Band practice was the highlight of Arthur's week. If the boy could take a yellow liquid highlighter and scribble all over his day, that would seriously be the only time in which he would decorate it with the color. Arthur was actually imagining it as he was on his way home, wondering what it would be like if everything in his garage was covered in a bright, neon yellow. It brought an odd expression to his face, like it was just really a stupid idea. It wasn't his fault that he was imaginative at times, was it? His imaginary friends still lingered after everyone else's disappeared. The flying mint green bunny and the pixies and the pirate guy showed up every once in a while, whenever he was bored, lonely or just wanted them nearby. It was an strange predicament, but the Brit managed to work it out nonetheless.

Despite Arthur's imagination, he was already about a block away from his house. He sauntered, a slower movement than it was before he left the school's campus. This was possibly for two reasons: To avoid the mass hysteria that came with leaving the school on a Friday, or the fact that maybe he was just a lot more excited to get his hands on that mic before he left the campus than he was now. Besides, they were going to stop by the music store after practice anyway.

"Arthur! Wa-wait up!" said a voice behind him. The Brit glanced back and the friendly Canadian ran up to him, awkwardly swinging around his backpack as he waddled under the weight of his textbooks. "We're meeting in yo-your garage this time, right?" The smaller boy asked, practically wheezing as he tried to catch his breath after slowing down to match Arthur's pace.

Arthur nodded. "We are. And then we're taking a run to the music store right after. You mind coming with us, or is that when you'll have to go to the game?" He sent a side-glance to Matthew, one of his huge eyebrows piqued slightly. The other nodded, sighing.

"Ye-yeah, I have to go to the game. Why don't y-you come with me today? We'll stop by the music store tomorrow, if y-you wanted to…" Matthew shifted uncomfortably, adjusting one strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "I have to go… I'm going to go grab my drum kit… I'll be over at y-your house in about fifteen minutes."

"I'll think about it." I don't want to go to that god-awful game. "Alright. See you in a bit then." Matthew then turned into the driveway they were coming up on and went in through the gate to their backyard. Arthur continued down the path he was going, still a good several houses down from Matthew.

"You should go to the game!" said a high-pitched, child-like voice. Arthur shrugged, shaking his head. A green winged cat-sized bunny came by and landed on his shoulder. "No! Seriously! You don't even know if it will be fun, Arthur!" It chided.

"Oh, Flying Mint Bunny…" Arthur sighed, his shoulders now drooping slightly, making the bunny slide some off of his shoulder. "Football games are just places where people run about with helmets and their silly balls and touchdowns and goals. It is a violent sport and people in the crowd are so loud and annoying. And don't even get me started on the queue to the bathrooms if you may have to take a piss." He cocked his head to the side, his chin brushing up against the imaginary creature's side. "So why on earth should I go if I know I will be miserable? I would much rather a book, a quiet room and a cup of tea."

"Sounds nothing like your band practice. You are all loud and scary sometimes…"

"That's different, though! We're working on something and it is fun. We're not bashing each other's heads in, or running about a field or sitting in a stupidly loud and obnoxious crowd!" Arthur's eyebrows knitted together defensively, and he could hear a sigh from the bunny on his shoulder.

"You're so stubborn, Arthur." another voice squeaked. A pixie came whizzed by his ear and then came to a stop from in front of his nose, making the Brit go cross eyed for just a moment. "You should go!"

"Why are all of you so insistent on making me go? I have to go get a new microphone tonight, and I don't have any time for silly football!" He swatted away the fairy and then brushed off the bunny and charged forward towards his house.

He got home and the first thing he did was set his things aside and open the garage. It was about three fifty in the afternoon now, and practice usually started around four. Set up began as soon as he set foot on home soil, and that usually took about fifteen minutes to do. Cursing his lateness, he grumbled as he untangled wires from last practice and pushed amps to their places. A dark Camaro pulled up to the curb and Francis and Antonio came out, looking as they always did- absolutely stunning. They pulled out instrument cases with them and as they came to the garage, one could have easily sworn that this was a real punk band.

However, Arthur was immune to and ignoring their gorgeous looks, and proceeded to fuss at himself, mumbling at the slowly fading creatures that flitted about his head.

"Hey! Eyebrows-" Antonio started to say, his accent lilting at an almost romantic way. However, anything that came out of the Spanish young man's mouth was almost always said in a romantic way.

