When I wake up, I glance at my alarm clock and realize that it's nearly eight. What the hell? My alarm is supposed to go off at half seven, and it's always on the loudest setting. I must've been completely out of it. I hop out of bed, shove on a black Panic! At The Disco T-shirt and black skinny jeans, and then put on some makeup. I hate being late, which is why I'm usually not. It's not that I'm even that late, actually, but never mind.

I give my short red hair a quick brush and then pull it into a ponytail, which I'm pleased to say is (just) possible. A few years ago, before I came to Chicago, I had long hair which nearly reached my waist, but then I cut it all off. Don't ask me why. My mother cried at the time, because I guess it was kind of sad, but I loved my new hair. At the time, I cut it so that it was in a boy's style, but when I came to Chicago I decided to let it grow a bit, so now it comes to the base of my neck. That's just how I like it, actually.

I finish doing my hair and turn back to the bed. Patrick's still fast asleep, curled up into a ball with the sheets tangled around him. I think he had nightmares again, because he moved about a lot last night, and he's frowning ever so slightly, even in his sleep. I go over to him, give him a quick peck on the lips and his eyelids flutter open.

"Hey, babe," I say, gently stroking his hair. He opens one eye wearily and looks at me.

"It's like quarter past eight," he moans.

"Yes, but I have to go to work, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. But why'd you have to wake me?"

"Because I would like to socialize with my boyfriend before I rush off."

"Socialize? What's this new term?" he deadpans, and we both laugh.

"Anyway, if you get up, I might just make you breakfast." Patrick's eyes light up.

"Ok, ok, I'm getting up," he says, and (with some difficulty) he sits up and rubs his eyes. I nod and go into the kitchen, stick a few slices of toast under the grill (I don't have a toaster) and make some coffee. He comes in a few minutes later, in just his boxers, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I say. He looks even cuter than usual with his hair sticking up.

"Good morning. Although, you appear to have gotten me up in the middle of the night."

"No, this is a normal time for me."

"Makes sense. Anyway, you know how late I like to get up."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? How late?"

"Come on, it's in a song." He waits for a moment, and then sings, "Someday I'll appreciate in value, get off my ass and call you...in the meantime I'll sport my brand new fashion of waking up with pants on at 4:00 in the afternoon." He gives me a look. "Remember that song? Come on, Lyds, I know it was a while ago, but still."

"Of course I remember that." I give him a hug, and then say, "This is so weird, you know."

"Yeah, I guess it is. I'm not used to you knowing!"

"I'm not used to knowing, either! This is huge, you know?"

"Of course I know, I've been in the band for over a decade."

"Yeah, maybe you have, but I haven't!" I smile at him and then say, "Ok, now I really have to get to work."

He pouts. "Not fair."

"Babe, do you really think I want to, either? Frankly, I can't wait until I can quit. Which will probably never happen, but oh well." I shove a piece of toast into my mouth, glug down the rest of my coffee and give him a quick kiss. "See you tonight, I guess."

He nods. "We've got... Uh, we've got practice tonight, so I'll be in my apartment." He looks embarrassed about it, for some reason.

"Ok, that's fine." I smile at him. "You don't have to look so embarrassed about it, you know. I'm fine with it."

He blushes. "Yeah, I know. It's just, well..." He looks at the ground. "I guess I'm still not used to it, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. See you tonight!" I smile at him, grab my bag and then head out the door.

Patrick's POV:

I watch her go, almost sadly, even though there's nothing to be sad about. I mean, why should I be upset that she's going to work? She does it, like, every day. Well, except weekends and the occasional day off, but you get me.

So I stand there for literally ten minutes (which, you know, is kinda creepy, but oh well) and then my phone buzzes. Because I have next to no money, I just have the same phone that I had in 2005, but hey, why not? That was a good year. My Chemical Romance hadn't broken up (just like everyone else, I am still waiting), Fall Out Boy was blasting from every decent radio station and I was actually happy.

Oh, wait. My phone is still buzzing. Of course it's buzzing, I haven't even answered it yet. Quickly,  pull it out f my pocket. Oh, joy. It's Joe.

"Hey, man," I say. "What's up?"

"Ok, so you know how Miya works at her parents restaurant?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Well, she managed to get the evening off tonight, so I was wondering if I could leave practice a bit early tonight."

"Yeah, that's cool with me," I reply. "Why are you asking, anyway?"

