Sonata

"I-I-I'm Corey!"

And now you meet the boy who looks exactly like Oliver.
It's a blunt way to state such an observation, but that was the mere thought skidding across my brain's pavement when he bounced over to everyone. It was the next closest thing to breathing; the guys and I sitting at the bar drinking, and it felt as if we had gotten hockey punched. His aura was that of an ecstatic nature, and it definitely spiked the activity of our mellow environment.

My back had been turned away from the people who were there, and Oli sat in front of me. This is what influenced me to glance over my shoulder in the first place, when his eyes widened exponentially to moons while surrounded by his solar system of peers, and this new planet arrived.
One that was, no joke, identical in features.

It has been expressed that I was baffled when it was revealed that Oli and Tom were blood. This new engagement, however, had me wondering if there was a possibility that their mom and dad couldn't handle the idea of two Olivers, shipped Corey to a foster family, and found Tom somewhere in the process.

That would explain their bipolar personalities.

As I went back and forth between both boys, they both had stunned profiles and the symptoms of shock: slacked jaws, wide eyes, and a problem with communication.

The other boys weren't giving any attention to this seemingly reunion due to their light-hearted humor being tickled, not to mention the alcohol.
They were the biggest binge drinkers I had ever seen.
Even in a moving vehicle, where our lives were at an even higher risk because they were still adjusting to the roads of America, those fucking passengers would have a bottle glued to their palms; chuckling about the same stupid shit, while a potential death sentence would speed by again.

Never teaching those boys a lesson by sending them to the morgue.

It seemed that their only interest was to become intoxicated idiots on their way to a club that would keep them as inebriated. They were doing a spectacular job at the moment, when Corey was staring like he was in the presence of his idol, and Oli like he were in the presence of the supernatural.

He grabbed for his drink absentmindedly, which was pathetically on the other side of the table to my slight embarrassment, and I ended picking it up for him and placing it in the grip made by his loose fingers.

Just in case he were likely to cause an accident, which I didn't doubt, I even went as far as to secure his hold on the glass when their eye talking was running thin and actual, fluent statements needed to be exchanged.
Corey was the first to initiate a conversation, and even at that attempt, it was only that; an attempt.

His words were like dyslexia to my ears as he babbled about the parting of the red sea as he stood in front of Oli, a so-called "legend" that was his only hope in a community that had lost its mind, and he had thought about running away so many times, but had no intelligible idea of where to go.

This wasn't the first time I had witnessed this happening.
I mean sure, all the kids had that same look, and the same speech in different variations, and they all recited it with equal passion as their grins reached their ears and they took small steps to get closer to Oliver.

Corey was no different, but he left his hero dumbfounded by the resemblance, which gave them a spider threaded bond, and in fact, made Corey a new interaction to come in contact with.

I had always had a small curiosity for what it would exactly feel like to come face to face with a mirror that could actually make clashing movements from what you initially instructed, and had an altered name. A total stranger that also possessed the most familiarity you've ever felt.
Did it take all of those people so long to recover from a discovery?
Because Oli was taking forever.

"I mean, you saved my life man. With your music, I just felt so...alive, more than I have since they took everything away. I don't know how I could ever thank you, you've helped me so much."

Corey's eyes were sparkling with admiration to a man who was looking back in amazement, sprinkled with hazed eyes; hinting at his alcohol level. He finally seemed to snap out of it when Nicholls hit him on the shoulder blade and made him gasp in shock. Those glazed eyes rolled around in their sockets for a moment before he smiled and held his right hand up; signaling that he was either okay, or being pledged into the boy scouts.

Kean, sitting to my right, glanced behind his chair after Corey had been standing there and took in his appearance. One by one, from Kean to Curtis, the rest of them had the realization click in their heads, and imitated the previous Oli.

"Yeh look jus' like 'im."

Corey beamed in Lee's direction; the largest smile.

"Really, you think so? I mean, a lot of people come up and ask me if I am, and sometimes I'm even allowed to get in here past everyone else. It's crazy to look like your idol."

It was so damn crippling.
I was surprised that people weren't flocking by the dozens to try and worship him, then come to find out it wasn't Oli. The only contrasts between the boys was their outfits of choice, and minor physical differences. Like for one thing, Corey was fatter than him, but you could put me next to Oli and say the same thing.

He was a twig, and Corey was a branch.

Also, Oli never wore long sleeved shirts, for the sole reason was flaunting his permanent artwork. Technically, you could say that he had sleeves all the time. A colorful display of pictures that no fabric could portray. Corey wore a sweater that would soon be hastily thrown to the side because of the increased temperature of the mosh pit.

This must have been his first time, because once you come back for a second, girls decide to dress in tube tops and shirts while the men would be in wife beaters. I could already see perspiration forming at the top of his forehead, and other beads of sweat around the framing of his face.

Irregardless of being on the borderline of dehydration, he was on the top of his own world. I chuckled when my eyes approached Curtis, who was looking ahead like he's witnessing a ghost encounter. No others around us had even noticed what was occurring.

After a while, everyone becomes accustomed to the band's presence and just goes about their business before it's time to get as close to the stage so they can dance their asses off. It was always the newbies that would shit a brick and crowd around our table.

Either that, or a bunch of sluts.

Yeah, you surely didn't forget about that aspect, did you?
In a perfect world, only sweaty, kinetic induced guys would be in the club wanting to only do that male handshake really quickly and pass a few words back and forth, before they were on their way to the middle of the cemented center of the room. None of the boys are gay, or more specifically Oli, so there would never be mental tension on my part.

Of course, this wasn't so.

There were bimbos out the ass of the gathering, and none with a shy bone in their plastic bodies. They would saunter their way over; asses swinging like a vine, and pucker their lips towards their prey: my boys, and the worst was the fact that they didn't look back in repulsion.

