Dear Patrick,

If only today had ended like it started.

Because it started pretty darn perfectly.

-

I usually forget people's birthdays. I'm crap with dates anyway, but once I start having to get presents and cards and all that stupid shit, I'm done. So I just kinda block them out. I've been doing that for so long, everybody knows I'm not going to get them a present, so they don't worry about it any more. I'm just the guy that turns up to their parties, drinks all their liquor and throws up in their garden on the way out.

But, as always, you're the exception.

I woke up on the 27th of April with a huge smile on my face. Today was going to be brilliant.

It had been my turn to sleep on the couch, which was perfect because it meant I could sneak about the place without waking you up. At least, not yet.

Pancakes were my go-to breakfast option. You go nuts for them, and they're easy as falling off a log. However, I'll be damned if I hadn't upped my pancake game since I last cooked them for you. No more weird lopsided shapes and burnt edges and squidgy bits in the middle. I knew how to get an almost perfect circle every time, I knew the physics behind the perfect flip, the right temperature, the right amount of butter, the right angle at which to hold the spatula.

So I silently got dressed, into clothes I'd hidden under the couch the night before so I wouldn't have to disturb you, and tried my utmost to look presentable. I wore a button-up, I mean, come on, I never wear button-ups. I even brushed my hair, something usually only forced upon me at photo-shoots.

Now for the pancakes. I discovered that being quiet is impossible when removing pans from a cupboard, even more so when said cupboard is slightly out of reach. If it'd been anyone else, they definitely would've woken up, but it was you, and you could sleep through a nuclear holocaust.

I pranced around the kitchen, collecting various ingredients that I'd had to meticulously hide from you. I'd put the whipped cream right at the back of the fridge where the vegetables are, because I knew you'd never venture there, and the spices I'd bought were hidden in various shoes. I just hoped they didn't now smell of said shoes.

Everything was lined up and ready to go. I'd even laid the table, with one of those pretty chequered table cloths, and a vase in the middle with a rose in it, because I'm shamelessly romantic. Now all I had to do was wake you up.

I crept into your dark bedroom, wondering if I should've knocked. Nah, who was I kidding, you never would've heard me. On the bed, there was a mess of duvets and pillows, a little fortress of sleep that you'd built during the night. You were somewhere in the middle of it, engulfed in the sheets.

Picking my way round to the other side of the bed, I tried to find some evidence that there was an actual human being under all that. But, even in the dark, I could see your face peeking out the top of your bed-burrito, your arms wrapped around the corner of the duvet, hugging it tightly to your chest. You were so darn cute, I had to try hard not to make squealy noises at you.

Reaching out, I gently placed my hand on your arm and gave it a little shake. It had about as much effect as blowing on a brick wall. This was gonna be tricky.

On any other day, I would have just thrown open the curtains and sung in your face or something, but seeing as it was your birthday, I had to show a little bit of mercy. I knelt down beside the bed, tilting my head so it was at about the same angle as yours, and leaned towards you. Your steady breaths tickled my face as I kissed you, slowly and carefully.

You shifted a little, humming into my mouth and parting your lips slightly so that I could suck on the bottom one, before I pulled away and stroked a hand across your cheek.

"Patrick, wake up," I said gently, pecking you on the nose between words, "it's your birthday, wake up."

I pressed my lips to yours once again, feeling you stir. Your eyes fluttered open briefly, before rolling back into your head. Then, they snapped open again, the sleep fading from them as they focussed on me.

I'm gonna be honest, I was not prepared for what happened next.

Terror tore through you as you woke up to a Pete-shaped object three inches from your face; you let out an ear-splitting yell, pulling the covers up over your head and scrambling to the other side of the bed as fast as you could. Unfortunately for you, though, you fantastically misjudged the width of the bed and fell off the far edge, taking the mess of duvet with you and landing on the floor with a flumph. I had to resist the urge to laugh when I heard you groan.

When it dawned on me that as a loving boyfriend I should probably go and help you instead of sitting there sniggering, I walked round to the other side and sat beside the lump in the covers.

"Are you okay?" I asked, pushing back the duvet to reveal your scowling face and fluffed up bed hair.

"Ugh."

I took that as a yes, and reached out to push the hair from your eyes. You swatted my hand away and pulled the duvet back over your face, letting out another groan.

"It's your birthday!" I said brightly, ignoring your negativity and shaking you excitedly.

"No."

"Patriiiick," I whined, poking you, "you need to get up!"

"No."

"But you already slept most of the morning!"

"No."

I sighed. Getting you out of bed was like trying to break a window with a marshmallow. Is there anything you love more than sleep?

Wait a second.

