Sonata

Both male and females are aware that there is a certain code specifically for the differentiating genders. No one is really sure about how far these unspoken "rules" had pawned so many lives, but considering that they had, indeed, never been voiced aloud, we can only guess it had been since people had started, well...existing. Since a pack of ladies decided to congregate into a clique, and once a couple of mates decided to join together to hunt for food for their families.

Of course, these regulations and boundaries had no choice but to evolve with time and its inhabitants in order to be parallel with the current status quo, so here's a modernized version of the list:

1) Stay Away From the Exs.
This is in regards to both sides. If your friend gets dumped or is the one doing the dumping, you shouldn't ever assume that going for their fragile mate straight after is even a mildly good idea. If they kicked their girlfriend or boyfriend to the curb and see you, their buddy, with your arm around that same person: Expect the appearance of a fire-breathing human.

That's a completely brainless stunt to pull, yet many people act as though they had those lobotomies. The only way this can possibly be alright totally depends on gender preference. If your friend breaks up with her boyfriend because he is gay, and you just happen to be another boy with common sexual orientation and a crush on him, well then you might just be in luck.

Butt fuck the shit out of him and your best girl friend should have no issues.

2) Steer Clear of the Potential.
Again, this is a unisex rule. Once your friend has eyes from someone, consider anything between you and that person strictly cordial. The only contact the two of you can engage in is a purely platonic handshake, for anything more will sprout dangerous suspicion, because the initial mindset is that if you take the next step to hugs, you'll lead up to kisses, which then runs up to fucking them senselessly.

The human conscience doesn't have time for your "but we're just friends" bullshit.

Once your motives are questioned by your overly envious friend, they will forever always. You can't rewind, and the only way to end that drama is to show them they've been right all along, rip off your clothes, and bang their crush.
Crushing them.

Then you end a friendship that was deemed 'doomed' the moment you felt something for the same person. Of course, if you keep your naughty temptations under wraps, you can watch them be together and commit internal suicide, but don't think you'll have your chance with them soon once the relationship is over. Not only would that make you the biggest dick on the planet, but this transcends to rule #1, and we know how that goes.

Simply put: Go after someone your friends don't like, and then there should hold a bigger possibility for smooth sailing.

3) Look Good For the Boys.
This is strictly for the male genitalia because girls have no problem telling their other boobed friends (no, not your obese brother), about how they're continuously fucked over. It's always the topic of discussion actually, and the more tears you spill and them most donated determines if you're the talk of the day.

The majority of females live off of this false sense of attention, and always have a new and exponentially increasingly tragic story to share. They are more engrossed in melancholy than any other genres in their constantly revolving world, and the more traumatizing, the better.

There could also be the possibility, however, that your girlfriends don't actually sympathize with the bitch ass motives of your douche bag boyfriend either because they're jealous that you're in a relationship at all or secretly despise you. They just have to play a caring role so their cunt isn't exposed.

They don't want the true colors to be out in the open because they would lose their posse; resulting in social isolation, and no one wants to be alone.

This is a great transition to the nature of men (sometimes perceived as 'boys'). Since the two species encompass contrasting anatomies, it only makes sense that they bare differentiating perspectives on certain aspects of life.

This goes for getting attention from their peers, also.

Instead of sharing their pain, males unveil their numerous strategies and accomplishments, particularly concerning the opposite sex. That's right: they talk about their supposed 'ways with women' while chicks cry about how they were done wrong by one asshole or another. It's a matter of pride for guys, because if one of them just ran up to their group crying his eyes out about his lady breaking his heart, they'll call him a pussy and split.

Known for being more masculine of the two sexes means they can only convey success and strength. There is no room for any sign of estrogen within such an airtight testosterone bubble.

Guys will even fabricate instances where they ended reigning supreme in order to come out as the better man. Girls do the same in their sadder situations, so essentially, you could say that all human beings lie in order to survive; remain on top so they can't submerge to the bottom.

These so-called 'rules' probably mean close to nothing to you because 1) You knew them already, or at least, most of them depending on what gender you are, and 2) Because it seems to hold no relevance to the story. These boundaries, I warn you, mean everything, especially for Oli the day after his attempted sex with his girlfriend.

At that time, he was back in his own household; the peak of the afternoon in place, and lunch in order. According to past circumstances, 'lunch' could bring your mind to a certain confrontation that had results equally as damaging as the average lady's daily inventions. This lunch, however, held only mediocrity to the band's life.

