Falling Away

Chapter Ten: does he kiss your eyelids in the morning?

A/N: Haha, you think that Adam and Max are gay lovers? I could totally make a sequel with that…Who knows?

Aim = Mia backwards.

Ailema = Amelia backwards.

Tee-hee.

Thanks for reviewing, my lovely mamacitas. I love you all.

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The scenario played in her mind like a cheesy romantic film. Adam and Mia had suffered through dinner. Trying to salvage the night, Mia had offered to go to Adam's penthouse at the Plaza and check it out. They had shared a pot of black coffee, diluted with plenty of milk and sugar. They had then retreated to the living room area. Adam had tried his best to start a conversation which, in the end, resulted in them basically hooking up while their coffee grew cold. An hour later, after Adam had copped many a feel, Adam had walked her out to the elevator.

"Mia, I don't know what was up with me at dinner at tonight," Adam said, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "But, I'm sorry." Mia smiled slightly, shrugging her shoulders. She could feel the lipgloss smeared across her face, her smile in part of the gloss that was smeared across Adam's chin. His skin was oddly soft for not having shaved since the morning, his green eyes lit up wonderfully.

She chose not to speak, instead cupping his face and meeting her lips with his. It was odd how things could change from awkward to amazing with Adam and Mia. It had been the same way the year they had first met. Some days, Mia had felt odd eating out with Adam, though only as friends. She had felt even more gauche when another female had joined them. Mia thought vaguely of the long-term girlfriend Adam had broken up with the year that he had met Mia.

Julia had been, Mia felt, the antithesis of herself. She had been, simply put, a babe. She had the most amazing long, silky dark hair and a killer pair of…azure eyes. She had been perfectly petite, weighing in at one hundred pounds at five foot. She had had surprisingly long legs though, which had been perfectly tanned. She wasn't the nicest person in the world but Mia felt that her utter confidence had made up for that. And she had always thought that what Adam had looked for in a girlfriend was an intelligent, confident woman that he could have an intellectual conversation with.

In other words, she felt, someone that wasn't like Mia. Adam's mouth was succulent, reminding Mia of a ripe peach. She sighed softly as they kissed, their arms wrapped around each other. They continued kissing until they heard a cough.

Their mouths broke apart and Mia turned bright crimson when she saw all of the members of Mission for Recognition in the elevator, Michael looking the most surprised. She found it unbelievably odd how she kept bumping into Michael at the most random of times, in the most random of places. But, then again, both Adam and MfR were staying at the Plaza. Adam seemed somewhat pleased though. He gave Mia one last kiss, waved at the band with a nervous glance, and then slowly walked back to his apartment, glancing back every now and then until he walked in the door.

Mia shuffled into the elevator, looking down at her feet.

"What floor?" asked a voice from beside her. Mia reluctantly looked up, a somewhat befuddled expression on her face. The girl with the dark, choppy layered hair, the group's bassist or something, indicated the floor buttons.

"Oh," Mia said. "Lobby. Thanks." She could feel the heat of Michael—she knew it was Michael—coming off from behind her. He smelled pleasantly of soap, like he always had ever since she had met him, and woodsy cologne. But it really was odd that they had both arrived in New York at the same time. Mia decided, with a sigh, that it must've been fate, though she had never really believed in those kinds of things.

Michael grew exceeding nervous as he stood behind Mia, taller than her by three or four inches. He couldn't describe how she looked or how she smelled without thinking that if you were to touch her, her skin would probably be silky soft. Her scent was distinctly feminine, of flowers and a sprinkling of baby powder.

It surprised him that performing in front of a crowd of ten thousand or doing an interview for a television show didn't make him jittery but simply standing behind his first girlfriend—his ex-girlfriend—could make him feel so fucking nervous. Michael tapped his fingers on his thighs, his dark eyes closed. There was a small ring and the elevator doors opened to reveal the fifth floor. The rest of his band members got out but Michael stood where he was, fearing that his legs wouldn't be able to move. Slowly, calmly, he walked around Mia.

He turned around, her beautiful gray eyes meeting his brown ones. "Hey, Mia," Michael managed to murmur before the doors closed between them, in more ways than one.

---

"Lilly? Can you tell mom and dad that I stopped by?" Michael asked, standing outside of his younger sister's bedroom. He had knocked quite a few times but he heard no response. He impatiently knocked louder. "Lilly? Hello?" It had been a week since he had broken up with Mia and the wounds he felt were still fresh. He regretted it—God, did he regret it—but he figured it was for the best. He hadn't even offered her an explanation as to why he had broken up with her.

