Rob was in the middle of a hysterical fit when he saw Jane enter the room through his tear-filled eyes. He straightened himself up as he wiped his face, trying to remember what made him laugh in the first place. 

He watched from his spot from the floor as Jane slipped past, heading for the alcohol and throwing Austin fresh lyrics along the way.

Rob was pleasantly surprised. Through the frustration of his own emotion, he had figured Jane wouldn’t have come up with much. He moved over to Austin, slipping a head behind his shoulder and reading over Jane’s lyrics.

Even through the dense fog of inebriation, he could certainly tell Jane’s lyrics were deeply personal—far more than he was expecting. Each line seemed relative to their own story; their own relationship. It was jarring, especially considering the style of Jane’s earlier work. Sure, some of it was more personal than others, but this one?

There was a slight tinge of anger that spawned from it. Not at her, but at the situation. That Jane had seemed to have been forced to write such introspective works due to the situation at hand. But there was also a deep tinge of remorse in him—that realized that Jane, too, shared the same fears about their situation as he did.

He tried to zone it out (which was [i]infinitely[/i] easier this drunk) and simply nodded at Jane’s words, noting she didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. 

Rob slipped behind the drum set again, and the boys showed their frontwoman what they had worked up in the time they had to practice. It wasn’t much, but (in Rob’s opinion), it was a killer line for a verse, and they had almost worked out a really nice bridge—filled with descending bass lines. 

But Jane’s face was impossible to read, and her praise rang flat. She immediately transition into another question, causing Rob to question whether or not what they had played was actually [i]good[/i]. 

“We’re recording in Kansas City,” Sam answered. “He’ll master it and release it once we play it live in St. Louis. So…yeah. He does expect that, apparently.” 

The way Sam had said it showed his own frustration at their situation—which wasn’t surprising. Sam was usually the friendliest to Harold (for obvious reasons) but he tended to understand what the band was saying as well, which was a very welcome voice. 

“Let’s try some other stuff, alright?” Rob said. “Might as well.”

…

Four more hours had passed, and the boys felt no closer to the song than they had been four hours prior. The main melody had been hashed out to death, and the bridge was more defined, but they still lacked a chorus and many of the other pieces needed to tie the song together.

By the end of the session, Rob’s fingers bled softly through his gloves, and he slipped into the bathroom to wash his hands off. He had been pushing his callouses far beyond their capacity, and was left popping blisters and gritting his teeth in the restroom for the first time since their very first shows. 

He slipped back out to the main studio, his mind blurred and fuzzy from all the cheap booze. The evening was still available to them, and he wondered what to do with it.

He looked to Jane, but couldn’t really tell what she may have wanted—not this drunk. The alcohol had mushed his senses and emotions together to the point where he didn’t know what he wanted or how he felt either. 

Austin, the more sober of the bunch, had just finished pulling out a CD of their recordings and was on the phone, talking to Harold about what had been done. Turning to the only other member in the room, Rob pulled aside Sam.

“So,” Rob slurred out, “what do you want to do tonight?” 

“I uh,” he stammered out, “I’ve got a date. Well, not a date, but—“

“Got it, got it.” Rob said. 

Rob slipped past, approaching Jane. 

“So,” he started. “How do you feel? Want to do anything?” 

Rob wasn’t sober enough to worry about her response or his own intonation as he normally did, but a part of him wanted to really be with her. 

And yet, another wanted something simpler. Maybe hanging out with Vicarious and Zoe. 

Rob shook his head slightly. That was the booze talking. 

[i]Right?[/i]