Dear Patrick,

We did our first proper show last night. Even now, the next morning, I'm still buzzing. And I've gotta say, we were amazing. You were amazing.

I guess we were all nervous beforehand, but you showed it the most. You paced up and down the place endlessly, running your fingers through your hair and muttering to yourself, taking deep breaths and jumping out of your skin whenever anyone tried to talk to you. I kept my distance, because my urge to give you a hug was nearing critical, and I didn't want this to be the night that my crush revealed itself. Because that's all it is. A crush.

Anyway, we were all sitting backstage, doing some last minute warm-ups, when you finally stopped pacing. But then you just stood in the corner, knotting your fingers together, dead silent, and I remember thinking that maybe pacing was a better option. Of course, if it'd been anyone else, anyone at all, then I'd have just marched up to you and told you to pull yourself together you fucking pussy, we've got a goddamned show to play. But I saw you and my stomach did that weird flippy thing like it does when you think there's an extra step but there isn't. Nobody's made me feel that before. So I went over to you, setting mental limits for myself as I got closer. I decided that a hand on your shoulder was safe enough, didn't want to undo the months I'd spent building a wall between us. You looked up as I approached, flinching away from me. I hate that you seem to be afraid of me. But I stuck to my shoulder plan, and you looked up, muscles tensing at first, then slowly relaxing as I gave you a grin. You smiled back. Dammit you have a beautiful smile. I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I just gave you a friendly pat on the back and stayed there, standing awkwardly next to you. Fucking hell, I'm a creep.

I'm not supposed to feel like this about people. I'm the type of guy that picks the hottest girl at a party and gets a hell of a blow job in the bathroom before stumbling home in the early hours of the morning and never seeing her again. I'm a normal, straight guy who's only ever fallen in lust. But when you walked out on that stage and sang your heart out, I felt this swell of pride. I don't wanna seduce you, or push you up against a wall and fuck you; I'm content with just being around you, watching you pour your soul into the music.

After the show, we talked for ages in the van. Despite knowing you for like, what, six months now? We hadn't really talked much. During rehearsals, you mostly talked to Joe and Andy, probably because stamping out my crush on you took up nearly my entire head. I bet you thought I was such a pretentious ass. But anyway, we talked, and talked, about nothing in particular, but it didn't matter because the words just rolled off our tongues, as did the laughs. It was like being drunk, but without the bad decisions and lack of memory.

When it started to get real late, I dropped everyone back home, Andy first, then Joe, then you. I know I shouldn't have left you 'til last, and that me being alone with you would just put even more pressure on my self-control, but truth be told I just wanted to be around you as much as I could. Ergh, listen to me, I'm a walking cliche.

As you got out of the van, hauling guitars and amps with you, you turned to thank me for driving. But then suddenly your tone dropped, and you looked at me with that same fucking scared expression.

"D-do you think I did okay?" You said, tripping over your words in the cutest, no, what am I saying, stupidest way. I shrugged in an effort to seem like I didn't care, but the way your face fell when I did made my stomach squirm.

"You were fantastic." I said, with as much feeling as I dared. That made you smile. I realized I like to be the one who makes you smile. You gave me a quick wave as you shut the door, and I stepped on the gas before my gaze could linger on you.

It's just a crush, though.

From Pete