"I'm making pancakes..." I smirked, patting something I thought was your knee but turned out to be your butt.

You stirred. The duvet shifted. Two blue eyes blinked out at me from the covers. "With whipped cream?"

"Yes."

"And maple syrup?"

"Uh huh."

"...Okay."

I smiled, cuddling the lump of duvet in spite of its squeaks of protest. "Today is gonna be amazing, just you wait."

Jumping up and opening the curtains, and laughing when I heard you hiss, I strutted out of the room, leaving the door open so you could smell the pancakes and not want to go back to sleep.

After about half an hour, there was a pile of pancakes on both our plates. I'd drizzled the syrup over them meticulously, allowing just the right syrup-to-pancake ratio, and squirted little blobs of cream in a spiral on the top. Then, to finish, I placed three halves of strawberry in the very middle, and dotted some blueberries around as well. Perfect.

Just as I stood back to admire my handiwork, you stumbled into the kitchen. You were dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, and it was so simple, I wondered how it looked so good. But it fucking did.

"Morning!" I grinned, wondering how long it'd been since you'd got up during the actual morning. "Your pancakes, my Lord." I gestured to the table, sweeping over towards you and guiding you into a chair like they do in restaurants. You smiled sleepily, sitting down with a flop and gazing at the food.

I ran round the other side and sat facing you, watching you take everything in. "Did you do all this?" You asked, gesturing to the rose and the perfectly laid table.

"Yep!" I was practically bouncing up and down in my chair.

"Thank you," you said quietly, your eyebrows rising in disbelief.

"Happy Birthday." Our gazes lingered on each other for a few seconds, before we both smiled and looked away. "Now eat up, otherwise they'll go cold!"

You grinned, picking up the knife and fork and trying to work out where to start. I did the same, deciding to go bold and sink my knife the whole way through the pile. I was just about to take my first bite of pancake, when the phone rang.

We both looked up, and I groaned. I debated whether or not to just leave it, but it was such a horrible sound, I had to stop it. Heaving myself out of the chair and trailing over to the phone, I snatched it up and vowed to kill whoever it was on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Patrick?"

"No."

"Uh...Okay"

"It's Pete."

"Oh right. Are you at Patrick's?"

"No, I just stole his phone and ran off with it."

"Shut up."

"Joe?"

"Yep."

"Oh."

"Uh...how are you?"

I almost laughed at his pathetic small-talk attempt, but decided to play along anyway. "I'm okay, I guess. You?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. Listen," his voice dropped to a whisper, "can Patrick hear this?"

I looked over to the sleepy boy munching away happily, completely oblivious to his surroundings. "Nope."

"Okay good. Look, at about one o'clock, can you get him to my place?"

"Uh...yeah, I guess...why?"

"Wait, is he even up yet?"

"Yeah, I woke him up."

"Wow, well done. Why are you at his place, anyway?"

Uh oh. We hadn't told anyone that I was staying with you. Quick, think of a good lie. "I, uh, came to wish him happy birthday?" Huh. That was surprisingly okay.

"Oh, right. Okay. To be honest, it's probably a good thing you're there, he might not even be conscious if you weren't. My place, one o'clock, yeah?"

"Yep. But why-?"

He'd already hung up.

That was weird. And kind of annoying too. I was gonna take you out this afternoon, but obviously not any more.

"Who was that?" You called from the table. I went to sit back down and finally make a start on my damn breakfast.

"Oh, just someone selling something."

"Okay." You turned your attention back to the dwindling pile of pancakes in front of you. You really will believe anything when you're tired, won't you?

Once we'd both cleaned our plates, and I'd refused to let you help me wash up, you began to wake up, bouncing on your heels and following me round the kitchen asking questions.

"What are we doing today?" "Are we going out?" "Will there be ice-cream?" "Why aren't you answering my questions?"

"Just wait and see, will you!" I feigned anger, and you laughed, batting my arm.

You stopped suddenly, your eyes lighting up like you'd just remembered something very important. "Can I open stuff yet?"

I'd been so absorbed in thinking about whatever the hell that phone call was about, I'd forgotten you had presents and cards and stuff. And fuck, if that Christmas was anything to go by, you were gonna have a hell of a lot of cards.

"I don't know, go check the mail."

"Okay!" And with that, you skipped over to the front door and disappeared out of it.

I smiled after you like an idiot, feeling my heart do that little thing it does when I re-realise the fact that I'm so completely in love with you. Because I really am.

"Pete," I heard you call after a minute or so, "did you already get the mail?"

"Nope," I yelled back. I never get the mail, because none of it's ever for me.

