3. from loathing to partnership.

"So what did you say his range was?" Roma's vice crackled over the speaker.

"Err…. I'm not quite sure," Arthur said, shifting the phone to his other ear (it'd started burning a reddish color) and bit his lip. "A couple octaves? He could sing 'I Am The Walrus' by the Beatles, no problem."

"That's be just over two octaves," Roma mused. "How does he do in the upper register?"

"Not too bad, actually," Arthur said. "A little flat on some notes, but good either way."

Roma laughed very suddenly, making Arthur laugh a little bit. The man's laughter was contagious.

"Roma?"

"Yes?"

"…What are we laughing at?"

A little sniff from the speaker. "I… was just laughing at the ridiculous way we've been acting."

"Sorry?" Arthur asked. He tapped his pencil on the page of his maths notebook, full of equations that he didn't care to know. Or figure out, for that matter.

"Surveying talent wherever we go," Roma said, laughing. "It's like you're doing with him what I'm doing to you three years ago!" He sighed contentedly.

"True," Arthur said vaguely. And I'm grateful for it.

"So the question really is," Roma continued, not laughing anymore, "what are you going to do about it? There's talent on a silver platter, but talent is only just that when you don't take it anywhere: talent."

"What am I going to do with it?" Arthur asked vaguely. He closed his eyes instinctively, and damn, could he see that vision again. That vision of glittering stage lights and hard black stage and the faceless monster of the crowd, roaring in approval. Guitar in his hands, his fingers clutching it like the most precious thing in the world. The blur of the crowd through the earplugs in his ears. And then Gilbert leaning forward in front of him, both hands on the microphone, and breathing in and out and singing.

"I really don't know," said Arthur.

"All right, then," said Roma, and Arthur shifted the phone so he could hear better. "How are the gigs with my friends?"

Arthur grinned to himself slightly, thinking about the rush of lights and people and guitars. "It's great," he said "Sadik is hilarious, Jager is just brilliant. They've also got this keyboardist, Elizaveta? She's about our age."

"Is she pretty at all?"

"Roma!" Arthur groaned exapseratedly into the phone. "She's my age, for God's sake!"

"All right, all right," Roma said good-naturedly. "But you really must send a picture or two—"

"Roma!"

"Okay, I'm sorry," the Italian laughed into the phone. "But really."

Arthur sighed, but a grin crept across his face. "She's great. She really is," he continued, looking out the window and watching the football team practice on the fields. "Better than me."

"Speaking of which," Roma said. "Have you been practicing?"

"Er… you mean keyboard?" Arthur felt his happiness deflate slightly. "Er…"

"You haven't have you?" Roma's voice was suddenly stern, with little trace (if there really was any, Arthur couldn't hear it) amount of mischief and humor.

"Err…" A little rock of guilt formed at the pit of Arthur's stomach, and he could feel himself turning pink in shame. "I'm sorry."

"Do they not have pianos there or anything?"

"No, not really," Arthur half-lied. "But I've been practicing guitar every day! Acoustic and electric!"

"Good," crackled Roma over the speaker, and Arthur exhaled slightly as relief flooded his limbs.

"Are you doing well in school?" the Italian man pressed on. "Brushing your teeth and all that?" He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "Haven't gotten caught by the teachers for breaking curfew yet?"

"Of course not," Arthur said, smiling and looking down at his desk. "I'm fine."

"Reeeeally," Roma said, sounding fake dubious, and Arthur had to pinch his nose to keep from bursting into laughter. "Well, I'm sure you've got homework or something like that to deal with at the moment?"

Arthur looked down at the page of math equations. "Yes," he said. "I do."

"I'll let you get to that then," Roma said. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Dad." The word slipped out of his mouth before he could think properly, and he bit his lip, cursing his stupidity. Roma wasn't his dad. What was he thinking? He was such a child to say something so stupid like that!

But even as Arthur was thinking and mentally reprimanding himself, he could hear Roma smile through the phone, and say "Good bye, Arthur," and hang up.

Arthur put down his phone and pressed the little end button. It was red. His mobile was red, like his hair was. It was a nice mobile, one of the ones that slid open to reveal the keypad so he could text. There was even a little camera so he could take pictures with it. Very cool. It was Roma's gift to him for his fourteenth birthday.

It was partially why Arthur hated pressing end.

He set the phone down on the desk and tried to focus on maths again, the black numbers swimming across his vision. He couldn't focus. Roma hadn't said anything about forming a band, but his little quote… What are you going to do about it? There's talent on a silver platter… what are you going to do about it? Arthur couldn't get that image out of his mind. It was just pure exhilaration. Standing on that stage, so nervous and excited at the same time that his knees wobbled. Better than anything Rhys snorted or injected or whatever. He wanted it. Sheer exhilaration.

And Gilbert's voice? Gilbert sang well. Gilbert sang all of the melodies in Arthur's head now. That voice—it was just perfect. It wasn't completely perfect, but Arthur couldn't even imagine any other voice anymore. Gilbert had the talent. He just had to take it further.

The door to their dorm opened suddenly, and the German boy walked in, his face tired and drawn. Speak of the devil. Arthur felt very nervous all of a sudden, like he was going to ask him out or something like that. Oh dear god!

