Dear Patrick,

Please come home. Please.

I need you, I want you here, I want you to tell me it's all gonna be okay.

I'm sitting in the corner, staring at my front door, willing it to open. You gotta come quick, baby, please, I know I shouldn't be needing you like this, but I never expected this to happen. I want your arms around me.

I don't know where you are. I don't know when you're coming back to me. But you have to, Patrick, you have to, my head's gone all fuzzy and my heart doesn't know what the hell to do and you're the only one I want to talk to.

I was so excited for us. I had so many plans, it was going so great, and now it's all been ruined.

I need you, Patrick. Please, baby, come home.

-

"Do you really need to leave right now?" I begged shamelessly, watching you wander around my bedroom, picking up various items of clothing that'd probably been yours once.

"I have to go some point," you replied, sniffing at a crumpled sweater and frowning.

You were flying back to L.A. later that day, 'cause you wanted to get some stuff from your house, and, more importantly, 'cause you were thinking about selling your house. You spent so much time in Chicago, there wasn't much point in keeping it. To be honest, I'd forgotten you even lived there in the first place.

"How long will you be gone?" I whined, rolling over on the bed and looking at you upside-down.

You huffed at me, "I told you, I don't know. No more than a week, probably. I gotta learn how the fuck to sell a house."

"But who's gonna give me kisses for a week?"

"I'm sure Joe will, if you ask nicely."

I screwed my face up at the thought of kissing Joe. I mean, he's a very attractive man, but I'd have no idea what to do with all that damn hair.

You looped a t-shirt or two over your arm, along with your phone charger, and glanced at your watch. "Okay, I better make a move."

Groaning like a toddler, I sloped off the bed and looked at you with sulky eyes, staggering after you as you strode out of my bedroom and down the stairs.

I caught your arm just before you got to my front door.

"Pete, I gotta go," you laughed as I nuzzled your neck, "Joe's picking me up in, like, half an hour. I gotta go finish pack –"

You were cut off by me smashing my lips into yours, my hands grasping either side of your face and my thumbs digging into your cheekbones. I kept kissing, hard as I could, until you eventually shoved me away.

"Pete," you panted, tangling our fingers together, "I'm sorry, okay? You'll be fine without me."

"I know," I said lightly, "but I gotta say goodbye properly." Then, my mind decided it was a good time to jump into a pool of filth. "Hey...you know what we could do in half an hour?" I smirked, bumping my hips against yours.

"No way," you said firmly.

"What? We still got time. I'll have you screaming in seconds," I purred, running my fingers over your hips and pushing you gently against the door.

You laughed a little, shaking your head at me. "Fine. Ten minutes, then I really gotta go."

I didn't even say anything, just kissed you again, feeling you wrap your arms around my neck, letting the stuff in your hands drop to the floor. Any reluctance seemed to melt away as your hips bucked up under my hands, your fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt and our tongues rolling together. It was gonna be a whole week until I could touch you again; I wanted to make the most of it.

And I fucking did. It was quick and sweaty and loud, and I loved it, drinking in the glorious sounds that spilled from your lips as I bent you over the kitchen table and stripped you down to nothing, nipping and biting at your perfect skin so that the whole of LA would know that you belonged to me.

Five minutes later, and you were a mess, lying limp and naked and gorgeous, moaning quietly into the table, breathing hard enough for both of us. It still amazes me that I'm the one that gets to do that to you.

I climbed on the table and sat down next to you, pulling my jeans on clumsily as I jabbed at you with a wet towel, then rubbed at you with a dry one. You didn't protest, just let me clean us both up with a dazed look in your eyes and a blissful smile on your face.

"'Kay," you slurred, propping yourself up on your elbows. "I really gotta go now."

"'Kay," I smiled, pushing damp hair out of your face, and taking the opportunity to slide my hands over your body, down your back to curl my fingers over your plump, round ass. "Still got three minutes to go, though."

