DANTE

Sky swallows nervously, his throat dry, as he peeks into the door's window. He's arrived at the Do-Re-Mi label's headquarters and is about to meet with the guys. Unfortunately.

Through the glass, he can see Alex and Christian sitting across from each other at the long oval table. Jer is seated next to Christian, watching Marcus Williams, one of the record label's head executives, pace back and forth in front of the room. Damn it. Not Marcus! Sky doesn't think he can face him too.

Then again, of course, Marcus is going to be here. Do-Re-Mi is mainly his company. One of his lead singer's having a massive breakdown also affects him. Sky frowns briefly, thinking about Marcus's response. How he'll most likely be worried about financial and PR shit, instead of Sky's health. Yeah, he's definitely not looking forward to dealing with his BS. He takes a shallow breath, braces himself, and opens the door. Of course, everyone immediately looks up, causing Sky to be visually assaulted by four pairs of accusatory eyes. Well, they feel accusatory at least.

"Hey," Sky greets them awkwardly.

"St. James. Good. You're here. Please take a seat," Marcus says in a booming voice more commanding than Jer's. In the assertive department, Marcus is worse than the band's manager—which is saying something. Sky obeys without a word while trying to avoid eye contact. However, out of his peripheral vision, he sees Marcus check his watch.

"Where the hell is Turner?" Marcus asks out loud, not expecting an answer but Jer speaks up.

"It's not quite time for us to start yet, Marcus. Under the circumstances, I think we can spare the kid some leeway." Marcus's scowl softens at his reply. He shakes his head in sympathy.

"You're right, Johnson. I almost forgot. The poor bastard."

"What do you mean? What circumstances?" Sky glimpses the grim looks on everyone's faces. Christian's tight expression is positively livid. Alex remains stunned as he glances down at his hands.

"You don't know? Isn't he your best friend? You haven't talked to him?" Marcus's scowl is back in place. Before Sky can open his mouth to defend himself, Alex clues him in on the situation.

"Some pictures of Turner got leaked on the internet."

"You mean..."

"Yup. And they're not just any dirty pics, Sky. Ones where Turner is hooking up with a man. A. Man." Christian enunciates. "Turner's gay!"

Sky doesn't say anything, but his facial expression must give him away.

"You knew. You knew this whole time," Christian growls.

"You did?" Alex whispers. "What the hell, Sky."

"He didn't want anyone to know. I wasn't even supposed to until..." Realization strikes. Sky turns to Jer. "Ryan Peterson did this. Jer—"

"I'm aware. Trust me, I'm taking care of it." There's a dangerous gleam in Jer's eyes that Sky finds kind of terrifying. At the same time, Jer being on top of things makes him feel better. Man, he suspected Ryan was trouble!

Someone clearing their throat interrupts the men from talking further. Turner's standing in the doorway. He's having a hard time looking at any of them, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Clarke, come in." Marcus's voice is much gentler this time around as he guides Turner to the empty seat beside Sky and Alex.

"We were—" Jer begins.

"I heard you." Turner cuts him off. His statement causes everyone in the room to flinch with either embarrassment or guilt. Christian is the first one to recover—with one of his usual tactless reactions.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He demands to know.

"It's personal, Christian."

"Yeah, but we're your friends. Or are supposed to be."

"I wasn't sure how you'd react—"

"So you're a homo." Christian throws his hands up in a celebratory manner. "Big whoop! Did you think we would throw a gay-bashing party or something?"

"Christian!" Everyone else barks at him.

Marcus lets out a warning growl. "Watch it, Richards."

"Clearly, Turner had a reason to be anxious because you are way overreacting," Jer says.

"No, I'm not. I don't like how everyone in this band hides shit. Lying and fighting—and yeah, I'm not innocent either, but come on! What the hell happened to us?" Christian asks.

No one has an answer, but their silence speaks volumes.

"What happened?" Christian repeats, lost.

"Let's focus on the things we can control at the moment," Jer says. "Turner, in regards to your situation, I'm assuming you don't feel like making a statement?"

"No. Maybe we can let it blow over. Right?" Turner says. Jer gives him a sympathetic look and tries to sound comforting.

"Okay. We'll wait. See how it goes."

Before they can turn to him and start giving him grief, Sky offers himself up on the chopping block.