It seemed insensitive of him to have broken up with her over the phone but he feared that if he had broken up with her in person, he would begin to cry just looking at Mia's innocent, beautiful face. Not that he was ever one to cry, of course, but he could only imagine what Mia had felt when she had picked up the phone, not knowing what was about to happen.

He was going to Hell. Michael was almost sure of it. "Fuck off, asshole," Lilly said after what seemed like hours. Well, he wasn't exactly appreciative of her reply but at least she was home, instead of leaping off the roof of the apartment or something. Lilly had been extra bitchy ever since she had caught wind of his breakup with Mia. She wasn't about to let him forget it anytime soon, he knew.

Michael walked to the kitchen, taking a muffin from the tray on the island. He bit into it when he heard the phone ring. His heart skipped, wondering if it was Mia. But then he felt confused, because he wasn't supposed to care whether or not his ex-girlfriend was calling her best friend, his younger sister. He sat down at the kitchen table, scanning the warm peach walls. A new calendar, one featuring an assortment of animals, was next to the bright blue clock that hung over the doorway. Someone, his mom probably, had set a small vase of gardenias on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.

Michael rose from his chair and threw away the remains of his poppyseed muffin. The sky was surprisingly radiant, the sun's rays cascading down on the buildings and people below. Michael ruffled his hair and left the kitchen, heading for the door to the apartment. He opened it and a confused look appeared almost immediately onto his face.

Mia stood there, her blond hair flowing down to her shoulders like strands of gold, or so Michael saw it. Her extraordinary gray eyes were filled with confusion, hurt, anger, sadness. Her skin was softly pale, glowing like an angel. If he could do what he wanted, not what was best, he would have grabbed Mia's shoulders, pulled her forward, and kissed her with every ounce of emotion that he had.

There was a certain emptiness in the look that Mia gave him before brushing by, walking to Lilly's room. Michael stood there for a long time, thinking about that one single, almost pitiful, look she had given him. When he realized what he should have done, it was too late.

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"Michael! Wake up!"

"Go 'way," Michael mumbled thickly, his chocolate eyes filled with siesta. He hadn't been able to get to sleep until three the night before and he was paying for it as the rest of the bandmates nagged him to get up, as it was time to get to rehearsal. "Michael, get your ass out of bed or else I will seriously kick your balls," Kristen hissed into Michael's ear, shaking his shoulders roughly.

"We need to get to rehearsal!" David called from the other room, where he was sipping coffee with Max as they both watched the Food Network. Shayne stood lazily in the doorway, her side resting along the wall. She wore an attention-grabbing black top that showed off her midriff. Just not in a Britney Spears-ish way. She was half-Japanese, short at around 5'1," with stunning azure eyes.

"Fine, fine," Michael grumbled, pulling his sheets down. His eyes grew wide. "What time is it?"

"Twelve," Shayne said from the doorway, a lopsided smile on her face. "Rehearsal's at 12:30, in case you forgot."

"Holy shit!" Michael said, literally jumping out of bed. He had almost pulled off his wifebeater when he noticed that Kristen and Shayne were still there, looking at him. "Um. Can you guys leave? So I can change…" Kristen grew red and turned away, walking out of the room. Shayne stood and walked into the room, closing the door behind her.

She walked up to Michael, planting a small, slightly wet kiss onto his full lips. He cracked a smile as she helped him get his wifebeater off, running her fingers lightly down his lean, though quite built, chest. She planted kisses down his stomach, gently fingering the elastic of his boxers. Shayne rose, shooting Michael a sultry look.

"We'll meet you out there, okay?" Shayne said, her eyes sparkling. Michael nodded his head, looking bemused.

---

The apartment smelled wonderfully of chocolate chip pancakes and warm maple syrup. Mia was curled up in the royal blue armchair in the living room, reading the latest issue of Spin. Mission for Recognition were on the cover of the magazine, their Best Band of the Year issue, though Mia chose not to skip immediately to the headlining article, instead focusing on an article about Julian Casablancas of The Strokes supposedly reuniting with Juliet Joslin, the assistant manager to The Strokes, whom he had been engaged to years before. But they had realized that they couldn't get married and had called off the wedding the week before.

Mia closed the magazine, keeping her thumb on the page she had been reading. She couldn't stop staring at the cover of the magazine, which featured the band all wearing leather jackets, reminding her vaguely of the Ramones, except for the fact that there were two girls in the group and Michael was no Joey Ramone. None of them were smiling except Michael, who had the smallest trace of a grin on his face.

