Nathan just stared at Charles for a while; he made sure to do it with a scowl to let him know that he meant business. He finally decided that punching the manager in the face wasn't worth it.

"Uh, Nathan, did you-"

"YEAH, I HEARD YOU."

Nathan stomped off out of the kitchen. Pickles peered around the manager's shoulder.

"Dood, where ya goin'?"

"To go get my shit, alright?!"

"Stupid, fuckin' Charles, always in my business, GOD…" Nathan muttered as he shoved some clothes from his dresser into his suitcase. I hope he never, ever finds out about me and Pickles. He stopped. There…really isn't any "white stuff" on my face, is there? He ran his fingers over his mouth and chin.

God-dangit.

Charles turned around to face the drummer.

"So, what's Nathan's problem, anyway? Were the two of you arguing about something?" he said, trying to talk over the noise of the others' whining and fighting.

Pickles shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "I guess yoo could say deat. Whatever."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Well…okay then." He turned to the other three. "What's the problem over here?"

Everyone stopped and stared at him. Charles looked at Murderface and he raised both eyebrows this time.

"William, what happened to your face?"

Murderface crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders.

Charles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know what, I don't want to know." He looked over them again and exhaled slowly. "Well, you boys behave yourselves. I'll see you in two weeks. Oh, and uh, William, don't do anything stupid," he said as he turned around and walked away.

Murderface turned to Skwisgaar and huffed, "Why doeschn't he ever tell anyone elsche that?"

Nathan came back out of his room and saw Pickles standing there.

"Took yoo lang enough," he said, frowning. "The plane's been waiting for ten minutes already."

Soon enough, they were sitting in their own private airplane and it took off. As soon as they were up in the air, Nathan decided to ask Pickles something.

"So, um, do we even know where we're going first? I know how you like to plan, Pickles. What I'm trying to say is that you don't," he said.

"Well, to be fair, yoo di'n't plean anything either," Pickles said matter-of-factly.

"Ugh," Nathan threw his head back on the headrest in frustration. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Pickles took out his phone and started to text, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I though deat we could just go wherever we wanted to go, yoo know? Like if we wanna stop somewhere, we could," he said, not looking up. "Today I though Manhattan sounded pretty interesting, so, deats where we're goin'." He smiled at his phone, still not looking up at all. "You can choose the next place, yoo know, if yoo wan' to," he continued absentmindedly.

Nathan stared at Pickles, who was still on his phone. Rude. He wanted nothing more at that moment then to rip it out of his hands and tell (maybe force) him to focus on having fun and spending quality time together (as friends of course). Is he trying to ignore me? He better not be. Little fucker. Nathan put his seat back and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. This feeling in his chest, he didn't like it. It felt physically heavy. He'd never felt this way before. Except for maybe that one time where…no. I can't think about that. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the funny feeling in his chest. Soon enough, he fell asleep.

"My lords, we are here,"

"Uhhhn….what?" Nathan opened his eyes to see a Klokateer standing to his side.

"We have arrived in La Guardia airport in Manhattan, sire. Please return here when you both wish to leave."

Nathan rubbed his eyes. "Just give me a moment," he grunted.

"Yes, sire." The Klokateer turned on his heel and left.

After a minute or so of him trying to fully wake up, he felt something leaning against him and resting on his shoulder. Something rough yet fluffy was up against his cheek and rubbed against his upper arm. He turned his head gently to see what it was, but he already knew. Pickles must have fallen asleep and fell over onto him. My God…His lips were slightly parted, and his face totally relaxed in a blissful state of slumber. For a fleeting second, the weight in his chest was lifted.

Pickles started to stir. "Nrrr…Nat'an?" he said softly. He opened his eyes slowly, then realized that he was resting his head on Nathan's shoulder, and pulled away quickly.

"I am so sarry…" he said, facing forward and smoothing down his dreads.

Nathan felt the burden inside his body come back. "I get it. You can't help what you do when you just…fall asleep on a plane…like...that," he stuttered. He unbuckled his seat belt and got his suitcase from overhead, and started to walk towards the exit, leaving Pickles behind. He went through the little tunnel and came out into the airport, which was bustling with people. A particularly tan girl stared at him with wide eyes. Oh great, this better not be another crazy fan.

"Hey mista, why is your face so red?" she asked with a thick New York accent.

"Nothing! Nothing happened!" Nathan yelled, which attracted a few more stares. He could feel his face flush even more. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"What do you want?" Nathan growled, but when he turned around he could see it was just Pickles. "Hi," he continued.

Pickles smirked. "Are you ready to get this fucking party started?" he asked.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "It's one in the afternoon, are you crazy?" I really hope he isn't noticing my face.

His friend laughed. "C'mon Nat'an, yoo've known me for a while. Of course I'm always down to drink!" He started to quickly walk away, pulling his rolling suitcase behind him. Nathan just stood there, biting his lip. Pickles turned around and motioned for Nathan to follow him. He did, but with reluctance.

