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Untitled	By : LostWithoutASoul Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > REM Views: 1616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of REM. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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[Uhm... I don't know, this might be a little confusing, but it's PG-13 for dropping the f-bomb about once evearagaragraph.. For those of you who don't know REM, Michael is the vocalist, Peter is the guitarist, and Mike is the pianist/back-up vocalist/bassist.. he does a little bit of everything. Yeah, read/respond please.. There could or could not be more to this later.. Thanks =)]

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I stood at the door. My hands were shaking violently, as I stared at that door. There was nothing particularly special about it. It was white, with golden numbers hanging lopsidedly forming the number 31. I reached up, and touched the numbers, though quickly pulled my hands away, as though the door was made of fire. The envelope in my hand was the reason I was standing in front of this door… His door. This envelope clutched tightly in my hands, somewhat dampened with sweat. Yes, I was nervous. Heh, fucking nervous as hell. I could barely stand up; just the thought alone was making my knees weak. The problem was did I really want to tell him? Well, I couldn’t tell him myself. I was a chicken. I couldn’t let on how I felt for anyone with my own words. It would come out as though it were a three year old trying to explain to another their imaginary friend. It was just a useless attempt, something that I couldn’t do. The worst of it was he was one of my best friends… I could fuck it all over by telling him. Telling him how I…

So it left me where I started. Trying to think it through just left me at square one. I had written it out, my messy handwriting barely visible. Only those very close to me – Michael and Peter – could read it. It was more of a scratch then an actual writing. But it was there; written on the paper, in the envelope, in my hand… back to the question: what to do with this envelope. His name was written on it. That part I had taken care to write in a nice, legible script. I wanted him to know that I cared. That it was a sign; a sign that I truly did love him.

Love… it was such a scary thought. To think that I could love one of my best friends, mentors… That and I was scared shitless of actually conceiving the thought of loving someone. I didn’t really want to love him. Hell, I tried for years to tell myself that I didn’t love him. And so the opposite happened, just proving that I loved him even more then before. He puts himself into everything he does. And in doing so, everyone, in a sense, has a piece of him. I wish everyone could get to know him likeo, bo, but then I’d have a lot more people to ward off… people a lot more dangerous then the door I was standing in front of.

I lifted my hand to knock, but quickly threw it back to my side. I looked up and down the hall, as if this was something so forbidden that I was doing. As if it was illegal. You fucking pansy, a voice in my head said to me, just get it the fuck over with so you can deal with the rejection. I looked up and down the hallway again. I lifted my fist, and actually knocked this time. My heart immediately jumped into my throat, and I started fixatedly at the numbers on the door. I jumped when the door opened, and his face appeared. God, I wished I could just take him into my arms, tell him that I loved him…

“What’s up?” Michael said, sounding preoccupied.

Words failed me, as I stood dumbly and stared at him.

“Mike?” he said, my name falling over his lips, sounding so right, so perfect…

Oh God, Michael, I love you now more then I ever have in my fucking life.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” his tone went quickly from sounding far away to a concerned man who I had the fortune of befriending.

I zapped back to reality. I was staring at him, I realize, and he was staring oddly back.

“Hey, is everything okay out here?” a voice from within the small hotel room called. A moment later a man decked in a towel appeared, staring at Michael, then at me.

I froze, my heart taking a nose drive from my throat to my stomach. “Oh…” I gulped, “Peter…”

A small smile rose onto his face, “Hey, Mike…”

Michael stood awkwardly between us. “Mike, what’s wrong?” Michael asked again, sounding a mix of concerned and embarrassed.

I quickly threw my hands behind my back, concealing the envelope from his view. “I…” I gulped again, fighting off the wave of tears I felt floating behind my eyes, “I… I didn’t have any… uh…” I laughed nervously, “You know, I don’t even remember why the hell I came here,” my voice cracking violently. “I’ll just head back, if I think of it, I’ll come back.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, waving my hand. “Fine…”

Michael gave me an odd look, before sighing slightly, “Okay,” he rejoined, “I’ll see you later then.
Maybe we can get coffee tomorrow, or something?”

I nodded once again, fearing I would break down and cry if I attempted to speak. I shuffled my feet back down to my room, a small sob emitting from my lips. I quickly glanced over my shoulder to see if Michael was still standing over me, but alas, I was not met with the stare of his piercing eyes. Instead, I was met with a long dark hallway. A hallway that seemed to have no light at the end, an everlasting darkness that gave me the everlasting assumption I would be forced to watch life happen around me from the sidelines. Things were not meant to happen to me, but to those closest to me, and I was destined to sit at the fucking edge of everything and hope it all washed over. But that was me… stuck somewhere in between everything, always watching what was going on, but never taking action. But that was me… letting life happen.
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