1979 ;; hs au

One

"This is it fella," the orange creamsicle color telephone is pressed hard to the side of his tanned face as he stands on the rug in the middle of his bedroom, his hand rests on his hip and his weight is shifted more to the left, "take it o' leave it. I know yeh can't resist."

The mop of chocolate locks atop his head is a curly rats nest and the stubble along his jaw shows how obsessed he is with this rock star career. When was the last he brushed his teeth, or even change that shirt? It was wrinkled and stained, so I didn't even want to have a chance of getting a whiff of his breath.

He lets out a heavy breath in a sigh and I watch his chest fall and with his head hangs in disappointment. The shoulders atop his body slump and his posture becomes slouched while I realize he just got rejected by another bassist. My face turns into a sad frown as I watch his hopes sink, he was so passionate about music and writing, I hated watching him get so excited then so upset.

My eyes wonder up to his own and notice that he staring at the bunch of posters aside his unmade bed. I follow his stare and it leads me right to the middle is his collage, his favorite poster of The Rolling Stones. I breathe a laugh through my nose before picking up one of his teeth marked pens and scratch out the name of the boy he was talking to. The last guy on our list that we knew could play decently.

"Wha'? No, o' course I know I ain't gonna be a Mick Jagger bu', I jus' think it'd be a bit o' fun." He shrugs, nearly tangling himself up the telephones chord. I snicker at the sight of him unwinding himself from the mess of orange wiring.

"No? Suit yo'self, heard you weren't tha' good anyway." And with that, his conversation with the boy was over and he calmly set the phone back in place upon his cluttered desk.

"You'll get 'em one day, Styles." I chuckle as he throws his body dramatically onto his bed, "Maybe its because you're too British."

"Oi!" He grins in my direction, "Maybe it's because they're afraid we're gonna ge' Yoko Ono'd by yeh."

"First off, that's impossible because you're dating that Cindy Loo Hoo bimbo," I reply and he responds by sticking his tongue out at me, I lift my first finger in the air before adding, "maybe you're too intimidating."

"Hmm, i' isn't impossible because yeh always go fo' the drummah anyway," he sits up smirking at me, my cheeks begin tinting pink thinking about my long time crushes on Ringo Star and Dennis Wilson, "remember Stephen who used t' write with me?"

"Yeah?" I frown towards him, pressing the palm of my hand into the side of my face so he wouldn't see me flush.

His smirk grows wider, "Yeh know he's a drummer for some band now?"

"No way!" My eyes grow wide and I lean towards him, before realizing I was acting like a school girl and lean back into the chair, "Cool, I mean no biggie."

"Knew ya had a thing for him!" He points a finger in my direction and I roll my eyes at him, "I knew it ever since-"

"You know, pointing is rude." I stand up, flicking a strand of hair off my shoulder, "So ya better stop pointing at me before I shove it up your bum."

"Oh," he laughs, taking off his shirt and throwing on a new one. So I was right, "kinky." He wiggles his eyebrows at me and flip him off while he tugs his shirt down.

"Anyway," I turn to pick up my beat up bag and slip on my chucks, "I think it's time for a bassist break, don't you?"

He sighs and shrugs and I pucker my lips sadly as he turns to his desk. This meant the world to him, and it just keeps breaking his heart. I wanted to help so bad, but I've already done what I can. That last guy was basically his last chance and he's running out of options.