Maybe it was just him, but the weekend seemed to flash by right before Steven's eyes because no sooner was it Monday again and he found himself burdened with the responsibility of hauling the enormous and unmistakably heavy suitcase he'd 'haphazardly' packed mere hours ago into the passenger side of the car. 'Haphazardly', because Steven might've just as well packed blindfolded with his legs bound, because he'd just grabbed anything and everything that he considered a necessity, so he couldn't even begin to remember what he'd stuffed into his suitcase that he had stashed away under his bed collecting dust. I mean, he'd most definitely packed underwear... At least, he hoped so. It honestly had all just been a colourful blur to him.

A series of low grunts escaped him as he tapped his sore, red fingers under his suitcase and began his third attempt to shove it into the backseat. He'd been trying for about ten minutes but to no avail. It was so unfair because Joey, Brad and Tom had already put their suitcases in the car. Whether it was muscle or lightweight baggage, it was unfair. Fuckety fuck fuck fuck. His knees buckled like a house of cards caving in, his arms shook and sweat glazed his concentrated face as Steven mustered all the strength he had in his body to move the bag even a couple of inches off the floor. Geez, what the actual hell was in here? Elephant? The kitchen sink? Weed? His attitude?

A few grunts, wheezes and curses later and his suitcase was finally inside the vehicle. Straightening up, Steven rested his aching back against the smooth hood of the car and pulled out his replenished pack of cigarettes, silently counting the tabs inside to make sure he had enough for the long journey.

One, two, three, four, five, six...nine. Nine. Well, fuck him hard in the asshole. This was barely enough to last him two days! But it was what it was. He could pick up a new pack later when he had time, but until then, he'd just have to suffer.

Steven groaned and buried his head in his hands at this prospect. He hated not having enough cigarettes. Sure it wasn't good for his health, but it relieved all the pent-up stress he was feeling and was just a good way to pass the time when he was bored or thinking. And it sometimes even helped him come up with lyrics!

Picking out the nicest looking cigarette with the tips of his fingers, he slowly ran the end roughly along the outlines of his lips. It was a habit he'd developed to make him feel some type of love, especially since he had so far abandoned his trademark sex life and groupies that had become part of his whole persona.

He wasn't quite sure why, but he just hadn't been feeling horny much or really attracted to any female, no matter how many times he'd get boobs shoved in his face at the club. But he had his booze and his cigarettes, which was more than enough for him.

Though, it didn't quite fill the empty space that was lust. He just wanted J- anything that could compensate for lust because he wanted somebody to love. Properly. Don't get him wrong, the past flings he'd had were great, but a full-fledged relationship is what he truly sought after. Someone who he could love properly and be loyal to. He didn't want to bring a girl back home to fuck one time and then call it a night, though he had to admit, he did quite fancy a fling or two whilst he was away. Just to make that hole of lust a little smaller.

Steven pressed the pads of his fingers to his jawline as he calmly watched the smoke fade into the black sky, his breathing more level than it had been for a while. He'd been feeling stress, anxiety and anger pretty intensely lately, though he'd been dealing with all that privately, excluding his recent outburst. Of course he enjoyed the attention from the press, but he wasn't interested in getting all that shit spread about for everyone to know about. Nobody needed to know about the severity of his drug addiction or how he blew up at everyone, but currently being one of the biggest rock and roll bands of the seventies, he wouldn't be surprised if it was just common knowledge at this point.

Steven listened to the loud, pacing footsteps of Tom, Joey and Brad, who were walking in and out of the house, bringing all their instruments and equipment they needed out of the packed foyer and putting them into the trunk and backseat of the car, which he wasn't too happy with. He didn't want to have Brad's guitar case constantly nudging and rubbing his crotch as he stretched out and rested his legs on one of the boy's laps like a footstool, but he wasn't about to object.

None of the four had exchanged as many words as they usually would have, but Steven's shouting match with Joe and how he'd insulted them had drained Tom, Joey and Brad of any energy to talk to him. Their sights were set on just getting to the airport and boarding the plane. Less talky-talky, the quicker they got to their destination. And besides, why should they interact so fiercely with someone who treated them so poorly. The sudden slam of the boot let Steven know that they were all set to go.

