Dear Patrick,

It's been twenty-eight weeks since that night on the pier. And yes, I've been counting, don't fucking judge me.

I haven't been up to much. Spent Christmas with some friends, which was nice, done a bit more travelling, done some business stuff. I also bought a tree. Don't ask me why, it's just been ages since I did anything with my garden, so I got this little sapling thing. It's on my window sill at home, it's not big enough to go outside yet, but when it is, I'm gonna plant it, like, right in the middle of the lawn. 

I haven't heard anything from you. Absolutely nothing.

You did that one last show, like, the day after I left, but other than that, there's been nothing. I've scoured the internet for any kind of hint at what you've been up to, but your name isn't on any news articles, your blog hasn't updated in like a year, there's no new YouTube videos to your name and even the fans don't seem to have any clue where the hell you are or what you're doing.

Not that I care. I shouldn't care, really.

But the truth is, I haven't really been able to stop thinking about you. I mean, it's not like you're constantly on my mind, but every so often I'll catch myself wondering if you'd think I look good in this shirt, or if you'd like the food at this restaurant.

I guess I hadn't let myself think about you at all for almost two years, so now I'm making up for it. That's my theory, anyway. I just really wanna know what you're up to.

Also, I keep thinking about when you might call. Every time the phone goes, there's this tiny little flash of hope that it might be you, but it never is. I don't even know what to do with myself at this point. Like, it's not like I need you or even that I want you, I'm just curious.

Have you kept clean? Are you still healthy? Are you happy? I wanna know, Patrick.

I'm kinda worried, too. 'Cause I know I said I didn't want you, but a couple nights ago, I jacked off thinking about you. Just stupid stuff like what it would be like to fuck you with those new sleek hips of yours, how I could claw at your blond hair and rip those gorgeous suits right off you, and- okay, I'll stop there. I felt really guilty after, like I'd done something wrong, but then all that stuff's just physical, right? It doesn't mean anything.

I'm sitting in a restaurant at the moment. Theoretically, it was supposed to be a date with this guy I met at the gym the other day, but he was kinda unsure and I guess I should've known he wouldn't turn up. I've been here for an hour already, I'll probably order soon. I don't mind eating alone anymore, it doesn't bother me, which I think is a good thing. If I sit here and write this, the restaurant might think I'm a critic, it'll be fun.

Date-wise, I haven't been very lucky. I didn't wanna wait on you, I can't pin all my hopes on our little deal. You're probably dating, so I should be too. But none of them have really led anywhere. The longest relationship I had was like two weeks, tops. Maybe I'm just preoccupied.

Anyway, I'm not gonna think about you, and

Shit.

So I just got a phone call.

It wasn't you or anything, but...fuck, what did I just get myself into?

It was Joe.

When I answered, he did his usual small-talk sketch.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Pete?"

"Yep, that's me. Joe?" I asked, even though I already knew it was him. God bless caller ID.

"Yep. Uh...how are you?"

"I'm okay, I'm in a restaurant at the moment. You?"

"Oh, sorry, shall I call back? This might be a long one," he said. He sounded a little dazed.

"No, no, it's fine, I got time." I leant back in my chair, getting kinda curious. Joe never talks for long on the phone.

"Uh, okay. Right. So. How long's it been since you played bass?"

I hadn't been expecting that question. "Hm. Not that long. I mean, I don't practice much anymore but I'll occasionally pick it up, I guess."

"Okay. Okay, good. Right. Uh...okay."

I waited for him to stop babbling nonsense. "Joe, what's up?"

"Okay, listen...I just had a call from Patrick."

Sitting bolt upright, I was suddenly a lot more alert. "Really? Patrick? Like, our Patrick?" I asked, just to be sure.

"No, Patrick Stewart, he's making a Star Trek re-boot and he wants us to do the theme music. Of course our Patrick, you air head!" he spat, and I could almost hear the eye-roll.

"Alright, alright, sorry!" I held my hand up in surrender, even though he couldn't see me. "What did he say?"

"Well, uh...he asked...he asked if...he suggested that...that...thebandshouldgetbacktogether," he gushed.

I choked on the gulp of water I'd just taken. "What?!"

"Look, don't freak out, just listen. I freaked out too, but...but it might not be the worst idea on the world."

Still coughing, I grabbed my napkin and tried to clean up the water I'd managed to spray everywhere. "I think as bad ideas go, this one is near the top of the list," I spluttered.

"I know it seems crazy, just hear me out, okay?"

I sighed. "Fine. Tell me what Patrick said."

He took a deep breath. "Okay, so, there I am, just minding my own business, and the phone goes, and it's Patrick. And, like, that was already weird, 'cause I hadn't heard from him in ages. Apart from this one call a few months ago," his voice fell to a whisper, "did you know he got into drinking for a while?"

"Yeah," I said, a little too confidently.

"Oh. Okay. Did he tell you?"

No, I found him on the floor surrounded by bottles and stinking of liquor. "Uh...yeah, he told me."

"Right, so, yeah, I think he's over that now, he said he'd quit or whatever. Anyway, so he calls me up and he's asking all the classic how are you kinda questions, and then just out of nowhere he's like hey, how about getting the band back together. And I was like you, I just said no straight off, 'cause that's crazy, but he kept talking, he said if we did it better, did it right, then it could be fun again."