"To check if it was okay?"

"Dude, of course it's okay. Why wouldn't it be?" Joe's being weird, and I don't like it.

"I dunno, it's just..."

I sigh. "Ok, what is this about?"

"Huh?"

"Everyone's acting weird around me. Why?"

He sighs. "You do realise that Pete's still mad with you?"

"Why?"

"Maybe because you had a girlfriend that he didn't know about until like yesterday?"

"It's my business, not his," I say defensively.

"You're one of his best friends. And, between me and you, things aren't so rosy right now. You get me?"

"Wow, thanks for clearing that one up. As if I didn't know," I mutter.

"Oh, come on, Patrick. Why do you have to be like this? This isn't you, I know that."

"Look, Joe, I appreciate you being worried about me, but you don't need to be. I'm fine."

He lets out a long breath. "Patrick, we're always worried about you." I don't know why, but this really bothers me. It's like they think I'm weak, or something.

"I need to go now. I'll see you later, ok?"

"All right. But you can't avoid me forever. You can't avoid any of us." And then he hangs up.

I sit down on Lydia's couch and try to think about the conversation I just had, but it's impossible. My head is so screwed up right now. Then again, I can barely remember a time when I haven't been screwed up, so this isn't really an unusual situation for me.

I spend the day doing pointless things, because that's what I always do with my time. Pointless things. In a way, not killing myself that day in the tree was a big mistake, because if it wasn't for Fall Out Boy and, of course, Lydia, my life would have no purpose whatsoever. That's a fact that I'm not very proud of, but sadly, it happens to be true. Goddam the truth. It's always so stupid.

So I fill my days with pointless things. I try to read, which I fail at. As a kid, I was never much of a reader, probably because I spent a lot of my time hiding from my father, but in my adulthood, I've actually grown to enjoy it, believe it or not. But I can't concentrate on To Kill A Mockingbird today, even though I've read it before and I think it's actually not a bad book. So I try to play some music, which leaves me bitter. I don't feel comfortable playing my own music, because it makes me look big headed. And, yeah, I guess I'm am okay singer and all, but it's like being an actor and watching your own movies over and over. You just don't do it, unless it's one helluva good movie. So I try playing some Panic! At The Disco, which I usually love, but today, it's just not for me. I try again with Twenty-One Pilots, another band that I really like, but no. Tries with Michael Jackson, again, totally fails.

I drift from room to room for a while, trying to find something to occupy my time with. This is the problem with being an agoraphobic who suffers from extreme social anxiety. It's really hard to fill your time because you can't really leave your house without someone that you really trust, and right now, everyone I trust is at work. This is the same every day, and just so you know, it sucks. Usually, I'm able to ignore it, because I find it quite easy to fill my time (usually) but some days, it's hard. Really, really hard. Today is just one of those days.

After what seems like about five centuries (oh god, I need to stop quoting my own songs, it's a really bad habit of mine)  I eventually get a knock on my door, which signals that it's time to start band practice. Yay, I managed to get through another day without attempting suicide or knocking down some walls. Success!  I mean,  I'm not gonna answer the door, because I'm such a frightened cowardly weirdo that I can't answer my own door. This is why I give everyone I trust keys to my apartment (I don't trust many people, so this isn't really a risk or anything) so that I don't need to spend about six hours agonising about whether to open the door or not. The key turns in the lock, the doorknob twitches and then a crazy pizza-obsessed vision in black, also known as Pete Wentz, is bearing down on me, with a bemused and amused Andy and Joe respectively watch from behind.

"Dude!" yells Pete excitedly. "How are you?" Oh dear. When Pete asks you how you are, it is not a good sign. He doesn't just ask that as a way to get the conversation going; he genuinely means it. I mean, I know I'm messed up and all, but he's pretty messed up himself, if you get what I mean.

"I'm good, thanks," I say, trying not to yelp as he envelopes me in a bear hug. It's not that Pete's a big guy or whatever; in fact, he's not much taller than me (which is kinda saying something) but he's strong, and when he's in Protective Pete mode, you need to watch out. Unfortunately, or perhaps in my case, fortunately, he's always in Protective Pete mode around me. I'm like a little brother to him, as well as a best friend, because whenever he's not being all protective, he's ridiculing me. Which makes sense, I guess. I'm the first to admit that I'm a pretty ridiculous guy.