You got the hint, rolling onto your back and letting me kiss you. We stayed like that for two whole minutes, me leaning over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other trailing over your chest, feeling the soft curve of your stomach, the slight pudge of your slim hips.

Eventually, though, you poked gently at my chest, giving me a last clumsy kiss before sitting up.

I helped you with your clothes, insisting on doing up your shirt for you to 'save time', or rather just have your bare chest to myself for a little longer, whilst you pulled on your boxers and jeans and everything else I'd tossed across the room in my haste to get you good and naked.

"Do I look like I just got fucked?" you asked, frowning at the mirror in my hallway and battling with your messed up fringe.

"Yes," I smirked from behind, with no small amount of pride, snaking my arms round your waist and resting my head on your shoulder.

"I hate you."

"Aww, I hate you too, dear," I smiled, pecking you on the cheek.

You let me place your fedora gently on your head, before I spun you round to face me and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind your ears, adding the finishing touches to my masterpiece.

"All done. Joe won't suspect a thing. Now get the hell out, I don't know what's keeping you," I tutted, shaking my head at you.

You scoffed at me, reaching for the door handle with one hand but pulling me closer with the other, lightly pressing our lips together. "Love you," you smiled, bumping our noses.

I almost forgot to say it back, slightly dazed from the feel of your breath on my face to notice you'd yanked the door open and snagged the t-shirts up from the floor. "Love you too," I slurred as you pulled away.

"Miss you already," you smiled, shoving me gently in the chest before trotting out the door and down my driveway.

"Say hi to LA!" I called, leaning on the open door-handle. "Don't kiss any handsome strangers!"

"Nah, I won't. I'll only sleep with them, don't worry."

I laughed, and you gave me a last wave as you got in your car. I watched you drive the length of the road, smiling after you the whole time.

I smiled even wider when you'd disappeared.

Prancing back inside my house, I cheered out loud, 'cause finally, you were gone, and I could drop the don't leave I'm gonna miss you act. Let's face it, if I was actually that desperate to be with you, I'd have begged to go with you, or at least to take you to the airport.

I mean, granted, I really was gonna miss you, hence the desperate kisses and the last-minute sex session, but now the sappy part of my brain had been satisfied, the actually-getting-stuff-done part could take over.

Shoving my shirt over my head, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and tapped the green button next to Andy's name.

"Pete?"

"Yep."

"Has he gone?"

"Yep."

"I'm on my way."

He hung up.

The minutes before he arrived were spent disinfecting the entire kitchen, because although the sex had been great, it had also been horrifically unhygienic. I'm surprised the kitchen table didn't dissolve from the amount of cleaning stuff I doused it in.

"Ugh, you just got laid, didn't you," was the first thing Andy said when he saw me.

I felt my cheeks heat up; I'd done my best to look less dishevelled, changed my shirt and tamed my hair from its mighty afro state, but the grin on my face must've given me away. "Let's just say that walking is gonna be difficult for Patrick tomorrow," I smirked.

For that, I got a disgusted look and a punch in the shoulder. Totally worth it, though.

"One more mention of sex with my best friend, and I walk," he growled, pushing past me and down the hall.

"Oh, hey, did I tell you about the time I fucked him up against the wall of the -"

"Stop talking right now," he snapped, putting his fingers in his ears and giving me an I-am-actually-going-to-kill-you-in-a-minute look.

I nearly laughed, but he was dead serious, and he's definitely capable of whooping my ass in a fight so I just swallowed it back and followed him into the lounge.

"You got maps?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at me as he flopped down on the couch.

"Yep, right here." I scampered across the room to the bookcase, yes I read books, and scooped out a pile of tattered old Chicago road maps, plus my laptop from its charging spot.

Everything got dumped on the table, along with some brochures Andy had brought, and with two neat-freaks at hand, was quickly arranged into nice little piles.

"Okay," Andy nodded, already pleased with our handiwork, "let's fucking do this."

-

Five hours later, we were buried in paper. The maps had scribbles all over them, little red marks and lines joining the dots and areas shaded in. It kinda felt like we were detectives hunting some mass murderer.

