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Ashes of Dreams	By : ElleU Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Sum 41 Views: 1125 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Sum 41. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 4

Having looked out the window at the dull Texan scenery ever since she got up, D-Sept was more than a little bored and very anxious to reach Dallas where they were to play the sixth show of the tour. She hadn’t bothered with hair and she was still wearing her PJs, sitting in front of the TV with a beer in hand. The others had retreated to the bunkroom to play cards, not agreeing with her program of choice. Too bad for them that they couldn’t see the humour of Daffy and Bugs.
After ten minutes she gave up too, shutting the TV and leaned back in the couch, bored beyond words. She liked cartoons; she just wasn’t in the mood. Thinking deeper she realised she hadn’t been in the mood for long. She had been fighting depressions on and off since her early teenage years. This was just another battle in the big war. And she’d win it, just like she always had. She just needed time.
“Twenty miles to Dallas, sweetheart!” CC yelled. “You’d better get dressed, Dee.”
D-Sept got off the couch and went to take a quick shower, fixed her make-up and hair and got into her clothes just as they came to a halt outside Morton Meyerson, their venue for the night.

The show had once again been awesome, as Jo noted while she and D-Sept walked across the street to a liquor store to fill their near-empty booze-supply.
The short singer went along the rows, looking carefully at each product before she picked different bottles and beer cans and put them in one of her baskets. “Another year and you won’t have to be the one to take them to the counter,” she sighed blissfully.
“Another year and our dear little D-Sept will have stepped into the world of adults,” Jo countered. “What’s with the growing up?”
“Not growing up, just turning twenty-one. It’s like turning eighteen back home.”
“Or sixteen if we were Danish,” Jo added. “It totally rocked to be on holiday there as a teenager. Even before I turned sixteen they’d never want any ID. Denmark ruled.”
“Yeah, but here you only have to be sixteen to drive,” D-Sept argued.
“How responsible is a country that allows its youngsters on the road five years before they’ll serve alcohol for them?”
“Guess you’ve got a point,” the younger girl said, shrugging. She picked up a beer-can, looking at the stamp. “Danish beer,” she stated, tossing it at the guitarist.
“Carlsberg’s everywhere,” Jo explained. “These beers have probably never been in any close proximity to Denmark.” She paused with a smile. “Let’s take them, though.” She put a box in her own shopping cart as they went further into the store. “Are you looking for anything specific?” she asked.
“I guess I’d like a bit of Hot’n’Sweet. But I’m not sure if they even have it in the States.”
“Here,” the other one said, reaching into the cart to present two bottles of the substance. “I also found Cuba Caramel.”
“I still have no idea how the fuck you can drink the shit. It’s so bloody sweet it makes me want to puke.”
“You have to mix it with chocolate milk,” she said, sounding like she was explaining something to a baby. “I think I’ve tried explaining that to you for what… five years?”
“Guess so.” She looked through the rows again. “Pure Vodka,” she finally said, putting a pair of bottles in her basket. “Smokey’s gonna love this.”
“You mean you’re gonna love it.” The red-head smiled. “I’m not complaining, though,” she quickly added. “So how does being twenty feel?”
“Old,” D-Sept sighed. “It feels just like nineteen, actually,” she said, grinning. “You’d expect it to be different, ‘cause when you were fifteen twenty was so old and so far away. Then you turn twenty and it’s not different at all. But at least I’m not a teenager anymore. We’re officially an adult band.”
“Well… You’re gonna turn twenty-three someday and still look, feel and act sixteen.”
“Probably.” She looked around her. “Need anything else Jo?”
“Not really.” She looked at her clock. “Let’s just pay for the shit and see if we can get it back to the bus.”

“So you think we’ll have pissed Jonah off with all this?” D-Sept, asked, indicating the huge amount of booze they brought with them as they went back towards the buses with slightly more used credit cards.
“Nah… I think our dear baby sitter will accept it on the occasion of your birthday. I don’t think Island is gonna like seeing the 286 dollar large bill from the credit card, though.”
“If we use the others for the rest of the month we may balance it so much that they don’t realise how much money we actually used on booze.”
“Fat chance,” Jo muttered sarcastically. “By the time we’re half-way through our stay in the States Island will already be wanting to ship us back to Europe. On third class seats.”
They unloaded the stash into the bus, putting whatever they had room for into the fridge before they headed back to the hotel.