They were all located in the living room watching trashy television, except for Curtis and Lee. The two were out working; Lee at the local blockbuster, and Curtis at a grocery store. If that sounds odd, they all actually had those duties except for the Sykes brothers (they were still fully financially supported by their parents).

As for the others: if they were going to live in their friend's house like that, they needed to pay their rent. It was only $50 each, and really helped out Carol and Ian with the ridiculous amount of food, etc. It was as though they had six children instead of two, and didn't mind as long as each could carry his own weight. They did so too; working part-time and leaving the night available for their real duty.

They had grown to be quite a happy pack with family dinners that were more effervescent and glowing, and even random roamings around the house and gatherings by the television caused everyone's sense of personal community to naturally boost. But just like every group of people, they become easily bothered some days by their companions.

It's unavoidable.
You cannot help it.

So yes, the Sykes/Nicholls/Kean/Ward/Malia clan got beneath one another's skin, but it would pass; forgiven and forgotten.

Matthew Kean was suffering from one of those slumps during this lunchtime, so the other boys had a sense to stay away from sarcasm in his territory. It wasn't even supposed to be time to appropriately eat; it was merely noon and Tom walked out of the living room to make himself a sandwich.

Anyone who has ever been endowed into a tribe of friends knows to never get up to get anything because your peers will yell their requests for the same stuff you want or various other items. It always proves how lazy the human race is, but hey, haven't you done the same? So what was a nervous Tom to do but obey and give in to the pressure, so he figured out all of their sandwich preferences, and like a soccer mom, he filled out a gamut of orders depending on the carnivore or his herbivore blood brother.

Oli and the two Matts sat on the furniture impatiently with their immense hunger on its ovulation cycle. The older Sykes lay very comfortably across the main couch with his feet barely reaching the other end and clad in dark plaid pajama bottoms and a ragged kiss band tee; hair flaring out past his ears and messy.

His partner in crime sat across at a distance on a black pleather bean bag closer to the T.V., good for video game playing and watching shows clearly due to being near sighted (among other things). Kean, stuck in his stubborn stupor, had his back firmly against the beige love seat he occupied with his arms crossed loosely while staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

The only astronomy gained was by attempting to make pictures out of the popcorn ceiling. He was in a slump of wanting something badly but having no idea what. To search through his empty mind for an answer he was never bound to reach was actively frustrating, and in a childish fashion only a boy can imitate, he was pouting quietly, yet loud in his body language.

Everyone knew not to fuck with Kean when he was silent like that, and best left alone in instances as such. The boys knew it was especially bad when he gave zero feedback on Oli's third rule breaking. They obviously didn't know that he was a filthy liar, but one would have thought that their bassist would be fully committed in a conversation about sex.

Definitely if the subject was Evelyn.

He couldn't deny that the bird was absolutely stunning, and hanging out with her on an almost daily-basis proved that she held brains and a sense of humor as well. Even though his friend had snagged her didn't mean he couldn't still look just as long as no one caught him. He had had years of experience with women and to the extreme of simply watching them undetected.

Never acting upon his observations; just keeping his eyes busy with fantasies. They say you violate someone in the worst way in your head. Kean imagined fucking her in dozens of scenarios and many positions in a second's time of her contagious smile or her apparel of a dress. You could say that he had already broken down the barriers of rule 1, but only mentally. Again, he had no real intentions to actually go after his friend's girl, but she was a nice piece of ass to stare at.

That was the kind of guy he was anyway: one who wouldn't stick around a broad for too long before another caught his attention.

Evelyn was just there as a buffer to pass the time. Look, but don't fucking touch.

Would it be surprising to discover that all of the band did this, even right down to quiet Thomas? To some degree or another, they really had. Lee only for a fleeting moment to Kean watching her when there was no one else, the boys thought of her attractively.
It was obvious that they would be interested in Oli's current story

about how he banged Evelyn even though it was bullshit.

Kean secretly did care just as they predicted, but gave no wanting to allow it to show on his face, for when in a negative attitude grows an odd defiance to be interested and have it be seen. He just admired the ceiling above and traced dogs and stars as the singer mainly talked with the more participating Matt.

"So yeh relleh banged 'er Olleh?"
He asked in amazement; as though the concept was stamped foreign on the intimate relationship, ironically.

