The world was grey to Emerson, there was no happiness for him. No hope either. He had gotten used to this, after all, he had been like this for the last-- well he couldn't remember. He was so used to not being able to feel anything, that when the time came that he did feel something, it was a foreign feeling that sent him into a spiral of despair.

He didn't want to feel anything, not happiness, not sadness; most importantly he never wanted to feel love. Love left him vulnerable to heartbreak. Yet, it wasn't the vulnerability that was the main reason he didn't want to love, it was the fact that it would fix him.

It sounded ridiculous, that he didn't want to be fixed. Emerson knew this. However, being fixed meant admitting that something was broken, and no-one, no matter their strength, was ever ready to admit that they're broken.

People would notice his change, they would notice his newfound happiness and they would know that he had been broken. They would know he had been weak. In the profession that Emerson was in, when he was watched by thousands, weakness was not an option.

--

The air was cold and Emerson could feel the bitter winds biting at his exposed flesh. The phrase 'Exposed flesh' brings horrible thoughts to mind, it constructs the human consciousness to think of exposed wounds and maybe even rotting flesh, or maybe it was just Emerson whose mind worked that way. Although, as he stood in the harsh winds of the incoming winter, he felt as though his skin had been peeled away leaving raw muscle to fight the cold.

The drummer rubbed his numb fingers together in a feeble attempt to warm a minute part of his uncovered skin. He needed to get back inside but he had to finish with the fans that had queued up for hours to meet him and his brothers. His profession meant that he was in control.

He could hit the drums as hard as he wanted, he could play them as loud as he chose, he didn't even have to play them at all if he felt like it. On the stage was where Emerson felt the most control over his life. However, it was when he met with the fans that his facade always started to crumble.

The man would stand there and take pictures with the countless fans, plastering a fake smile on his face for the many pictures that were requested. This wasn't what troubled Emerson about the process of meeting his fans. It was when they would tell him that he and his brothers had helped them with their mental health, or in someway saved them.

It was like they were unwittingly tormenting him, he had somehow, with the help of his brothers, helped others when neither himself nor his brothers were able to help him. Whoever was writing Emerson's life sure did like their ironic twists, did the people reading already know how his life was going to end? Did this 'writer' also appreciate a flair of dramatic irony as well as the old fashioned irony?

What cruel person would inflict such a horrible fate upon a man?

The security rounded up the last of the fans that wanted pictures and sent the rest home. It was late and the show had been long, so neither one of the members of the band were able to keep many conversations with the fans. Some of them understood and could see the fatigue around their eyes, others often felt like they had been deprived of something they deserved.

The last fan stood in front of Emerson having already taken pictures with both Remington and Sebastian who had now retreated to the warmth of the bus. Emerson's eyes glided over the features of the fan's face as he held a simple conversation with her. She was undeniably beautiful and he couldn't help but glance at her over and over.

Her brown eyes made her look adorable and innocent, whilst her black hair that had been pulled into a very messy bun atop her head framed her face with the stray hairs that fell loose of the hair tie. Her lips were painted a very bright red which was a very bold choice and contrasted against her white knitted dress that fell about six inches above the knee.

He once again found himself admiring her beauty, a small smile that played on her lips told him that she had seen him. The look in her eyes now juxtaposed against the innocence that they had given off before, and he could tell she held larger mischief than her appearance let on. Emerson found himself smirking at the woman who had caught him.

His internal consciousness knew that this wasn't just normal exchange of interactions. He knew it was wrong on so many levels, not only was she a fan but loving someone meant something entirely different to Emerson. It meant he had a weakness. It wouldn't be a weakness that was used against him by some enemy, no it would be his own mind to use this weakness against him.

They continued to talk about random things for a while until they were both interrupted by Remington who bent his head around the corner of the bus door to check on Emerson who had still not returned onto the bus. However, when he found his brother conversing with the fan still, he pulled his head back into the bus, but not before sending a knowing smirk to his brother.

It was at this point that the two decided to part ways for the night. She left him with a feathery kiss on the cheek that he could barely feel due to the cold, as well as a small piece of paper with her number. He lifted his hand as a small wave to the retreating figure who returned wave back as she gave a final glance before turning the corner.

His cheeks burned from where she had kissed him as well as the embarrassment from the knowledge that his brother's had been watching from the small window in the bus. He knew he would never hear the end of it from his brothers when he got back into the bus, which is why with a middle finger salute to the bus window he walked away from the bus.

The streets were dark and foreign to the man and he had no clue where he was. Yet it didn't alarm him, in every city they went to, he would often find himself lost in the depths of the city's streets. He liked finding new things, places and just generally observing the people. However, the late hour meant that he couldn't observe the people of the city.

The dim street-lights barely lit the pathway that Emerson had found himself on, he could barely even see 5 feet in front of him, which is why when he came across the lake two awful things almost happened. The first thing was that he didn't even see the lake and quite nearly walked into it. The second of the two unfortunate events that almost unfolded was that he, having not seen the lake, did not see the woman in front of the lake and almost walked into her and caused her to fall into the water.