The moment they stepped into the lobby there was an uproar of people jumping out from the weirdest places, screaming ‘Surprise!’
D-Sept stood still for a moment in shock. Then once again she was lifted onto Steve’s shoulders, screaming and hitting her hands repeatedly against his back until he finally let her down. “I told you guys not to do anything,” she told her band happily as she regained her balance.
“Of course you did, Dee,” CC said with a grin. “But what kind of best friends would we be if we let you have your way on that one?”
D-Sept felt her face break into a large smile before she launched at them, hugging everybody in turns.

Much later that evening the party had been moved into Jo’s hotel room, which already looked like shit. They were using hers because she had people from the tour sleeping on all sides of the room so there was nobody to disturb. Some of the others had moved their mini-bars in so they wouldn’t run dry and only CC was still completely sober. Even Jonah, Carl and Larry, the annoying personal assistants were slightly under the influence of alcohol.
Deryck leaned back in the chair he’d secured for himself, watching it all unfold in front of him. Jo and Dev chatting with Nick and the Lovato cousins, CC, Jere and Dave and Jere’s girlfriend leading what looked like a normal, civilized conversation, Cone, Steve and D-Sept in the process of starting another pillow fight. What had been strangers less than a week ago were now pals. Friends even. He saw D-Sept give a pained cry as she broke away from Steve and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. D-Sept, the unlike-able, wild girl whom he’d somehow grown so close to without even talking that much to. They’d caused trouble together, gotten drunk together. She should’ve grown up with him, he’d decided, should’ve been a part of his family. If he was supposed to ever have had a sister, she’d be his pick, he realised as he put his arms around her in return. “What is it Dee?” he asked, stroking her hair as she looked up at him with genuine although drunken tears in the pretty blue eyes.
“Steve’s mean. He ruined my fingers,” she explained with a pout, holding her left hand up for inspection. All fingers but the thumb were already swelling and seemed slightly blue around the joints. He quickly stood, locating CC as he remembered her being the only sober person.
“CC we have to get Dee to the emergency room!” he called, still stroking his would-be-sister’s now flat hair. It may seem like he overreacted, but to musicians the worst place to take a blow is your fingers. “It’s gonna be alright,” he cooed, taking her hand in his to blow the fingers. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“I’m so sorry, D-Sept,” Steve said for the twentieth time upon her return from the hospital. It was five in the morning and the buses were soon leaving.
“It’s alright, Stevo,” she said, sending him a sweet smile as she waved testingly with her bandaged fingers. “You didn’t mean to strain my fingers.”
“I’m still sorry, Dee.”
“Me too,” Cone added, looking at the floor.
D-Sept just leaned her head back against the shoulder of CC, who was still sitting beside her. “I get tons of insurance money and in a week I’ll be allowed to play again,” she said. “We’ll just have to come up with a temporary solution.”
CC nodded. “I’m sure Jo or I can take the bass. We can manage with one guitar.”
“Shit,” Steve said again. “I just screwed up your whole routine, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, Steve. With all the messing around I do I was bound to hurt my fingers sometime, right?” She sent him another brave smile.
Steve started pacing the ground of the hotel room, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought. Finally he came to a stop in front of the small singer, an idea almost visibly stamped onto his face. “You can use my pet,” he suggested happily.
“Your pet?” CC asked doubtingly. “I don’t think a dog or something’s gonna do anybody any good.”
“No no no, I’m talking about Cone,” he said, still smiling.
Cone looked up, suddenly a relieved look on his face. “Yeah, I’ll play,” he said.
“It wouldn’t give any label trouble since we’re the same label,” CC thought out loud. “If you can learn the routines in one day, it’ll work. Dee?”
She nodded. “I’ll teach you. Thanks a ton guys.”