As though it were incomprehensible for Oli to complete the act of fornication with Evelyn, his own girlfriend. Maybe he just didn't picture it happening, or wondered how it could be done because he was always in their presence. He knew that they never had alone time, or so he thought.

"Was she 'ere las' night?"

"Neigh, I drove teh 'er's."

This puzzled Matt deeply; the last time Oli drove, he hit the breaks on the highway for driving somewhat slowly in the first place. There was no way he would take the van by himself and go all the way to Evelyn's house just to fuck her. No one could be that desperate.

"Drove? Yeh can't even feckin' drive."

"Coreh's been teachin' meh. I did bloody good too."

Nicholls blinked and stared at his friend. He was not made aware of this, and he wondered if anyone else had either. Kean still looked up; fully conscious and functioning but with his neck craned back and relaxation apparent in his features.

Did Tom know?
Did Lee and Curtis?

Oli and Corey must have been hanging out a lot, considering that Oli would leave the house for quite some duration, even hours at a time now that Matt actually took notice of it. He just sort of brushed it off before; not really giving a damn if he just needed some fresh air or alone time. Things had been quite tense between them all lately due to their shows becoming larger and larger and worried that they were on the edge of getting caught.

They had already mildly escaped exposure at their old venue, and it was only a matter of time and loose lips before they didn't move fast enough and were put behind bars. That reality could make anyone irritable and want to fuck their partner just to rid from all the surface stress.
If only Matt knew it was lies and what really happened the other night.

Tom finally entered the room, a silver tray secured in both hands, and walking gently across the carpet to make it to the coffee table.

Oli laughed at his brother's resemblance to a house maid and made a comment that he was his bitch. The baby Sykes glared at the idiot he was related to, but refrained from throwing an insult right back because he didn't want to drop or have Oli hit the tray out of his grasps; watching all the food he invested time in to tumble to the ground and divide.

That genre of unluckiness always plagues his life in one way or another: his pants have been put on backwards at least three times where other people have actually seen it, he's forgotten things he's needed more times than he could remember, and he's broken enough glass and porcelain than anyone ever should.

Tom Sykes was just a clumsy, out-of-the-loop type of person; one that you wouldn't trust to do any of your errands that included special care. It's not that it was a choice for him to be forgetful of simple tasks, it was just...him. It contributed to his shy personality because he was afraid that anyone new that came into his life wouldn't like him because they didn't know him.

He could truly be himself around Oli and the guys; his family. They were aware of his nature and since they still accepted him, he had no internal fights with himself. He was slowly becoming this okay with Evelyn, considering that she was one of the most open-minded girls he had met. She never scrutinized Tom in a negative way, and he was relieved by it.

He placed the tray of sandwiches on the glass table and one by one, they all grabbed the ones that look like their own, even Kean, who's was even on wheat bread because it was his favorite. He looked at it strangely at first, then turned to Tom, who shrugged his shoulders and turned bashful again.

"You say you like wheat better than white bread, and we had some, so...yeah."

Even though Matt was still mad at himself for his mysterious reasons, he was stunned and impressed by this small remembrance. If there was one thing that Tom didn't get enough credit for it was his ability to recall seemingly meaningless information such as that.

You couldn't count on him to bring you a sandwich, but you could bet that he'd make it right and then some.

Although, this time, he brought them food without falling on his ass as it lay all around him, so his overall performance was commendable. The others had no complaints about the service and ate in temporary silence. Some people talk and eat, and some are invisible except for the sounds of them munching on ham and cheese.
Once Oli had gotten used to eating, he was the former.

"So, I drove all the way teh her flat...climbed up the feckin' ladder by the balcony. I was knockin' on the door fer awhile 'fore she answered, then, well, yeh know..."

It wasn't a necessary couple of sentences to utter, but it was most likely done in order to convince himself that it really happened that way instead of the real series it played out as. He paused every now and then to take another bite of his sandwich, and after he had finished with his statement, the other three were quiet. They weren't like him in the sense that they could fulfill their hunger and communicate simultaneously, but to satisfy Oli, Nicholls tried.

"An' no one caught yeh?"

He stayed quiet for just a split second before he shook his head.
"Nope, nota soul."