You wandered back inside, looking confused. "There's...there's no mail."

"Don't be silly, it's your birthday, of course there's mail." I said it without looking at you, preoccupied with cleaning the syrup off the kitchen counter.

"No...there isn't." I glanced up to see you staring at your feet, and I knew what that meant.

Without missing a beat, I dropped what I was doing and bounced over to you, placing my hands on your cheeks and tilting your face up. "Hey, don't look like that. Maybe the post hasn't come yet, or, or they have a problem with the deliveries, or something. Don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." It wasn't a complete lie. I knew there was no way that all your family had forgotten your birthday.

"Okay. Yeah, you're right. Okay." You smiled, but I could see in your eyes that you didn't believe me.

I took the opportunity to lean down and kiss you, because I hadn't done that yet, at least not when you were conscious. You tasted like maple syrup.

After pretty much forcing myself to pull away, because unfortunately I couldn't spend the whole day connected to your lips, I grinned at you, remembering something I'd planned to do.

"Besides, my present will beat all of theirs put together."

Your eyes lit up, and I grabbed your hand and led you back into the kitchen, before letting go and running to the bedroom closet where I'd managed to hide my present. It was a risky move, putting it in here, but I had faith in your refusal to use the 'lumpy' pillows, so I'd hidden it in amongst all of them. But sweet jesus, was it heavy.

I wrestled it out of the cupboard, staggering backwards with the box that I swear to god had grown since I bought it, and guided it into the kitchen, bashing it on every possible door-frame as I went. I was surprised I even managed to plonk it on the table in one piece.

Your mouth was slightly open when I finally looked up at you, slightly out of breath from my battle with the gift.

"What is that?" You said incredulously, taking a step closer to the large box wrapped clumsily in purple paper.

"Open it," I smiled, bobbing up and down on my toes.

A nervous grin touched your lips, before you attacked the box, tearing the paper off excitedly. You gasped.

"Pete...what the...did you really...?"

I laughed at your wide eyes. "Yep, I did really."

"But...it's beautiful..."

The best thing about it was, if it had been anyone else, they probably would've thought I was crazy for giving them something like this. But it was you, and you reacted exactly how I'd hoped you would. "I know. This is the finest hot chocolate machine anywhere."

"Thank you!" You rushed over to me and hugged me tight, burying your face in my shirt.

"Happy birthday." I said again, giving you one last squeeze before you pulled away, reaching for the box.

You gazed at it as if it was your first born child. "Can we try it out?"

"Sure we ca- wait..." I checked my watch. Quarter to one. Shit. "Uh...no, not yet. We...we need to be somewhere."

You pouted. I groaned. I can't stand it when you do that, because I just give in to you. But I had to stay strong for this one, because I really wanted to know what the hell Joe was up to.

"Get your coat, we need to leave, like, now."

"Why?" You whined, looking at the box with longing. "Where do we need to go?"

"Uh...somewhere." I said. I wasn't sure how much Joe wanted me to tell you.

I hopped over to the door, grabbing our coats and throwing yours at you. "Right now?" You asked, shrugging your coat on and fetching your hat off the coffee table.

"Yep, right now."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Hmm..." You narrowed your eyes.

"Look at me like that all you want, I'm not telling you where we're going."

I heard an annoyed huff, but dragged you out the door anyway, hoping we'd be able to get there in time.

-

"Joe's place?" You asked curiously as I parked the car, after a journey of unanswered questions.

"Yep."

We leapt out the car, and I powered towards the building, trying not to laugh as you tried to keep up with me, like a little kid running after his parents. I acted all cryptic, like I knew exactly what was going on, just to frustrate you even more.

"Peeeete," you whined, "pleeease just tell me?"

"Nope."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Liar. You love surprises."

"But-"

"No." I said it with such finality that you shut up for the rest of the way.

At this point, we were outside Joe's door. What the hell lay behind it, neither of us had any idea. I looked at you expectantly, nodding towards the doorbell as if I was part of this whole plan. You shot me a worried glance as you reached out and pressed it, snatching your hand back as if you'd just pulled the pin from a grenade.

I heard footsteps behind the door, but it didn't open. All that happened was a metallic clicking sound, the silence. That was weird; whoever it was had just unlocked the door, but not opened it. I twisted the handle, and leant forward, opening it just a crack, because it seemed like that was what we were supposed to do. We both peered inside.

It was completely dark. All we could see was a bit of carpet and the outline of Joe's sofa. What the fuck was this, some kind of horror-movie stunt? I felt you grab my hand as you stepped inside.

As soon as we were clear of the door, it was slammed shut behind us. I felt you jump and cling to me tighter, because you didn't realise I was just as freaked out as you were. We stared around at the darkness, our backs against the door.