"Right," Steven said, his words slightly muffled by the tab. "Can we go now?"

"We can't, Joe's not here yet," Tom said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, avoiding looking him in the eyes. "Wish he'd hurry up."

The band were all now under the assumption that Joe had opted to stay over at Elyssa's house, where he had formerly lived before moving back in with them. None of them had any idea why he had decided to come back home, he just had. Every time they'd asked him, he smiled and shrugged. There had been no epic guitar riffs, no lingering smell of strong cologne around the house, no hot ten-minute showers, no sound of the classic Les Paul 59, no twenty-four-year-old man rocking out in a pair of platform boots and no shouting. In short, there had been peace - for the most part anyway.

"I sure hope he hasn't overslept. We must get there." Tom anxiously glanced at his watch, which read twenty-five to three. "We're all in trouble otherwise." He clicked his tongue. "Maybe we should've just got Frank to deal with this stuff."

Frank Connelly was Aerosmith's manager. Well, he had been for a few years. He was no longer in the picture. Steven had fired him for pissing him off when he'd been drunk on a particular day. Frank had criticised him for always being high, saying that he couldn't "work with artists who prioritise drugs and alcohol over their career." So, Steven granted him his wish and fired him on the spot. It was a shame because Frank had always been good to them, going as far as to give Joe the nickname 'Flash'. But it was done now, so Aerosmith were now managing themselves, which was becoming a real doozy.

"Fuck Frank," Steven huffed, jutting out his chin. "If we can organise accommodation, get ourselves to New York and back with no problems, and record an album, I don't see why we need him."

"Well we have no choice since we fired him," Brad said, wiping his hands down on his ripped jeans.

"We were ALL high," Tom added, his eyebrows raising. "It wasn't just Steven."

"We're always high, none of us have been sober for ages. Well, you weren't super high when Steven fired Frank, but -"

"Tom was fascinated with his own bassline after smoking one joint!" Steven told them all indignantly, his hands on his hips. "Would you not call that high?!"

Tom shrugged, smiling sheepishly. It wasn't untrue, he just disagreed with the recount of events.

"And look what good firing Frank has done," Joey muttered, pulling on one of his curls. "We're always fighting. Joe's stalked off and you're just standing here smoking, acting like everything is peachy!"

Steven felt his stomach tighten at Joey's words. "Thank you for your input Joey, but I don't actually care. And since when did you get such a lip? Because everything is actually in fact peachy."

Joey crossed his arms, running his tongue around the backs of his teeth. He'd always had a lip, he just chose not to use it. He was all for getting his voice across as much as he could, but shouting and continuing to argue wasn't making him happy. He was a lover, not a fighter.

"Calm down, both of you," Tom said, putting his hands on both men's shoulders. "The sun is barely up and yet we're already arguing. Let's just try and get through the day without beating each other up."

Steven pulled a face and turned away to continue smoking, stepping aside slightly to let Brad do up his shoelaces.

"Hey, you okay?" Joey asked in a mellow voice, approaching him and putting a kind hand on Tom's shoulder. "You seem a little flustered...and a bit grumpy."

Tom immediately felt his cold palms getting sweaty and his forehead heating up as Joey searched his cerulean eyes for any answer. He found none at all. Joey only found himself staring into the gentle, yet troubled eyes of a person whose eyes held the entire ocean. A sweet person who didn't deserve to feel as troubled as Tom did.

"You sure you're okay?"

Tom looked down at his shoes, which had disappeared beneath the thick blanket of snow that hadn't melted. "I'm fine," he answered in a voice that was smaller than usual.

It was blatantly obvious that Tom wasn't okay, but Joey wasn't one to assume and he wasn't going to pressure him to say what was wrong.

"Well, tell me otherwise. I'm here for you. All of you." Joey paused. "I love you guys."

The group exchanged a couple of smiles with each other, appreciating these sweet words, but none of them said anything.

Joey coughed to excuse the awkward tension that he felt. "Umm, shall we wait in the car for Joe? It's boring and really cold standing out here." He shivered and leaned into Brad, who put an arm around Joey and held him close to his chest.

