The light was dim, and the music was loud. The window was open, allowing a freezing breeze in which resulted in goosebumps on their skin. Even though they were on the verge of shivering, they kept it open not to risk the smoke detector from going off. There were piles of clothing on the floor, and every hard surface had cigarette and ashes on it. He inhaled the last of his blunt, as she trailed kisses down his body.

He tilted his head back with his eyes closed, as the high kicked in. Every sensation felt magnified, and the songs would enter his mind and feel as if they would never leave. There was nothing in his mind but that moment.

She climbed back up and kissed him briefly, as his hands slid down her thighs. "I love you." She whispered against his ear, and looked back with hopeful eyes.

He smiled, kissing her again.

The song changed, and it took a few seconds for him to recognize the beat. Although once it did, his mind traveled far away from that room. He pulled away from her, and hit a wall. "Wait." He said, bringing his hands up to his head. He ran his fingers through his hair feeling his scalp, and trying not to think about the words blasting in the room. She came closer to him again, pressing her hands against his chest. The cold wall pressed against his back, making him shiver. She kissed his neck, but he didn't correspond.

In his head he pictured a dormroom, soft hands and brown hair. Every word of the song reminded him of her, and pulled him away from the one who he was actually with. He opened his eyes, breaking his fantasy. "I need to change the song."

"What?" She chuckled, her hands now travelling up to his face, bringing it down so he would look at her. "Don't worry." She said, believing he was having a bad-trip.

"Have you got colour in your cheeks?"

He slid on the wall, to distance himself from her. "Let me just…"

She held his arm, pulling him back. "Are you really paying attention to the music right now?" She asked him, slightly raising her tone of voice.

He rolled his eyes, and felt his shoulders getting heavier. "I just need to change it."

He broke away, but as he motioned to reach the laptop she placed herself in front of him. And the words planted thoughts he only wanted to avoid. He looked at her, and he tried. He really tried focusing on the girl who stood in front of him, but the music had too many feelings attached to it, and he knew no good would come out if he continued listening to it.

"Have you no idea that you're in deep?
I dreamt about you nearly every night this week"

"I can't do it with this song on!" He insisted, reaching over to the desk and skipping the song. "Was that so bad?" He asked, looking back.

He tried kissing her, but this time she was the one who pulled away. "Why?" She asked using a harsh tone. She then realized the need to change the music was much deeper than bad-trip, or dislike of the band. And even though she knew why, she wanted to hear it from him.

"C'mon." He begged, brushing his hand against her bare arm. "Don't do this."

She shook her head, and turned her back to him. She closed the window, and both their bodies relaxed. "I'm not doing anything." She dropped to her knees, searching through the pockets of their clothes, trying to find more weed. "You're the one who insisted on changing the song."

She found a rolled blunt and got back up. She held a lighter, and inhaled. "Open the window." He told her.

She looked at him with a grimace, building up anger. "I'm cold."

"Then stop smoking."

"How about you stop telling me what to do?!" She argues, inhaling again. She closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"Smoke detector." Beck said, shrugging. "That or the smell will stick to your things, and…"

"Fine!" She opened the window again, and he asked for a puff. She ignored him.

They stayed silent, looking at each other. She tried calming down, as he tried his hardest to focus on the girl in front of him, instead of the one in another continent. She finally passed him the joint, and he walked towards the bed before he lost complete balance. He sat on the edge, running his fingers through a furry blanket.

Pixie sat down next to him, her anger now transforming into sadness. "Tell me." She insisted.

"Tell you what?" He asked as he laid down on his back, pulling the blanket to cover himself.

She look down at him, taking the blunt from his fingers. "You've changed. You're distant."

He looked up at the ceiling, still stroking the blanket as if it were his pet. "I've always been distant."

She got back up, turning down the music before sitting down on the floor. She stared at his bag on the corner, thinking about what he had just said. It wasn't news that her feelings were much stronger than his, but the gap between them had gotten much bigger.

"Beck." She called, and the room remained silent. "Beck?"

She raised her head seeing him curled up in a ball, talking to himself. He had his face against the blanket, feeling its texture with his cheek.

"I shouldn't have sent it." He murmured completely ignoring his exterior. He raised his hands up to his face, and massaged his temples with his eyes closed. Repeating the mantra over and over.

"Sent what?" She asked, getting back up. He continued asking himself the same question, until she sat down beside him. "Beck!"

"What?!" He looked up as if he had just woken up.

"Sent what?"

He took his time processing her question, mostly because he was high but also because he didn't want to say anything that would cause another fight. After a few seconds of awkward staring, he took his current stage and took advantage of it.

"I don't know." He sat up holding on to the blanket.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed. Another few seconds passed, and she took one last desperate act. She tilted his head towards her, so he would have nowhere to look but her face. "I love you, Beck." She confessed, trying to get a genuine reaction out of him. He sat up with a smile, and for a second she let herself believe he would finally say it back. He leaned in for a kiss, and she got back up. "I can't!"

"What's going on?" He asked, sincerely concerned with her quick shift of emotions.

She picked up the first shirt she found on the floor, and put it on. Then started looking for pants.

"You tell me!" She grabbed a black sweater, and closed the window again. "I-I…" She shook her head, looking up.