When they finally got to the exit, Pickles ran up to the door and kicked it open. He went outside and immediately had to shield his eyes; the sun was right there and in your face, and damn was it roasting out there. It was a bad day to wear black shirts, but there they were.

"Let's drap off our stuff at the hotel first, then we cean have fun," Pickles said as he flipped through a map of Manhattan that he had in his pocket.

"And maybe change into some better clothes," Nathan complained. "Also, get a taxi. I'm not about to freaking walk."

"One step ahead of ya," Pickles said as he slammed the trunk of the taxi shut.

The ride was a long one. It was only half an hour, but still, it felt like forever. Pickles was looking out the window much like a little kid would, hands and face against the glass and everything. Nathan, however, stared straight ahead with his arms crossed.

"Ooo, Nat'an, look at that!" Pickles said excitedly. No response. "Nat'an?" He turned to face his friend and saw him pouting. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly. Nathan's mouth twitched at the corners.

"I really, uhm...don't like…New York," he said sternly.

Pickles narrowed his eyes. "You seemed to like it when we came here for the Go Forth and Die

Tour."

"Well I changed my mind, okay?!" Nathan yelled.

"Nat'an."

"What?!"

"I get it," Pickles said, sighing.

Nathan got concerned. "W-what do you mean, 'you get it'?"

Pickles frowned. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"No, no, that's not it at all!" Nathan exclaimed.

"Then what is it?" Pickles said angrily.

"I can't tell you."

Pickles scowled and folded his arms in a huff. "Fine. Whatever."

It felt like the pain in his heart had spread to the rest of his body. "Pickles, don't worry about it. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me." A half-truth is better than no truth, Nathan reasoned.

Pickles face softened. "Are yoo okay?"

"…no."

"Yoo cean talk to me, we've been friends for so lang,"

"No."

"Yoo cean trust me, Nat'an, I-"

"No, Pickles. I just…no. Not while we're on this trip at least."

"Yoo just need a drink."

"Ugh…"

They reached their destination soon after; The Pierre, a beautiful luxury hotel right across from Central Park.

"Dood," Pickles said as they took their suitcases from the trunk. "This place is so feancy that yoo cean't even press the elevator button yourself; someone has to do it for yoo."

They walked up to the reservation desk. "Um, I booked a suite," Pickles said nervously.

The receptionist looked up over his wire frame glasses. "Name?"

"Pickles,"

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "…'Pickles'? That's your name?"

"Yeauh."

"Well, okay then…"

He typed something into the computer, and handed Pickles and Nathan each one room card. "Sanchez, please open the elevator for these two guests."

"Yes, sir," said Sanchez. He walked over to the elevator and pressed the 'up' button.

Nathan blinked. "Wow," he whispered to Pickles, "you weren't kidding."

"See? It isn't so bad," he smirked as they both stepped inside. Floor 7, Room 28, the cards read.

When they made their way to their room, both of them were amazed at how big it was. There was a living room with a leather couch and TV and a mini kitchen, and there were two separate bedrooms. Each bedroom had a king sized bed and their own TV as well. It was a very nice place, indeed.

Nathan tossed his suitcase onto his bed and started digging through his clothes. He was seeing nothing but black t-shirts and jeans. Great. Maybe there was something in there that was more weather appropriate, just maybe. Pickles was in his own room, also picking out something.

Freaking finally. Nathan had found something other than a plain black t-shirt: a tweed gray t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of camo shorts. Oh well, it was better than roasting like a pig on a spit all day. The tank top was a little tighter since the last time he wore it, which was back when…he…was still in the band, and the shorts just barely fit. He wasn't about to go out there looking like Murderface, so he took off his traditional boots and put on a pair of ratty flip-flops. He stopped for a moment, thinking about something.

"Dood, hurry up. Don't you wanna go look around a bit?"

"Hold on a second," Nathan yelled as he pulled out his phone and opened the camera app. He winced at the sight of himself. God, I look so fat. "Whatever," he whispered out loud.

He opened the door to meet with his friend in the living room so they could go. But…this just made his whole situation more complicated.

Pickles apparently didn't totally let the Snakes N Barrels side of him go. He was wearing nothing on top but a fitted mesh shirt. The tight, faded jeans clung to his thighs and crotch, and they rode so low on his hips that Nathan thought they were going to fall off if it wasn't for that obnoxiously bright, studded belt. The same old red cowboy boots graced his feet. But what really got Nathan the most was his lime green eyes that were outlined with thick black eyeliner. Nathan's mind and heart were racing. His mouth went dry, but like before, well, you know.

"Pickles, what the hell are you wearing? You look like a hooker," Nathan scoffed. "A really creepy, skanky, 1980s hooker."

Pickles started to twirl a dread around his finger. "That's the point."

Nathan raised an eyebrow.

"Well, what aboat yoo? Yoo look like fookin' Murderface," Pickles grinned. "I mean, shorts? Really?" he snickered. Nathan noticed the laughter even spread to those eyes. They looked so kind. Stop. Stop it. You already know what he said.

