Rob heard Jane’s soft approach, and felt her form sit down beside him, but he couldn’t really bring himself to turn to her. He had figured that someone would have approached sooner or later. Their set was in just moments, and he had been the one to argue for the show to go on. Either with or without Jane. He had been pretty confident she would’ve come back (as she did), but couldn’t really feel much solace for it. In face, he wasn’t feeling much of anything at the moment. Just the cool air against his skin and—now—Jane’s head resting atop of him. She soon requested her usual—silence and contact. Feeling each other—being with each other, without so much of a discussion. As mutual understanding. Rob tried to fight off the feeling that Jane should’ve known better. Knowing he would be mad at her departure, only to return and ask that no words be said between them. So he obliged her. The two never said a word after hers, and they simply sat together—their minds surely apart. Rob thought only of the issues he would need to deal with that night, on the bus. The phone calls to Harold. Organizing an interview. Figuring out which steps to take going forward. He was mad at himself for his own actions; his indecision, his hair-trigger temper, his outbursts… He felt like a child thinking of things he had done so commonly for so long. Perhaps this morning was an epiphany. Maybe slicing your arm open made you realize that you needed a mental change. Or maybe not. Rob looked down to his arm at the stitches and grimaced slightly. Regardless of what the doctor said, he was sure the set tonight was going to hurt. — He found himself in the bathroom about ten minutes later, cleaning up before set. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips; the last of the pack he had only purchased hours ago. Through the haze and into the mirror Rob could see his own reflection; long hair tucked underneath a beanie, straggling hairs hanging from his beard that gave him more the appearance of an indie folk band than anything else. Stark grey lines stricken beneath bleary eyes. He might have looked better than the last time he had really looked at himself, but he was certainly showing signs of the fatigue from the day. Shockingly enough, his morning retreat with the fans had still happened only hours ago—after the interview that warned him of the incoming bullshit. A part of him wanted to call Madeline and ask her for some advice. Maybe since she knew, she would know what to do. But as always, a stagehand interrupted his thoughts with a knock at the door—the band had already delayed ten minutes more than they should have, and had an especially long set by behest of the venue, in order to cover losses from the cancelled tickets. Whether most or only some of the concertgoers had pulled out in the wake of Vicarious’ cancellation, it was only to be seen after the show. Rob walked out from the bathroom, immediately grabbed a beer from the craft table, and walked out onto stage to considerable applause. It was strange how the group approached the stage now—one at a time, each with their own little moment in the spotlight. Perhaps soon enough, they’d need a blackout and a big entrance. Or a large curtain drop. The logistics of which made Rob nauseous at the thought. The bright lines cast large flares of light into his eyes. He couldn’t truly make out any of what was around him, but could see Jane’s familiar form in front of him. Her head was turned towards him with a familiar, slight tilt. He blinked twice and looked back down to fiddle with his kit. He needed to scavenge up every ounce of energy he had left, and a come-to-Jesus-meeting with Jane on stage was not part of the plan. At least, not now. Maybe it was a little fucked up, but she did ask that they didn’t discuss this. It would be hard to accuse him of the silent treatment when both of them were expected to perform—right here, right now. Rob tapped off the high hat once Sam started the show to give him a beat, and the four took off yet again. — Towards the end of the setlist, Rob had just about given his all. Slight dribbles of blood oozed from his stitches, down his hands and onto the kit. It wasn’t the first time he had bled on his kit, and he was surprised no one had gotten a clear shot of it from the press pit. The drier part of him laughed at the thought of younger drummers thinking it was “metal” of him. The song soon stopped suddenly. Rob looked up from his little moment of fervor to see Jane stumble through a fan participation event. A cover up, for how her voice had given out moments earlier. Rob tried to keep up a good face; softly playing the main groove of the single to keep up the energy instead of dropping out completely. He looked to Austin, and used a nod to count him back into the fold. He followed suit, managing to play four tones that matched the key of the song. The two locked into a sort of quiet, filler-beat, that played off as the fan was walked to the stage by a clearly-perturbed security officer. Rob couldn’t help but crack a light smile as he and Austin seemed to prove their own reputation as a solid rhythm section—holding back just long enough for Sam to set the new fan up onto the mic, and—with a few well-placed drum fills—counting the song directly back in as if Jane had never stopped. Once the single finally came to an end, Rob ended the song with three distinct crashes (as opposed to his usual style of a drawn-out conclusion), and climbed forward, over the set and to the center stage. He gestured emphatically at the fan, who seemed to be nearly crying as the crowd roared in applause. Truth be told, she killed it. Then, he Sam and Austin waved one more time, before taking the fan and slipping backstage without another word. “Holy shit, dude!” Austin said to the fan. “You’ve got some pipes, I’ll give you that.” The fan introduced herself, thanking them dearly all the while. Rob moved over to the craft tables and grabbed two beers—handing one to the girl. “I don’t know what drinking age is here,” he said, “but you earned it.” For the next twenty minutes, the remaining members of In Bloom took the time to thank the fan, meet with her friends back in the crowd, and take any and all selfies required. It was almost this sort of mutual agreement between them—their public image needed some vast improving, and if just one blog would run an ad about how happy they just made this girl, it might help. It wasn’t so much that it was ingenue of them, but more so that they knew they needed to try. Afterwards, the three of them helped out in silence with Lyla and Aaron (Lyla again having to help Rob wrap gauze around his arm), and the group was back in the bus just in time for Grant to turn it on. Just before they entered, however, Rob slipped over to the back of the bus and grabbed a few of their own records—probably their fifth pressing since beginning the tour. He moved inside with them, having Sam and Austin sign a few (Jane was nowhere to be seen), and he moved back outside again to the stragglers waiting near their bus. He happily handed out the copies he had, and thanked them again for coming out to the show. He returned to the bus, spent. He collapsed onto the couch with a heap. “If that doesn’t improve our image,” he muttered to Sam and Austin, “I fucking give.” “That’s pretty much the last of that batch of records,” Aaron said. “I’m going to have to call Harold again to put in a new order.” “How many times has that happened?” Rob asked. The logistics of both Aaron and Lyla’s job had both been wasted on him during the last few weeks. “Almost every other show, now,” Aaron said. “I have to limit shirt and record sales for every show just so we have enough for the next one.” “Holy shit,” Sam muttered to himself. It seemed that they were all taken aback by the news. “If this is Europe, man,” Austin said, “How’s the last US tour gonna be?” “One continent at a time,” Rob said, peeling himself off of the couch. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.” Rob slipped back towards the bathroom without a word—pulling off an article of clothing with each step. He could hardly manage to stay awake in the shower. With each minute he cranked the water heat higher and higher, until the only reason he was awake was due to the scalding water. He climbed out soon after, drying himself off, and moving with a towel to his bunk. Inside, he found Jane; her small body nuzzled into a corner of his bed. His first thought was immediately to climb into her own bed. To find some time to sleep by himself. But the more he thought of it, the less of a good idea that seemed. He loved her. That much was true. He had told her that what already seemed like so long ago. Because it was the honest truth. The other honest truth was, just because he loved her didn’t make him happy with her. Not at this moment. Too tired to think and too weary to contest any more, Rob dropped the towel to the floor and climbed into his own bunk, and shut the curtain. He pulled Jane close to him, got comfortable, and fell asleep in moments. Maybe it would work out. Who knew? At this point, he just needed to survive each day as it came. Hopefully he and Jane could work something out by then.