“You don’t think you’ll get any back trouble from playing two sets and two sound checks?” D-Sept asked, effectively pausing the process of teaching the other bassist the routine of one of the AoD songs.
“Nah, not really.” He grinned. “I’m not nearly as scrawny as I look.”
She just shrugged. “I just think my back would be killing me. But then again you’re a guy.” She smiled. “You’re supposed to be stronger.” She heaved her legs up under her slightly cleft chin, making herself small in the end of CC’s bunk, which they’d occupied for the day, the rest of AoD sitting in the main living area of the bus as they sped along the high way of southern USA, Cone having joined her on the girls’ bus for the day to learn the bass patterns.
“I guess,” he replied, smiling back.
“So…” D-Sept said, having decided to finally get to know the guy better. “Which venue would you rather play? Docklands or Brixton?” she finally asked, having been unable to come up with a better question.
“I don’t know…” He trailed off. “I’ve heard Brixton Academy is awesome if you can sell out and fill it completely. And I really like the old theatres.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, fiddling with her bandage. “It’s like a yesterday-meets-today-meets-tomorrow feel when you play there.” She smiled slightly, discreetly watching the movements of his long fingers playing with the strings of his bass, the concentrated look to his slightly pale, slim face, the intense ice blue eyes, the pointed nose and the full reddish lips, very expressive for a guy. “Huh?” she said, suddenly realising he’d been talking.
“Which would you prefer to play?” he repeated, trying unsuccessfully to hide a self-satisfied grin as a light blush rose on her cheeks.
“I don’t know. I’ve played both, I’ve seen shows at both, I’ll play and watch shows at both again and they’re just pretty much the same to me. I mean yes, of course they’re some of the best and largest venues in London, and being from London and everything we can easily fill both and they’re awesome to play, but…” She bit her lip in thought. “In London I prefer playing the pubs I guess. It’s what we’ve done since I was twelve or thirteen and it’s what bands like Sex Pistols and Siouxie Sioux and the Banshees and the Clash did before us. It’s got a whole different history.”
He nodded. “I think I can understand that. Ajax’s got nothing like that, though.”
“Yeah. I guess London’s just unique when it comes down to punk rock history.”
“Definitely,” he agreed, still nodding. “I wish I’d been there once with time to actually look around without worrying about having to play a show.”
“Look me up if you get there sometime,” she grinned. “I’ll give you a guided tour if I’m in the neighbourhood.”
“You should be careful when giving out offers you don’t want to be held up on,” he scolded teasingly. “Let’s get on with this,” he added, pointing at the bass.
“Alright. We’re at the chorus, right?”
“Yeah. Now what?”
“Pump away on a straight E eight times. No, not that E, the one an octave over, you know the one on the A-string,” she instructed. “Yeah, that one. Just pump.” She followed the movement of his fingers, moving her own along with the rhythm. “Now go D, break, D, C#, pick C, pump away on C. Very simple, huh?”
“Very,” he agreed.
“I have to keep it simple if I want to be able to sing properly at the same time,” she explained with a shrug. “You can do your own variations if you want to, though.”
He nodded. “I was planning to.” He bit his lip, starting to play the line again. “How’s this?”
“It sounds good,” she complemented, nodding too. “Try taking the A from the D-string, though. I think that’d add a nice touch.”
“Will do,” he grinned, going over the line again. “I think I’ve got that now.”
“You’ll have to repeat it once, only ending on an E this time, and that’s that chorus.”
“Great. I was beginning to think this song had no end.”
“Oh it has to have. I’m planning on getting an hour’s sleep before we get there. I got nothing at all last night.”
“I know what you mean,” he said, strumming through the chorus again. “But this is kind of fun, though. I think I’m actually learning something new about handling the bass.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” D-Sept said, her face nearly falling. “I feel like I’ve not developed my bass-skills at all since I started singing.”
“Then you were a master-basser before I even picked up my first bass.” He smiled reassuringly. “No, this is ripping me back from complicated show-off patterns to just the heavy, simple, steady bass-technique I used to have. I admire you for having stuck with it.”
“It’s just because I’m not good enough for anything else,” the girl argued.
“That’s bull, Dee. It’s because you know what makes a great rock bass.”
“Thanks,” she finally muttered, feeling her cheeks heat up again. What was that blushing deal all about? Fucking twenty years old and blushing twice in a matter of a few minutes. She’d never even been one to blush. Bloody pathetic, D-Sept!
“You alright, Dee?” he asked concernedly, reaching out a hand to cup her chin, making her look at her.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, feeling how her face made moves to heat up even more. Suddenly an urge gripped her, making her reach out as well, gripping his heavily spiked hair as she pulled his face towards her, shuddering slightly as her lips finally reached his, feeling a sudden unanticipated dizziness and weightlessness until she finally realised he wasn’t responding. “Sorry,” she whispered, breaking away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s quite alright,” he said, smiling as he put the bass down to the floor. “I just wasn’t prepared is all,” he added as he leaned forward to capture her lips with his own once more, using his teeth to separate her lips, deepening the kiss as he slipped his tongue inside, starting a violent mouth wrestle as he lowered her down to the bunk on her back, if possible kissing her harder as his two and her one good hand started roaming the other’s body. She breathlessly started feeling for his belt buckle, finding it and starting to work on it with one hand.
Cone broke apart, gently probing her fingers away from his belt. “Dee…” he muttered uncertainly, clearly out of breath. “I really like you.”
“I like you too,” she whispered back, fighting to keep the hurt of rejection out of voice.
He nodded. “That’s why I think we should slow down. Actually I think we need to slow down if we don’t just want this to be another bang along the road. I know I’ve had a lot of one-night-adventures and I’m guessing you have too.” He bit his lip as she nodded slowly. “If there’s any chance of starting something with you…” He trailed off.
“Relationship wise?” she suggested.
He nodded. “If there’s any chance of that, I don’t think we should have sex yet.”
“Because for it to mean more than all the other times, we should get to know each other better first,” she finished.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “How’s that?”
“That’s good,” she finally answered, smiling.
“Good,” he concluded.
“Good,” she repeated, smiling wider. She bent forward and pecked his lips. “We should get on with the lesson, then,” she suggested.
He nodded, strapping the bass back on.