Nathan tried to laugh with him, but his sounded like nervous laughter, like the kind that happens when there is an awkward moment at a funeral. Pickles cocked his head and shot him a mischievous look. "Are yoo ready to start off this party?"

Nathan pushed his emotions to the back of his mind. "You're damn right I am!" he said with a smile.

Times Square was just as impressive in the daytime. People were crowded together, just trying to walk from place to place. Most were tourists, stopping to ooo and aaah at everything they saw. The two of them learned quickly that this place has a lot of attitude, but also a lot of fantastic and amazing things to offer. Pickles was one of those people who just had to stop and take a picture of every single thing that he saw that was different or weird. He was just bursting with joy and wonder at all of the new things he was seeing. Just seeing Pickles happy made Nathan happy. Maybe going to New York wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

After taking yet another picture of some Broadway signs, Pickles suddenly turned around and took Nathan by the wrist and started to drag him. Good thing Pickles couldn't see the flush on Nathan's face.

"Stop pulling. Where're we going?" he asked.

"Just hang an. I'm showing you where we're gonna get smashed," Pickles said.

They crossed the street (not without a few wary glances from taxi drivers), and stopped right in front of where they were to be going.

"The Hard Rock Café? Really?" Nathan rolled his eyes. "They have those, like, all over the place."

"It's my turn to choose, so don't whine aboat it, geez. You're picking the next place anyway." Pickles said while shifting his weight and crossing his arms. "Besides," he continued, "have you ever been to one before?"

"…no?"

"Me neither. So there yoo go." He looked down at his phone again. "Besides, it's not like it's the only bar we're goin' to. It's the first of many. And we still gat three hours left. Whaddya wanna do?"

"Well, we could walk down a bit and look at the Statue of Liberty or something."

It took them a while to walk down there. When they got to where the land met the water, Pickles leaned over the fence and shielded his eyes. "I can't even see it. It's either too small, or I'm just too short," he said, frustrated.

"You're not too short!" Nathan yelled. Pickles gave him a funny look. "I mean, um, here, let me just…" he picked up his friend by placing his hands on the little curve right above his hips. "Can you…see it now?" Nathan asked softly.

"Sort of," Pickles said. "I think it's just too far-" he turned to face Nathan. "…-away." Pickles broke the gaze between them and looked back out to the water. Both of them just frozen in time, Nathan holding him by the waist, looking out at the water, the boats, the city-scape across. But Pickles was starting to figure what was up. He didn't stop it, however, but it felt wrong. So wrong.

Nathan loved that small waist, the way it felt between his fingers. His soft, pale skin visible through the netted shirt, God, everything from last night was coming back into focus. He wanted to feel that body again, but-you need to stop. No. Stop it. Let go of him right now. "Did you want to get going, or…" Nathan asked out loud. "…it'll take a long time to walk back, I mean-"

"Yeauh," Pickles said, not really paying attention. He was thinking about something else.

"Okay." Nathan gently put him down, Pickles' boots making a small clack on the cement.

By the time they walked back to The Hard Rock, it was about 5:25. When they entered the bar area, Pickles whined almost as soon as they got there. "I knew we shouldn't've stapped all the way out dere! Now we're freakin' late!"

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Pickles, calm down, it's fine, okay? It's only by like, what, half an hour or something. What, you got somewhere else to be?"

Pickles ignored him. "We actually might've been here an time if you hadn't've stapped at that one store. Gaaad…"

"Well, they were the only place with a bathroom around here," Nathan retorted.

"Yoo couldn't've waited?"

"No."

"Ugh."

They sat down at a booth in a corner. Pickles got a margarita, and Nathan got whiskey and coke. Pretty standard. Nathan stirred his drink as he thought of something to say. He was going to be with this man, alone, for two weeks. Two weeks. Once that thought sunk it, it started to feel like an anvil hit him. Watching Pickles sip his drink, holding the straw between his thumb and index finger. It was so attractive, reminding him of the way he would twist his dreads, which gave him images in his head. Is this…lust?

He decided to break the silence by asking Pickles if he remembered the time when the two of them were pulling pranks on Murderface for almost an entire day.

"Of course I remember!" Pickles said excitedly with a big smile. "Remember when you threw that firecracker in his face?"

Nathan laughed. "That was hilarious! But remember the time when he pissed himself after I shocked him, and you were all like-"

"I think you're the culprit in this particular mystery!" They both said at the same time, and started laughing. Or maybe it's…love. Nathan could feel his heart almost burst. That man's laugh was so sweet, yet mischievous.

The drummer's eyes sparkled. "Good memories," he sighed.

Nathan had to turn away, at least for a bit, or it was going to seem creepy. He looked off at nowhere in particular, but he saw something that made him freeze up. He could've swore his heart had stopped for a split second. There was a man sitting right at the bar area, sipping on a dark drink, with dark brown wavy hair. It couldn't possibly be-

The stranger turned slightly to reveal a quite familiar gaunt face, the streaks of white in his hair and beard now visible, and the telltale blind eye.

-Magnus Hammersmith.