Hey everyone! This chapter is going to be a little different since it's diverting from rather different perspectives, so I've separated them by use of italics. I'm sorry if it makes this chapter rather arduous to read, but this formatting isn't likely to come up again!

Pale, winter blue eyes cracked open against the weak streams of light that filtered through the curtains of the small bedroom. Long, chestnut hair spilled over the young Norwegian's face in a tangled mess, eyes squinting against the sun's dying yet ever unwelcome rays. Before he could even entertain the thought of allowing them to adjust, he shoved his face back into the bunched up blanket under his arm with a low groan. Despite the sun sinking behind the mountains it still felt too early.

A moment of silence passed and Toki quickly neared the brink of unconsciousness before the shrill wail of his phone jolted him back into the clutches of wakefulness. Rolling over, he fumbled and grasped for the culprit of the ear splitting noise. He hardly noticed when he jabbed his palm on one of the many spikes that poked out haphazardly on the device, and nearly knocked the lamp over in the process of pulling it towards him.

The light of the screen read plainly, '1 New Message From Charles Offdenson.' "Hva..? Det er altfor tidlig.." He muttered in his native tongue as he quickly swiped the notice off screen and opened the brief message.

'Band meeting at 6:00 p.m tonight. We need to discuss your public appearance at the Emmys. Please try to be on time. - C.E.O'. Great, another meeting. Toki almost wondered why Charles still bothered to try. The last meeting he held, Pickles was high out of his mind and thought playing with a box of matches he got from a strip club was a good idea. Suffice to say, he lost a few inches of his hair that night.

Just before he tossed his phone away, however, another message caught his eye. Speak of the devil.. Running a hand over his face, he turned onto his side and looked at the time stamp blearily. Sent at 10:21 p.m? Better not be one of his conspiracy theories on the band. He opened the message with a small breath.

'Heyaaa Toki! I was lookin' at some stuff online, and someone wrote somethin' really cool about ya!' He read the sentence twice over and blinked once. Someone wrote something cool about old Toki? 'Here's the link..thingy. Night!' The message finished off clumsily. Attached to the bottom was a link. Furrowing his brows, he tapped the hyperlink and lied back as a title popped up on his screen.

'I fall like a burning star.' No other information was available as far as he could see, so he scrolled down with a bare shrug before he paused and sat up. It was a story. Someone wrote a story about him? His eyes quickly ran across the screen and he realized that it had mention of everyone. It was set within their own home.

His chest tightened in nervous glee, and his heart did somersaults against his ribs as a childish smile lit his expression. He didn't even know the writer, Dark Skies, yet this felt like the greatest gift he had ever received since joining Dethklok. No one ever cared enough to pay attention to him or who he was, let alone make him the focus of a story. He would have to find the creator and thank them. Maybe they could even be friends.

A tingle of happiness danced across his fingertips at the thought, and his cheeks began to ache from his idiotic smile. Pushing himself up into a cross legged position, Toki drank in all that was written for the world to see. It started normal enough. They were spending an afternoon in the studio working on the second Dethalbum. That felt like ages ago, he thought as he continued to read the near spot on dialogue.

"Toki, cans you tries soundings less likes a dildo? I think you ams makings mine ears bleeds." Skwisgaar remarked almost passively, his eyes focused on the frets of the epiphone that sat in his lap.

"Agh.. Toki, play it again from the top." Nathan grumbled, the pads of his fingers pressing into his temples.

"But I already does it three times now!" Toki exclaimed indignantly, knuckles whitening with the near stranglehold he had on the neck of his flying-V.

"Jus' one more time, Toki." Pickles pushed, arms crossed over his chest tiredly.

Toki sat back a little at this, his grasp on his phone tightening until multiple pricks made him loosen it again. This was nothing but a normal day, yet it still hit too close to home. Being told to record his parts over and over and over again. No one else needed to make so many attempts to record a single song, not unless they were piss drunk. Not to mention a whole fucking album. It was always Skwisgaar that had a problem with his playing, too. Not fast enough, too sloppy, unable to keep the rhythm going, too out of tune. Too loud, too quiet, not metal enough- It never fucken ends with him! A dull throb in his lower jaw told him to unclench his teeth and subsequently loosen his rigid posture. A deep expel of breath followed, and he turned back to the small screen. Someone wrote a story about him. It must get better.

Running his fingers back up the frets, Toki bowed his head with a deep frown. Rolling his shoulders back, his mind locked onto the song until he swore he could see the melody floating around him. The moment Nathan cued him in, he took off. A rush of power flowed through his fingers as they nimbly raced across the strings, striking chords and riffs in perfect synchronization. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck and forehead, but he paid no mind as he lost himself in the raw feeling that overwhelmed him. The song nearly ended when the music cut short, and it took a long moment to process what had happened.