I debated whether to call out or not; it seemed like a natural thing to do, but then I also didn't wanna be that one idiot at the beginning of the movie that shouts hello? into a darkened room and gets brutally murdered three seconds later. I could almost feel you thinking the same thing beside me.

"Pete?" I heard you whisper-squeak, as you wound your arm with mine and held me close.

Forgetting that you expected me to know what was going on, I decided to step up and play the hero. In the deepest voice I could muster (I mean, we're talking Christian Bale's Batman here) I spoke at the darkness.

"Joe?" Yeah. Take that evil psychotic murderers. Don't mess with me.

I heard someone take a breath. We both froze. Then there was a whisper from the corner of the room. It was counting down. Counting down to what? Oh shit, I knew it, we're gonna die here.

"...three, two, one..."

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY PATRICK!"

Light poured into the room, illuminating the crowds of people who'd been standing round us the whole time, all of them with their glasses raised and their faces split into laughter. Cheers broke out amongst them, applauding us or you or the prank or something, popping party poppers and champagne corks in unison. A banner with the words Happy Birthday in swirly silver letters was strung across the ceiling. I nearly passed out.

You let out a shriek and your hands jumped over your mouth, stifling startled laughter as people made their way towards us, patting us on the backs and giggling about how good they'd got us.

Then I saw Joe, the sneaky bastard, bobbing about in the background, grinning like an idiot and looking very proud of himself.

"Surprise!" He yelled, and the crowd parted to let him engulf you in a hug. I resisted the urge to stop laughing in order to pry him off you. He slung an arm round your shoulders and turned to face the mess of people, some of whom were squished onto the sofa or poking their heads round the door to the kitchen. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced dramatically, "may I present Mr. Patrick Stump, who is officially twenty-three years old." He shoved a glass of champagne into your hand, grinning from ear to ear. "This year, we wanted to celebrate it properly by dragging all your friends and family over here to scare the living hell out of you." A laugh ran round the crowd. "But seriously, though, on behalf of everyone here, and that's a lot of people, we just wanna say that you're an awesome dude, and the best friend, son, cousin, brother, and whatever the hell else you are, that we could ask for. Happy birthday."

Fucking hell. Everyone applauded, and you blushed, beaming around at everyone as if you wanted to hug them all at once. And you pretty much did. They swarmed over to you, and I stepped back to avoid being crushed. You thanked all of them, Joe especially, and wow, he really did manage to get nearly all your family here. Your mum pretty much threw herself at you, your dad patting you on the back in an I-love-you-but-I-don't-want-to-make-a-big-thing-of-it kind of way. I couldn't help but grin, you looked so damn happy.

Looking around Joe's flat, he'd really gone all out for this thing. Most of the furniture was pushed up against the walls to make room for all the people; on every available surface there were trays of drinks and finger food, and little silver bits of confetti in the shape of the number twenty-three. Wow. This put my pancake-and-hot-chocolate-machine effort to shame. I mentally kicked myself for not trying harder. I should've been the one to organise this, I'm supposed to be your boyfriend.

Eventually, once you'd told pretty much everyone that no you didn't have any idea this was happening and yes you did feel pretty scared when it was pitch black and you couldn't see anything, I decided to go reclaim you, pushing my way through the dispersing mob and standing next to you awkwardly. Did you want anyone to know we were together? Was I allowed to do anything couple-y in front of these people? I mean, hadn't they already seen you holding my hand?

But you pushed all my worries out the window by linking your arm with mine and twining our fingers together, finally giving me one of your smiles.

"Pete, sweetheart!" Suddenly there was a different pair of arms around me, and a kiss on each of my cheeks. Pulling away, I smiled in surprise when I saw your mum standing in front of me, fixing my collar and combing my hair from my face.

"H-hello, ma'am," I said, a bit overwhelmed by the sudden mumsy-ness I'd been bombarded with.

"I thought I told you to call me Patricia?" She huffed, tutting at me. "How are you, darling, we missed you last Christmas?"

"Uh...I'm good, I-"

"Have you and Patrick patched things up?" She glanced down at our clasped hands, looking at me hopefully.

"Um...yeah, yes we have," I got more confident, puffing my chest out proudly.

"And will you break his heart like you did last time?" A gruff voice asked.

Oh shit. Your dad stood behind your mum, arms folded and a glare boring into me.

"Darling," Your mum scolded, "don't frighten him!"

Because you bet your ass I was fucking frightened. "I...uh...I'm sorry, I, I made a mistake, I didn't-"

"You certainly did make a mistake. And I trust you won't make that mistake again, will you, son?" He growled.

