It's not a rave it's a goddamn band practice

                                    

                                          
Pete's POV:
                          
I stared at the unexpectedly tall man stood in front of me. I felt like he was somehow mocking me with his height.
He seemed to have lost his train of thought 
                          
"Can I help you?" I asked smirking slightly at his struggle to form whatever sentence he originally had in mind.
                          
He looked weirdly familiar and I didn't know why. I was sure I didn't know him. 
He clearly lived in this apartment block since he was knocking on my door in the early hours of the morning so maybe that's where I'd seen him.
                          
He cleared his throat slightly and then I recognised him.
                          
He blew smoke at me in the street the other day. Nothing Personal I think just a joking response to my comment on his lifestyle.
                          
"Hey you were the guy smoking by the store the other day" I reminded him
                          
That seemed to jog something in his mind back to do with why he was here back into place.
                          
"Yeah I was." He mumbled.
                          
I opened my mouth but he interjected sharply
                          
"Look I'm not here at bullshit o'clock for small talk. Whatever you're doing up here could you knock it off?! I haven't slept in a week because I can hear whatever fucking rave you've got going on up here from downstairs it's the middle of the night, dude what the fuck." 
                          
I observed him for a few seconds. The poor guy had bloodshot eyes with the kind of bags underneath that don't come with missing just a couple hours of sleep. 
I felt kinda bad.
                          
"Okay first, It's not a 'rave' it's a goddamn band practice. Second, I function better at night. Third, if it's such a problem why has it taken a week for you to come and tell me?" I asked.
                          
That came out way ruder than expected.
I wasn't aware I could sound so sassy, maybe I've been around Patrick a little too much recently.
                          
The guy let out an exasperated sigh and pushed his hair back.
                          
It was blonder than the last time I saw him and it suited him better how he had it before.
                          
"Look it doesn't matter why it took so long just please turn it down you don't even have to turn it off!" He pleaded with me, he sounded desperate and now I felt really bad.
"You know what? Never mind... it doesn't matter." He shifted awkwardly and turned to leave. 
                          
"Wait stop." I said quickly feeling even worse for making him so uncomfortable.
                          
He paused and looked at me anxiously.
                          
I gestured for him to come inside. He moved nervously into the front room of the flat and silently took in the interior of my front room.
                          
"I'll talk to the others in a minute stay here...Have you dyed your hair?" I asked trying to remove some of the awkwardness of the situation.
                          
He relaxed a little. He looked nicer when he was relaxed. I think he'd even be handsome when he was happy.
                          
"Thanks and yeah I did but it didn't work out too great, it's too light and I don't like it" He mumbled seeming surprised that I'd remembered such a minor detail.
                          
"I like it." I said quietly. 
                          
I don't know why I said that. I liked his hair better before but I'm glad I said it because his face lit up a little when I did. He didn't quite smile but he looked happier although it was in a shy sort of way. 
                          
"Really? I-" He stopped mid-sentence and titled his head slightly.
                          
"Is that...um is that misfits?" He asked uncertainly