By the time he drew himself back to reality, Skwisgaar, Pickles, and Nathan had already launched into an argument. "He ams playing too slowly!" Skwisgaar bit out as he threw his hands in the air.

"So what if ya think he's playin' a little too slow? It sounded awesome, dude! Why'dya have to stop, he was so close!"

"It ams going to throws off the whole songs and we wills has to records agains! We dont's has times for thats!"

"Okay you guys, okay. Skwisgaar, you need to shut up and let Toki play." Nathan said firmly, fixing a cool stare at the lead guitarist who merely rolled his eyes in response. Turning back to the recording booth, the front man glanced away before pressing, "Toki-"

"No." The entirety of the room paused at this. But Toki couldn't bring himself to care less as he slipped his guitar over his head and pushed the door open. "Let Skwisgaar does it. I'm dones." He said evenly, every word cutting like frostbite as he marched out of the room.

"Ja, serves them right! De drittsekk!" Toki cheered, slapping his hand against the messy covers of his bed before mentally high-fiving his fictional self. Maybe now they'll actually be sorry. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of them apologizing. Better yet, make Skwisgaar apologize for once in his life. Have him be the one groveling on his knees. That thought alone left Toki's blood buzzing, and he sank back under his blankets in anticipation.

A couple hours had come to pass and Toki found himself to be considerably calmer as he glued a wing onto a model F-16CJ Fighting Falcon. The incident currently left nothing more than a bad taste in his mouth, but immersing himself in his crafts bode well to keep any negative feelings at bay. That was until a short rap sounded at the door, causing any feelings of relative peace to suddenly flee.

Nothing was said as he glanced towards the door and turned back to his work, letting whoever was there to figure out what to do for themselves. The wing was finally held securely in place and he placed a rubber clamp over it to allow it time to set before a distinct, thick accent announced his presence and slowly pushed the door open. A long silence settled over the room once the initial creak died away, but no footsteps approached.

Toki thought over his options carefully before he grimaced and turned back in his seat with a long sigh. "Whats does you want, Skwisgaar?" The blonde remained silent as he stood rooted near the threshold, his eyes unable to meet the younger man's. Scoffing quietly, Toki turned back with a wave of his hand. "If you's not goings to say nothings, then just goes."

"No, I.. Uh.." Skwisgaar pressed his lips together and groaned internally before he slowly approached the Norwegian's currently cluttered work space. "Look, Tokis, I ams sorries." Toki grew still and gazed down at the grain of his wooden desk. Well that was new. "You amns't all that bads.. You actuallies dids goods." He could imagine the amount of pain he must be in to spit those words out to him.

"Admits I am a goods guitarists and I will forgives you." He stated bluntly as he rose to his feet and turned back to meet the man's wide, blue eyes.

"Comes on Tokis, this amns't-"

"Admits I am a goods guitarists and I will forgives you." He said more slowly, the set of his eyes conveying this wasn't a request. It was a demand. A muscle worked in the Swede's lower jaw, his hands grasping at what he could only wish to be his guitar.

"You amns't bads.."

"Say it." Toki bit out as he stepped closer, now nearly toe-to-toe with the towering figure.

"Tokis, does you really needs to-" His breath choked off as he was whirled around and slammed into the top of the desk, sending modeling glue and crafting utensils flying to the ground.

"Say it!" He growled sharply, teeth bared as he fisted the collar of his black shirt and brought him close. Flush dyed Skwisgaar's face an ugly red, and he gaped for a few long seconds before uttering,

"You ams a goods guitarists." That was it. The words he craved to hear for so many years. His hand unwound from his shirt, but Skwisgaar didn't move. His eyes remained on his face, a gesture he couldn't remember him last doing. His heart fumbled at the intensity of his stare, and he nearly forgot how to breathe when he was suddenly drawn closer and a full pair of lips crashed against his. The initial shock nearly made him push the man away, but instead of pulling back, he leaned into it.

Toki froze, his mouth gaping. What.. What in the world just happened? He quickly read through the scene again, but his eyes did not deceive him. He risked continuing another sentence or two further before his fears were solidly confirmed and he whipped his phone across the room like it was a flesh eating virus. A deep heat bloomed across his face and neck, and a strange combination of mortification, humiliation, and betrayal prickled at his eyes.

"Hva i helvete!?" He cried out as the realities of what he had been subjected to finally sank in. Pickles set him up. Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't any of of the others? Give them the perfect excuse to make fun of him and call him gay for the next year. Toki was barely aware of his actions as he pulled on a pair of jeans and his navy blue t-shirt, a red mist clouding all thoughts as he threw his door open. The term 'fuming' never made sense to the young man until this moment, and he'd be damned if he didn't take advantage of that. He was almost halfway down the stone staircase when a sudden shout filled the upper corridor followed by an unmistakable,

"Whats the fuck?!"

Shit.