Work Text:
Days were passing by. They became weeks... Soon months…
Eventually Camel got done with the "Snow Goose" recordings and were coming close to the release of the album.
It was early April. At that stage, they were getting together to rehearse and plan out tour dates.
One evening Doug was driving Andrew back to his flat while chatting.
"So.." Doug muttered, "Any plans for tonight?"
"Not much... I'll stay up for a bit... might try to write something extra… got plenty of time..." Andrew said while looking out the window
"What about... y'know... the matter?" Doug lowered his tone
"What matter?" Andrew turned to look at him
"The matter with Pete… mate... It's been more than a month since you said you'd do something about it... But still" Doug insisted.
Andrew sighed. "I haven't had any inspiration... Can't write any song for him... Don't have any way to say it to him..."
"Then write it." Doug interrupted
Andrew shook his head "I dunno.."
Doug tapped the steering wheel, then looked over briefly at the red light. "Look. I know it's scary.. But if you're just waiting for the perfect moment you'll just keep telling yourself " maybe another night'll make it alright... " But you'll blink and another month will be gone. And you'll still be stuck."
Andrew blinked and his eyes drifted down.
Doug's eyes met Andrew's. "Another night, and another, and then a hundred more. And then it's too late. Days go fast when you're pretending they don't matter"
Andrew paused and looked out of the window again, quietly. That advice hit him somewhere tender.
"I'm not saying write a bloody love letter," Doug added with a dry chuckle. "Just... Don't let it eat you alive, mate. Say something. Or at least try."
Andrew leaned his head against the window and then sighed quietly. "Alright.. I'll write."
Doug smiled faintly "Good."
They didn't speak much after that. Doug dropped Andrew off with a pat on the shoulder "Good luck, yeah?"
Later that night Andrew sat in his room thinking about what he should write, a cup of tea gone cold beside him. The pages stayed blank for hours...
He'd scribble, cross out, curse quietly under his breath... All the weight he felt was too much to just "say".
But somehow, close to midnight, the inspiration started to come. The letter took form slowly... His handwriting looked shaky at first... Then steadier. Line after line. Pause, breathe, continue.
By the time he folded the paper and sealed it in an envelope, the cup of tea beside him had gone empty. It was past 2 am.
He placed it on the desk, stared at it, and finally exhaled. He slept uneasily.
-
The next day they got done with their rehearsal later than usual. They were all gathered in their usual spot, working through a few live arrangement ideas.
Pete seemed distracted. He kept messing with a cigarette in his fingers before finally excusing himself to step outside for a break. Andy joined him too.
Andrew saw his chance. He walked up to Doug, envelope in hand "Hey..."
Doug looked up at him "Yeah?"
He held it out. "Give it to him... After rehearsal. Please don't open it.." He looked a bit pale.
Doug took it and gently nodded. He then gave him a quick pat on the back and grinned "Good luck mate. That sure took guts to do."
Andrew gave him a small nervous chuckle, still processing the fact that he actually did it. "Thanks... Seriously.." he muttered quietly
Doug carefully put the letter in his pocket. Then they left the rehearsal space to join the other two for a bit.
Later that evening, they were all packing up. Doug approached Peter just as he was putting his blazer on.
"Oh, hey. Almost forgot," Doug said casually and pulled the envelope from his pocket. "A birdie gave me this… said it's for you"
Peter blinked, clearly puzzled. "Oh... Is that a fan letter or something?"
Doug smirked a little. Then shrugged "Dunno. Told me to tell you to open it at home. No rush."
Peter took it. "Okay.. thanks.."
Doug patted his shoulder once and walked off.
On the train home Peter stared at the envelope like it was going to open itself. He waited. He wanted to be alone when he read it.
At home, he shut the door behind him, kicked off his boots, and sat down at the kitchen table. He opened it.
" Hey Pete,
I didn’t know how to say this in person, so I'm writing it down here.. on paper.. where it feels less scary…
It all started in '71, our first gig. When you joined the band, I felt this big buzz, thinking we'd do great together and become great friends. But as time passed, I realised it wasn't only a friendship for me.