Basically, you'd been looking for a permanent house in Chicago, so you could move out of your little flat. You'd told me you wanted to stay in the area, not too close to the city, but not too far away from the studio and from us lot and from your parents'. So we'd marked out all those places, then drawn lines between them all, then a circle round the outside of that area to give us a bit of wriggle room.

Basically, we were searching for houses. Because basically, I want to live with you.

I'd had my mind made up for quite a while. You'd pretty much moved in anyway, I mean, you keep your phone charger at mine, we're practically married. I don't know what's yours and what's mine anymore. Well, I do, 'cause your stuff's always the stuff I trip over on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I could've just asked you to move in with me, make it official. But I've been stuck in the same damn house for too long, I gotta get out. The new us deserves a proper place to live, together, not mine or yours but ours. I wanna be the person you come home to.

So anyway, Andy had agreed to help me find somewhere, which was proving quite difficult 'cause I had an image in my mind of where we might live already, and nothing quite matched up to it. I think he was ready to slap me by the end, I rejected so many options. We didn't end up getting very far.

But we didn't give up, either. The next day, productivity seemed to be on our side, finally coming up with a couple places I quite liked, hardly even stopping for food in our frantic house-hunt. I don't know if it's completely wise to try to buy a house in a week, but I do know that we very nearly managed it.

It was going so well.

-

"Okay. This is actually quite nice," I admitted, looking around at the high ceilings of a place Andy had picked out.

"Told you so," he said smugly. "I am the master of houses."

It was in the suburbs, a few miles from the lake, and the studio, and it was really fucking pretty. It had big windows and a cute little cosy sofa area and a spiral staircase, kinda like yours in LA. There was even a basement that we could turn into our very own studio.

"So, as you can see, lots of space, lots of light, perfect for a new couple," the estate agent said, clapping her hands together and beaming at me. "Three bedrooms, three bathrooms. If you're thinking of starting a family, this is the place for you."

I knew she was just trying to sell me this place, just spouting her usual drivel, but I felt a little stir of something inside me. "Andy," I said quietly, realising something for the first time. "I want a family with him."

Andy's eyebrows shot up his head, pulling the corners of his mouth up with them. "Dude..." he smiled, scanning my face as I gazed at him with wide eyes. He looked like he might cry. Instead, he patted my shoulder, nodding his head slowly.

"Uh...would you like to see the garden?" the agent butted in, killing mine and Andy's little proud moment, but not the warm fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would," I said, grinning.

My grin didn't fade, either, as we looked round the rest of the place. All I could think about was us, and our future, and what we could have together. So much for taking things slow.

It had a small garden, mostly lawn but a few flowerbeds here and there, enough space for my tree when it gets bigger. Maybe if it gets really big, we could hang a little swing from one of the branches, and our kids could sit on it while we push them.

The upstairs is nice too, the master bedroom has a balcony which faces west so we can watch the sunset. And, and the bath is huge so we can definitely have joint bathing sessions, I could even buy bubble bath and scented candles and we could cuddle there.

"So, Mr. Wentz, would you like to put in an offer?" the agent, Sue, her name was, said hopefully when I'd finally finished gawking at all the rooms.

"Uh..." I pondered, my heart screaming yesyesyes but my head telling it to shut the fuck up 'cause I haven't even put my house on the market and you might not even wanna live there, or with me at all.

"You don't have to make a decision right away."

"Uh...well, I gotta actually ask him first," I said, looking at Andy for support. My plan had been to find a place, a perfect place, get everything ready as far as I could without doing anything permanent, then ask you if you wanted to live with me and if you said yes, then I'd show you the place.

"We'll get back to you in a few days," Andy spoke for me, like he was the one moving in with me. To be honest, he'd probably be tidier and quieter than you are.

We thanked her for her time, Andy pretty much dragging me out the door.

"So," he said, once we were back in his car, on the way to my place. "You think that might be the place?"