"No, sir, of course not, sir." I stuttered pathetically.

"Good. Make sure you don't." With that, he walked off, pulling your mum with him, who mouthed an apology at me.

Okay. Apparently my family appeal had declined substantially in the past year. I gave myself another mental bashing for that.

I looked round at you, engrossed in conversation, and felt the anxiety build up in my bones. Your parents had been so welcoming before, and now they'd pretty much just shut me out for good. All these people, they were here for you, I wasn't wanted, hell, even Joe probably didn't want me here. Would he even have invited me if hadn't picked up your phone? He hadn't told me any of his plans, of course he didn't want me here. I started to wonder if I could make a run for the door without you noticing.

Then I saw it. The champagne. I mean, I'd seen it before, but I hadn't really noticed it. But there it was, plain as day, sitting in your hand, looking at me seductively, and I needed it. Suddenly all I could see was the glass between your fingers, the bubbling liquid pressing itself to your lips. I felt my mouth drop open as I gazed at it. A flick of my hand and I could prise it from you. Another and I would feel it burning down my throat. I missed it so much, why had I stopped, why would I do that, why give up something so-

"Pete, are you okay?" You'd stopped talking and were now looking straight at me, concern filling your face. I hardly noticed it, though, all I saw was the glass, now even closer to me than before.

I licked my lips. I could go and find another glass, there were glasses everywhere, but this one, it was right in front of me, I hardly even had to move to take it. You'd just see it as playful boyfriend stuff, as me just messing around, you wouldn't notice the first glass, or the second. If I snuck away from you, I could have as many as I wanted, and you wouldn't even know.

Wait. No. I'm not doing this again.

I tore my gaze away from the champagne, and focussed on you. Focussed on the fact that your eyes were so much prettier than the alcohol, that your smile would make me feel warmer inside than it ever could.

"Uh...the...the champagne," was all I could muster. I bowed my head, ready for your disappointment.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed, looking at the glass, then at me. Letting go of my hand for a second, you placed it down on the nearest table and came rushing back, taking both my hands this time.

"Don't be sorry, I'm sorry for being so pathetic." I mumbled.

"No, Pete, you're not pathetic. You're amazing, and I shouldn't have been so thoughtless." You lifted my head with a finger.

"But what do I do? I want it, Patrick, I want it so bad!"

"I know. You're stronger than that, though, aren't you?"

I dropped my gaze to the floor. I didn't know the answer to that question.

"Aren't you?" You said louder.

Now I knew the answer. "Yes, I am." Looking into your determined eyes, I believed it, too.

"Good! Now, here's what's gonna happen, I'm not gonna drink, and neither are you. Deal?"

I grinned. "Deal!"

"And, every time you feel like you wanna drink, you squeeze my hand, and I'll kiss you, okay?"

I laughed. They probably never used this method of keeping clean at Alcoholics Anonymous. "Okay."

You beamed, letting go of one of my hands and holding the other tighter. I immediately gave your fingers a little squeeze. Without missing a beat, you turned back to me quickly.

"Already?" You asked, concerned again.

Giggling, I shook my head. "No, I just wanted a kiss."

You rolled your eyes, but pressed your lips to mine anyway. I resisted the urge to slip my tongue into your mouth, as apparently that's not acceptable in a family setting. Shame.

"All better!" I smiled as you pulled away.

"Good. Now let's go have a good time."

And we did.

The rest of the party went without a hitch. I mean, I probably could've made better canapés, and the cake wasn't quite as light as it should have been, but hey, you can't have it all. The best part was, you loved it. People doted on you, as they always do, and by the end, you had armfuls of cards and presents, which gradually got opened, and you managed to smile just as bright for the last present as you did the first, finding different ways to thank everybody, each hug just as potent. Just being able to watch you made me feel like it was my birthday.

There were quite a few oh-shit-there's-alcohol-squeeze-hand-quickly-now incidents, but by the end of the day, I was hardly thinking about it. We even had a dance, something I swore I'd never do, but you dragged me to the centre of the lounge and started doing your ridiculous hip-swivels and singing like a lunatic and I had to join in. In the end, it became so easy, as more people started to make idiots of themselves, laughing over the top of the music as the light began to fade.

Slowly, people began to drift off, saying short but heartfelt goodbyes, to you and Joe, mostly, but I got a couple too, god knows why. Not from your parents, though.

After not too long, pretty much everyone had left. The only people still here were Joe, obviously, me, you and Andy. It was cute, having all of us together. We hadn't done that in a while.