"And now onto me, I presume?" he says, trying to sound light, but his shoulders are stiffening in defense. His whole body tenses up as he waits for the oncoming attack. Sky's friends and co-workers mean well; but at the same time, it's like anything they say will burn him, shame him, make him feel like shit more than he already does.

"Obviously, you boys won't be touring again any time soon. And Sky, we need to discuss if you're open to—" Marcus starts.

"Going to rehab? I already promised the guys I'd go."

"Good. If that's the case, we just need to decide where to put you."

Sky holds back a glare. Put you. The man has a beautiful way with words.

"I'll help him find a place," Turner speaks up. "I looked into some facilities."

Surprised, Sky glances at him. "You did?"

"Yeah. I'd never let you handle this on your own." Turner's acting like it's no big deal. But it is to Sky. It means everything. His chest tightens, love and gratitude warring within him as he realizes how much he needs his best friend.

"Thanks," he says, only earning a shrug from Turner.

"Good. It's settled then. Sky will go on a little vacation, and your next album will be on hold." Marcus grunts.

"Well, we could use the time off. Get stuff together and work on songs." Turner supplies helpfully, although his plan sounds rather optimistic. Sky wants to agree he'll be back in a jiffy from his "vacation." They'll be able to work again, but he can't make that promise—not with things the way they are now.

Alex clears his throat, drawing the attention to him—although he looks reluctant to do so. "As long as we're talking about going on hiatus..."

Oh shit.

"I realize this isn't ideal, but while Sky is gone—with the wedding and everything, I was thinking it might be good for me to take a break too."

"Indefinitely?" Turner guesses immediately when Alex halts.

"I'm sorry," Alex says.

The dark reality hits home hard. Dead silence fills the room again, this time not out of desperation but shock. Once again, Christian is the one to break the ice and none too happily.

"You would. You would pussy out on us right when we need you the most." Christian snarls. The bassist—or should it be former bassist?—looks full of regret but his guilty conscience doesn't fix shit.

"I'm not pussying out. I'm moving on. There's a difference," he says calmly but his expression is pained, his eyebrows knitted together. "Look. I really am sorry."

"Are you sure about this, Alex? I mean, we need...it's—" Turner stumbles over his words only to get cut off.

"It's bullshit, is what it is," Christian says. "You son of a bitch." He suddenly jumps up, ready to leap over the table to get at Alex. Thankfully, Jer grabs him and pulls him back. "Calm down," Jer orders.

Christian may have the angry motivation of a wild bear, but Jer is built like a brick house. He doesn't stand a chance of breaking his hold. Although, it looks like Alex wouldn't even put up a fight if he did manage to get his claws in him. He's sitting in his chair, looking tortured but resolved at the same time.

And it hurts. It hurts to see how Alex can be calm when he's ruining everything. Sky wants to yell too, he wants to reach out and wring Alex's neck. But he can't—because he's hyperventilating. His stomach roils sickeningly. He has to get out. As everything erupts around him, the angry voices, the curses and pleas, he can't take it.

Stumbling, he lurches for the door and sprints the hell out of there. He doesn't process his trip down the elevator. Nothing hits him until he's standing outside the front of the building—the blaring horns of cars and the traffic going by wakes him up out of his daze. Sky stands there like a mindless coma victim while people dash by him on the street. At last, he hears a familiar voice speaking to him.

"Sky," Turner addresses him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He can barely feel it. He's numb. "Sky, man, you with me?"

No. He's nowhere. He's nothing.

"Is this my fault?" Sky asks, his voice shaky, his whole body trembling. He faces Turner, looking at him desperately. "Did I do this?"

"Of course not."

"If I hadn't fucked up, we wouldn't be here like this."

"You don't know that."

"But—" Sky begins once more, but Turner doesn't let him finish. He pulls Sky into a hug, shushing him softly. Sky reaches out and hugs his friend back fiercely. He wants to be embarrassed: two grown ass men embracing each other on the middle of the sidewalk, with Sky on the verge of bawling like a baby. Yet, he doesn't think about any of that. Instead, he's remembering how the band was rock solid once. How they were tight, together in everything and going places.

But even the greatest civilizations crumble, they burn to the ground. And they weren't Rome. They're just a two-bit rock band.

It's no wonder everything is going up in flames.

*** You may be wondering if the band is breaking up, then where the heck is this story going? Come along a little longer (there are only a few more chapters left) and you'll find out! ***

https://youtu.be/qcL0RQiLVUs