She felt confused to say the least. She wasn't supposed to care about her ex-boyfriend from high school anymore. He was supposed to be in the past. She wasn't supposed to feel the way she still might have felt about him. Maybe it was because her love for him had been so strong. Plus, Mia had never really stopped loving him, even if she convinced herself that it was a platonic love.

Wasn't it?

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MISSION FOR RECOGNITON

There is a certain amount of unusual anticipation in the air as the crowd, a diverse group of people ranging from men in cat suits to women with afros, as they wait for Mission for Recognition to hit the stage. A number of celebrities in "disguise" can be spotted, ranging from Z Berg [Madden] of The Like and Mickey Madden of Maroon 5, to Princess Amelia of Genovia (though not even trying to disguise herself) with Adam Carrick, son of Europe's number one businessman. The concert's proceeds will go to one of the group's favorite charities, the Save the Whales foundation. Phantom Planet was scheduled to open for the band (odd, seeing as how PP was around for over a decade before Mission for Recognition burst onto the scene) but Alex Greenwald, Phantom Planet's lead singer, came down with the flu at the last minute.

The crowd continues to grow restless, waiting for Michael Z to walk onto the stage with the rest of the band. The crowd suddenly grows louder as the owner of the club says into a microphone, "Ladies and gentleman, from Manhattan, Mission for Recognition!" Cheers and applause erupt as Michael Z, 23, walks onto the stage, followed by the rest of the band. He smiles back at Shayne Osborn, 23, as she says something. Funny, we all guess, as he laughs and then looks forward again.

The group seems completely calm and tranquil. Michael walks up to the microphone, his guitar strapped over his neck. He introduces the band (as if anyone in the crowd has any doubt to who they are) and they proceed to play their first single, "Reoccurring Kind." The women in the crowd swoon as Michael sings in his pleasantly low, growly voice. He's shaking his hips, doing odd arm gestures, but the crowd is feeding off of them immensely.

Critics have claimed that Michael Z is the male equivalent of Karen O of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but without the beer spewing and the microphone swallowing. He has raw energy that keeps the crowd alive and thriving. The most bizarre of grins clouds his face as he touches his microphone almost inappropriately.

If you were to look at Mission for Recognition, you'd probably pass them off as another Strokes or Von Bondies. But if you were to do so, you'd be horribly mistaken. For Mission for Recognition has a style all their own. They're terribly original, which you probably wouldn't expect from these five Manhattan kids.

Two weeks before the Arienette concert, Mission for Recognition and I had an interview concerning the new album, being away from home, selling out, their new-found fame, Michael's sex symbol status, and David's love for photography. They were staying at a penthouse in one of Los Angeles' largest hotels, all sipping soda or beer.

"There's something about Michael Z that is so fucking amazing," says the weirdo punk goddess herself, Karen O. "That guy just has so much energy and can be a maniac onstage. He's also fucking beautiful." All of Mission for Recognition's fans can probably agree with that.

Michael Z, like Karen O, is much different offstage than he is on. Onstage, Michael can do the craziest, sexiest things, earning screams of, "Oh, my GOD! Michael! I want to have all of your babies!" But offstage, he can be simply described as an intelligent, sarcastic, sometimes moody young man. The 23-year-old and his bandmates started Mission for Recognition in his senior year at Columbia University in New York, where he majored in biology.

"It's weird," Michael says in his deep, somewhat soothing voice, a nervous grin on his face. He looks exactly like he does in photos and videos: oddly handsome, dressed in dark—sometimes eccentric—clothing, tall, his hair perfectly messy, flopping casually in his dark brown eyes. He closely resembles a younger Robert Carmine, though with different colored eyes and hair. "Onstage, I'm totally different than how I am when I'm just relaxing with friends. It may be schizophrenia. I just think that there are so many layers to—" He pauses to gulp down his beer, "—Michael Z. I'm mostly just that quiet dude who can be opinionated and often sarcastic. But when I get onstage…I don't know. I just go crazy. There's just this certain rush being up onstage with these lights practically blinding you, people there just to see your band. It's rad."

"I can attest for that," pipes up Kristen Taylor, the band's perfectly cute, petite drummer. She's wearing a pale pink floral dress under one of her many leather jackets. She has a high-pitched, though not annoying, voice and a hiccupy laugh. "I think that the only people that act like they do onstage as they do offstage are Max and me. Max is as vibrant and enthusiastic playing his guitar as he is when he's just talking and shit. And I can get fucking aggressive on those drums and I can get pretty aggressive offstage too." Kristen and Max Conor, the band's guitarist, laugh, glancing at each other.