We were in the middle of helping clear away all the empty plates and pick up all the party poppings from the floor, when Joe turned to you.

"Patrick," he said cautiously, dropping what he was doing and wringing his hands together, "about today, it...it wasn't just a birthday thing."

"Oh, really? Why?" You asked gently.

"Well, it was also kind of an apology."

You laughed. "What for?"

"For...for everything I said to you at that tour meeting. I didn't mean it, I was just being a dick because I couldn't believe you wanted to quit the band."

"Oh," was all you said. I could see you trying to think of what he'd said to you, and you were having trouble, probably because what happened after he'd left was a lot more memorable. I tried not to think about it too much. "That's...that's okay. It's already forgotten." Yeah, of course it is.

He smiled. "Okay. Thank you." Then his smile faltered. "You're not still thinking of leaving, are you?" At that, even Andy looked up.

You cast a small glance at me. "No. No, Andy was right. I wasn't thinking straight."

They both sighed. "Thank god," Joe beamed, "because, and I promise I'll stop being mushy soon, but we're nothing without you. I couldn't even stand the thought of you leaving, I mean, what would we even do? We'd just be three dudes making noise."

"Yeah, and with you, we're four dudes making noise." Andy interjected. We all laughed like we were in some cheesy sitcom. I half expected the Friends theme music to play at any moment.

"Also," Joe went on, jesus, when was this guy gonna stop, "I'm okay with, uh, this." He gestured to me and you.

"Really?" I blurted, almost snorting in disbelief.

"Yeah. When you broke up, I thought things would go back to normal, but both of you just seemed kinda sad the whole time." Kinda sad. Understatement of the decade.

I opened my mouth to question him again, but decided against it. There was something in his face that said he didn't really want to talk about this any more.

"Same rules apply, though." he snapped, pointing at both of us. "I let it slide today, because it's your birthday, but seriously, no touching anywhere near me, okay?" We looked at each other, then at Joe, and nodded.

After a moment's silence, you decided to break the tension. "Thanks. And thanks for the party, too, I can't believe how many people came."

"Well you've got your mum to thank for that. She did pretty much everything, I just provided the venue. And the alcohol." He laughed. I grimaced. "Speaking of which, how about a birthday snifter?"

Your response was as immediate as mine. "No, thanks."

"Sure?"

"Yep. A cup of tea would be great, though." You grinned, flopping down on the sofa and looking up at Joe hopefully. I smiled, because your obsession with hot beverages is a continual source of my amusement. Looking back, though, I really really wish you hadn't asked for that tea.

I sat next to you, waiting 'til Joe was out of sight before pecking you on the cheek.

"I'm still here, you know," Andy feigned threat from his perch on the edge of the coffee table.

I blushed. "Sorry."

He lowered his voice, "I knew you'd get back together."

We smiled in unison, our hands finding each other and our fingers interlocking. Andy always knows.

I didn't realise that that would be the last time I'd smile today.

Joe eventually came back into the lounge with drinks in hand, an orange juice for Andy, a cup of tea for you, and a delicious-looking scotch on the rocks for himself. He passed the juice to Andy, and set the tumbler down on the table, before heading for you with the tea.

I'm not entirely sure where it all went wrong. Somewhere along the line, he must have clipped his foot on the side of the coffee table, and before any of us knew what was happening, he toppled like a felled tree and went face-first into the couch. It would have been funny, too, if he hadn't taken the tea with him, sending an entire mug of boiling water spilling over you.

You let out a pained shriek and leapt up, clawing at your soaked shirt and fanning hopelessly at it. I jumped up almost as quickly as you did, pulling at the steaming fabric and trying to prise it away from your reddening skin.

"Pete-" You squeaked as my hands tried to yank up the hem of your shirt.

"No, you'll burn otherwise!" I fought against you, doing anything to stop the pain.

"Pete, please, don't-"

But I just kept going, ignoring your struggles and trying to pull the shirt over your head. I promise, I had the best intentions. I didn't realise what I was doing until Joe spoke.

He was on his feet again, staring at the two of us flapping around, a look of pure horror on his face.

"What the fuck is that?" he whispered, pointing at your exposed stomach.

You took advantage of my confusion and yanked the shirt out of my grasp, pulling it firmly back into place, not seeming to care that it must have hurt like hell.

"What the fuck is what?" I asked, because I still didn't get it.

Andy took a step forward. "Patrick, who gave you that bruise?"

Oh.

Shit.

I'd completely forgotten. How had I forgotten? Oh god.

You laughed, shrugging your shoulders. "No-one, I just managed to impale myself on the kitchen counter a couple weeks ago, I'm fine."

I stared at you. It was scary how good a liar you were.

