DANTE

After last night's fiasco, Turner's a mess. He spent last night watching over Sky. The poor guy was tossing and turning, mumbling about Gracie. This morning, Turner's traded stressing over his childhood friend to placating his childish one. Christian's hung over and not in a forgiving mood, despite Turner explaining everything.

None of the Dante boys are in good shape for the interview they're having. The band had been scheduled to do one for some local magazine before tomorrow night's show.

Turner scoffs inwardly, thinking about how they must look: Christian is trashed and pouting. Sky's in his own morbid world. Alex, at least, is giddy over his engagement, but he's distracted and daydreaming about Melissa. And Turner is drained from worrying over everyone. Sky's horrible drama, Christian's partying and temperamental ways, and Alex potentially moving on.

He shouldn't have let it get to this point, but understanding, patient Turner is getting very cranky. He has no desire to say anything witty for Miss. Whatsherface reporter. Maybe her name is Tanya? To be honest, he doesn't care. He's too busy caring—obsessing—over everything else. The worst part of being the worrywart is when no one worries about you. He has taken time to support everyone in their affairs, but has anyone bothered to give him the same consideration? 

"No." Sky laughs at something Tiffany asked. "We try to stay away from that kind of thing. Did you?" Sky turns expectantly to Turner.

"Did I what?" Turner blushes, grateful the interview isn't being recorded. He doesn't want people to see how awkward and clueless he is. Or how hungover Christian is.

"Did you know that fans write slash fiction about us? Kinky stuff, from what Christine tells me."

Wow. Christine. He'd been way off.

"No," Turner lies, trying to laugh it off. "But hey, if fans find it as a way to express their love for the band, more power to them."

"Yeah. Why not? If I won't be able to fulfill my fantasies with top model Tasha Vanderbilt, Turner's a nice second choice." Sky waggles his eyebrows at him suggestively.

"Yes. Your fans are pretty passionate," Christine says.

"We love our fans!" Christian lifts up a feeble fist pump. Moron. Christine showers him with giggles and eyelash batting.

Christian might be the drunk one, but if that shit keeps up, Turner will be the one puking.

"What's the craziest thing a fan's ever done?" Christine asks, her eyes locked on Christian.

Turner zones out again while Christian and Alex argue over an incident involving a forty-year-old fan and a can of whipped cream. The rest of the interview passes by quickly. After Christine leaves and the door shuts, the guys talk about their next move. 

"So..." Sky attempts to sound cheerful. "Anyone up for grub?"

"I'm meeting up with Melissa—but we can join you or—"

"That's okay. You guys do your lovey-dovey fiancé thing." Sky coos. Christian perks up at this.

"She said yes?"

"Yeah," Alex says.

"Wow! Congratulations."

"Thanks, man."

Maybe the two will now stop shooting daggers at each other when Melissa's name is mentioned.

"So, food. No takers?" Sky speaks up again.

"I was going to go meet up with Natasha. T.A.' s doing touristy stuff if you want to come..." Christian starts.

"That's okay. Maybe I'll catch up with you guys later."

Everyone's eyes go to Turner. 

"I think I'm gonna lie down. Take a nap or something," he says, guaranteeing his own Me time. The other guys will avoid the room for a good hour or two if they think Turner's "sleeping."

"Alright then." Sky doesn't even bother throwing any of them his puppy dog eyes. He's eating solo. He throws them all one last "it's all good" shrug. "See you guys later."

They chorus their goodbyes and head out after him. Turner waves to Alex and Christian as they leave. Then, he watches his two bandmates head down opposite sides of the street (how symbolic).

Turner tells himself not to think anymore about where everyone else or the band is going. It's time to forget about how everything. Today is about him and what he needs.

Resolved, Turner whips out his cell and scrolls through his contact list. Yes. He's going back to the hotel—but he isn't going back there to sleep...and he isn't going back alone.

Alex and Melissa walk out of the museum, dedicated to Indian female artists. Someplace named Pablita something. Alex isn't sure. He only went because Melissa had been dying to go. They sit down on a nearby bench to take a breather.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Alex grumbles. He's only pretending to be sullen. Being with Melissa is perfect—no matter what they're doing.

"What things, dear?" Melissa asks.

"Your art trips. Any time we visit a city, your first stop is some museum we spend hours walking around."

"It's good for you. I like my men cultured." Melissa jokes, resting her head on his shoulder. Her touch makes looking at all those display cases worth it.

"You're doing a thorough job. I'll be a Renaissance man by the time we're married."

"Spring," Melissa says.

"Hmm?"

"I've always wanted a spring wedding."

"Spring sounds perfect," he says sincerely.

"There's so much to plan and do."

"We'll manage it together." Alex clasps her hand, her hand with his ring. He feels a momentary pause when a particular thought surfaces. 

"I'll take some time off."

"What?" She asks tensely. He can tell she knows exactly what he means but doesn't want to give him an ultimatum. Regardless, he has to decide. He already has.

Alex forces himself to say the words he's been dreading.

"From the band. Just for a little while," Alex says.

"When?" 

"I'm not sure. I'll talk about it with them after the tour. I don't want to shake things up more than they have been."

"I would never want you to give up your music." Melissa twists her ring around her finger anxiously. "I love what you love. I won't stop you."