They don't know it yet but they have been declared the year's best band in Spin. I am quick to inform them.

"Holy shit!" exclaim Max and Shayne Osborn, Mission for Recognition's powerful bass guitar goddess, their jaws dropped. "You're kidding!" I assure them all that I am most certainly not kidding but they don't seem to believe me. Debuting only earlier that year, they're shocked, to say the least.

"I can't wait to tell my mum," Kristen, who is half-British on her mother's side, says, a brilliant grin plastered onto her face. After getting over their surprise, the band goes back to how they were acting when the interview began: happy, tired, and slightly nervous. "I still can't believe it," David Richards, the powerful keyboardist, murmurs, setting his can of soda down on the coffee table in front of them.

Shayne begins to braid Kristen's long, straight blonde hair as the interview ventures into the topic of selling out. "We started this band two years ago with the intention of getting our music out to the public," Michael says. "Our goal was always to be mainstream. Not like that prepackaged pop or unoriginal crap out there though. We wanted to be heard. So, it doesn't make sense for people—fans, mostly—to be calling us sellouts because all we ever wanted was to share our music was as many people as possible…Anyone who was willing to listen." His fellow bandmates seem to agree with this.

"And now that we've reached our goal, so many people are, um, 'hating' on us, you know?" Shayne says in her raspy, bedroom voice. "People just don't seem to understand that we never wanted to be some mediocre college band that never got anywhere. We wanted the same things that so many other bands have wanted and we worked hard to reach our objectives. And it shows, I think, through our music and concerts."

"Fame is such a weird thing," Michael says, a half-grin playing on his full lips. "One day, you're just like every other normal guy. Getting through life as best as you can. Then, you and your band get signed to a major record label and suddenly everyone wants to be your best friend. I used to be like your average computer geek. But, then, overnight I became like a…"

"Sex god?" Kristen offers, trying not to giggle. Michael shrugs, downing the rest of his beer.

"Yeah. I guess. A sex god," Michael says, managing a straight face. The other members of the band start to crack up at Michael's seriousness. Michael makes a funny face and then he begins laughing as well.

David Richards, 21, usually labeled as the quiet one of the band, is showing me his collection of photographs and poetry. He used to, he says, take photography classes when he was in high school and college, though never taking it very seriously. "I take dozens of pictures at every single show. There'll be a hell of a lot more when we kick off the Glances and Stares Tour on January 5th."

"I've captured so many random events from the Mission for Recognition shows. There are a few from when Michael nearly fell offstage after downing one two many beers. Then, there are some others with Max and Kristen fully rocking out on the guitar and drums." David has fairly curly chestnut hair that runs down to his shoulders, a few strands masking his hazel eyes. He sees me eyeing his hair and smiles his carefree, casual smile.

"The guys all cut their own hair in the band," David says, shrugging. "Or they usually get me to cut their hair. Shayne and Kristen don't trust me snipping at their hair after I nearly cut off Shayne's ear giving her a trim before a show in Toronto." His hands, I notice randomly, are very smooth and…pretty. His nails are perfectly shaped and he catches me staring at them as well.

"It's like a rule that keyboardists must have nice hands," David offers, shuffling through some pictures from a previous Los Angeles show. "It's weird. Every keyboardist I've met doesn't have any calluses on their hands. Louie Stephens from Rooney has particularly nice hands."

"Shit, I must sound fucking stupid talking about hands," David says with a booming laugh. "Oh, here's us at Thanksgiving. It was spent at Kristen's parents' house up in Maine. It's gorgeous there. I don't think Mrs. Taylor would mind me saying this but she almost burned the turkey. Mr. Taylor saved it just in time."

Though quite soft-spoken, David is always ready to supply large amounts of information about every photo that he has ever taken. He occasionally cracks a joke, smiling his shy smile. His infectious laugh makes up for his quiet voice though. Richards grew up in Dallas, Texas, so his voice carries a light accent. He began playing the piano at age five, later giving it up at age seven for the guitar. When he realized how much he loathed playing the guitar, Richards went back to playing the piano.

