[A/N: Okay, this one's longer than I anticipated so brace yourselves. Trigger warning.]

Patrick.

It all happened so quickly.

We met up today, for the first time after the restaurant. We just wanted to get back to playing together, and maybe come up with a few new song ideas.

You three all turned up at the same time, at my house, because it's easiest, with no parents to hassle us. My parents kicked me out long ago.

It was great to play with all you guys again, it made me remember what it was like at the beginning, when we had no idea what we were doing and were just desperate to make noise. It was so natural, and you were so relaxed. I was so relaxed. It was perfect.

I had had a week or so to blot the image of you and Emma out of my mind, with the help of my good friend vodka, so I was entirely determined to only see you as a friend. I'd had quite a bit to drink before you'd even arrived. I convinced myself that just to be acquainted with you was a bonus, that I didn't need anything more. Now that I knew you were taken, it would be easier to get over you. Just a crush, just a crush.

About an hour into our little jamming session, after playing through some of our old stuff, you'd suggested that we try out something new. You said it like you meant let's compose something together, but I looked at Joe and Andy we exchanged an eye-roll, knowing that what you really meant was I've written this thing that I think we should try and play but only exactly how I want us to play it.

Your perfectionism has always been a source of our amusement. Only tonight you took it a little bit too far.

"No, no Pete, that note should be shorter, you're letting it ring for too long!" You said, motioning towards the bass in my hands.

"Are you sure? I kinda like it long, it sounds more reflective and melodic." I'd questioned.

You gave a small huff, and sighed "No, it needs to be short so that the next verse can come in at the right time!"

"Well then maybe it's the verse that's wrong, we should keep the long note and change the verse instead." I kept my voice steady as I spoke.

"Change the verse? Are you insane? The verse is fine, it's not worth fucking around with just for one note!" Your voice rose a little.

"But the verse doesn't quite fit with the chorus anyway, why don't we just play around with some other variations, you never know, it might sound better." Joe chimed in.

That really annoyed you.

"It will not sound better, I've tried countless variations of the verses, this is the only one that works!" Your eyes shot between me and Joe, as if we were about to mug you.

Andy decided to intervene.

"Hey, Patrick, calm down, we can try it both ways and see. Nothing has to be decided now, this is just supposed to be a bit of fun." He said, calm and collected as always.

You jumped when he spoke, like a deer does when it hears a loud noise. Letting out a long sigh, you nodded, snarling a 'fine' at us before flopping down on my couch and running a hand across your face.

We all watched you for a few moments, until finally, I sighed too, putting my bass down. "Okay, why don't we all just have a break, make some coffee or something?"

The others nodded profusely, and Andy immediately jumped up from his drums and volunteered to make it, no doubt in order to escape the suffocating atmosphere in the lounge. Wow, we went from jamming session high to mid-life crisis low in under five minutes, that's got to be a new record, even for me.

I decided to distract myself by pulling out a box of cigarettes and lighting one up, pulling in a slow, satisfying breath. I felt my muscles relaxing already as the smoke filled me up, before I breathed it out again, creating a neat little puff of grey wisps in the air around me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I jumped at your suddenly loud voice, turning towards you. You were standing up now, a few feet from me. Confusion crossed my face, and anger crossed yours.

"Put that thing out. Right. Now." You weren't shouting any more. This was worse than shouting. Your words cut through the smoke, through me, sharp and heavy. I glanced down at the glowing cigarette in my hand. I liked the taste of it, I wanted another drag. I slowly put it back to my lips, looking straight at you as I sucked in a hot breath.

You took a step forward. Joe took a step back. I stayed exactly where I was.

"I said, put it out."

I stuck my chin out, leaned forward a little, and blew smoke into your face.

You swatted it away, flexing your jaw and locking your eyes onto mine. I could see the burning hatred writhing behind them.

"It's my house, I can smoke if I want to." I said simply, shrugging. I took another drag.

You sprang forward, snatching the cigarette from me, crushing it into the carpet with your foot. It was as if you wished it was me you were crushing.

"From now on, you are never going to smoke, ever!" You nearly shrieked at me, your voice leaping up the octaves.

