Rob’s phone buzzed, sending slight reverberations through the linen sheets of his bed and lulling him to being somewhat awake again. He slipped a hand over to where his phone was situated and turned it on.

He had missed several messages from several people.

He started first with Harold—a group message to the band:

[i]4:13, Harold[/i]: [b]Just finished a master of the new track. You’re good to play it tonight. It’ll be up everywhere the moment you finish playing it. [/b]

Attached was a link to the song, and after a listen, Rob felt pretty satisfied with the conclusion. It was a song bred out of stress and necessity, but for a song of theirs, he felt pretty ok with it sounding more like earlier material than stuff off the last record. It was good to see something decent arise from the frustration of the tour. He hoped the audience they had cultivated would enjoy the sound, and Jane’s more melancholy lyrics.

Next he slipped down to Jane’s messages, and read them back and forward again. Several times, in fact—for it seemed to be the first real conversation they had since Minneapolis. 

He dwelled on phrases such as “better this way” and “we’re too good in bed together,” trying hard not to react rashly to what was clearly something he felt responsible for. 

At first, however, he wasn’t truly sure how to react. He set the phone down, mindlessly slipping into a shower and dressing, before lifting the phone up again; thinking of what was said.

He figured she might have been right, as much as it pained him to admit. Maybe a romance in the traditional set was not going to be possible in this moment with them. Maybe it would not be possible at all. It was frustrating to know the initiator of all this madness was himself, but perhaps it was just a catalyst. Problems they were facing now were always ones he had figured they would be experiencing. Maybe not now, but eventually. And who knows? With the European Tour just days away, there was a need to at least find some sense of agreement between the two of them—for the band’s sake as well as theirs. And god knows Rob’s health seemed to be failing as well. His mind briefly thought of the attack he had earlier that day before trying to forget again. 

But over text? It wasn’t the way he wanted to communicate with her. At least, not for something this serious. He considered running over to Sam and Austin’s room (where she would most likely be staying), but putting her on edge after she just reached out to him felt too abrasive. 

Rob put a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose as squeezed, closing his eyes. There would need to be a conversation, yes, but when? When was Jane free now?

Was she with Andy?

The thought angered him. While Jane was (in Rob’s mind) most likely unaware that Zoe and Rob had done little more than kiss, Rob was unaware of what Jane had done with Andy. And perhaps it was no longer his business. Any rights to that part of Jane were forsaken with the words “maybe we should be casual.”

The longer time passed, the more Rob would seem to regret ever saying that. 

He really couldn’t help that level of jealously within himself, however selfish it was. From his own perspective of denying Zoe (a person that he would, in any other circumstance, have long since been intimate with), thinking of Jane with other person was frustrating, even if it was baseless. 

The conflicting feelings of self-loathing and jealousy were eating up at him, and it was time to at least accept one of them. And, he could not change what he had said. So…perhaps he really did need to try his hand at a casual relationship.

The idea frustrated him immensely. He had done something similar before, but not with a friend. Not one as close as Jane was to him. Before dwelling on it any further, Rob typed out a response:

[b]Rob[/b]: I miss you, and I’d like to talk about it. In person, hopefully. When you can. 
[b]Rob[/b]: And I did do something wrong. I did a lot wrong. But I get that I can’t change that. However we can fix this, I’m game.

Texting was frustrating. The subtle nature and nuance of real conversation was lost in translation most of the time, but Rob was pretty satisfied with what he had typed out. He looked to the time, and—realizing how soon the concert was—headed down to the van, and met up with his bandmates. 

“Ready for tonight?” Rob asked through a weak smile to Austin, who stood outside the car. He puffed on a cigarette (a bit odd, to see Austin on tobacco) and looked over to Rob as he approached. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” he said. The mood seemed much more low-energy than he was used to with Austin, but maybe that was needed. “Just this show and St. Louis, and then it’s Europe for weeks.”

“Are you not excited about that?” Rob asked.

“No, it’s not that,” Austin offered. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and put it out. “It’s just that I don’t know what’s going to happen to us over there.”

“Me either,” Rob said. He slipped in the van soon after.