"It's Arthur. Not 'Eyebrows', not 'Iggy' and not 'Artie'. Get it right, 'Tonio." Arthur snapped, interrupting. The intense and obnoxious roar of a motorcycle caused all three of them to look up. The engine was cut off and the rider pulled off their helmet to beam at the three in the garage. He pushed the kickstand down and got off with a strange grace, uncharacteristic to the obnoxious (equally so to his motorcycle) personality and outward air he had about him. He swung his base bag over his shoulder and practically strutted towards them.

"Why did you park in the middle of my front yard, Gilbert?" Arthur asked, his eyebrow twitching in irritation. His voice was also starting to take a particularly testy tone that could be rivaled by the tone he used for pure rage. He had spent almost all of the previous weekend to work on that lawn, and once again this weekend, he would have to do it again.

"Your eyebrows caused me to swerve off of your driveway! They're so distracting from afar!" He feigned fright as he got closer, but made no move to go move his motorcycle.

"You're an ass." Arthur bit back. Right about now, he wanted nothing more than to change into his favorite jeans and t-shirt, but he didn't really have the time for it at the moment. If it weren't for those stupid pixies...

"When is the drummer getting here?" Francis asked, now going to unpack his guitar. Wires were near perfectly wrapped and separated in their appropriate places, and the amp was already in the right place. The Frenchman was able to get his stuff set up in near moments. Gilbert and Antonio were almost done too.

Arthur looked up from his untangling and then over to where Matthew usually set up. He then looked out of the garage, pulling the wires with him and glanced down the road. There was no sign of the drummer or the drummer's car anywhere.

Arthur growled in frustration before storming into the garage once more and tossing the wires on some empty space on some unused desk. He needed to change, and badly.

Before going in through the door that led into the kitchen, Arthur leaned back to look over at the guys. "He told me about ten minutes ago that he'd be here. Call me if he gets here before I come back down."

"Don't let your eyebrows eat you alive!" Gilbert shouted as Arthur went in. As the door shut behind him, the Englishman threw a middle finger behind him and then rushed upstairs. Flinging the door open, he stripped himself of his dress shirt and vest, and following that his pants and dress shoes. While they were great for giving off a good impression, the dress shirt that was buttoned all the way up to his neck and the pants that sat too high on his hips made him uncomfortable sometimes. The clothes that replaced the overly formal ones included a union jack v-neck t-shirt and some low rise dark skinny jeans that were held up by an embossed black and white checkered belt. Once everything was on, the boy mussed his hair and pulled on some comfortable boots and then went back downstairs. Now that he was comfortable, he was more likely to be a little less nit-picky-ish, right?

Nope. If anything, he was like one of the Bad Touch Trio now: nit-picky, gorgeous and an asshole. The last two were a requirement for BTT, but Arthur wasn't like this all the time… That and he was TOO MUCH of a pompous asshole. Go figure.

"Hey, is Matthew here yet?" Arthur's voice was calmer now, almost smooth. He seemed to hum his words at the same time, an odd noise that caused him to have an echo-like quality to his tone. The trio looked at each other for a moment, confused as to who Matthew was. "The drummer. The drummer's name is Matthew." This caused the group to suddenly get it.

"Ah, si. Si, the drummer is here. He just pulled up." Antonio eyed Arthur for a moment, taking in the Brit's new look. The Spanish young man did like Arthur's punk look, however, it wasn't appealing enough to make him like the other. Arthur's man-eating eyebrows were far too scary for his liking.

"And so all of you just stood here and did nothing to help him? Go help him. I still have to put up the audio system for my mic." Carefully, he lifted the mess of wires once more, but as he did so, it fell in such a way that made him realize that it was completely untangled now. He snorted as a way to replace the laughter that would have been there if the situation was lighter and then went on to hook everything up.

At the end of the wire was a nice and cool black microphone, which further calmed down his nerves. His lungs yearned to belt out a tune as he used to back at home, but the time was coming soon. Instead of letting a song tumble from his lips, he instead spoke a monotone "testing, testing" as he adjusted the volume.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Arthur… My brother wanted me to help him get everything cleaned up for his game tonight…" Matthew came up to Arthur, holding the large bass drum in front of his chest. He winced almost as if the Brit would hit him, but he wouldn't.

"Well, either way, it was going to affect when you get to the game. Don't you usually go about ten minutes before it starts?" Matthew went to go put away his drum, and Arthur let his gaze follow him. "We need to get at least an hour in tonight. We have a gig tomorrow night." Gasps from behind him made the Brit smirk darkly. He hadn't told his fellow bandmates anything about that yet.

