AWAY WITH YOU

CHAPTER ONE

"So, that's it?" Bill breathed in awe. It was never a big deal for any of them to close the studio — to see it unlit, dark and neat, lacking its usual occupants who broke tables and chairs most of the time. When they were younger, all four of them made a pact never to split ways— much more with Tom and Bill, being twins. But, we do say ridiculous things when we're young, and frankly, free. Now 21, after eight years of the music industry, touring around mindlessly with resilience, the band has come to an end. No, *indefinite* hiatus is what Bill liked to believe, make it less harsh.

Now they walked through the gravel with chilled spores fogging before them breath after breath. Their shoes crunched against the gravel and snow. "My conscience can't take it," Bill conceded. "You've got to do it, Tom." Tom shot his brother a look. He, or it has been pestering him for ages: closure with your ex this, reconciliation that. He could do it, really. But a proud man like him opted to refuse.

Tom chuckled. He looked up at the night sky, the sky seemed to be clearer than ever as the stars beamed down on them. "And make a fool of myself? Nah. She's probably with someone new, I don't want to put myself through all that." Tom shook his head. He wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole, and Bill certainly wasn't going to drag him along. He knew it'd cause more heartache, more drama. He'd be back to square one. "— you're just embarrassed of what you did," the younger brother huffed.

Tom turned to face Bill, stopping dead in his tracks as the gravel scattered under his boots. His brows furrow, narrowing his eyes, he almost laughed. He couldn't help but feel defensive, like a cornered animal. He put on a smile, a false one, an attempt to divert from the subject. "What are you on about? I'm not embarrassed."

It was a lie, they both knew it. "Never?" Bill inquired with little to no sarcasm. "Don't you get embarrassed when you walk past someone you have baggage with?" He gritted his teeth. He hated how accurate that statement was, he hated how easily it got to him. "Maybe." He muttered, still refusing to make eye contact with Bill. He started walking again, quicker. He just wanted to leave the conversation, he knew where it was heading.

"It wasn't mature," Bill chided. "— you know? What we did to her. I know it's not just you,"
He continued walking in silence, letting out a heavy sigh as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He knew what Bill was getting it, and he had mixed feelings about it.
Bill was right, the way they treated her was far from 'mature.' He could blame the alcohol, the fame, the fans. But ultimately, it was all his fault.

"Don't you think that it's time?"

"— to apologize, I mean."

He stopped again. He ran a hand through his messy hair, he closed his eyes. He *wanted* to apologize, he wanted to see her again. He missed their relationship, the laughs, the love, the comfort. But he couldn't, he'd just end up hurting her all over again. "I don't think it's that simple." He replied, voice laced with guilt.

"How come?"

Tom looked at Bill, his brother could read him like a book. He knew he wouldn't be able to get through this conversation until he gave in. "Because it'll never go back to the way it was, Bill," He spoke, defeated. "It'll just be uncomfortable. She'll look at me with resentment, she'll reject the apology."

"But even if she did," Bill drawled. "Even if she did, you've tried to do what's right and moral."
Tom huffed. He knew his brother was right, he was always right. He *did* want to apologize, to get it off his chest and put it all behind them. But he was scared. "God, you're infuriating." He said through gritted teeth before he chuckled. "You know you're a pain the ass, right?"

Bill's index finger bounced in between pointing at him then himself. "I'm exactly like you."
"You're a pain in my ass, that's what you are." He smirked, shoving Bill's shoulder with his own.
"Why do you care so much, anyway?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, you had a girlfriend of your own to worry about."

"I'm only concerned, for you," Bill admitted. "The media has made your character to be a sex machine."

"We don't need to prove them right. Especially now, that we're.. we're going to be normal again. We don't need it to be imprinted to people,"

He huffed. He could understand Bill's concern, the media didn't do him any favours. They made him seem like an egotistical ladies man. "I'm not a sex machine," He grumbled, not too amused by the description. "You should be worrying about your own image, anyway. They have you branded as some kind of diva."

"And I like it," he laughed. "I like being the sissy because it's true. But do you like your social title? Sex machine? Womanizer? The last time I checked, you couldn't even look at a woman's eyes."

He groaned in annoyance. He couldn't deny that Bill was right, again. Tom really couldn't look at women's eyes, he didn't want to give them the wrong idea. "I don't know what you want me to say, Bill." He mumbled, his cheeks flushed slightly. "I guess I don't like it, you've got me there. So what? Now you're gonna play my therapist?"

"I just want to see you feel better. I know what you did still affects you."

Tom fell silent for a while, his fingers brushed against the rough gravel. He couldn't argue with Bill, he was painfully correct, as always. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick. "If I agree to talk to her, will you stop bothering me? For once in your life."

Bill's solemn expression morphed into a wide grin.

"Yes."

Tom sighed heavily. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Fine. I'll talk to her," He said begrudgingly. "On two conditions:" he held up two fingers.

"First, you *have* to stop bothering me about it."
He held up the second finger. "Second, you're not allowed to make fun of me when I embarrass myself."

"You got it."

Tom nodded, he looked like he was dreading what he had agreed to.
"I can't believe I'm doing this, you'd better keep your word." He pointed a finger at Bill.

How he got him to agree or even remember her surprisingly unchanged number after a few years was beyond us. She always seemed ambiguously neutral during their breakup.
Athena glanced at the clock. The only thing keeping her from waiting any longer and just ditching this whole thing, thinking it was another *sick* joke was the wafting aroma of coffee and pastries. She sat there like an idiot, alone in a two-person booth.