Matt nodded, unsuspecting, and continued gorging on his food.
No one had any suspicions; no one ever questioned Oli. He had an aura that screamed dominance without putting any effort into creating that facade. It was his bravery and natural leadership that gave him this reputation. Why would he put his streak-free record in danger by telling the actual truth?
Remember: Look Good For The Boys.

Once they were all done filling their stomachs with a shallow meal, Tom was a good momma's boy and picked up the tray to put in the sink; rinsed off and ready to go into the dishwasher. Nicholls turned away from the circle the four of them had made and watched the television.

This was the extent of their days. They never went out, only a night when the crowd was metaphorically calling their names all the way from the house. They couldn't go out in the daylight hours because when they tried, they were stared at in either hate or ignorance, or both.

Social vampires.

No one likes to be the bad center of attention, so they just decided to chill within their boundaries. Except, of course, Oli with Corey.

One would think that they were best friends, or Oli was just walking around with a mirror all the time. Although he would always take off, and the band never actually witnessed his twin anymore.

Nicholls guessed that Corey just waited patiently out on the patio for Oli to join him because he knew that he didn't like him. He probably thought that Matt was going to come running with a bat this time and finish the job.

He chuckled at the possibility that Corey was terrified of him, and was glad that he was. He should be, he thought to himself, and he reached around in his back pocket for his cigarettes. Finding them shortly after, he opened the pack and put one in between his lips.

"Oi, yeh know my mum's rules!"
Tom yelled from the kitchen.

Matt bolted his gaze to where the voice came from and saw Tom with his eyes on him knowingly, then pointed towards the front door. Nicholls sighed heavily and rose from his comfortable position on the bean bag; trailing his half-full stomach with him towards an exit where he could smoke in peace.

It was an ugly day, and perfectly fit the atmosphere within the household as well. Everyone was especially dead and burnt out from whatever mental sickness was going around in the air and he was growing to despise it. It was exhausting to live on days like this when he felt pretty good about himself and people around him were holding him down.

Even though the weather was atrocious without god throwing shit from the sky, he wanted to do something. He wanted to go back to the beginning when there was activities to engage in whenever he wanted and things were run by deranged powers.

Taking another breathe from his cancer stick, he realized that this sort of thinking was far too deep for the moment, and he just wanted to reach a place where he could chill out.
He would need to take some herbal medicine to achieve that.

The sun wasn't even reaching his eyes; didn't even have the opportunity to potentially blind him, for it was hidden behind thick clouds that were either organic or due to pollution.
Yeah, he knew all about the content of that pollution.

No children outside on tricycles, or screaming in the sprinklers; they would probably freeze mid-air if they attempted something like that. Matt didn't even have a coat on and it felt like he could die right there and let his cigarette burn out on its own from the temperature if his body was vulnerable enough to allow it.

No, it wanted him to keep living.

He couldn't hear his friends inside, and unless it was night time, you probably never really could. A certain sedation hovered over them during these times or concentration while in the middle of a video game, or just because they needed to be rested for the events that would surely unfold in hours time.

"Uh- oh shite."

Nicholls got out of his trance and focused his vision on the person a couple yards away by the driveway. It freaked him out the few times it's happened; thinking it was Oli when he was proved wrong otherwise by either the stature or the absence of tattoos.

This time, if it weren't for the attire, he wouldn't have known it was actually Corey. It was probably because he was out of it or the methane was clouding his brain, and he rationalized that that was the case. Although, if he wasn't mistaken, there was something about him that was different.
He looked tired.
He looked weak.
He looked...optimistic.

Matt was in no mood to have another confrontation with Oli Jr., but didn't feel like being too friendly either. He figured Corey was there for a reason and knew what to do, so he didn't have to guide him or even be overly polite. He just nodded to greet him; non-verbally telling him that he wasn't going to bite if he wasn't too agitating.

The message was conveyed well, and the fan cautiously walked closer with his chin down to watch where he stepped, even though it was a fraud. He knew exactly where he was going, but like a kid to a dangerous animal, you never want to look it in the eyes.

They stood right in front of each other; Matt looking over the arrival and the arrival suddenly hoping that he was a departure instead. He didn't want his ass kicked, he just wanted to hang out with Oli. Then with his luck his biggest enemy was right there on the fucking porch.

He just needed to stay cool and collected; portray relaxation and no harm, then maybe he could get away. The cigarette in Matt's mouth was down to the filter, but he didn't seem to notice it. He was too engrossed in other things.

