Autumn Tears And Winter Leaves

A moonlit silence dominated Our Teenage Kicks' home. A mediocre substitute for the tides of music that usually penetrated its walls. The pallid touch of the moon coaxed itself around the band's equipment, long since abandoned reminders of failure. Slim layers of dust had already begun nesting on each item. And a fingerprint disturbed rejection's slow dust painting of the bass.

Torben trailed his finger across his trouser leg as he stood in the basement, watching the band's dreams become coated in desolation. A soft sigh glazed his lips as he turned his back on the room. Each rotting dream clamored at his ankles for attention until he stood pooled amongst all the possible outcomes for his future, grinning up at him in macabre washes of moonlight. It wasn't the rejection that pierced Torben into frustration. It was the defeated attitude that the band had masked themselves in since the competition. An attitude that suited none of his friends. And no matter how hard he attempted to boost their morale with optimism, he received nothing but pitiful gazes in return, visual surprise that he could be so naive as to believe in hope.

Hauling his aggravation-coated misery up the basement steps, Torben tuned his ears to the silence creating a sense of claustrophobia through the house. Pressing his lips together, Torben made his way up to Lawen's room, pulsing with determination. As he stood in front of the door, he analyzed the dented grains decorating the wood, each violent impulse reflected on the wood. No doubt the majority were recent.

Torben rested his weight on the door, coaxing it forward after ringing a gentle knock against it. The surprising brightness within caused him to stumble back against his own misconceptions of the band's mood. Torben glanced lightly around the room as he eased himself into it. A barricade of books half-hid Lawen from vision as she sat cross-legged behind them, a futile barrier against raging realities. She glanced up briefly from the notepad she balanced across her knees, offering a diluted smile at Torben before returning her attention back to the scrawls on the page.

Frowning slightly, Torben stepped further into the room. "What are you doing?" he asked, desperately hoping to keep his tone casual.
"Assignments." Lawen replied, her tone projected in neutral tones of grey.
"Why?" Torben quizzed, sinking to sit on Lawen's bed.
"Because they're due in soon."
"Yeah, but still."

Letting her pen spiral to the floor with a pretense-shattering clatter, Lawen fixed Torben with a resolute gaze. "Torben. We didn't make it. Accept it. We might as well get on with reality."
"But we came second!" Torben protested.
"And where did that get us, Torben? Back here in our dead-end existence. Who the hell were we kidding? We were never any good."
Leaning back, Torben glanced over Lawen's cynicism. "Dead-end existence? That's the reason why everyone's given up? Because all this is a dead-end existence?"
Hurling a regretful groan from the back of her throat, Lawen placed her notepad at her side. "Torben. You know it's not like that."
"Well, what is it like, Lawen?" Torben quizzed, standing slowly. "This dead end existence used to be enough for you. It used to be good enough for all of us. What happened? You got a taste of fame and it killed everything good inside you."
"That's unfair, Torben," Lawen argued. "You know we're just upset about losing the only chance..."
"The only chance? How do you know it was the only chance? It's only the single one we're going to get because you lay down and die in the face of failure. Geez. It was never going to be that easy."
"Well, you could have been kind enough to let me know that, Torben, because you sure as hell all had me thinking that we could do it. Pumping me with your confidence. If you didn't really believe it, why did you say it?"

Opening his mouth to release the knotted arguments within him, Torben glanced at Lawen. Everything about her wailed with resignation. Her shoulders slumped toward her work as if it was the only thing in her life that could support her anymore and her brown eyes were laced with a distance that didn't suit her personality. For the first time since the competition, Torben realized that he wasn't actually looking at Lawen. Just this hollow shell that tried to assert itself as her by delving deeper into her life. As that epiphany sunk deeper into Torben's system, he understood that an argument would only further Lawen's determination to plummet into the false security her life offered, leaving no hope to salvage. Instead, he turned his back on the stale air thickening in the room, thinking that depression was much better than dealing with the situation. At least it could be cured.

Pasco drummed his fingers across the arm of the couch in an agitated, hybrid rhythm to fill the intense silence in the room. He was never usually one to admit to emotions but, at that moment, he felt alone. Regardless of the fact that he was held hostage in a room with his band mates. His eyes bounded over each member with quietened hope. He traipsed his gaze over Torben slumped in a chair, his eyes stubbornly trained on an unimportant speck on the wall, Conall who was curled against a window as if searching for an escape route from disappointment and Lawen's form, slouched on the floor, too stubborn and emotional to be in close proximity with any other member. Despite his best efforts, no one stirred beneath his glance. Instead, he turned back to the television, watching pictures flash and change on the screen but not absorbing any meaning from it.