Andy and Joe stared too. I wondered if they'd bought it. I couldn't decide whether I hoped they had or not.

"It looks pretty big, 'Trick, have you been to the doctor's?" Andy asked, cocking his head to one side.

"No, I'm fine, honestly," you replied, brightly.

I bit my lip. Joe picked up on it like a trained bloodhound.

"Pete? What's the matter?" The tiniest hint of threat crept into his tone.

"Uh, n-nothing." I stuttered. Turns out I am very much worse at lying than you are.

You sighed. You knew where this was going. Turning to me, you dropped your voice to a whisper. "They need to know."

"No," I pleaded, "Don't."

"Pete, it'll help. They can help."

I felt tears prick my eyes. "No, they'll kill me!" I wasn't exaggerating at all. They would rip me to pieces.

You took my hand gently. "It'll be okay."

"What the hell is going on? What are you whispering about?" Joe barked, his eyes wide with approaching anger.

You chose your words carefully, speaking softly. "It's not his fault."

Joe choked on air. "No," he said, his hands tightening into fists, "no. He can't have. He can't."

"Patrick, did Pete do that to you?" Andy said, his voice measured.

I bowed my head.

"No, no you didn't. No. You can't have." Joe shook his head, as if trying to wake himself up.

"He didn't mean to, he just-" you started.

"Jesus, Pete..." Andy ran his fingers through his hair and sat back down.

Joe stood squarely in front of me now, his jaw set and his eyes dark.

"Explain. Now."

"Well-" you tried again, but he cut you off.

"No. Pete, explain."

And, taking a deep breath, I told him everything. Everything I'd done, everything I nearly did, right from the beginning. The anger, the alcohol, the April Fools', Mikey. And they both listened. Just stood there and took it all in, hardly reacting at all, you occasionally squeezing my hand when I got to the bits that were hard to say. I'm amazed I got through it all. I thought I'd choke on most of these words.

When I was finished, I exhaled deeply, and bowed my head. They were silent for a few moments, and I braced myself for whatever they'd shout at me. Because at that point, I'd only expected words.

The next thing I felt was Joe's fist connecting with my jaw.

I staggered backwards, and you caught me, too shocked to cry out.

Both you and Andy were shouting stuff at Joe, but all I heard was what he was yelling at me.

"Get the fuck out of my house! You're a monster, get out, you crazy fucking psychopath!"

"Shut the hell up, Joe, he's not-" You jumped in between us, as Joe made to hit me again.

"Why the fuck are you defending him?"

"Because he's not like that any more! He's getting better, I've-"

"You've what? Been trying to cure him? Is that why you're fucking living together now, so that you can help him get better?"

"Yes, and you know what, it's working! He's so much better than he was, aren't you?" You grabbed my hand as if it was proof of my getting better. I was focussing on not letting the anger inside me boil over. It was there, just below the surface, threatening to spill. If I let it, it would defeat your whole point, so I just stood there and tried to take deep breaths.

"Yeah, yeah I am," I said with more confidence than I thought I could, "he's really helped, and I'm gonna make it up to him, I-"

"Shut the fuck up! Don't play the fucking victim! You promised, you promised you wouldn't hurt him!" He lurched towards me again, but Andy grabbed his shoulder and you threw out your hands to protect me. "Get the fuck off me!" he shook wildly, but Andy's grip didn't loosen.

"Whether he hurts me or not is my business." You said calmly, watching Joe carefully as if trying to predict his next move.

"Are you crazy? It's not just your fucking business, it's the cops' business too! He nearly raped you, for god's sake!"

I shuddered at that word.

"He might be clean now, but what happens when he relapses? What happens when he decides maybe he will have a drink, what happens when he gets angry and the first thing he sees is his defenceless boyfriend?"

"I-"

"You end up dead on the floor, that's what happens! You can cure him all you want, but somewhere along the line, he'll go back to what he was. You can't help him, Patrick!" Joe's voice was a mixture of shouting and pleading. He was talking as though I wasn't even there, as if he didn't want to acknowledge me as a human being.

"But I trust him! I trust him not to do-"

"Do you? Do you really, truly trust him? This is the guy who gave you that bruise, and all the others. The guy I watched beat you senseless, then choke the life out of you!" He stepped towards you, but you stood your ground.

"That was years ago! And a completely different thing! He was in a very bad place, you can't blame him for that!"

Joe pretty much ignored you, though. "But it must matter to you! Patrick, he's hurt you so bad, and not just with his fists! How many times has he called you fat, ugly, stupid?" He dropped his voice to a whisper, "worthless?"