"Let's get this party started!" cries Joe , because Joe is the kind of person who is permanently convinced that there is party going on. To be fair, whenever he's around, there often is, but oh well.

"This isn't a party, it's just band practice," mutters Andy. Ahh, Andy. The only one of our little group who is halfway sane, Andy may look like some kind of hardcore rocker with his tattoos and his habit of never wearing a shirt unless it happens to be minus a hundred degrees, but actually, he is like a freaking mother. Actually, he's nothing like my mother, who was both unmotherly  and unable to protect my sister and I from the wrath of my father, but you get me.

"Whatever," mutters Joe.

So this is our little group, known to the outside world as Fall Out Boy, and known to us (and only us, I might add) as Patrick, Pete, Andy and Joe. Notice that I put myself at the start of last list, because, as big headed as I am, I naturally assume that because I am the lead singer of this band, I am also the key part of it. Wrong again, Stump! Well, I don't really think like that, it's just another facade that when broken reveals yet another facade. In fact, I'm not even sure who I am any more, with all these facades.

Holy smokes, Patrick, get a grip on yourself. This is band practice, not a philosophy class.

Sorry about that. It was screwed up Patrick talking just then. So, let me return to band practice.

By this point, the actual practice is pretty much over. I zoned out for most of it. In fact, I can barely remember which song we performed. It might've been This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race, but I can't quite recall it. It could've just as easily been a hit One Direction song for all I know. Pete is packing up his bass, which for some reason he insists on keeping in his apartment, which he shares with Joe, Joe's girlfriend, Miya, and his own girlfriend, Ellie. Don't ask me why. I just don't think he trusts me with his bass, which is fair enough.

"You okay?" Andy asks, looking over at me. I realise that I've been gazing at the same spot of wall for the past three minutes. Oops. They know I'm screwed up anyway, but things like this just serve to confirm it.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Oh, nice, now I'm getting cynical looks from Andy and Pete, who clearly don't believe me. Well, tough, because, believe it or not, I'm actually okay. 

Just then, there's a knock at the door, which is actually a relief, because it means that I'm not going to be interrogated any more by Pete. Joe's about to go and answer the door when the doorknob turns and in walks Lydia.

"Oh, hi," she says, looking rather nervous. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, it's okay, says Andy.  I smile at her and give her a quick kiss.

"How was your day?" I ask.

"Not too bad. My boss didn't slouch in until half ten, but what's new there?" I laugh.

"Where do you work, just out of interest?" asks Andy.

"Oh, this little record store a few blocks away. Its not bad, actually."

"Wait, is that the place with the owner who's always drunk or high?" asks Pete. Why is Pete taking an interest in my girlfriend all of a sudden?

Lydia laughs. "Yeah."

"Man, we used to go in there all the time! It's actually a pretty good store, I have to say."

"Well, that's good to hear," she says, smiling. "What are you guys doing, anyway?"

"Just finished band practice," says Joe, and she nods.

"Sounds awesome." She gives me a hug and says, "And how are you today?"

"I'm good. But I missed you." She giggles and gives me a peck on the cheek.

"I bet you did."

Pete, meanwhile, is scrolling through his phone. "Guys," he says. "I think we have a problem."

"What?" I ask. We all sort of gather round Pete, trying to see.

"The fans are getting restless. We haven't done anything in a while and you know how that gets them. They start getting paranoid that we're going on another break."

"What should we do, then?" asks Andy. Pete shakes his head.

"I have no idea, but we'd better come up with something quick. We don't want them to get annoyed."

Lydia smiles. "It's kind of funny the way you talk about the fans." We all give her blank looks, and she just sighs. "Never mind."

"We need to do something," says Joe. Pete groans.

"Well, if you help me think, we might get somewhere."

"Just... Just put in a random date or something." They all look at me, like What? "Like, say something along the lines of: Watch out for a surprise on this day. Give them something to look forward to."

Pete nods. "Yeah, that could work. We could do... We could do something on that day. Release a mash up or something. Okay, I'll do that." He starts trying on his phone, and then says, "Okay, how's this. Watch out for the fifth of October, because we've got news for you!" He looks up. "What do you think?"

We nod. "Sounds good to me," says Andy. Pete smiles.

"All right, then." He posts it, and then we look at each other for a bit.

"Oh, Jesus, is that the time? I gotta go," says Joe.

"Yeah, that's cool," I say. He smiles and then dashes off.

"Okay," says Pete. "Now, what are we actually going to do?"