At this point, I was convinced that in the months since I'd seen you, you'd gone insane, and were most likely making that call from your cell in the mental asylum, but I decided to play along anyway. "Right...and how exactly did he propose we do that?"

"Well, he's been writing some stuff that he said didn't go with his solo stuff or whatever, and that now we're all mature and stuff, we might be able to handle the publicity side of things better. And to be honest, I've got stuff stored up that didn't go with Damned Things, so..."

"What, so we just get back together, and everything's all happy again?" I scoffed, folding my arms.

"No, we just...give it a go, I guess. He didn't suggest anything final, just to like, meet up and play a couple of the old songs, and maybe try make some new ones. If it doesn't work, then we'll forget it."

I leant back in my chair, squishing my fingers into my eyes. I mean, if it's just a casual thing, then what's the harm? It could be fun, the little squeaky voice in the back of my head said. "Right...so, what did you tell him?"

"Uh...I said I'd do it," he replied sheepishly.

My face scrunched up. "What?! Just like that?"

"Hey, he's fucking persuasive! Every problem I had with it, he had an answer! Andy said yes too!"

"Andy? Is there anyone else who knew about this before me?"

"Uh...well, our manager. And like, everyone else who's gonna be at the meeting."

I nearly choked again. "What meeting?!"

"Just a little get together, to discuss how we're gonna do this. If we're gonna do this."

"And...you're all going?"

"That depends on whether you say yes or not."

Wow. No pressure then.

I could feel Joe waiting for my answer, so I quickly tried to have the five hour debate I needed in order to decide this in five seconds.

It could work.

Or it could end in flames.

It might be fun.

Or it might be like watching my own intestines be pulled out of me.

You miss it.

Shut up.

You can back out if you want to.

True.

Patrick would be there.

Yeah. Yeah he would. I'd see him again.

Joe said he'd stopped drinking.

He did. And if Patrick's better, then...well, who knows.

Patrick thinks it could work, and you trust his judgement.

Yes, I do. But he can also be a crazy moron when he wants to be.

A crazy moron who somehow always managed to be right.

Good point.

You're all grown ups now, too.

I guess so.

And it'd be great to play those old songs again.

Yeah. Yeah it would.

"O-okay. I'll do it."

Joe let out a cheer, "great! That's great. The meeting's at Bob's house, you know where that is? He's still in the same place."

"Right, okay. Uh...what time, I guess?"

"I dunno, like eleven-ish? He said he'll give us lunch. And don't bring instruments, it's just a chat about stuff."

"Okay," I said uncertainly, spinning my fork in circles on the table. "So...did Patrick call Andy too?"

"I think so. He told me Andy was really easy to convince."

"So...why didn't Patrick call me?" I said, a bit put out.

"I dunno. He told me to call you and tell you what he said. He also said he was gonna send you something?"

"Oh," I frowned, the sinking feeling in my chest turning to a little spark of curiosity. "Is he? Okay."

"I dunno, man, that's just what he said." Then, his voice faltered a bit, "...are...are you two gonna be, like, alright with this? With each other?"

"Yeah, probably. I haven't seen him in ages, but I guess so."

"Did you get on okay when you met up that time?"

"Yeah, fine." It's not like he was a dick then an alcoholic then kicked me out then was drunk then not a dick or an alcoholic and sober. And I totally didn't nearly kiss him. Nope.

"Right, okay. It'll be good to see you guys together again. Like, friends again," he corrected himself.

"Mhm, it will be," I hummed, trying to get my head around all this.

"Uh...okay, so I guess I'll see you next week, then?" He said awkwardly, clearly wanting this conversation to be over.

"Yep. See ya," I called casually, as if this wasn't a massive thing I was freaking out about.

"Bye."

He hung up.

So.

Fall Out Boy. That's a thing I haven't thought about in a while.

Do I really wanna be that guy again? The guy from Fall Out Boy. That was pretty much my name for eight years. But then, if we could start over? If we could do it how it used to be, no pressure and no media to get in the way? Not gonna lie, that would be pretty cool.

We could come back. We could come back better than ever, that'd show them.

I gotta say, I miss that feeling. When we'd go out on stage, and you'd only have to sing Am I...? and the crowd would sing the rest for you. That rush was unlike anything else. We could do that again.

We wouldn't even have to be that emo band anymore. We could do something way different, make it fucking amazing. So now I'm sitting here thinking that this might be a good idea. What's happening to me? Is this what you've been planning all this time? You sneaky bastard.

I mean, Black Cards kinda fizzled out, so I guess I don't have much on at the moment. And I'd like to see everyone again. I'd sure as hell like to see you again.

I should actually order soon, I can see the staff giving me weird looks. I did just spend quite a while yelling into my phone. But then I think I had good reason too. I have this strange feeling that that call might've changed everything. Fuck.

Oh.

I just got an email.

It's from you.

I'll ignore the little flare of happiness I just felt. Is this what Joe was talking about?

I just opened it. There's nothing there. You didn't even write anything, just sent me a blank email. What the fuck is with you?

Oh, wait, there's an attachment. An audio file.

My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark.

Okay. Interesting.

I'll give it a listen.

From Pete.