I've been questioning that feeling for years. Sometimes trying to hide it, forget it, make it go away…
Then our stay in Devon made that feeling grow even stronger. Walking by the river… sitting up on those hills while we were discussing the ideas for the album… Those moments with you felt different. They weren't just breaks from the grind, they were the awakening of something deeper within me. It wasn't just the music anymore… it was you.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately.. about you. And the feeling's gotten even stronger.
Maybe it's been like that for a while now, but I guess I just didn't want to admit it… not even to myself.
I don't want to mess things up between us, but I can't keep pretending the feeling doesn't exist.
You mean much more to me than just a friend or bandmate.
I care about you, Pete. More than I've ever cared about anyone.
It's okay if you don't feel the same way. I just really felt the need to tell you.
I hope you understand.
If you ever want to talk about it… or if you feel the same way I do…
Come by. I'll be up.
-Andrew "
He read it.
And read it again.
And just sat there.
His fingers tightened on the edges of the page. His heart felt like a mess. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it sure wasn't this.
He muttered, almost whispering "Oh my..."
He stayed like that for a while. Minutes passed. Then more. He stood up, sat down again. Then stood once more, grabbed his stuff and ran.
He caught the evening train to Guilford, heart hammering in his chest. It had started to drizzle a little, just enough to mist the windows.
Before heading to Andrew's flat, he popped to a little cafe shop that was still open around the corner. He ordered two take-out mugs of hot tea. The kind they used to order after their gigs in the winter. Andrew loved that kind.
His hands were shaking a little, but not from the cold.
Then, heart in his throat, he walked to Andrew's place and rang the doorbell.
When Andrew opened the door, he looked stunned.
Peter was standing there, holding the mugs up. "I brought tea.." he said with a shy smile. "Can I come in?"
Andrew blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course!"
Pete stepped inside, gently placed the mugs on the table, and looked up at Andrew. Their eyes met squarely.
Pete took a step closer, then wrapped his arms around him. "I do too.." he whispered into Andrew’s shoulder.
Andrew let out a shaky breath that cracked on the way out and clung to him like a lifeline. He buried his face in Pete’s hair and started crying.
After a long moment, Pete gently pulled back just enough to look at him. "You alright?"
Andrew sniffled and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. "I think so… I just didn’t expect you to show up with tea... or.. even show up at all…"
Pete smirked "Well, it’s your fault, innit? Wrote a bloody novel… Thought I’d better respond properly."
Andrew rubbed his eyes and laughed more freely
Pete reached into his blazer pocket, pulling out the letter. The envelope was a little crumpled from being held too tightly. "I read it three times," he said, his voice quieter now. "Thought I misread it at first. Then thought I was dreaming. Took the train here and… honestly, it felt like this thing was burning a hole in my pocket."
Andrew looked away "I nearly tore it up halfway through writing it…"
Pete tilted his head with a soft smile. "Good thing you didn’t."
They picked up the mugs and sat down on the couch. The silence felt soft and comfortable, like it didn’t need filling.
Pete raised his mug and sipped. "You know… I always liked how you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching."
Andrew froze. "I-.. what?"
Pete glanced sideways, raising a brow. "Don’t bother. I saw."
Andrew groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh my god."
Pete chuckled. "It was sweet."
Andrew peeked through his fingers. "That’s so embarrassing."
"Nah." Pete set his mug down. "It’s honest."
There was a long pause. Then Pete’s expression softened further. "Devon was the giveaway, y’know."
Andrew blinked. "Oh… Was it?"
"You kept walking too close," Pete said, his tone slightly teasing. "Then blaming the wind."
Andrew hid his face in his hand again and laughed helplessly. "I thought I was being subtle."
Pete chuckled "Yeah! Subtle like a sledgehammer."
They both laughed, and then Andrew’s gaze dropped a little, more vulnerable now. "I was terrified, Pete… I really thought if I said anything about this, I’d lose you."
Pete reached out and gently took his hand. "You couldn’t lose me if you tried."
Andrew swallowed and smiled gently.
The night stretched on. They talked, laughed more, the nerves were loosening with each sip of tea. Soon they drifted into a quiet hush again.
Andrew leaned into Pete’s hair. "You’re real warm..." he mumbled.
Pete smiled, resting his cheek against Andrew’s shoulder. "So are you."
They fell asleep like that on the couch, curled into each other, the mugs long emptied on the table.
Another night. But this time, it was a special one.