"You're not making me and the guys will understand." Alex thinks about how "understanding" they'll be. What comes to mind is Christian cheering, a furious Sky yelling, while delicate Turner either cries or faints.

"Eventually," he adds. Melissa shakes her head.

"I'll be the bad guy. I don't want to Yoko everything up."

"Honey, you are not Yoko Ono. Far from it." He kisses the top of her head. "Everything will work out." To be honest, Alex can't tell whether he's saying this to comfort Melissa—or himself.

*** Alex may be conflicted but at least he has Melissa and their future together. 

https://youtu.be/5tc0gLSSU1M

This is exactly what he needs, Sky decides as he takes another bite of his supreme pizza. He'd found an Italian bistro near the magazine's office. The establishment is chill and he is (momentarily) content. It's too bad the breaded concoction is solely alleviating Sky's hunger. It can't erase his memories of last night.

Reliving it reminds him of how much he misses her and would give anything to be with her again. With his reflections back in full force, Sky's not hungry anymore. The cheesy mozzarella goodness has turned into thick, too chewy gunk. 

The comment Christian's hook up made had sucked, but the thing that makes Sky shudder is how fragile his psyche is. He couldn't handle one minor reference to his past. When he first wrote the song, it had been therapeutic. He felt like he was making peace. However, after his dad's death, Turner got the song pulled from their setlist so fast it gave everybody whiplash. Regardless of his bestie's efforts to shelter him, Sky needs to toughen up. Is he going to fall apart and go emo anytime something bad happens? Not cool.

As Sky continues to think about his screwed up family, of the bruises and death, his mood gets worse. His appetite is gone and he wants to escape from his own head. Maybe he can go meet up with Christian and TA to get sidetracked.

Or maybe he'll go back to the room. Depressed and twitchy, he wants a pick me up. Just a hit or two and he'll feel better. Feeling rejuvenated by the idea of snow-white salvation, Sky gets up. He'll have to sneak in and grab it since Turner's sleeping. 

As he's leaving, Sky passes a table with two girls and a guy. Sky senses one of the girl's eyes shift to him as he goes by. Her baby blues widen and he knows. He's been "spotted." Sure enough, before the cafe door closes, Sky hears the girl squealing to her friends. He speeds up his pace as he heads down the sidewalk.

"Excuse me!" A high-pitched call pierces the air. Sky hunches his shoulders and keeps walking. If he can make it around the corner, maybe she'll give up. Dear God, please. He can't do this today. He's got no desire to put on the charming rock idol act.

"HEY DUDE!" The guy screeches. Sky almost stops but changes his mind. He can make it. One more turn and he'll be on the next street.

A firm tug on the back of his jacket pulls him up short. 

Damn.

Sky cringes, then gives in. He turns around, and the one who recognized him is holding onto his coat. She looks positively dumbstruck. The other two teenagers run up to him.

"Um, hi," the other girl stammers. Sky notices she has horribly dyed purple hair. He also realizes the guy hanging out with them isn't as pleased to meet him. He looks on sullenly, hovering in the background.

"Hi. How are you?" Sky tries to sound like he cares.

"Fine." Blue Eyes, outlined in too much black liner, stutters. "We were wondering—"

"You're Sky St. James, right?" The dude blurts out.

"Yeah."

This confirmation inspires more gasps and squeals.

"Oh my god! I knew it!" Magenta Girl exclaims. Mascara Chick slaps her on the shoulder.

"I'm the one who saw him first."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have had the balls to come up to him if it wasn't for me." The two go back and forth while Sky and Grumpy watch them bicker.

"It was nice meeting you, but I have to go." Sky backs away, but the girls rush forward.

"Wait. We wanted to see you in concert."

"But my mom wouldn't pay for the tickets."

"But I have ALL your albums, and..."

And it went on and on.

Sky tries the smile and nod thing, pretends to give a damn, and responds in the right places—but he wants to go the fuck home! When he's on the verge of exploding, he cuts them off.

"Look. Great meeting you, but I have to leave."

"Are you meeting up with the band?"

"I'd love to meet them too!"

"Now's not a good time," Sky says through gritted teeth. "Bye." He has to jet or risk yelling at them to back off. Before they can utter another squeakish word, he starts hoofing it in the other direction.

"Hold on. Can you sign my shirt?" Magenta Girl asks.

"I—"

"Oh, I don't have a pen."

"Me neither."

Mascara Chick puts on a pleading, innocent look, clasping her hands. "If you could wait for five minutes, we can go to this store two blocks away. I'm sure they have markers."

"I can't!" Sky bursts. The two girls stare at him in shock. "Sorry. I can't. Excuse me." Sky mutters, feeling horrible but what can he do? What's done is done. The best thing for him is to disappear. On his exit, he hears the rude guy snort.

"I told you. What an asshole."

"Yeah. He's a jerk."

"I'm so disappointed."

Sky starts to turn back around.

"I'm—"

"Your last album sucked." Grumpy snarls. "You and your pussy ass band are a bunch of posers anyway." He throws his arm around Mascara. "Come on, guys."

All three fans—more like ex-fans—give Sky one more disdainful look before walking away.

This time, Sky doesn't stop them.

*** Thanks for reading! More on Monday on where the boys are headed and who the hell Turner was calling!