"Pixie-" He began without knowing what to say next. He was saved by heavy poundings on the door.

"Stop shagging, and come out Pix!" They heard a girl scream, her voice carrying a thick Derbyshire accent. "I need to go for a smoke!"

Her name was Margaret given to her in honor of the England's former prime minister. She was very vocal about hating the association, so she called herself Kea. Nobody knew why she had chosen such name, but Beck found her accent so hard to understand it would be pointless to ask. She was also the shortest person he knew, even though she always wore wedges. Her face was covered in acne, which she tried covering up with cheap makeup. Her hair was painted black, and cut straight above her shoulders. Her teeth were yellow, and her eyes were green.

She had become a part of their group only a couple of months after Beck, and had always been incredibly annoying to him. Unfortunately she was the one who always hooked them up with whatever the needed, make that weed or something much stronger. That gave her immunity regarding his own thoughts about her.

"I'm going to go." Pixie said, walking towards the door.

"Okay."

She held the doorknob, looking back at him. "A year ago, you would have said don't." Her voice cracked, and she left the room.

He stayed still, listening to the music and staring at the ceiling. Once a couple of songs had passed, he finally got up and got dressed. He grabbed his phone, a pack of cigarettes, and walked out.

On the living-room he found his friend Jordie passed out on the floor, next to a bong. He stared down at him deciding whether he should write "Directioner" or "Belieber" on his forehead. He chuckled to himself, making his way towards him, when his phone started ringing.

Before he looked at the screen he felt his heart tighten, he didn't need to caller ID to know who was calling. He stared at the screen, and at the photo of a brown-haired girl. She had been calling him every day, and not once he had answered. He didn't want to go through it all again, believing he had a chance to find himself being replaced by Ryder again.

He held the phone, pondering his decision. He wondered if anything had changed since they last talked, she said in her texts that she was now single. And he had sent her the playlist. He closed his eyes, knowing that if it weren't for the fact that he had just smoked a lot, he would never answer.

He brought the phone to his ear, trying to pretend he was sober. "Hi."

"Beck!" She exclaimed. "I thought you would never answer me." He stayed silent staring at his own reflection on the window. "I don't know if you saw my messages but-"

"I read them." He told her, running his fingers through his hair.

"Then you know I broke up with Ryder on the day I left school." She lowered her tone, starting to worry it was too late. "And that I miss you."

He opened a bittersweet smile, he had heard similar words before. "Tori we've been through this."

"No, we haven't! This time it's different." She insisted. "I'm not hiding anything from you, I'm not afraid to tell you how I feel. It's not the same."

He took a deep breath trying to keep his emotions as stable as possible. "I think you need time."

"Time?"

"You're making this decisions too fast, Tori." He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts. "Believe me, there is nothing I want more than for what you're saying to be true. But…"

"Beck I promise you, this time is different."

"Look, soon enough the break will be over and we'll be back in school. There's nothing we can do now."

"Then can I just ask you something?" She red his silence as agreement. "Don't sleep with anyone, okay? I don't care if you did before but… I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't completely sure."

"I won't."

They silent, hearing nothing but the sound of their own breathing. Still they felt comforted with nothing but the knowledge that the other was there.

"Tori." He called. "I love you, I really love you."

He heard the front door opening followed by two familiar faces, he hung up. Jordie started to wake up, and Beck looked at the girl whose heart he didn't want to break.

"Hey!" She said, with a fresh smile on her face. "Are you alright? We waved at you from outside, and you just stared out the window like a statue."

"Oh." He looked down at his feet.

She followed his expression, reaching for his arm. "Is this about before? I was being foolish."

"No, you weren't." He looked back up at her eyes. "Tori called."

"Shit." Kea said, standing by the door.

"I'm sorry." He looked at her, a smile spreading on her face.

"I'm happy for you, love."

She walked past him towards the kitchen, her smile fading away. She walked out the back door, sitting down on the steps. Her breath starting to quicken, her hands shaking and eyes watering. She broke down, burying her face in her hands, staining them with black mascara.

Kea walked after her friend, stopping halfway in front of Beck. "Fook Ya."

Jordie stared at his friend, not believing what had just happened. He always figured if Beck and Pixie were to break up, she would be the one to do it. And even so, to him just the thought of them being separated felt strange.

"I guess you need a place to stay." He said, trying to make the occasion easier on both his friends. "Go get your things, I'll call my Mum."

He rushed inside her room trying to be as fast as he could, he didn't want to be in her way any more than he had already been. Even though he knew she would try to keep things as friendly as she could, nothing would be the same.

He threw his clothes carelessly inside his back, taking care only of his drawing materials. He held the sketchbook he drew most in on the previous semester, and flipped quickly through the pages. Most of the drawings in there were from her, his muse.

He realized he had been a hypocrite all along. What he did to Pixie was just as bad as what Tori had done to him, if not worse. He knew how it felt to be in her place, and he knew his hands were tied now. There was nothing he could do to help her, except hope for forgiveness. He had idolized her so much, he never thought he could actually hurt her. She felt invincible, like a dream, a muse.

He placed the sketchbook on her bedside table, and ripped a small piece of paper to write her a note. He placed it inside the book, between the cover and the first page.

With love,

Beck.