The group had maintained this distanced silence for almost three days. All too stubborn to apologize or compromise to regain all that the band had been before. As Pasco shuffled uncomfortably beneath this fact, the television shifted to introduce an easily recognizable set of chords to the band; American Idiot. It was a minor event that temporarily bound the band together once again. If only for the time that it took for Conall to turn the television off.

As the screen dimmed to black, the band sat in a calmed silence, trying not to focus on the realization that their minds were still combined, despite the failure and arguments that it inspired. Raising his eyes tentatively, Torben met Pasco's expectant gaze and sighed his resignation. Nodding subtly in agreement and greedily accepting his submission, Pasco groaned violently. "This is just stupid." Pushing himself from the couch, Pasco took brisk steps toward the door. "I'll be in the basement if anyone wants me." he added as he left the others to either compromise or complain.

"I don't know why I just did that." Conall mumbled, cracking the silence slowly with his lowered tone. He kicked his foot toward the television gently. "They weren't to blame."
Lawen cautiously drew her eyes up to Conall before swinging them toward the television. "They made the judgment." she responded, her tone suggesting she didn't believe what she said.
Conall shrugged passively. "They just did what they thought best."
"And it wasn't like we lost completely." Torben offered.
"It wasn't." Lawen repeated as she turned toward Torben. She smiled mildly at his surprise to her agreement and watched as his smile grew in moderation in return.
"Doesn't stop us from being able to hate them though." Torben bargained.
"Or wanting to beat them with their own instruments." Conall added.
"Or still wanting to screw Billie Joe like a dog in heat!" Pasco shouted from the basement, causing the others to grin.
"We'd better get down there before he starts having more perverted fantasies." Lawen suggested as she stood steadily. As she watched Conall leave the room and started to follow him, she felt arms coil around her waist.
"I'm sorry." Torben whispered against her ear.
"Me too, Torben," Lawen sighed in relief. "Me too."

"Pasco, you either play in rhythm or I beat you with your own cymbal." Lawen threatened, a playful grin carved across her face.
Pasco smirked in return. "I love it when a woman gets violent."
"That one doesn't even deserve a response." Lawen replied, leaning gently against her microphone stand to watch Pasco's smirk widen.
"Its a wonder sometimes that we don't put you in a cage, Pasco." Conall teased, strumming lightly on his guitar.
Pasco's expression scrunched into thought. "Role play. I can go with that."
The telephone's wail pierced through the band's laughter as Pasco began to drum his triumph into the room. Lawen slotted the microphone back into its place before jogging up the steps of the basement.
"Wait! Lawen!" Pasco yelped. "I need you!"
"Bite me!" Lawen responded with a wide grin.
"Oh don't tease a man like that." Pasco called back as Lawen laughed and raced into the kitchen. She slid around the counter and unhooked the telephone from its cradle.

"Hello?" Lawen greeted as she lent forward onto the counter. Her face birthed a light smile as quick steps pulsed into the kitchen. She didn't turn but grinned as Pasco's hands clamored at her waist, his breath grating against her free ear as he blew kisses into it. Lawen plunged her teeth into her bottom lip to suppress the laugh growing in her throat. Placing a forceful elbow into Pasco's stomach, she attempted to drive him away so that she could hear the monologue on the other end of the phone. To little success. His lips were only transported to her neck, causing Lawen to giggle despite her efforts.

Encouraged into insanity by Lawen's laughter, Pasco started to gnaw lightly on her skin. "I want to have your babies, Lawen." Unaware of the conversation filtering through the wire, Pasco continued to torment Lawen only stopping when she went rigid inside his clutch. Releasing her gently, Pasco stepped back in a hopeless attempt to read the conversation in her expression.
"What?" Lawen almost shouted. "Are you... Is this a joke? No. No, of course. Yeah, sure. Yeah. Definitely. Well. OK. Thank you. So much. Thank you. 'Bye."
Pasco moved forward to place the phone back as Lawen remained frozen in a conversation that had ended a few minutes before. Turning her gently, he analyzed her eyes tentatively for clues to her state. "Lawen," Pasco said, slowly. "Who was that?"

Raising her novocaine-shot gaze to Pasco, Lawen opened her mouth breathlessly. As she realized her mistake, Lawen gorged her lungs on bundles of air. Regaining her composure, she turned to Pasco's concerned expression.
"That was the guys from Kerrang. The first band dropped out. They want to know if we'll take their place on the tour."