He recognised the woman straight away from the outfit she was wearing, it was the woman from earlier who he had spent so long speaking to. Her arms were wrapped across her chest as she hugged herself to preserve the little heat that she did have, and she watched the silent lake.

Emerson took his eyes off the woman and stared at the lake as well, in an attempt to find out what had the woman so transfixed over such a simple sight. The full moon was high in the sky and stood out against all of the stars in the sky, which was as expected due to the fact that the moon was closer than the stars and thus it would appear larger and stand out more.

From the corner of his eye he saw the younger woman begin to shake as she held herself, he shrugged off his long overcoat and wrapped it over her shoulders without a single word and continued to watch the moon reflect onto the water.

The pair stood there for a while just watching the water until the sound of Emerson's phone rang through the silent air interrupting the peaceful serenity that they had both achieved inside of themselves. The caller ID told him that it was Remington, however, he knew that as soon as he answered the call he would be greeted by a drunk Sebastian who would just tease him about the night's events with the fan, which is why he declined the call.

His eyes caught the time, 1:53 am, their show had ended at 10 pm and meeting the fans ended at 11:30 pm, he spoke to the woman in front of him for at least 30 minutes. That meant he had been gone for nearly 2 hours, he had no clue how long he had been walking around until he found the girl, nor did he know how long he had been stood here next to the girl for. Yet, what he did know was that it was way too late for his conscience to allow the woman next to him walk home alone.

The woman was looking at him expectantly when he looked up from the phone as if she already knew what he was thinking, "So what's a gentleman going to do now?" a small smile played on her lips as she watched him. She was gauging his react. Anyone could tell, even Emerson.

Deciding to play along to see where it got them, "A gentleman?" a smirk formed on his face as he looked at the woman in front of him. It was weird, he had only known her for a few hours and she had already brought him out of his shell more than any other person, besides his brothers, had before. It was complete madness to Emerson, that a single person could have such an effect on him.

Emerson's eyes and brain did not miss the sight of the woman biting her lip before she let the words fall from them, "You gave me your coat, and I'm guessing you're about to offer to walk me home, which are both acts that a gentleman does, thus you are a gentleman." Though they were simple actions that he hoped that anyone with a set of morals would follow, to the other woman they seemed to be signs of a 'gentleman'.

Emerson wanted to frown at the thought of others not acting in such a way, but instead chose a more light-hearted response and shook his head whilst rolling his eyes in a joking manner at the woman's words. "That nickname is more suited towards my brother. Also, no I'm not offering to walk you home because the matter is non-negotiable, my conscience would not allow it"

"I think it fits you pretty well" Her voice was soft and barely audible in the air, it hadn't have been for their reduced distance between their bodies, Emerson wouldn't have heard her. He held his left arm out for her to wrap her in his as they both began the walk back out of the park.

He glanced at the woman once again and found her smiling, it was only when they walked under a streetlight that he saw the red of her cheeks as she blushed. Despite the streetlights being the living- well not so living (He hoped)- the embodiment of low power mode, they were still able to show the very visible blush that had spread across each of her cheeks.

The fact that he had somehow made her blush both flattered him, as well as flustered him. He had no idea he had that kind of capability, "Thank you- I'm sorry I don't believe you told me your name?" Emerson was embarrassed. That's the only way to put it. He had been talking to this woman for a large amount of time, and he had not even realised he didn't know her name. So much for being a gentleman.

She, however, didn't seem fazed that he didn't know her name and shrugged her shoulders as if it was an everyday occurrence. She looked up at Emerson and gave him a smile that would stay tattooed into his brain for the rest of eternity, whether he saw her again or whether this was the last time he would see her, that smile would remain.

"Maisie"

***

Now no-one asked for this, I didn't even think about doing this until recently but I think it's necessary. Writing Maisie in a good light was hard because all I've ever done is write her as the villain, to be honest, I don't see Maisie as the villain because there is no villain to this story, but that's how Emerson sees her. Because she is to him, she is his 'Boss Battle' before he can reconnect with his brothers. So to see into Emerson's mind from that first interaction is important. It also helped me, because as I was trying to find details on Maisie that I'd written I did one of 2 things.

1) got to recap on the direction the first chapter headed to.

2) Realised I hadn't described Maisie all that much, she was kinda just left up to the readers own imagination. So hopefully this allows you to see more into Maisie. 

ALSO, Emerson doesn't hate Maisie because she cheated on him, he hates her, well not even her, because his mind didn't want to feel and she made him feel and then all of a sudden she made him regret feeling. That's his reason for 'hating' her. Remington and Sebastian hate her because she hurt their brother and in their opinion, she is the reason they're not as close. Codie hates Maisie because she's only ever heard bad things about her, and if I'm honest, Codie's mindset is that of mine, her personality is entirely mine, she is me (except her history and personal problems).