His room was darkened. Every light was off, except for three red candles, giving the room a crimson glow. Rob sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. His feet were propped up against the wall and his back against the mattress he’d sleep on tonight. His teeth lightly grasped a pencil as his hands painfully belted out a few chords on his most recent guilty purchase; an acoustic guitar.

There was a silent agreement between Rob and the others that no one would impede on the other’s instrument of choice. That was, Sam would never write a bassline, Austin wouldn’t work on vocals, and so on. As the years had past, a few times exceptions had been made. But overall, the rule was respected. 

Rob’s “guitar playing” wasn’t exactly a violation of an unwritten code; it was just something he felt like doing. He wanted to learn. He needed something in his hands. His mind had felt a peace from that night on the roof, but his body refused to step in line. And so, he had to pick up more hobbies on the road. 

Rob hummed out a melodic line over a few chords, playing two or three a few times once the strings continued to buzz instead of ring. Pulling the pencil out of his hand, he scribbled down a few letters in quick scrawl: [i]Em. G. C.[/i]

On one page were a few chords; a handful that were quickly growing to be an endless alphabet of indiscernible melodies. On the other were a handful of lyrics. One half overtly-sentimental, the other meaningless drivel. All of them felt forced, but was the truth behind them. They had been forced. It was all an exercise to Rob. Like the drums before this, it was a task he picked up as a task rather than a passion. There had always been few things Rob felt passionately about.

That was, until recently. 

Silence had been the code between Rob and Jane ever since his breakdown. At least, in his own mind, it was how he referred to it—a moment of weakness, insecurity and introspection all rolled into a flood of information. He looked back on this moment with mixed feelings—he had to admit how he felt about Jane. It was the truth and it was going to come out one of these days. But, on the other hand…it was so odd for him. Out of character, even. He felt as if he proved to Jane that he was too unstable to be trusted or approached. Her silence both proved his theories and raised his anxiety significantly. 

It was easy to push thoughts of Jane from his mind when he surrounded himself with other things and other hobbies. Such as the guitar he held in his hands. But this entire tour [i]revolved[/i] around Jane. She was their front-woman. With certain bands, you associate all creative work from them from a singular entity; one person. Other members could change, but without the front? It all seemed to fall apart. To the band, Jane was just a part of the band. But to the world? She probably [i]was[/i] the band.

And it wasn’t a thought that made any of them envious. Or, at least, not Rob. It was what he wanted. To live a live such as this without the burden of being recognized. Of being scrutinized for every action or reaction he would ever have. Because if there was one thing he had proved to himself, it was that he couldn’t even trust himself. 

He wondered how long things could go unspoken. For either of them. 

[hr]

Rob came downstairs just on time. He had started to adapt a lighter wardrobe after that night on the roof. Maybe it was because of the relief, or maybe because each stage had brighter, hotter lights, but regardless, the hoodies were no longer going to work. He wore a black henley and dark blue jeans; both tight. The sleeves had been pushed up towards his elbows to keep them out of the way, and his hair seemed to hang lower; their unruly locks drooping near his shoulders. 

Rob sat next to Jane as he approached her; their smiles open and honest for the first time in a while. But, as soon as she asked about hanging out, Rob could feel the unspoken work it’s way between them. 

Rob tried hard not to think of any anterior motives Jane may have had for the evening she discussed. He knew her, and most of the time, her words were well-chosen and honest. But…it was hard not to think of those things. Not after that night. 

“That sounds fun,” he said, wanting to say so many other things instead. [i]I’d like that. I was hoping to spend time with you. I’d love to.[/i]

The list would never end, if he let it grow. And as Sam honked the horn at them, he stopped his thoughts completely, climbing into the seat behind Jane. 

The sun had already set by this hour. Playing a late show was exciting, but also slightly scary. The daytime shows had been so much more enjoyable because the band knew people weren’t waiting for them. These days it felt more and more like the festivals aligned for them. Their names, usually small and towards the bottom of posters, were moved more and more to the top. Bigger and bigger. In the music scene, each day was a week. Each week a month. The time to take advantage of their situation was now. To go from a one-hit wonder to a band that really makes some great music. Music worth listening to. 

Once they arrived, a group of people had arrived to help. Dressed in black as to blend in with the night, they helped load Rob’s drum set onto the stage. In fact, two days ago, Harold had called, and had Rob email specific instructions for his drum kit. Now, each show arrived, and stage hands were at the ready to speed the process up. 

Once Rob had instructed the last of them, he walked off to the side, down a hidden alcove to the photo and security pit. The last of the crew for the previous band (Vulture, coincidentally) were cleaning off the last of the stage simultaneously as the band waited. He saw Anna, helping move a large riser off. Once she noticed him, she shot him a hateful glare, and subtly flicked him off with her free, lowered hand. Probably as to not cause suspicion. It was almost funny to see. 

“Howdy stranger," came a familiar voice beside him. Rob turned to face Sam, who had found him in the pit and greeted him with a painful slap on the back. It was the first time they had spoken alone in a few days

“Hey, look, I’m sorry—“ Rob started, but Sam cut him off short. 

“I don’t care,” Sam said. “You fixed the problem. You were drunk off your ass. So…forgiven.”

“Thanks,” Rob sighed. It was a conversation he had been dreading but was glad to be done with so quickly. 

“Besides, you’ve got other band member’s feelings to worry about now.”

“[i]Fuck.[/i]”

[i]Did everyone know?[/i]

Before he could ask, Sam walked back off, just obviously enough to peak the interest of a few people lined up against the barricades. They cheered and hollered as they recognized the guitarist. He gave them a smile. “I’ve gotta go tune up,” he shouted over them. He pointed a finger to Rob.  “But go get him! He’s the drummer!” 

Sam smiled happily to Rob before turning away, as the crowd in front of him cheered and his anonymity was shattered. He ended up signing twenty CD’s, three shirts, two foreheads, and even a someone's cell phone before breaking off and remembering to find a way back at Sam later.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was happier. Mostly. But Rob had always been a pessimist. 

How long could this really last?