Richards met Michael Z in his history class at Columbia University in New York. They soon bonded over their dislike for the class's instructor. Michael had been in a high school rock band called Skinner Box while Richards had played the keyboards for a band of three during his freshman year of college, which later disbanded during an argument over who got to play a musical solo. Z later met Kristen Taylor on campus purely by accident: Taylor had been rushing to a class when she bumped into Z. Z noticed the drumsticks in Taylor's backpack and what would soon become Mission for Recognition evolved.

Shayne Osborn, 23, had been the neighbor of Richards as a child. Richards remembered how good Osborn had been playing the bass and called her up, wondering if she would join the then unnamed group. Max Conor, 21, had been working at a Chinese takeout place, where Z frequently went. They soon began talking and Z was pleased to learn that Conor was amazing on the guitar.

And so, Mission for Recognition formed. Though, they went through several names before finally settling on the perfect one. Such names include: The Bathtub Cuffers, Get In My Pants, The Blender Brigade, and The Haze. "The Bathtub Cuffers was always my personal favorite," David says with a light laugh.

The quintet's first gig was opening for Rooney in June two years ago at Los Angeles' Troubadour. "As soon as they hit the stage, you could just tell that they weren't from around there," says Robert Carmine of Rooney. "Mission for Recognition just…I don't know…seemed to ooze with attitude and confidence."

"We've improved a lot since our first show," David says, scanning a picture of Osborn and Z smiling, beers in hand. "I think that anyone could see that. I don't mean to say that we were horrible but…you know. Things changed for the better. Michael used to be much calmer onstage, to say the least."

"I don't think fame has gone too quickly to our heads. We're as equally enthusiastic about all of our shows; we never get tired of signing autographs or taking pictures with the fans. Certain things just don't get old, especially when you're doing something that you really love."

When Mission for Recognition's self-titled debut album came out earlier this year, the band took the world by storm. "We never realized how successful we would end up being, I don't think," David says casually. Their music seemed reminiscent of so many already popular bands such as Rooney, Phantom Planet, The Strokes, even vaguely of Bright Eyes. But there was something original about the music. The honest, refreshing lyrics paired with the sometimes hard rock, other times soft, mellifluous music made for an introspective, amazing album.

"A lot of the songs on the album our about my own personal experiences, as well as others', and fantasies, I guess you could say," Z says. "A good number of the songs are actually about this one girl I used to know…I mean, I haven't talked to her in years but I don't go a day without thinking about her. We'd known each other for years before we started to date. As cliché as it may sound, she was my first love. And people tend to write about their first loves, don't they?"

"'Empty Glances and Stares' is about the years that followed our breakup," Z says. "There was basically no way of avoiding seeing her. I mean, I don't want to give away too much information, in case she's reading, but every time we would look at each other, I think we both missed what once was."

"Keeping the Night" is what many of Mission for Recognition's fans claim to be the band's most personal song. In fact, Michael's voice trembles so often on the track that you wonder if he's about to weep. With lyrics such as, "You may be with that other man but I'm still yearning to feel your gaze," it's no wonder why the album is so critically acclaimed by the critics.

Z says of the track: "My voice was trembling because I had a cold the day we recorded it. No. Seriously."

The band is extremely close, which you can see by their constant hugs and random conversations. "We never get into fights," Conor says, a lazy smile on his face. "But if we do, it's always over something petty, like who needs to buy a new bottle of shampoo."

When asked if he ever knew he would end up being in a world famous rock band, Z is quick to reassure me. "Oh, definitely not," he says, stifling a laugh. "I was actually into science in high school. Like I said before, I was a complete computer geek. I never thought I'd be in this well-known rock band, much less selling millions of records with girls begging to be my groupies."

"I think my parents would've preferred that I go into science," he adds quickly. "They're psychoanalysts themselves. I mean, they're proud of me but I can't help but think what would've happened if I had stuck to computers and science."

"You'd probably be much more boring," Shayne says, smirking at the lead singer.

"Yeah. Probably," Michael says, rolling his dark eyes.

On a different subject, Michael is quick to speak up. "I've always been in love with love. There's just this certain excitement to knowing that somewhere out there, you have someone that is perfect for you. Love is so important in a world where war prevails and there are certain presidents with creepy fascist agendas."

"Michael, you're such a romantic, you stud," Kristen says, playfully shoving Michael.

"Hey, I guess I am. Romantic, I mean. Someone has to be, right? Anyway, the songs I write can be deeply personal. I just like knowing that I'm pouring my heart out to the world and they're actually listening."

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A/N: Okay, I would've added the part with Michael and the band at his parents' house but this chapter was getting too long. Hope you didn't get too bored. Review. 3