You couldn't assume anything else considering their brain was below their belt.

The testosterone levels would sky-rocket out of the building and deep in the atmosphere, where it could never be retrieved. I didn't allow it to get that far though, because once it was altered that Oli was on edge, I'd put my hand on his thigh and squeeze it continuously; a mere massage, but enough to keep his mind on me.
If worse, I'd whisper in his ear, to which he'd smirk back and mutter something to me, or kiss my lips.
So not only was it satisfying the both of us, but also showing those dumb bitches that he was taken, and happily so.

Most of them would leave after that, or even have the mindset to stay around a bit and flirt with one of the others. Lee and Nicholls were interested, Curtis wasn't, and Kean would be the one to end up winning them over, due to his outstanding experience in that social genre.

I talk about that characteristic I know from each of them in great detail only because time was against me, and once again, another tart was coming our way.
She was the poster girl for "hooker" and smiled with blow job lips, opening a mouth that has felt more dicks than most to say hello in a voice that belonged to innocence. I knew who she was after immediately, and hoped to got that he wouldn't give in.

"Hey,"
She trailed off, not even equipped with the knowledge of his name.

I looked over at him sadly, in the pathetic sense of the word. He rolled his eyes dramatically, already tired of the bullshit of some skank approaching him without knowing him as a person, and only acknowledged his success.

"Meh name's Curtis."

It was completely unenthusiastic; lacking no meaning other than one that howled "step off", and her promiscuous smile had slightly faded. She must have been one of the hotter girls, for the boys stared at her liked they stared at Corey, but with very contrary thoughts. And while on the subject of Corey, he hadn't left yet. He had still been kissing Oli's ass when the bitch arrived, and turned into a salivating dog. They all wanted to take her home tonight, and the one she was paying the attention to was the only one that couldn't give a flying fuck.

He picked up his beer and gulped down the rest of its substance, which I found out one day was only spit, and swallowed with a smack of his lips; this chick only wishing that it would be against her own. He looked over to the side; pretending to be interested in anything going on by the stage, except for someone who was practically throwing themselves at him.

As the time went by, and she realized that he wasn't giving her the time of day, her smile had completely vanished. We sat in a strong tension as we knew that something more would happen, or words would be said that weren't very pretty.

She flipped her hair behind her shoulder, and composed an expression of determination, and even pulled her shirt down a little more and stepped closer to his body, in an obvious hope to win him over with parts that weren't given by God.

"So, I've always liked the drummers in the band. They're just so sexy."
The last part was whispered in his ear, but loudly enough to hear.

Like we wanted to catch what a whore she was.
Trust me, it was well caught before that point.

Nicholls let his jaw drop even more as she had confessed this, except to the wrong person. Oh, don't you dare fall for that.
I have to say that I was impressed with his will power to just ignore her entirely. He didn't supply her with a face of disgust, a glare; anything, but he simply acted as though she were a phantom, and her come ons were transparent, and still pondering cluelessly over his course of action, a light flickered, and it occurred to me that this was the only way.
Like when your mother would tell you to simply ignore the bullies at school and they'll eventually go away.

Deny the sluts, and they're on to the next guy.

Curtis had embraced this idea full heartedly, and instead of the desired goal of her stalking off, she only tried harder. I sat baffled as she grabbed for an empty chair from a neighboring table and shuffled it towards us; the legs screeching against the scuffed, alcohol and spit coated tile floor with a harshness not even close in comparison to her sudden action.

The other guys sported the same look as I, and even Tom was peering over from his safe spot at the near location of the merch table; curious and silent. The bitch popped a squat in the seat, even as Corey still stood behind Kean; ironic because he was far more acceptable to hang at the table than she was. Her smirk returned, to my disdain, and it didn't stop me from giving her a dirty look.
It seemed that another crazy was in our presence.

"Are you shy?"
She said in a very different tone; one of delicacy and understanding; two aspects of attitude that I seriously doubted she possessed.

It wasn't until she slowly ran her hand down his thigh that she ignited a reaction. His eyes widened, and as if on immediate instinct, he swatted it away and barked that she needs to leave, and that she wasn't even invited to sit at our table in the first place.
From across me, I could hear Oli snickering, along with Lee and Nicholls, and if I could hear it, surely everyone including the assertive girl could also.

This was gasoline to a bonfire when she frowned at the huge plate of dislike she was served, and even Curtis joined in with the chuckling. She finally huffed and stomped off when we all started laughing hysterically at her ridiculous expectations of giving him a blow job.

"Tha's Kantarli's job, 'eh mate?"

Lee teased playfully, only making the laughter more severe.

"Oi, watch it Malia, she means more teh meh than tha', an' that whore would neva leave."

"Yeah man, that skank wouldn't fuck off!"
Corey bellowed; on an ecstasy of enthusiasm.

We all stopped, mid-thought, to stare at him in dead silence. It was one of those comedic moments, where the out casted character was somehow joining in on the gang's joke, and when he would try to input to the humor; incorporate his fair share with some wit, the other characters would cease everything just to give him a questioning look, to which he would awkwardly look away or instantly be plagued with timidness.

He defied all predictions against him and continued to beam brightly as though we were cheering over his funny statement and carrying him on our shoulders.
Because of his unbelievable positive energy, everyone got back into the light feeling of the situation, and agreed with him.

Oli was the only one who had stopped his laughs for good and gazed at Corey with a vast curiosity; his eyes flooding in a new wonder that he had certainly appreciated. I hadn't seen that before that moment, but something told me that he had grown quite fond of Corey at such an early time.

"Coreh, sit ova 'ere. Good thing tha' 'ore pulled up a chair."