“Steve!” Dave yelled. “Stevo, where the fuck are you!” Only the fact that people just didn’t get lost or disappear in something as tiny as a tour bus kept Dave and Deryck looking for the wayward drummer, whom they’d seen nothing of since stopping at a Wal-Mart to get some lunch two hours earlier.
“Are you sure we got him on the bus?” Deryck asked uncertainly.
“Of course we did,” Dave assured, nearly as certain as he tried to sound. “I just can’t think of a place where we haven’t looked.”
“I’ll go look through the bunk room again,” the singer declared, walking to the end of the bus, where he quickly overlooked the messy room. He picked an empty beer off one of the bunks, throwing it into the trash as he looked under the curtains of Steve’s bunk once more. “Damnit Steve. This isn’t fucking hide-and-seek,” he muttered as he rolled them back in place.
“Deryck, come here,” he heard the distinct voice of the Sum 41 drummer from… underneath the bunks?
“Stevo what the fuck are you doing down there?” Deryck asked, opening the drawer under the bunks to reveal the young man lying crouched in the small space with a flashlight, a piece of paper and a pen.
“I’m writing a song,” he explained. “For Dee as an apology. I need your help.”
“You really don’t have to write Dee a song. She’s gonna be fine in a week and she’s not mad at you.” Seeing the stubborn look on the goofy face he sighed. “Alright, but you have to come up here.”
“No, no, you come down here.”
“In the drawer?”
“No, the room behind the drawer, you know when I said I kept losing my socks when I put them in that drawer?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s because the back of the drawer isn’t closed properly. There’s a small space behind it, really comfy when you bring some light and some blankets. Come on.”
Deryck heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes before he grabbed a blanket off Cone’s bunk. “Alright.”

An hour later the two deranged musicians came out, found Dave and an acoustic guitar and dragged both back into the now very cramped little room behind the drawer, finishing the song for the night.

