"So forget it, you're forgotten in a world so disenchanted
Always asking, never knowing
Is it just you or everybody else?"

***

"And all he does is play the ukulele and scream," Chris said in clear frustration, digging through his bag as he talked. An almost useless attempt,  because the halls were crowded with students, all shoving and bumping into him and Phil as they headed to class. "But it works, I mean, I don't know how he does it, but it sounds good. Never thought I'd see the day when I get goosebumps from a mini guitar."

"Mhmm," Phil muttered in agreement. He wasn't too invested in the conversation, as bad a friend as that made him sound, because he'd already missed half of what Chris was talking about and it was pointless trying to figure it out now.

He'd been lost in his head the whole morning, a distracted mess of the usual emotional and stress inducing ideology that school always seemed to leave him with, plus the newer and even more distracting thoughts he'd acquired about pretty much every aspect of his life. He couldn't look Chris in the eye without imaging him and Elliot in some compromising situations, and no matter how queer he was, it wasn't exactly something he wanted to be thinking about. Grayson had been avoiding all of them still, and he hadn't seen Dan in person since last week.

"We need to start being a bit more serious about practicing," Chris continued, stopping at his locker. "FTC is way too close for comfort, and I know our lives have been like a fucking soap opera lately with all the weird ass drama, but we have to be ready."

Phil didn't respond. He'd nearly forgotten about FTC completely, and the thought of it now left a nauseating mixture of dread and excitement in his stomach. "Have you heard anything new about it?" He asked.

Chris sighed, dropping his bag to the ground by his feet and leaning against the row of metal lockers. "Not much, only that it's gonna be soon, and that we need to start preparing." He clenched his jaw. "And that TCE is gonna be one of the first sets."

"We need to start putting our set together, then," Phil said with a shrug. "Figure out which songs we're doing, and when."

"God, I hate this," Chris muttered wearily, holding his head in his hands as if he had a headache. "We don't even know who we're up against, how are we supposed to know which ones work best against our competition?"

Phil patted his shoulder. "That's the whole point of this crazy game, Chrissy."

"Piss off," Chris shoved him away, and turned to open his locker. "Hey, do you have the notes from last English class, I swear I had them but I can't-"

But he never finished speaking, because when he swung open the door of his locker, there was a sound like a vacuum cleaner and then he was covered from head to toe in what looked like black paint.

There was a moment of stunned silence, where everyone in their general vicinity paused to completely process what had just happened, before the hall erupted in excited chatter, pointing at the scene that had interrupted their usually dull school day.

"Holy shit," Phil muttered, looking at Chris's unmoving form, and then at his locker. Everything inside was also coated in black, his textbooks and papers and extra sets of clothes. It wasn't pretty.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Chris growled, and reached out to rip off a sheet of paper from the door of his locker that Phil hadn't noticed before. Even covered in paint, he still managed to look terrifying in his anger. Phil read over his shoulder:

You're an exceptional artist, babe, but
you won't get far with a temper
like that.

See you at FTC.

-PJ ♡

It didn't take much to set Chris off, even the smallest of problems would send him into a unmanageable rage, but this was probably the worst Phil had seen him. He was visibly shaking, and the note was crumpled in his hands, and Phil could hear his breathing, harsh and quick.

"Okay, so, I know this situation isn't exactly the best," Phil said, trying to reassure his friend, "but maybe you should calm down before you do anything you might regret and-"

"Shut up, Phil," Chris snarled, slamming his locker door and marching off with a determination that forced everybody out of his way. Phil sighed and followed him, if only to make sure he didn't end up getting suspended or something.

Even though they were supposed to be sworn enemies, they had never had much of any physical altercations with TCE. It was mostly slander and glaring at each other, so this whole thing was something completely unexpected, even from PJ.

Every single person they passed paused in whatever they were doing to stare at Chris as he stormed by, and Phil as he chased after him. The attention was slightly unnerving, but he knew it would only get worse.

PJ was only a few halls away, leaning against the wall outside of one of the classrooms with a group of people, including his band mates. Phil made eye contact with Dan for half a second before averting his gaze. PJ looked up as they approached, and even from a distance, Phil could see the giddy look in his eyes when he saw Chris.

"Wow, Kendall," he said loudly, smirking widely. "Black looks good on you. Don't know if you'll be staying any trends soon, though." The people around him laughed, but the smug look on his face disappeared when Chris gripped the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Fuck you," he growled through his teeth, his face so close to PJs, they were dangerously close to kissing. "You think this is funny, or cute?"

PJ didn't seem at all fazed by Chris's anger, and shrugged. Even pinned to the wall, he looked effortlessly unconcerned. "I'd say more exciting."

Chris glared even harder, as if PJs lack of response was was making him even more annoyed. "I'll fucking end you."

"You're so hot when you're angry," PJ muttered, more to himself, but still loud enough to be heard. And Phil noticed, even under the dark paint that covered his face, Chris still blushed at the words.

There was another few seconds of tensely charged silence, where Phil thought maybe Chris was actually going to punch PJ in the face, but to his surprise and maybe to a few others, he stepped back, letting go of PJs shirt. PJ smiled again, a condescending grin that mocked them, and brushed off the front of his shirt, as if Chris had made it dirty.

And then the bell rang, a shrill sound that cut through them all, and the halls became emptier as everyone made their way to class. Chris huffed once more and stalked off without a word. Phil decided to leave him be for now.

He turned and was heading to his own class, when someone grabbed his arm, and he looked over at Dan's panicked face. The hallway was mostly barren, with little risk of them being seen together.

