The first thing Rob noticed when he came to was that he smelled awful. 

His long hair had curled from lack of care and was laced with dirt and oil. Perhaps having his head so close to the floor of the van wasn’t helping him in this department. 

His arms were sore from being contorted in the van for several hours, and random parts of his body ached from their positioning as well. He blinked twice, looking up to the burred ceiling of the van until it came into focus, before sitting up and glancing down at his phone.

Before the screen had cut on, he could see his reflection, and felt even more disappointed in himself. Even like this, he could tell lack of sleep and the night before had royally destroyed his appearance. He tried to pay it no mind as the screen cut on, and Rob did the math in his head to figure out how far they would be from Kansas City.

It seemed to be another ninety minutes or so away.

Next he looked over to Jane, who lay curled in the seat ahead of him; her hoodie obscuring her face from his vision. A mixture of frustration, self-loathing, and anger filled him once he allowed himself to think on the events prior to this moment. He wondered briefly if there was anything left to fix, before looking away and making eye contact with Austin. There wasn’t much to say for what Austin may have thought of Rob. His expression said enough.

“I won’t ask,” Austin said, before turning around again. Rob sighed and leaned himself up against the side of the van, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the fact that his band hated him again. 

…

Rob woke from his light sleep to feel the van parking itself rather quickly. Outside the windows, the last rays of sunlight were setting over the Kansas horizon, and the flatness of the world beyond was readily apparent. Rob could see the individual buildings much more clearly than in other cities; their silhouettes being accentuated by the gentle rolling landscape. Something was innately beautiful about that, Rob thought to himself. 

But, looking up at the front of the van to see what was happening, his thoughts turned quickly to frustration.

They weren’t at a hotel. They were parked in front of another studio. And standing outside this studio was Harold. 

Rob hadn’t seen the much in such a long time, but this typical look was still very much the same—as deliberate and precise as ever. He held his hair short and cropped, with a slight quiff on the front end, as if to try and stay relevant past his age. He kept a very specific, detailed five’o’clock shadow, and his dark eyes shot straight into whichever target he had chosen. And in this moment, that target was Rob. 

Rob climbed out of the van and approached him, wanting to be over with this conversation. He first held out a hand facetiously, then: “Harold,” he said, short.

Harold shook the hand. “You look like shit.”

“You look the same.”

Harold laughed slightly, possibly from either the awkwardness of the conversation at hand or to lighten the mood (Rob did not know which), and continued. “How are the others?”

“Ask them yourself,” Rob said. “I haven’t really had a conversation with Austin and your son in a week or so.”

“And Jane?”

Even if Harold had a valid excuse to inquire about the relationship between Rob and Jane, it was no less aggravating to have to talk to his manager about that. “We’re working stuff out.”

“So you’re fighting,” Harold said bluntly. “I figured.”

Behind Harold, a familiar face slipped out from the dark of the studio. Looking the same as ever, Aaron approached. He held his own pseudo-hipster style, with the sides and back of his head closely cropped and the top in a long, slicked back style. He dressed like he was heading to a party constantly, but something about seeing an old friend made him feel much better. 

“Aaron!” Rob exclaimed, pulling his friend in for a quick embrace. “I thought you were meeting us in Europe.”

“Harold wanted me to get familiar with being around you guys before the trip. Plus, I wanted to slow you the new designs in person. They’re in my hotel room.”

“I’ll have to see them,” Rob smiled. He wanted to keep talking to his friend. Telling him what had been happening. Explaining his frustrations. But other matters were at hand. Namely, Harold: “You ever find a sound guy?” He asked his manager. 

Harold shook his head. “Still trying to get a name out of your bandmates,” he explained, “but no luck so far. We can make it through the first two shows or so without it. But tonight, we’ve got to get this song recorded.”

Rob quickly realized why Aaron had been at the studio. And it wasn’t just some surprise. It was a morality-booster orchestrated by Harold after he had heard Jane and Rob were having issues. From Sam, no doubt. The lack of privacy in these matters continued to plant more seeds of frustration in him, but the need to record this song seemed to be great. Their privacy from the press only served as a reminder to the public that something bad was brewing inside In Bloom. And the public could thing it was the photos of Jane that had leaked that had caused the meltdown. In reality, it was just a symptom of a greater problem. 

“I’ll do what I can,” Rob said to Harold as he walked past. “But good luck getting the others to play along.”

Tensions were clearly at an all-time high within the group, and Rob was unsure of whether or not the others would play along and record a song in the night. He was surely willing to, however. Whatever it took to put the stress of all of this madness behind him. 

Rob went inside, and sat down at the drum set set up for him. Whoever had set it up had clearly been watching Rob play—the style was exactly how he would’ve done it. 

Aaron came in soon after and the two talked for a bit, until the other members slipped into the room. 

Rob’s major flaw seemed to be growing ever stronger due to the chasm between him and Jane. His tendencies to say nothing as he weighed the world around him only grew stronger as the time passed. And, each time he saw Jane, the idea of trying to approach her and fix things seemed so difficult and stressful, he kept trying to ignore the issue. The frustration of his own flaws and the hole he had dug himself into was only serving to make him desire to ignore the issue.

In short, he was a mess. And he didn’t know what else to do about it besides shut down.

And when he was a mess, he diverted back to what he was always good at—focused, driven drum playing. 

But before the session started, Rob thought just slightly of the conversation he had had with Jane in a hotel room what seemed like forever ago. The kiss she had given him—their first. Her sacrifice of her own personality in order to please him. To be with him.

So what the hell had he given up to be with her? 

The thought haunted his mind.