December?

So instead, I'm just sitting here, drinking and smoking, alone. Mikey's at his folks. He didn't invite me. I tried not to read into that too much.

You invited me. It caught me unawares, to be honest. We'd hardly voluntarily spoken in months, and suddenly at practice, you sidled up to me and asked if maybe I wanted to come to yours for Christmas again. I obviously declined. I told you I was gonna be at Mikey's. You nodded and shuffled away, and that was it.

I didn't even realise what day it was when I woke up. Everything blurs together nowadays, and especially now that Mikey's so far away, in fucking New Jersey.

It's not been the worst Christmas ever, though.

About eleven o'clock in the morning, when I was only just conscious, I heard this sharp little knock at the door. Who the hell wants to visit on fucking Christmas day? I trailed down the stairs, cursing under my breath and imagining all the creative ways I could kill whoever it was, but when I finally managed to wrench the door open, there was nobody there. All there was was a box.

It was all wrapped up in red paper and gold ribbon, all twizzly at the ends. At first, I thought it was some joke, and there'd be something horrible inside, like shit or ants or something. I opened it right there on the step, tossing the wrapping paper inside my house as I ripped it off.

Inside, there was just another box. Oh great, I'm really in the mood for pass the fucking parcel. But as I lifted the lid, this amazing smell wafted up out of it, and I scrambled to see what it was.

The box was full of cookies and cakes and most importantly, mince pies. They looked hand made, icing sugar dusted over the top of them to make them look all Christmassy. The mince pies even had little pastry holly sprigs on them. I smiled for the first time in a while.

My thoughts went straight to Mikey. He must have dropped back from his parents' house, just to give me this. He's so sweet. I love him so much. I ignored the fact that his parents' house is halfway across the country. 

Looking deeper into the box, there was something else. Buried under the cakes, there was a mug. What the fuck did Mikey put a mug in there for? What am I supposed to do, drink the fucking mince pies? Lifting it out, I saw that there was this light brown powder at the bottom of it, with a little pack of what looked like marshmallows too. A note was attached. It read:

Add hot milk.

Merry Christmas.

Then I got it. It was hot chocolate powder. He'd given me a little brew-your-own drink kit. I grinned at how cute it was. I didn't take him to be such a sap.

I brought the box inside and put all the cakes on a plate, before following the note's instructions. Not gonna lie, the hot chocolate was pretty damn good. Kinda tasted like the stuff you used to make for me.

It was the only present I got, but it was still the best. It made me feel a little less lonely, and a bit warmer on the inside.

Anyway, that's Christmas.

I'm gonna drink it all out of memory, just like I did with you.

Merry fucking Christmas, Patrick.

From Pete