"Why the hell not? You don't control me! I'll do whatever the fuck I want to do!" I was shouting now, the barricade I had built to hold my rage slowly splitting apart.

"You will die if you keep on like that! We will die if you keep on like that! Has it occurred to you that some of us would quite like lungs that aren't soaked in tar?!"

"Oh, I get it, it's all about poor little Patrick. Did the nasty man scare you with his horrid cigarette?" I cooed, watching as your hands curled into fists. It's easier like this. Easier to hate you than to love you. It's a pity I didn't realise that they're the same thing.

"Don't you dare talk down to me." You shot back. I laughed.

"Well you're so short, it's hard not to. Oh, but I'm sorry, I forgot you're perfect Patrick with the perfect life and perfect girlfriend, I do apologise, your majesty." I did a small bow just to piss you off even more, topping it off with a malicious grin.

"What the fuck does Emma have to do with this?!"

"Oh, nothing, apart from the fact that she's a stupid whore." I spat.

Your eyes widened. "What did you just say?" It was nothing more than a whisper.

I took a step towards you.

"Okay, okay, I take it back. She's not stupid. Not as stupid as you are, anyway." I could feel the alcohol fuelling my words, making them burn as they crossed my lips.

"What?" You said again.

"You think she likes you. You think she's going out with you because she wants to spend time with you. You're so naive it's hilarious. She doesn't want that at all. Let me ask, how much money have you spent on her in the past month? She knows exactly what she's doing. With girls like her, you're either rich, famous or great in bed, and we all know you aren't two of those things."

I was close to you now, staring down at you, my face inches from yours.

"Pete, stop, I think you should-" Joe interrupted, but I talked over him.

"You mean nothing to her, Patrick. Sooner or later she'll figure out that you're not a rock star, you're just a kid. Sure, she's shoving her tongue down your throat now, but there'll be someone else. Someone smarter, funnier, better looking. There always is. And you'll see how worthless you really are."

You blinked. I didn't notice the tears spilling down your face, just the anger blazing within me, the love-drunk hatred waiting for a final chance to pounce. My fists shook at my sides, crushing the cigarette packet. You looked down at the crumpled cardboard in my hand, watched the cigarettes as they tumbled out of it. You spoke slowly and quietly, yet each word was as loud as a gunshot.

"I hope those things do kill you."

That was it. I snapped. Everything happened in slow motion after that. I brought my fist up and slammed it into your jaw, making your knees buckle and collapse. My other hand let go of the cigarettes and collided with your brow bone, and once you were on the floor I pinned down your wrists with my knees, punching you over and over, and suddenly I was getting my revenge for every stupid word you said to me, every night I'd spent crying over you, every piece you'd ripped my heart into. I hated what I was doing, but I hated you more. My hands finally settled around your neck, my thumbs pressing into your throat, making your desperate cries go silent. You gulped shallow, useless breaths, your kicks becoming steadily weaker. I stared into your terrified eyes, watching as every second saw them lose a little of their life. Finally, they rolled backwards, your eyelids fluttering shut. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Suddenly there were hands around my neck. More hands shoved at me, pulling me off you, forcing me to let go. I felt my arms ache as if the hands had been pulling at them too. Maybe they had, I just didn't notice. I was on the floor now, being dragged across the room. I breathed heavily, and slowly, everything fizzled back into focus.

Andy and Joe had been shouting like crazy, trying to pull me off you. Their outraged bellows still hung in the air, as thick as tar. They were gathered round you, but I could feel Joe's eyes on me. He'd seen everything, heard every hateful word I'd said. And now he hated me.

I propped myself up on my elbows, the room still spinning. I scrunched my eyes up and shook my head to try and clear my mind, to make sense of what had just happened.

I'd killed you.

You were still lying on the carpet, arms spread limply around you and mouth still slightly open. A few solitary tears clung to your eyelashes, the rest tracing silvery paths down your cheeks. There was a thin ribbon of blood spilling from your lips. The silence was enough to burst my eardrums.

Joe stood up, fists clenched and jaw tensed, his stare hurting more than any punch. He lurched towards me, and I shut my eyes, knowing I was next.