"Yeah, sure," Tom agreed, looking away, his voice catching in his throat. "That's a really good idea."

Why were Brad and Joey acting like lovers? Why had they started acting like this? They had never been like this before. Tom couldn't understand the logic of this whatsoever. Was he doing something wrong? Had he done something wrong so that Joey avoided showing him affection? Whatever, it didn't matter. It was none of his business how Joey chose to show affection or who he chose to show it to.

Tom glanced down at his watch, trying to occupy his mind. It was coming up to a quarter to three. He frowned. Okay, maybe he should just give Joe a little longer. He'd been pretty lenient already, but the waiting was getting very irritating.

Climbing into the car after the others, Tom impatiently switched the headlights on and off as the radio blasted out Brown Sugar. Hopefully, some music would pass the time and Joe would turn up quicker.

"Oh, god, Tom, turn it off!" Joey complained, covering his ears as the iconic rock music bounced through his eardrums.

"You don't like The Rolling Stones?!" Steven exclaimed in shock, his hair messy from headbanging. "Everybody likes the Stones."

"Well, I don't like them. They don't have anything to offer me, especially in the drumming department. I prefer listening to Pretty Purdie."

Steven immediately turned his nose up at this. "Like whatever you like, but that's not my taste. Janis Joplin is my queen."

"Nah, that's Joe. Joe's your queen."

Tom cast Joey a smirk in the rearview mirror. Trust Joey to make a witty remark when the atmosphere was so miserable. Brad immediately burst into laughter but smothered it with the sleeve of his denim jacket, which somehow made it worse. Tears rolled down his face as the remark replayed over and over. It was super obvious that Steven had a crush on Joe, from always wanting to kiss him, flirting with him, and starting childish arguments, which Steven claimed was just friendly banter.

"Fuck off, Joey, it's not like that. I don't have a crush on Joe." Though, Steven's face was flaring up as he spoke. "And what you said wasn't even that funny - Brad, stop laughing!"

"I never said you did," Joey giggled, looking at Brad and smirking, which made him laugh harder.

A smile graced Tom's face. How he loved Joey's laugh. It was so soft and sweet, and it was like heaven as it rang through his ears. But then again, he loved everything about Joey: his laugh, how cute he was - especially when he became shy or embarrassed - his amazing personality, the baggy shirts and loose jeans he loved to wear, the gorgeous curls that graced his head... The list just went on.

The boys waited a couple more minutes, most of which was Brad and Joey laughing their heads off, but they eventually realised that Joe was going to be a no-show.

Tom sighed. "Let's go. If Joe's not going to make an appearance we might as well leave and let him find his own way. He knows where to find us."

They'd already lost a lot of time, thanks to Joe, and they couldn't afford to lose anymore.

Jiggling the gear stick into 'neutral' the car slowly began pulling away onto the road and rolling calmly along the tarmac. The sound of the turning tires offered some sort of comfort to everyone, especially Tom, who was feeling a little perturbed and already finding it difficult enough to drive when he had so much on his mind. There was the band, lack of sleep, Joey, Joe's abysmal timing and most importantly, himself. He hadn't really had any time for himself recently. It was so much easier when he was a child. No adult responsibilities, no need to pay bills or constantly tour, no drugs or alcohol, it was just him and his bass - and the nagging from his parents and siblings, of course.

Though, that was to be expected, especially when he was playing three times a day, before school, after school and after dinner for several hours every day. But aside from that, everything was perfect.

When it was him and his bass, just them together alone in his small bedroom, no one else, it was like time stopped. No annoying siblings to bother him. Don't get him wrong, he loved his family, but he preferred being on his own with his precious bass, completely lost in the music.

He loved having the rhythm whisk him away to the fantasy world that he loved to be engulfed in, where the music was loud and the spotlights shone like a million suns down on him, famous bassist, Tom Hamilton in an epic rock n roll band that had one goal: to conquer the world. And he had finally accomplished that goal. He was conquering the world with his best friends.

Tom smiled at the fond fantasy that he often indulged himself in when he was young and the childhood memories that flooded his mind. It eased the pain he was feeling. Those were good times.