"I didn't know he was going to do that," he said quickly, almost desperately. "I really didn't, and there's no way in hell I helped him."

"'Course you didn't," Phil said, pulling away and continuing to where his class was.

"You seriously think I would let him do that?"

Phil shrugged. "I honestly don't think you'd have been able to stop him," he said. "You know, you seem to only be able to follow him, whatever he does, no complaints or questions. Like a dog."

"Fuck you, Phil," Dan choked out, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You're an asshole if you think I'd stoop so low."

"Well then, I guess I'm an asshole." He didn't say anything else, and turned to walk the way he'd come without looking back.

***

If Phil had to name the most tense situation he'd ever been in, it would either be that one time a few months ago when him and Dan had been in the school library together with about twenty other people and couldn't stop giving each other bedroom eyes, or this very moment in time.

As Chris had said earlier that day, they hadn't been very persistent with practices, and this was probably the first time they'd all been in the same room together in the last two weeks. Not that they were getting much work done in the first place.

Chris was still fuming, his whole body set in a rigid line and his words short and cold, yelling directions and criticism every two minutes. He had a newly lit vengeance for PJ Liguori, and it seemed it wouldn't end until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted, none of them knew. It was never good, getting involved in his plans when he was so volatile, so they kept their distance, and stayed quiet.

And if it wasn't the bad vibes coming from Chris's constant berating, then it was the offset of Grayson and Elliot.

They were out of tune with each other, and in succession, the whole band. Phil had never noticed before, how the chemistry they had when playing was a necessity for all of them, but it was noticeable now. If they didn't work well together, then nothing worked, and it all tied back to Chris, because it only made him angrier and more likely to yell at them.

"I hate my life," Chris sighed, leaning against the wall and sliding down until he was sitting, his head resting in his hands. The other three watched him warily, afraid he would lash out at them again suddenly. "I am nothing in this world."

Phil looked back at his other two friends, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do. Grayson shrugged and pointed at Chris, miming that Phil should go talk to him, and Phil quickly shook his head, not wanting to be in the direct line of fire. Elliot pointed too, much more vigorously. Phil sighed and flipped them off, before setting his bass down and tentatively going to sit beside Chris.

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" He said gently. "You're so much more than...nothing." He was the worst at comforting people, he already knew.

"Yeah, right," Chris scoffed at himself. "I can't even put together a simple set."

"That's totally not your fault," Phil said, looking up at Gray and Elliot sheepishly, who were studiously facing opposite directions. He sighed. "It's all of us, we just....need to find our rhythm again."

Chris shook his head. "There's no point," he muttered. "Maybe...maybe we shouldn't even do FTC."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You'd much rather drop out of the biggest competition ever, just because you think we're not ready? Sorry, but that's bullshit."

"Is it?" Chris leaned his head back against the wall. "Sure, we're good, maybe even great. But there will be hundreds of bands that are a hundred times greater." He shrugged helplessly. "Not to mention TCE, they'll probably kick our ass. We don't stand a chance."

"And you get to decide that for us?" Phil asked, getting irritated. "Just because you're getting down and out because of PJ or whatever, doesn't mean you can just make decisions like that. We're all apart of this, and you're the only one who seems to be freaking out about it." Not necessarily true; Phil was freaking out about it too, but in a much more nervously excited way, and he kept it to himself.

"You wouldn't understand," Chris said, his eyes closed.

"What the hell happened?" Phil asked. "What the hell did he do to you that made you so scared of him?"

Chris jumped up from where he was sitting, so fast that Phil nearly toppled over from sitting too close, and grabbed his guitar. "I'm not fucking scared of him," he almost growled. "And you don't need to know anything." And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Phil stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened, before running his fingers through his hair. "Well," he said, looking over at his other two friends, "guess practice is over."

He grabbed his bass guitar and zipped it into its case, and was heads in out the door as well, when Grayson grabbed his arm. "I'll walk with you," he said quietly. Phil nodded, letting him tag alone in the desperate attempt not to be left alone with Elliot.

It was only five, hours before Phil actually had to be home, but he didn't have anywhere else to really go. The sky was orange outside, close to going completely dark soon, and the air was cold. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked.

"You really think he'd do that?" Grayson asked from beside him. "Make us drop out of FTC?"

"It's not his choice," Phil said through his teeth. "We can find a new guitarist for all I care, but he's not in charge here. No one is."

Another few seconds of silence, and then Grayson laughed, a hollow and humorless sound. "God. What's happening to us?" He said. "I mean...a month ago, no one would have even thought about kicking each other out of the band. No one knew I liked Ellie, and that you were dating Dan Howell. And PJ didn't give two shits about us. And now we're, like, turning on each other.

"He's right, though," he said. "We don't stand a chance."

Phil didn't say anything to that, but deep in his chest, he couldn't help but agree.

***

a/n: what's up babes?

I really don't even know what to say, um....sorry for this being late, like always.

AND FUCK MY LIFE SPN DOESNT COME BACK ON UNTIL MARCH 23 WHY I JUST WANT DESTIEL TO BE CANON

yeah okay, that's all. I hope you liked this chapter and all its drama and it's just gonna get worse. I'll see you next time I love you, peace :3

(Aaaaand I've also started writing a new story, yay surprise. It's called Cold Blood, if you wanna check it out, it doesn't really have any chapters out just a description thing really, but it's gonna be good and also highly nsfw and sort of gross.)