But then he stopped. There was a faint gurgling noise coming from where you were laying. It got louder, beating through the air like a pulse.

Suddenly your back arched and you coughed violently, a harsh choke which took a baseball bat to the silence, your eyes flying open in wild panic. Andy grabbed your thrashing arm and steadied you as you dragged in rattling breaths, Joe rushing to your other side. You struggled to prop yourself up against the couch, resting your head back and drinking in the air gratefully. Raising a shaking hand to your throat, you touched the slowly reddening skin, flinching as you did so. You looked over at me.

I was flooded with relief, sighing and closing my eyes. You weren't dead, I hadn't killed you. But then I saw what I had done.

There were cuts all over your face, oozing dark liquid and casting purplish shadows. Blood trickled from your nose and mouth, and ran from your eyebrow to your jaw. There were no bruises yet, but I could see them forming in my head, from my hands, my punches. My rage, my stupidity. Tomorrow you'll have a necklace of bruises in the shape of my fingers.

I looked down at my hands; they were covered in your blood.

I did this.

You closed your eyes again, still gasping for air, and I sat up, feeling the horror of my actions spreading through me like poison.

Joe and Andy's disgusted stares met my own bewildered one. Slowly, carefully, they started to gather up your limp limbs and help you to stand; all the while keeping one eye on me in case I tried to kill anyone else.

I opened my mouth to speak.

"I-"

"Don't." Joe shot back at me.

And with that, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the lounge, Andy at your other side. A few moments later, I heard the front door slam.

You were gone.

I lay on the floor for a very long while.

And that's when I decided it was time to go.

Eventually, I got up, and decided to write this one, last letter.

So here I am. A depressed, sleep deprived alcoholic who just saw the only person who was worth getting up for walk out of his life forever.

Because I know you'll never come back. Not after this. I fucked you up just like I fucked up every other person I ever got close to. Even my own parents.

You're gone now, and with you goes all my smiles, all my laughs, all my reasons to stay in this world. I've been suicidal on and off for a while now, but you gave me something to hope for. Now that's gone, I'm not sure what's left.

I had been doing so much better. But when the tour ended, I felt like I was standing on the very edge of a cliff; with every pull of the tide, the rock was slowly eaten away, unnoticeable, until I felt the ground underneath me give a little. You were the whisper that started the landslide.

I can't do this any more, can't stay here, rotting, can't make anything better because I only end up hurting people. I can't get the image of your face out of my mind, lifeless and tear-stained, bloodied and broken. Because of me, you feel on the outside what I feel on the inside.

The debate has been going back and forth in my mind for years now, but up 'til now I always managed to choose to live. I'd try and put it off for one more minute. Then one more hour, then a day, then two. That's how I got through it. Thinking, hoping, wishing that better things were around the corner.

But today just proves that I'm not supposed to live. Because better things aren't around the corner. If I left it 'til tomorrow, I'll only see the outcome of my actions. And I never, ever wanted to live long enough to see you hate me.

The pills are by the side of me. When I'd thought about doing it, it had always been alcohol that I'd envisaged. But the irony of using the pills that got me to sleep at night to send me to sleep forever seemed too fucking perfect.

Tomorrow, or the next day maybe, someone will find me. I'll still be sprawled here on the floor, my face buried in the same carpet that's spotted with your blood.

So I guess that makes this letter a suicide note.

But even so, it's still for you, so I may as well pour what's left of my feelings into this. Here goes nothing.

 If you're reading this, Patrick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I put you through, all the times I could have been better, all the hatred I poured onto you to kid myself out of my own fucked up feelings. I'm sorry it had to end like this.

But know this, if it's the only thing you take from the festering corpse of our friendship, you are beautiful, in every way. Keep writing your beautiful music, keep singing, don't ever stop. If there's one thing I regret about this it's that I'll never get to hear your voice again, even if it's only through a recording. Or see you smile, even if it's not because of me.

I've taken the pills. They've left a bitter taste on my tongue.

I'm so sorry Patrick. Thank you so much for everything. You made the last few years worth it, even though I fucked it up. And, if I'm truly honest, because there's no goddamn point hiding anything now, I think, even though I denied it for so long, I am completely and utterly, head over heels in l