"Why are you like this?"

This was the first of many questions that came out of Joe's mouth that late afternoon as he stood against the recording studio door, an irritated look carved into his chiselled face, and a burning cigarette rolled between his fingers. It was a simple, but daunting question that oddly sparked best friend Steven Tyler's interest. 

Steven, who was sprawled awkwardly ..on one of the two red sofas in the dimly lit room and had his arms dangling lazily over the armrest, instantly looked up at Joe, his long, wavy hair falling in front of his pouting face. What had he done to annoy Joe now? Judging by almost every interaction they had shared, it was either something extremely stupid or something extremely deplorable. But going by Steven's childish nature, the second one was always achievable. The possibilities really were endless.

His already poor vision partially blinded by his thick, brown locks, Steven sat up on his knees and brushed his hair away. Brushing it away, he revealed a set of sparkling brown eyes and a pair of unusually big, pink lips that were slowly curling into a small smirk. 'Why are you like this?' wasn't exactly an uncommon question for someone - specifically Joe - to ask, given the many countless stupid things Steven had done, some easier to forgive than others.

Steven simply shrugged at Joe's question, but the cheeky grin that spread across his face completely let the cat out of the bag. It wasn't his fault he'd taken so long collecting his stuff, and now they were all trapped in here indefinitely. The situation really was quite trying for Steven because he couldn't help but find some sort of amusement in his friend's peeved expression. Above all of his hobbies and interests, annoying Joe was one of his favourite things to do. It didn't take much for Steven to aggravate Joe. He need barely lift a finger and all hell broke loose.

"I don't think that was quite the answer Joe was looking for, Steven," a third man with a short mop of curly, brown hair said quite timidly, his soft voice drowned out by a series of deafening, wintry howls that almost rattled the door off its rusty hinges.

Joe gave him an irritated look, the tab between his fingers getting crushed as he squeezed it angrily. But his bitter expression melted away when a small gust of wind blew in through a tiny crack in the nearby window, sending an ugly shiver up his spine as the air tumbled around the room. How he wished he was at home relaxing and not the victim of a blizzard.

Holding the thin, gently burning cigarette between his teeth, Joe pulled his leather jacket around him as tightly as he could, trying to hang onto his remaining body heat. God, it was so cold. The thought that he was going to die of hyperthermia sooner or later crossed his mind. Joe didn't mind though. He'd much rather be trapped in here as a soul than as a body.

"Joe, please don't start," pleaded a fourth man from the other side of the small room. "It's too cold to argue...or talk. Shit-" he added rather loudly when his chattering teeth crushed his tongue.

Joe's sharp, dark eyes instantly flitted over to the second sofa where the trembling voice had come from. He might have been freezing to death, but his hearing was still as sharp as a Stanley knife.

On the second sofa, three men of extremely varied height differences and hair colours sat huddled together under a massive blanket, their quivering knees pulled up to their chests.
Where they had found the blanket was a mystery. All of them were making small talk and discreetly fighting over the throw, each as desperate as the other to keep warm.

Joe raised a thick eyebrow at the man who had spoken. "Brad," was all he could say. The slowly plummeting temperature was beginning to take its toll on his will to say anything more than one word long.

Brad Whitford was a short, stocky man with fluffy, curly, ginger hair and monolid-shaped eyes, which he often outlined with a soft brown pencil, enhancing the size of his understanding, hazel orbs that seemed to peer into your soul. And being about five foot seven made him one of the tallest members of Aerosmith.

Brad comically mirrored Joe's facial expression, his hand raising to discreetly itch the side of his nose.

Joe continued to stand silently in the corner, eying them all as he tried to think of a response. His arms that held his small frame trembled from the drop in temperature.

There was a long pause before Joe took a quick puff and snapped back, "We wouldn't be trapped in here waiting out the fucking snow if it wasn't for Tyler's incompetence." He glared at Steven who was now laying on his back and had his eyes closed, hands behind his head, attempting to sleep this dilemma away.  Joe gritted his teeth. It really frustrated him when he couldn't get a decent reaction out of him.

