Dear Patrick,

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't believe what I did, and I know you can't either. Oh God, I've ruined everything.

I swear I didn't mean to. It was just... oh, who am I kidding, making excuses. It was my fault, all my fault.

I can't even use alcohol to explain it, I'd only had one glass of that cheap champagne Joe bought to celebrate the release of Take This To Your Grave. We'd gotten the first ever hard copy of the album, and suddenly, it'd all seemed so real, so tangible. I still can't really believe we made an actual proper album.

We were at your house, passing round the CD case, handling it as if it was made of glass, studying the finished album art, staring in wonder at the disc which threw back our own reflections in technicolour. This was it, the thing we'd been working towards for months, and I was, and still am, convinced that it will change our lives. We sat around for ages, not talking much, just thinking, exchanging proud glances and satisfied sighs.

I watched you, being the creep that I am, as you'd marvelled at the thin plastic square in your hands, tracing your fingers along every edge, your eyes lit up like sparklers; it was as if you were looking at a newborn baby.

I guess I just couldn't resist you that night.

I'd stuck around until after Andy and Joe had left. I shouldn't have, I knew that letting myself linger was a mistake. But I guess that's what makes you different from anyone else; when I'm with you I always linger, laugh a little harder, smile a little brighter, stare a little longer.

We sat on the couch, probably too close to each other, thinking back. It was so quiet, I could hear your soft breaths as you stared at nothing in particular, eyes busy with thoughts. There are no awkward silences between best friends, only comfortable silences. It occurred to me then that you were the only person who's company I'd take over being alone.

I don't know why I said what I said next. It just sorta felt like the right thing to say.

"Patrick...do you...do you think that... this is going to lead anywhere?"

You looked at me, and I could tell already that you'd mistaken my meaning.

"Of course it is Pete, we've made a whole album, this is our big break!" You'd said, and your eyes shone so bright I swear I saw heaven in them.

"No, Patrick, I don't mean the record, I mean... well, us, I guess." Shit. Why the fuck did I think that that was the right thing to say? I'd never had any indication at all that you were remotely attracted to me, or even that you weren't straight. We're just friends, or at least we used to be friends. Before I screwed everything up.

You stared at me, obviously confused, searching my face urgently for anything that could help you reply to my stupid, thoughtless words.

"I...erm...Pete, do you mean...us as a band? Or..us us?" Your voice sank to a whisper as you spoke, and I felt myself leaning closer to you, and it was the first time I noticed how beautiful your eyes are, shifting between whispering sun-soaked forests and laughing waves tickling golden sands. You already feel like home to me.

I was so close to you, I could feel your warm breath on my face, tinted with the sweet smell of champagne. Then I kissed you.

And for one, perfect, glorious moment, everything seemed brighter. I pressed my lips gently to yours, sucking ever so slightly, absorbing you into my bloodstream, drinking in every drop of your taste. And then it was over.

I felt your hands on me, but it was all wrong, you weren't pulling me closer, you were shoving me away, wriggling frantically to get off the sofa and out of my heart. I was so confused, so utterly naïve that I was surprised when you stood and turned to me, panic seeping through you. Your mouth hung slightly open, and you looked at me in horror.

I just looked right back at you like an idiot, trying to get my love-drunk brain around what had just happened. Oh fuck, I just kissed Patrick.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I stood up too, hoping to show you that I was as surprised as you were, and it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But the way you backed away from me as I did, the hint of something worse in your eyes than shock, disgust, it tore me in half.

"I..um...I'm sorry I just-"

"Please could you leave?"

God, even thinking about you uttering those words hurts. I nodded hastily, and practically ran to the door, tears in my eyes, and a collapsing sensation in my chest. You didn't see me out.

And now I'm here, at home, alternating between crying and drinking, trying to write yet another goddamned letter. Hung up over some kid who didn't kiss me back. Way to go, Pete.

I'll have to face you at some point. That is, if you ever want to see my face again. What if the band breaks up all because of my stupid crush? Will you tell anyone? What if you tell Joe and Andy, and they start being disgusted by the sight of me too? Why have you had this affect on me, why do I feel so broken, why did I lose control for ten tiny seconds and send my whole world crashing down, why have you become my world?

Maybe I'll find the answers at the bottom of a bottle.

From Pete

[A/N: If you're reading this, please let me know if it's worth carrying on with]