I had to physically stop myself from bouncing up and down in the seat, nodding at him excitedly. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"I think he'd like any house you chose as long as you're the one he gets to live in it with," he shrugged, and I beamed.

"You don't think it's too big a leap? That it'll freak him out?"

"Nah, he's not that easily freaked. You're the freaky one."

"Yeah," I admitted, sitting on my hands to stop myself drumming on the dashboard. "But, like, you think he'll wanna even live with me?"

Andy tutted at me. "Dude, stop it. He loves you, of course he's gonna wanna live with you. And, if he doesn't, just get the house anyway, it's fucking amazing. Just like I said."

I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn't quite force the smile off my face. We were gonna be so happy, you and me.

Until today.

-

Joe actually looked genuinely happy when I told him about the house. I think there's still a part of me that expects him to disapprove of us, like maybe he's got you signed up to Match.com behind my back, but the punch in the shoulder he gave me told me that I had full Joe-cooperation when it came to moving in with you.

"So you're gonna ask him as soon as he gets back?" he'd asked, watching my front door as if you might suddenly burst through it.

"Yeah, I think so. As soon as I can, anyway." I fiddled with the bass in my lap, plucking out some random notes as we talked.

"Wow. It's really going well for you two this time, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I grinned. At that point, I didn't know he'd jinxed it.

"Cool," he said awkwardly, then turned his attention to his guitar. We'd been jamming for a couple hours, making the most of the time without you bossing us around. "Hey, so I was thinking something like this..."

He played a short little riff on the guitar, a low, growling melody which would totally sound great with some kick-ass drums underneath.

"I dunno, I think it would go with some of the stuff we've done already. You got any really mean lyrics? 'Cause I'm feeling some, like menacing vocals, y'know? Sorta angry anthem type thing?"

"That's cool. I'll annoy Patrick in the studio beforehand, that'll make him menacing," I pondered, shrugging. "Get some drums with it, it could be pretty good."

"Shower me in compliments, why don't you," said Joe, dryly.

"I'm on it," Andy announced, tapping at the laptop in front of him.

"Somebody make me angry," I frowned, grabbing a notebook and pen. It weird, the lyrics I'd written recently had mostly been fluffy love-song material. I blame you.

"Uh...you're a jerk," Joe suggested, "you're annoying? Uh...you have stupid hair?"

"You dress weird," Andy interjected.

"Okay, shut up now. I didn't just mean insult me," I tutted. "And for the record, my hair is a work of art."

I spent most of the rest of the day sulking, as a form of protest, occasionally nodding at whatever Andy and Joe had come up with. It sounded pretty cool by the end, even you might like it. I'm thinking we could sneak a rap in there somewhere, too.

It was around tea time when they finally decided to stop and take a break. We all were in desperate need of coffee, and I was busy staring at the kettle, willing it to boil faster. I could hear the others arguing, Joe repeatedly strumming loud and horrific guitar noises at Andy to shut him up. Then, there was a knock at the door.

I groaned out loud, not in the mood for socialising right now, thumping out the kitchen, past Andy and Joe and down the hall, trying to remember if I'd ordered anything.

Throwing a hand out, I lazily pulled the door open, my eyes focussing on the person in front of me.

It was an old man. He was grey-haired and balding, deep lines in his face and a lean figure.

Realisation hit me like a brick. My stomach tightened, my chest caved in on itself and it suddenly got very hard to breathe. No. This isn't happening. No.

As my vision began to blur, I managed to spit out one word.

"Dad?"

He nodded. "Peter."

I slammed the door shut.

The world began to spin, and I let myself fall to the floor,  breathing hard.

It can't be him. It can't be him. This isn't happening.

I heard a click of metal, jumping away from the door and staring at it, terrified, before I realised it was just the letterbox. A single slip of paper fell to the floor at my feet.

On my knees, I scrabbled for it, crumpling it between my fingers as I picked it up. It was a phone number. I screwed it up into a ball and hurled it at the door. Then I screwed myself up.

"Pete? Who was it?" somebody shouted, their voice blurry. Then footsteps.