You blinked. Your bottom lip quivered a little, but you simply clenched your jaw and soldiered on. "I don't care about any of that! I care about helping him, so that's what I'm gonna do!"

"You're wasting your time. He's a monster, that's all he'll ever be! How can you even look at him after everything he's done? He's out. I don't give a shit what management will say, I'm not having him in the band. I never wanna see him again." He growled.

"No, please, just-" I tried to speak, but Andy cut me off.

"I think you should leave." He said shortly, gesturing towards the door.

"But-"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Joe screamed, finally getting out of Andy's hold and grabbing onto my collar, yanking the door open and shoving me out of it. I felt a short gust of air as it was slammed in my face. I felt the tears finally start to fall.

Leaning heavily against the door, I heard your voice.

"You can't just shut him out, he needs us, he needs-"

"I don't give a fuck what he needs, and neither should you. You're staying here tonight, and you can stay as long as it takes."

"What? As long as it takes for what?"

"For him to get the message and leave you alone. You gotta get away from him, Patrick, before he kills you."

"But-"

"No! There is a fucking massive bruise on your belly that's there because of him! He tricked you into giving him a blowjob, for fuck's sake! He's got you wrapped around his finger, giving up your bed for him, letting him eat your food and spend your money. He's a fucking leech, Patrick, you gotta get out of his twisted game!"

"You don't seem to understand that he has an actual illness! He's not crazy, his mind just gets a bit clouded sometimes and-"

I heard a laugh. "Yeah, he's got an illness alright. He's sick in the head!"

"Thank you for your opinion. Now, I think I'll be leaving."

"You're not seriously going back to him? If you do, you're as fucked up as he is!"

"I'm not leaving him."

I heard footsteps, and suddenly, the door jolted, as if something had been slammed up against it. There was a small whimper.

"You know what you are, Patrick? You're weak. You let everyone walk all over you, let them manipulate you. You're pathetic. Pete can do whatever he wants to you because he knows you'll come crawling back to him."

I felt the doorknob twist and jumped away from it; it opened a little and I saw your shoulder halfway out the door.

A hand suddenly lunged towards you and grabbed your collar. "Fine. Go. But when he's got his hands round your throat, I'll be there to say I told you so. You're a fucking coward. Happy fucking birthday." And with that, he shoved you out the door.

You breathed out slowly, flinching as it was slammed in your face. I watched as you rested your forehead against the wood, your fingers lingering on the doorknob and your eyes closed.

"Patrick, I-"

"It wasn't your fault." You sighed, before turning away from me and marching off down the corridor. I hurried after you, but stayed a few paces behind.

We drove home in silence.

-

When we got home, you pretty much ran to your bedroom, shutting the door and leaving me wondering how a day that had started out so well had ended so badly. Running my fingers through my hair, I slumped into one of the kitchen chairs and tried to think of what to say to you if you ever came out your room, staring at the door, willing it to open.

And to my surprise, it did.

You crept out in your pyjamas, clutching a pillow and wiping toothpaste from your mouth.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed." You said quietly.

I glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. I looked back up at you sadly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

You made your way to the couch and placed your pillow on the arm. Oh no you don't.

"Hey, it's your birthday, you don't sleep on the couch," I said indignantly, standing up.

"But it's my turn," you replied, not looking at me.

"No, you get the bed, come on, it's yours anyway."

"Pete! Can you just-" you snapped, before sighing and softening your tone, "I'm sleeping on the couch."

You finally looked at me, and I saw just how tired you were. But, like, not sleepy tired, not really. More...weary, like all your energy was gone but you still had a long journey ahead of you. You weren't in the mood to argue. So I backed down.

I nodded, and whispered a goodnight at you, before trailing into the bedroom and closing the door. Gradually, I heard the lights being turned off, and the rustle of covers from the couch.

So now I'm sitting on the floor by the door, writing this.

I thought it was bad enough, me in another room, away from you when I should be trying to make you feel better, even if it's only a little bit. Then, after a couple minutes sitting here, I heard a sound that made my heart ache and my stomach clench. It was the sound of someone quietly crying, and hoping no-one else could hear.

I want so badly to go to you. To cuddle you and kiss you and tell you everything's gonna be okay. But I can't, because I'm the reason things aren't okay.

Today was gonna be so perfect, I was gonna show you how much better I was, and how much I love you, but all I did was ruin it. You tried so hard to defend me, but I have no defence. There's no excuses for what I did. Joe was right, I'm always gonna be like this. Even if I stay clean, stop my anger, I'll keep fucking everything up, and you'll pay the price. He was right about pretty much everything.

But your uncaught tears hurt more than anything Joe said.

From Pete.