That night, when I go to bed, my head is still reeling from the events of today. Truth to be told, I am thinking a lot of thoughts, such as: "What the fuck?" and "How is this possible?" Because, in the real world, things like this just don't happen. And this is the real world. So why is this happening?

I can hear Patrick in the bathroom. I think he's having a shower or something, and if this was any other day (and if I was any other person) I would probably join him. But no. Maybe it's a sudden lack of courage, or because I'm too busy fangirling right now, but he seems less approachable somehow. I know, it's stupid. He's my boyfriend, we've been together for a few weeks now, so I shouldn't feel like this, like I can't talk to him. But I do.

So I just lie there, staring at the ceiling like the meaning of life is written upon it. Maybe it is, because right now, for some reason, life seems kind of pointless, and the ceiling is pretty plain, unless you count the small patch of mould that is slowly but steadily growing in the furthest corner. Wow. So the meaning of life is blank plaster and a patch of mould. Well, that clears that up.

When it sounds like he's out the shower, I roll over onto my side and close my eyes. I don't really want to talk to him right now. I mean, when I first found out about Fall Out Boy, I guess I was so stunned that I couldn't focus on anything but the good, but now the guys have gone home and I'm alone with Patrick (we're alone together, oh dear lord) I can't help but feel just a little... well, betrayed, I guess. I know that sounds dumb, but still. He lied to me.

I hear him come in, look at me for a moment, and then he sighs. "Are you asleep?" he whispers. I don't respond. "Lydia, you are ridiculously bad at pretending to be asleep." I still don't say anything. "Do I have to tickle you?" Finally, I rear my head.

"Hey," I say. He comes over to me, sits next to me on the bed and smiles.

"That's better." He reaches out, to stroke my hair, I think, but then he thinks better of it and stops. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I murmur, even though this is an obvious lie. "Just tired."

He gives me a look. "Is that so?" I don't say anything. "What's the matter? Come on, babe, you can tell me."

"That's just it." He looks confused.

"What?"

"Maybe I can't tell you."

"Why?" He pauses. "Is this something to do with your stepdad?"

"What? No! It's just..." I sigh. "You don't tell me anything."

"Huh? What are you.... Oh. I get it." He looks at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Do you really think that's enough? You lied to me, Patrick."

"I never lied to you."

"Oh, come on. You never told me about Fall Out Boy, or your singing, or you playing any instrument, or who your friends really were. I think that counts as a lot of lying, don't you?"

"I never lied. You never asked." Now he's the one who looks angry.

"Oh, so now this is my fault? How can you sit there and say that? If I'd come up to you one day and asked, 'Hey, Patrick! Are you by any chance the lead singer of Fall Out Boy?' You'd have probably said, 'No, Lydia, I am not.' You didn't tell me the truth."

"You think that this is easy for me? Do you think that any of this has ever been easy for me? Maybe I didn't tell you because I was scared, perhaps? Because I thought that you'd be like the rest of my girlfriends and just laugh at me? Huh?" He's furious now, and so am I.

"Relationships are about trust, Patrick! Or did no one ever tell you that? How do I know that you love me if you never trust me with the truth?"

He stops, and then stares at me. "What did you say?" I don't say anything. "Oh my god, Lydia. Look at me." I look at him, and I see that he's crying. "Never, ever, ever doubt that I love you. I love you more than anyone else."

"Really?" I whisper.

"Yes. I love you so much."

"Oh, Patrick," I murmur. He reaches out and strokes my cheek, and then kisses me. I sit up, and he puts his arms around me.

"I'm sorry. I truly am," he says, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I nod.

"I know you are."

"Seriously, though," he says after a while. "Your face when you heard me sing! It was so funny."

I laugh. "I bet it was. However, you, Mr Stump, now need to be punished. I suggest... Hmm."

"Oh help me, won't someone help me?" he cries out. I giggle.

"I have made my verdict! Your fate is sealed. Your sentence: Death by kissing!" I yell, and abruptly kiss him.

He laughs and pulls away, just for a second. "Arugh! It burns!" Then he kisses me again. "Actually, this isn't too bad," he remarks. I roll my eyes.

"Baby, nothing I do is bad," I whisper.

"Debatable," he says.

"Non-debatable," I reply.

"Oh, all right, then." He suddenly dives under the covers and puts his hands around my waist. "So do you forgive me?"

"Absolutely. Although, I still think you should've told me sooner."

"Why's that, then?"

"So then I could bask in the knowledge that my boyfriend is one of the best singers ever to grace YouTube with his presence."

"Again, that's debatable."

I put my hands on my hips (or, as best as I can when I'm lying down) and pout. "Maybe it is to you, but to me...? No chance."

"Stop flattering me! It's awkward!"

"In what way?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Ok, I don't even know what we're talking about any more!"

"To be fair, neither do I," I admit.

"Praise the lord for that," he mutters. "Anyway, I'm tired, so can we sleep now?"

"Ok, but it's not even half ten. How old are we, twelve?"

"But I'm tired!" Patrick whines.

"Ok, ok, baby Patrick must have his beauty sleep, I get it. So do I, really."

"You don't need beauty sleep, you're already gorgeous."

"Oh, baby. I am not gorgeous. Not even close."

"Debatable," he whispers in my ear. I laugh.

"Go to sleep already," I moan.

"Ok," he says, and then he buries his face in my nightdress and is asleep in a second. I have no idea how he does that. How I envy him.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," I breathe, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I smile briefly to myself, and then let the heavy tendrils of sleep pull me under.