"Pete? What happened?" The voice was nearer now.

I looked up to see Joe hovering above me, Andy right behind.

Talking seemed difficult, my mouth flapped, the words scrambled in my brain. "I...uh...my dad..."

They looked at each other, their faces frowning. "Your dad? But...you don't...uh, you don't-"

"I don't have a dad, I fucking know!" I shouted, my voice shaking even more than my hands.

"Are you sure?" Joe asked, peering out the hall window. I heard the sound of a car pulling out.

"Yes I'm fucking sure!"

"Okay, alright...uh...well, I think he's gone now."

I nodded, pressing my hands into my eyes and making everything go white. I wished I could stay in the whiteness forever, but I had to get up.

Andy grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, gripping my shoulder. I tried to focus on his grip, anchoring me to reality.

"You're okay, come on," Andy said, leading me into the lounge.

"No. He can't be here, he can't. He can't." I repeated, shaking my head.

Joe flitted around us, wringing his hands together. "Uh...how...how long since you saw him?"

"Twenty years. Twenty fucking years." I couldn't process this. My brain wasn't powerful enough to make sense of it.

"Wow. Right. Okay. So, he found you?"

"Of course he fucking found me, or he wouldn't fucking be here, would he!" I screamed, shoving Andy off me and curling my hands into fists.

"Dude, calm down," Andy said, his tone measured, his hands held out in front of him. "It'll be okay."

"How do you fucking know?! Your dad's fucking dead!"

He recoiled like he'd been slapped. "Don't you dare talk about my dad like that," he growled, muscles tensing.

"I don't care, he's not coming back any time soon!" I yelled, dragging in ragged breaths.

"Shut your fucking mouth," he snarled, stepping towards me.

"Make me."

The next thing I felt was a fist slamming into my stomach.

I doubled over, stumbling backwards and tasting bile in the back of my throat.

When I looked up, Joe was wrestling Andy away from me. "Stop! You're a pacifist, remember?"

He nodded slowly, beginning to calm down. "Yeah. Yeah. Okay," he breathed, flexing his jaw.

"Pete, you okay?" Joe asked, standing between me and Andy.

I straightened up, my hands still clenched and tension rising in my bones, but I nodded anyway.

"Okay. Right. Everybody calm the fuck down. It's gonna be fine."

"No it's not!" I shouted again, but this time, my voice cracked, and I felt sobs gather in my throat.

Joe visibly jumped. He was trying his best to be the reasonable one, but he didn't know how to stop me bawling my eyes out and there was panic written all over his face. "Uh...should we call Patrick?" he asked quietly, glancing at me, then Andy.

I looked up at the mention of your name. Suddenly it was the only thing I could think about.

"Yeah. Do it," Andy nodded quickly, motioning at Joe's pocket, and the outline of his phone.

"Okay," Joe sighed, relief in his voice, taking his phone out and tapping at it a few times.

I watched, trying to stay alert, and keep my balance, eyes wide with anticipation as Joe held the phone to his ear.

"Hello? Hey, yeah, it's me. Yeah. Well, no, it's not. Are you in the middle of something? Okay, cool. Listen, uh..." he glanced at me quickly, "I think you should talk to Pete," he finished.

I stumbled over to him, wanting so bad to hear your voice, reaching for the phone like a blind man reaches for a railing.

"Okay, uh...here he is."

"Patrick," I panted, like I'd just run a mile.

"Pete?" you buzzed, your voice distorted by the reception, but sending waves of relief through me all the same. "Are you okay? What's happened?"

"Patrick. Patrick, uh...uh...my, my dad...he came back."

There was a short pause. All I could hear was you breathing, soft and steady.

"Okay," you said finally. "Alright. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, but...but, I don't....I don't know..." I stammered, not knowing how to form a proper sentence.

"Pete, take deep breaths. You gotta breathe, okay?"

I tried to do what you said. I filled my lungs up as much as I could, then blew the air out slowly through my mouth, so you could hear.