Earlier this week, he got a call from an old friend of his that recently moved to the United States. This old friend of his bought a cafe in town and out of curiosity, this old friend asked if Arthur was still singing and if he wouldn't mind performing at an open mic session during the week. Of course, Arthur accepted and went on his own, but after performing and talking with his old friend, he was invited to come back to do a performance with his band- but this time as paid guests. He didn't want to tell the Asshole Three anything until the last minute, wanting to make them panic as much as they could. (Besides, they deserved it, right? Shoving him and tormenting him at school was pretty mean anyway.)

But the three didn't panic. If anything, they were ecstatic. Even though they had been together as a band for at least six months before Arthur or Matthew came into the picture, they were never able to land a gig or really do a performance. Granted, there was the school talent show, but that ended badly since it was an outside performance and it started to rain as they were setting up. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was reverse karma sometimes, as everything bad happened to them before he joined their group as their singer.

"Did they ask for a specific set? Covers? Originals?" Francis asked, cocking his head to the side. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail that made him look awfully feminine, but the stubble on his chin contrasted it enough.

"We're to do five songs and we're able to perform whatever we want. I was thinking 'Second Star to the Right' as one of our covers, since that's one that we've done from the beginning and 'Nevermore'." He dusted invisible dust off of his empty hand on his pants as he turned around, one eyebrow raised. "Any qualms?"

"Only if we can do 'Crisis'. I love my solo in that one." Gilbert said. Arthur nodded in response, accepting the addition.

"Ca-can we do 'Wonderland's Heaven'?" Matthew had to stop himself from raising his hand to ask if he could, but he wouldn't of had been noticed, even by Arthur at this point. Again, Athur looked back and nodded.

"What about 'Entirety of Nothing'?" Antonio quirked.

"All in favor of 'Second Star', 'Nevermore', 'Crisis', 'Wonderland's Heaven' and 'Entirety of Nothing'?" Arthur asked, his clear voice silencing everyone in the garage. Nods from Francis and Antonio, but an "aye" from Gilbert and a "yes" from Matthew.

The only cover song in that set was 'Second Star to the Right'! All of the others, Arthur had written himself and suddenly Arthur felt as if all of his hard work on them hadn't gone to waste. That all of his work dealing with the BTT suddenly had meaning and there was an immediate joy in all of his work now. The smirk from before returned and he shrugged.

"Shall we begin?"

Practice ended early.

Too early for Arthur's liking, but early nonetheless. Matthew had begun to visibly fret about getting to the game on time, and trying to avoid the large crowds that usually swept him away whenever they were coming or going. They helped him pack up and stuff everything into his car and then waved him off when he drove off. It was almost like a family waving off a child going to kindergarten for the first time- but less tears, less worrying about them and less love in general.

Well, I take that back. It was less love for everyone but Francis and Gilbert. While all three of the BTT were very openly bisexual (with the occasional demonstration between each other), those two were the ones who were most particularly concerned about Matthew and whether or not he was completely straight. It was almost cute how they had their crushes and refused to tell anyone else about it. Or perhaps they were waiting for the perfect moment to strike… or just to continue deciding if they even want to approach the timid young man. Matthew's brother was the quarterback of the football team! Why on earth would they- not good friends of said quarterback- even try to get close to the boy if, in the end, they got their faces smashed in?

But each time they had practice, the idea of asking the sweet blond became more and more appealing.

Francis was fond of the way Matthew would look when he was playing the drums, or how he would stammer when he was nervous. It was adorable to an extent, and that wasn't all it took to catch Francis's attention. It was the tight jeans the smaller boy wore, and the soft lilt of knowing French that was in his voice. The tight jeans were VERY nice, but the accent was even sexier. Gilbert, on the other hand, really just liked the jeans. Gilbert was a very shallow guy then. Probably still is, to a certain extent.

But once the Canadian was gone, the boy's name would be forgotten, as always. Poor things.

"You know, Arthur, the music store is closed early on days there are football games." Francis said blatantly. "They closed about thirty minutes ago. I'm going home." He started to pack up, and despite Arthur's shock and soft cursing, everyone else started packing up too.

"The gig is at Chello's cafe` at 9, but we have to be there at 8:30 to set up. I'll be there earlier though, so don't be late." Arthur said. The three nodded and then left, the most rambunctious of the trio seeming oddly down and unlike themselves. What is wrong with them? Arthur thought with an agitated tone. A sigh escaped his lips.

What the hell was he supposed to do with all of this extra time?

His phone rung- Matthew was calling.

"You sure you don't want to come?"

"Fine." Dammit. How'd I get suckered into this?