Everybody continued to keep quiet. It wasn't worth getting involved in some sort of silly argument that didn't concern them.

Joe pursed his lips as he continued to be met with silence. He needed to get away from everyone for a little bit. Dropping his cigarette on the dirty floor, he stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe and kicked it behind a box where it would happily lay undisturbed.

"I'm just going to make myself a drink," he grumbled before he silently excused himself from his friends' presence and shuffled into the tiny kitchen, trying to make as little noise as he set about making himself coffee.

Filling the kettle up, he carefully lit the minute gas stove. The naked, neon blue flames burning brightly, he placed the small kettle on the stove. 

~

As Joe waited for the water to boil, he leaned against the white marble counter and lit another cigarette hoping it would take his mind off the bloody predicament they were in.

"Hey, Joe," said a very awake Steven, poking his head around the doorway. "Have you got any smokes? I've run out. And I'm really dying for one too."

Typical. He just wanted peace for a little bit. Joe may have still been pissed off at Steven, but he couldn't deny the man cigarettes. Steven smoked so much that he probably would've passed out otherwise.

"Uh, yeah." Joe fished around in his jeans pocket for his packet and lighter. "Here," he said stiffly, handing him one, holding his breath when they accidentally brushed fingers. "You need a lighter too? Or have you run out?"

Steven stared at Joe incredulous. He brushed his bangs away from his pale face, his lips parting as though trying to find the words to say.

"What the fuck?" Was the short response he received as Steven's thin, arched eyebrows dipped over his big, dark eyes. He lowered his gaze as he pushed his cigarette between his big, pouty lips and lit the tab.

Steven's orbs lit up with some delight as the apricot-orange and indigo flame danced at the end of Joe's little yellow lighter. "Why are you being so moody? I haven't done anything to you."

Joe screwed his nose up in disgust as Steven's strong breath hit him. "Go to hell, Tyler. Fuck off and go to hell."

"Joe, it's not my fault today’s weather decided to be horrible, so stop acting like it is. I didn't ask for this to happen, okay?!" Steven's voice quickly grew louder as he became angrier and angrier. "So…shut up and stop being a dick!!!" he bellowed in Joe's face.

Joe's eyes wandered down to Steven's hands, which shook with frustration and were curling into tight fists. Steven was definitely ready to throw hands with him. The urge to give in and possibly break his nose was too great, and Joe felt himself getting ready to swing, but at that moment the kettle let out a shrill whistle.

"Whatever, Steven," Joe sniffed, holding his hand up and turning away to pour his coffee.
He could feel Steven staring intently at the back of his head.

"What?!" he snapped, almost jumping out of his skin when he turned around with his mug and found Steven had gotten in his face. One step further and they would have kissed. That or would've completely torn each other apart. The second one was probably more plausible.

There was silence between the pair. In the midst of his irritation, Joe somehow found his eyes drifting down Steven's expressionless face and to his lips. He wasn't gay in any way, shape or form, but he couldn't help but get lost in the thought of how soft Steven's lips looked and wonder what it'd be like to kiss them. Not that he wanted to. He was just curious.

Steven raised his eyebrow and bent his head down slightly so he was now towering over the slightly shorter man. He knew what he was thinking. Steven teasingly looked down at Joe's lips and smirked, but several seconds later, he instantly slipped back into his previous mood and drew away from his friend. Shrugging, he left, muttering lots of inaudible stuff and leaving behind a thick trail of smelly, grey smoke.

~

When the heavy snow finally stopped, everyone breathed an immediate sigh of relief. All five men immediately jumped up and moved as quickly as they could towards the door. Warm bed, hot shower, civilization, here they come.

"You fucked up real good, Steven," Joe hissed, his agitation making an appearance once again as he yanked open the heavy studio door and stepped out into the winter wonderland, his heels disappearing into the thick blanket of white. "You fucked up."