"Good. Okay, keep doing that. Can you tell me how you feel?"

You were doing your therapist thing, and it was exactly what I needed. "Uh...dizzy, and, uh, angry, and upset, and...bruisy."

"Bruisy?"

"Andy just punched me," I explained, my stomach beginning to ache like crazy.

There was another short pause. "Okay. Go and drink some water, can you do that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," I nodded, stumbling towards the kitchen and pouring myself a glass. It cooled me down a bit, made me think a little straighter. "It feels better."

"Good. Keep breathing, okay? Now go and sit down, yeah?"

I flopped back into the lounge and down on the couch. "Okay. But...but, Patrick, I can't...I don't...I need you, Patrick."

"No, you don't. You can do this by yourself, okay?" you said firmly.

"Okay," I replied, unconvinced. "But I want you."

"I know, but you're gonna be fine, 'kay? I'll try to get back as soon as I can, but it's gonna be a few hours, yeah? Can you look after yourself until then?"

I thought about screaming no into the phone, begging you to somehow defy distance and appear here with me, right now. But I knew better than that. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Joe and Andy are there?"

"Yeah...but, I don't know if I want them to be," I said quietly.

"You wanna be by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Are you okay to be left alone?"

I kept breathing steadily, testing my brain for any sign of flight risk. "Yeah."

"Right. I'll tell them to leave, but if anything happens, you go to them, okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright. It's gonna be okay, trust me."

"Okay."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? In the meantime, distract yourself. Do some cooking, write some lyrics. I love you."

"I love you too," I said, with as much conviction as I could possibly muster.

"Give the phone back to Joe now."

"Okay." I held the phone out, and Joe took it warily.

"Hello? Yeah, yeah. No, it's fine now, he's fine. Right. Are you sure? Okay. Yeah, yeah, of course. Yep. No, no, it's fine, I'll pick you up. Okay. See you soon. Yeah. Bye."

You were gone. I slumped back on the sofa, wishing it could swallow me up.

"Uh...okay, so...we're gonna go..." Joe said uncertainly, patting Andy's arm.

I nodded, staring at the floor.

"Sorry for punching you," Andy said, sounding like he meant it.

I shrugged. "I deserved it."

He laughed a little. "Well...yeah, you kind of did. But sorry all the same."

"'S fine."

They left quietly, taking various instruments with them.

I was left alone.

I did what you said for a little while. I baked some cookies, that usually calms me down. I tried writing some lyrics. Then I wrote this.

I'm trying, Patrick. I'm really trying not to be what I used to be. But it's difficult, 'cause I can feel everything stirring, all the stuff I thought I'd stamped out. It'll always be there, I know that, but I can always control it. I don't know if I'm gonna be able to do that now.

Maybe it's bad that I'm alone. Maybe it's not the best thing for me. But you knew, you knew I wanted to be alone, not for my benefit, but for theirs. I want to be alone because when I'm like this, I don't trust myself. You of all people know what happens if I get emotionally weak, and angry.

That's what makes me so terrified. My dad turned up. My dad, who lost the right to be called family when he ditched me twenty years ago, was right outside my door. And with him, he brought every single memory I'd repressed, all the anger I felt, all the hurt. I spent so long trying to fight that. What if I go back to how I used to be? What if I lash out, what if I hurt you? What if, the moment you walk through the door, I feel that same anger, what if I make you scared, make you bleed, make you cry?

And yet, I want you more than anything in this world. I want you to hug me and make me feel wanted, too.

But he's fucked up everything. This can't happen now, I've got so many plans. He'll intrude, he'll ruin my whole life just like he did last time. I'll end up alone, just like last time.

I can't lose you. Not again.

You gotta come back. I wanna feel your warmth, your breath, everything that grounds me, I need you to be my constant while I figure this out. Please, come back.

I keep telling myself that you're on your way, you'll be here soon. But I can't quite convince myself, not 'till I'm holding you in my arms. It feels like you're a million miles away.

Please, baby, please come home.

From Pete.