After passing your leaving cert with flying colours, you decided it was time for an out. Time to go out, and find yourself - and get the job you wanted with a killer salary, too. So you packed your stuff, shipped tons of boxes over to London, and took the next flight out the following Friday morning.

So you settled into a small place in London - some little apartment, that did. It was okay for a while, until you started earning a little more, and the twenty minuets walk to the underground wouldn’t do anymore. So you looked around again, and one of the projects you’d just completed - decorating a huge building of luxury apartments came up as the first thing on the search bar - the company gave you a great deal because of your work on the project and you moved in there.

Stuff was good. Life was good. You were thriving in London, every other day Mam would FaceTime you, seeing how to things are, work, home life, when you’re next visiting - and so came up in conversation that Patrick Feely - your Patrick Feely - your old friend from school would be passing through London on his way back from Nashville. “..the flight is landing next week, and he’s staying for a couple of days. You should meet up..”

So you messaged him. Took a chance and messaged a man you hadn’t seen in two years. And to your surprise, he agreed to dinner.

So you were mucking around your apartment, working from home all day, tidying, sending emails, all that stuff, to busy yourself, and an hour from when he’d be here - you actually got busy. Emails sent. Curlers in. Which skirt matches with a cream jumper better, brown or navy?

Then you’re in your bathroom, about to line your lips, when the Lana Del Ray music your playing stops. You frown looking down at your phone.

Incoming voice call from Patrick Feely

“Hello? Everything alright?” You ask, as you pull your curlers out.

“You become hard of hearing? I’ve been pressing the buzzer out in the rain for 5 minutes.” You tense.

“Shit. I’ll let you in now. Sorry,” you smile and press the buzzer to the apartment buildings entrance. A few minutes later, you’re sat by the door, bouncing your leg, waiting for him. When the door is knocked on your heart does a flutter. Relax. It’s a harmless dinner.

“Hi.” He had roses; a red and white assortment that looked expensive - even for London prices, but I guess being a singer had its perks.