"Yeh lookin' fer Olleh?"

Timidly, Corey nodded.

"I 'eard yeh taught 'im 'ow teh drive."

Nodded again.

"Yeh've been 'angin' out all this time?"

The boy's head was about to pop off.

Matt took into account the vanishing stick on his lips and let it drop by his feet; stepping on it to put it out. He didn't even realize he had slipped into interrogation mode until his victim was looking positively weirded out and scared. It was only Corey though, and history has shown that it could have the gaul to repeat itself.

"Are yeh gonna say anyfing?"

"N-...neigh."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"Why are yeh talkin' like tha?"

"Like wha'?"

"THAT. Yer not bri'ish."

He just looked away, cleared his throat, and shook his head.

"Guess I've been hanging around Oli too long."

It was obvious that it took an exaggerated effort to talk like the nationality he was, and this was another red flag to Matt. He didn't want to return to the paranoia that had a hold over him during that fateful lunch because even he acknowledged it as "Rock Bottom".
A combination of alcohol and worry caused him to make an utter embarrassment out of himself, and he didn't grow the balls to ever apologize for it. For him, it was enough to know that he would never do something like that again.

This was just ridiculous though.
It wasn't enough that Corey had completely intruded into their lives, got a tattoo matching his almost twin's, but now he was starting to talk like him?

I guess the question is...what would you do if you were Matt Nicholls? Or better, what would you do if your best friend just discovered their twin and now they were trying to be like him/her?
Would it drive you to insanity?
Would it drive you to protect your friend?
Would you shit bricks?

He simply chuckled softly, then louder and more violently until Corey was laughing with him; the same way someone does as a strategy to make the opposing side vulnerable and they don't even realize that the bastard was laughing in the first place because he has the pistol behind his back that will kill them.

Matt then stopped and frowned. He grabbed Corey by the collar and pushed him up against the side of the house. The boy gasped and began to breathe very heavily, needing excess oxygen just so he could attempt to calm himself down. Not this again, he thought miserably.

He knew there was going to be trouble from the second he saw Matt standing there smoking, especially now. He couldn't help it, and now he was going to be beaten to a pulp. His head was squished tightly against the brick exterior of the Sykes' place; feeling as though it

might pop like a flea between someone's fingernails.
He was the flea between Matt's fingernails.
Then he would be dead, but he couldn't die just yet.
He still had so much to live for.

"If yeh wanna be Olleh so bad, why don' yeh jus' feckin' kill'im?"

Corey's eyes bulged from his skull as he denied it repeatedly with a stutter.
"I-I-I-I don't!"

"STOP LYING YOU FUCK!"

He threw him against the front door without a thought and glared with venomous eyes. He couldn't stand scum like this; he had been warned that the band might come into contact with psychotics like this, but he had no idea that it would be this bad.
The worst part was that Oli was falling for it.
They all were.

The only one with about as much sense as Matt was Curtis, but to a lower degree. The one that everyone made fun of for being in his own light-hearted world was seeing things as Nicholls was. Everyone else was acting as if they just didn't give a fuck.

The front door handle began to jiggle frantically, and Matt loosened his grip on his prey's collar slightly as it was quickly pulled open; Oli standing there for a millisecond before he ducked out of the way and Corey fell backwards because nothing was supporting his back anymore.

Matt had let go and watched as Corey thrashed for a brief time until Oli lifted him up by both arms. The two looked like a couple of gay lovers, and Matt wouldn't be surprised if that was why his friend wanted to keep such a parasite. Because his girlfriend hadn't fucked him yet.

"Wha' the 'ell Matt?!"

"Olleh, the bastard's trying teh be yeh! Can't yeh see it?!"

He grew a puzzled look on his face, Corey now stepping away from him and wiping off the imaginary dirt from his clothing. The two next to each other was such a bizarre sight that the drummer couldn't believe he hadn't seen it in such a light before.
Maybe because there was actually light this time instead of the multi-colored lights of the club, or the streetlights as they made their way to the van after another show.

These two were as identical as it gets.
It would be so easy for one to get rid of the more successful other.
Oli gently urged Corey forward so he could get outside too, shut the door, and they stood in a triangle. He stuck his finger in front of Matt's face and gave the evilest look he could.

"Either accept 'im or get the fuck out."