“Good evening Oklahoma City!” D-Sept screamed into the mic before taking it out of its stand and into her gloved hand right hand. The black gloves effectively hid the bruises and bandages on the bad hand. She was casually wearing a pair of nearly hole-less jeans, a pair of khaki chucks and black and white striped sleeves were visible under the old army shirt with rolled up sleeves, its numerous patches and pins and the safety pins, which were the only thing holding the right sleeve, which had nearly been ripped off in a mosh pit a few years back, in place. “How’re you all feeling tonight?”
There was a roar of unidentifiable, but positive responses from the audience.
“Last night a friend of mine managed to strain four fingers on my left hand, so the only notes I can take on the bass is E, A, D and G unless we change the tuning. This is not a lasting solution, though, so we decided to find our own bass whore to play a couple of sets with us.”
Jo stepped up to her mic. “Who do we know, who’ll play bass for us for a week for a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream?”
Scattered screams of joy and surprise were sounding throughout the crowd until they finally gathered in chanting Cone’s name.
The bassist walked on stage with a grin on his face, took the microphone from D-Sept to address the masses. “Thank you, Oklahoma City! I intend to play so well they’ll have to feed me ice cream for the next couple of years!” he roared, flashing them a smile before he took a few steps back to stand slightly behind the singer, listening intently as Dev quickly clapped the rhythm with her sticks and followed the fast riff with a concentrated look on his face.
“I knew we had a good bassist,” Dave said with raised eyebrows from backstage, where he, Steve, Deryck and MEST was watching the set. “But I had no idea he was this good.”
“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “It’s not easy to learn a whole forty-five minutes’ set in one day and be able to play it properly.”
“Cone’s good,” Steve just replied. “But we still have to wait and see if he’s good enough for my song.”
“Steve,” Deryck said with a smile. “The song uses three chords. Somebody who’s played the bass for a week can make it sound nearly pro.”
“Don’t ruin my moment,” the drummer replied.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll… fucking ass fuck you,” he said, putting on his evil face as he went to pick up the much smaller guy, lifting him off his feet to swing him around, banging him into stuff.
“Stevo!” the singer yelled, trying to keep the laugh out of his voice. “Stevo let me go!”
Steve obeyed, letting him down so quickly that they both stumbled, falling into a mess on top of each other, being dizzy from the beers they’d secured themselves before the show.
“Cone is funner anyway,” Steve muttered, getting up.
“I don’t think ‘funner’ is even a word,” Jere said, blowing a black lock out of his eyes as he proceeded to check his beloved guitar, having banned the guitar techs from touching it.

The rest of the AoD set as well as the MEST set went quickly and now Sum 41 were on stage, getting ready to play Steve’s new song, having stuck the chords and lyrics into Cone’s hands just before the set.

D-Sept and Dev were standing backstage for once, having decided that it wouldn’t do any good to go moshing and risk hurting the bassist’s fingers further. The tunes of songs that were by now well-known to them were ringing through the small room.
“The next time Deryck says they can’t play, I’m going to kick his ass,” Dev proclaimed, tapping her hand against her knee to the rhythm of the drums.
D-Sept turned to look at her slowly, cocking her head as a smile spread over her face. “You fancy him,” she giggled.
“What?”
“You fucking like Deryck Whibley,” she laughed.
“Dee…” Dev started pleadingly, looking around her nervously.
D-Sept lifted her eyebrows, sending her a shrill glance.
“Yeah, okay…” the drummer finally admitted.
“I knew it!” the other girl screamed, jumping eagerly up and down.
“But Dee…” she trailed off, noticing that the singer wasn’t paying her any attention whatsoever. “Dee!” she said a little harder, putting a hand harshly on her friend’s shoulder. “You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell him.”
“Course Dev,” the short girl promised solemnly, fighting to get out of her hyped state. “I was just thinking that perhaps he’d be the one to… you know… pop your cherry.”
“Hush, Dee,” Dev whispered, running a hand through her purple hair as she looked cautiously around her again. “If that secret ever gets out, you’re dead.”
“Don’t worry, Devil, all your secrets are safe with me,” D-Sept said earnestly, trying to keep her face straight.
“I swear Dee, sometimes that song fits you perfectly,” Dev muttered meanly, referring to ‘No Brains’, which was coming to its end on stage.
“Fuck you,” the black-haired girl replied randomly. “If I could use both my hands, I’d have your bloody arse on a platter.”
“Good thing you can’t then,” the drummer said, shrugging.
“Hey!” the singer suddenly said, holding up a gloved hand. “I haven’t heard that riff before.”
Dev listened for a moment, then shook her head. “Me neither,” she finally agreed.
“Good evening, unclefuckers!” somebody on stage screamed.
“That’s not Deryck,” Dev noted.
“That’s Steve,” D-Sept agreed, nodding. “And he so should never have been allowed to watch South Park.”
“Today I, with the help of MY band, have written a song to a good friend of mine, whose fingers I accidentally bruised last night. Dee, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry D-Sept
I never meant to hurt you
I never meant to make you cry
But tonight I was lending you my bassist

With the lent tune ending the riff started over again.
“Damn him for using fucking Eminem,” D-Sept laughed, a smile spreading across her face.
“It’s kind of cute, though,” Dev said with a laugh.

