Spin For You [Peterick]

-55-

Dear Patrick,

I shouldn't have let you put the pillow away.

-

It happened just after new year. Our families had all gone home, and we finally had the house to ourselves again. There'd been a lot of trips to the studio, getting stuff done for the record, 'cause we decided it'd be a good idea to announce the whole reunion thing to anyone that still cares sometime next month.

Anyway, productivity was in the air, and I decided to take advantage of your heightened mental activity to get you to actually finish moving in. You'd done pretty well, most of your stuff was out of boxes and it nearly looked like we hadn't just arrived here. But there was one box left. Just one. I think you deliberately left it there just to annoy me.

It was in the bedroom, next to your side of the bed. It wasn't in the way of anything. It just sat there, looking at me, saying oh, aren't I untidy? Don't I just completely ruin the look of your lovely tidy house? It was so fucking irritating.

"Patrick, can you please, please, unpack that box?" I whined at you for the thousandth time, hoping maybe, just maybe you might listen to me this once.

"I will, honestly," you'd replied innocently as we'd arrived back from the studio, but when you took your shoes off, you showed no sign of heading upstairs.

"You always say that," I sulked, folding my arms and following you into the lounge.

"Yeah, and you always say you'll take my opinions into account," you scathed, sticking out your jaw.

I groaned. Not this again. "Listen, we had a vote, and you lost. It's democracy, okay?"

"I don't care about democracy, I care about -"

"Getting your own way," I finished. "And that's how dictatorships happen."

"Oh fuck off," you snapped, hurling yourself into the armchair.

Sighing, I leant against the sofa, watching you deliberately avoid my gaze. "I just don't understand why you hate it so much."

You pressed your thumbs into your eyes. "It's not that. It's just...I thought you guys liked The Phoenix."

"We do like it, of course we like it, it wouldn't be going on the record if we didn't," I said, letting out an exasperated laugh.

"Then why can't that one be the single?!" you pouted, pulling your annoying toddler face.

So I pulled my annoying parent face. "Because we had a vote, Patrick, and everybody wants My Songs!"

"Ugh," you huffed, slumping in the chair. "You're wrong."

I smiled, watching you trying to think of some other argument, but decided to take pity on you. "Listen, we can have that one as the next single."

You sat up a little, narrowing your eyes. "You promise?"

This is getting ridiculous. "Well I can't guarantee it, obviously! But, like, I'll fight your corner, I promise."

Crossing your arms, you shifted to the edge of the chair. "I want it first on the album, too."

"Oh for fuck's sake! You can't make all these decisions!" I exclaimed, running my fingers through my hair.

You shook your head. "No, I want it first."

"I don't care! That's a choice for the whole band, Patrick."

"The Phoenix goes first on the album, or I will fight you on My Songs until the day you die," you said delicately, raising an eyebrow at me and leaning back in your chair.