You’re cuter than my sister
Play the bass way better too
You’ve got Deryck’s hair
And a sense of my humour
You’re fucking cool
And I didn’t want to wreck your fingers

“He’s not doing that, is he?” D-Sept asked backstage.
“It would seem so,” the female drummer said with a laugh.

“So tonight went really well,” CC concluded from her seat as she reached into her shopping bag for a candy bar.
“Yeah,” Jo agreed with a smile as she started sipping her seemingly innocent chocolate milk. “Cone was good.”
“Definitely,” D-Sept agreed from the floor where she was pouring Vodka into the water-pipe. “He’s a quick learner.”
“So all you did was playing bass?” Jo asked.
“Pretty much, yeah,” the singer asked, making a face at her own glass of ‘chocolate milk’ before finally daring to reach out to take a sip. “Hey! This shit isn’t nearly as bad as I remembered,” she exclaimed, trying desperately to change the subject.
“Then why was it very quiet at times?” Dev asked, getting a smug look on her face.
“We talked!” D-Sept answered defensively, starting to stuff the pipe, ignoring the three pairs of sceptically raised eyebrows and accusing eyes in front of her. What had really happened? They’d kissed. She’d literally kissed hundreds of guys before, so what made this different? He wasn’t playing hard to get, he just wanted to be serious. As in a relationship. The concept of those words scared her. She’d not been in a serious relationship since she was sixteen, and that hadn’t exactly worked out too well. And she was definitely not sure she’d be ready for a relationship. She was too messed up. So what on Earth had possessed her to go along with it? Perhaps she’d realised that if she couldn’t have a half-proper relationship to someone at the age of twenty, she’d never be able to. Perhaps she’d felt sorry for him, she liked him after all. Perhaps she liked him as in liked him, liked him. Perhaps it was just because he had a cute arse. Yeah. For now she’d settle on that one. It was, after all, the only option she was even slightly comfortable with.

“What are you thinking about?” Deryck asked Cone, sitting down next to the unusually quiet bassist.
“Nothing,” the other guy muttered, shaking his heavily spiked dark head. He sighed. “I think I may have completely screwed things up with D-Sept.”
“What do you mean?” Deryck probed, looking intently into the slightly lowered ice blue eyes.
“I like her, but you already know that. Today, when we were practicing the bass, we ended up… kissing.”
“Kissing?”
“I guess ‘making out’ is more of a correct description.”
“Alright,” Deryck muttered, shaking the disturbing mental image out of his head.
“She was going to take my pants off when I told her to stop.”
The singer let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, annoyed by his own stupid over-protectiveness. Cone and D-Sept were adults. They could take care of themselves, damnit. “I had no idea you knew how to say ‘no’ in that situation,” he finally said, attempting to make a joke of it.
“Me neither,” Cone said, shaking his head again. “But I guess I just… yeah, I like her. A lot. I don’t think I’ve had anything feel this right since… I don’t think I ever had. But I’m afraid I screwed it.”
“How could not having sex before the first date screw it up?”
“Come on, Der, she’s like your twin in that concept, completely sex fixated. She’s not only going to think I’m a pussy now, but also that there’s something wrong with her.”
“I think you need to give her a little credit now. She’s a hell of a lot stronger than you just implied,” Deryck corrected, not knowing why he thought he knew and understood the girl so well.
“I just wanted it to be perfect for her. And that bunkroom with a fucking bass guitar was not perfect.”
“If that’s all, then it shouldn’t be too hard to fix it.”
“Well… we somehow ended up talking about relationships.”
“Generally or with you two?”
“Us.” Cone took a deep breath.
“So you suggested a relationship? You’re so fucked.”
“I didn’t actually say the word. She did. I only implied.”
“This still can’t be good,” Deryck breathed. “What’d she say?”
“’Good’. I think we’re actually together now. But it’s still screwed long-term wise.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I scared off her by trying to get close. It would’ve worked so much better if I’d just had casual sex with her and let it evolve.”
“I do not need to hear that,” Deryck muttered. “But you’ve just got to get the best out of what you got. You can always say you were on something.”
“Hah! And what’s with the sudden fear of graphicness?”
“I have no clue.” The singer closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. “I have no fucking clue,” he repeated.

A/N: Hey people, reviews would be nice... I keep checking and people keep reading, but nobody leaves a fucking note. One single review and I'll put the next chapter up immediately, alright?
Elle:(
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Ashes of Dreams