"Kirkland? Are you okay?" Gilbert asked him. Arthur blinked and realized he was staring at Gilbert with the oddest expression. Get a grip, Arthur, get a grip.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said.

"Sure?" Gilbert dumped his bag on the bed and began taking out his school things.

"So… Er…" Arthur swallowed slightly. Of course the idea had to sound completely stupid in his head. Arthur bit his lip and composed himself, his green eyes sliding sideways by an instict that he didn't really understand. "Er… never mind. Sorry."

Gilbert made a face. "You know, I really hate when people do that."

"Sorry?"

"When people take nearly forever to drag out their sentences and then decide to not say anything," Gilbert grumbled. He dropped a thick history book on the floor, which landed with a loud thump. Arthur cringed.

"Well… If you really want to hear…" Arthur swallowed, closed his eyes. "I was wondering…"

Gilbert nodded. "You were wondering?"

Arthur frowned slightly, scrunching up his face in annoyance. Just ignore his obnoxiousness and remember the voice. Remember the voice. Easy enough to do. "I was wondering… erm. ifyou'd… startabandwithme."

He regretted it immediately; there was an awkward heartbeat of silence that followed.

"Sorry?" Gilbert's voice went up about two octaves, and Arthur opened his eyes to see an expression of shock on his face. "Would you repeat that?"

"I was wondering. If. You'd. Start. A band. With me." Arthur forced the words out of his mouth. Slowly. They dropped the floor heavily, like rain of dense drops of lead. His heart pounded just as heavily, like a block of ice in his chest, alive and pulsating.

"A band." Gilbert's voice was slightly incredulous.

"Yes. A band."

"Guitars and everything?"

"Yes."

"…Like the Beatles?"

"Like the Beatles."

Gilbert's face when through a series of expressions. Arthur watched closely as it shifted from shocked to confused to starstruck to shocked again. It was almost comical, if not for the fact that Arthur was hanging from a cliff, waiting for Gilbert's answer.

"A band," the German boy said slowly. "A band."

He sat down, his face still incredulous.

"Wow," he managed. He brushed his short fringe out of his face and sat down on his bed. "Wow."

Arthur mentally banged his head on his desk. Once a bloody idiot, always a bloody idiot. "What exactly do you mean by 'wow'?"

"I just… wow." Gilbert grinned suddenly, his sharp cheekbones standing out in clear definition. "That's just brilliant."

Arthur knit his brows. "Really?"

"Yes! It's awesome!" Gilbert insisted. "But…"—his face fell slightly—"don't you already have a band?"

Arthur furrowed his brows together. "Do you mean with Jager? Not really. They only let me play with them on gigs and such so I can get performing experience. I mean, I practice with them and things like that, but I'm not really part of their band." And I need to calm this monster. This rip-roaring monster of music inside me that won't shut up, and being in Jager's little band isn't cutting it.

"Oh. Wow. Okay." Gilbert's eyes were shining. "So what would I do?"

"Sing."

"Really?" Gilbert leaned forward. "Do you think I'd be good at it?"

"Well, yeah." Arthur leaned back in his chair. "After what happened at that last gig in London."

"When you forced me to sing?" Gilbert asked, his reddish eyes very round. "Was I awesome? Do you think I was awesome?"

"Erm… yeah. I guess you were."

"Do I get to learn guitar?" Gilbert pressed on.

"Er… sure." Arthur put his pencil down; he had been tapping it nervously on his book. "Sure. Of course. Well, actually, you might learn bass."

"Bass!" Gilbert fell backwards on his bed. "Awesome!"

Arthur could do nothing but sit there and stare at his crazy roommate.

"So who else are you gonna ask?" Gilbert said, rolling over so he was facing Arthur. "You know, for drums?"

Arthur swallowed. He hadn't really been expecting this question."Um… I don't know."

"Oh, oh, then let me help!" Gilbert sat up, and put his chin on his fist so he looked like The Thinker. "I want to contribute! You can the music guy, and I'll be the cool guy! Hey, when do I get to learn bass?"

The Brit wrinkled his nose in distaste. He was already starting to sort of regret his decision. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Remember his voice. Remember his freaking voice.

"What if we ask Francis?" Gilbert said thoughtfully, and Arthur snapped his eyes open.

"No!" he said adamently. "No, I don't want him in there!"

Gilbert looked at him. Arthur felt his throat close up in guilt and anger.

"Before I say anything more," the German boy said slowly. "I want to ask you a question."

A pause. Arthur swallowed again, and met the boy's reddish eyes steadily. He felt his hands shaking slightly, swaying in the thick tension of the room.

"Why," said Gilbert, "do you hate Francis so much?"

Arthur set his jaw, tried not to imagine the French boy's face in his consciousness, and tried to think how to answer Gilbert's question.

And then he found he couldn't.

Some stories people just don't tell.

.

All was quiet on the campus of SPQR Academy. Unless if room 218 of the Eckland Residence Halll counted. Then it wouldn't be all quiet.

Drangg…

"No, no, no," Arthur said, frowning. His right hand was tucked under his chin, and his eyes were squinting at the pale German boy sitting across from him. "That's not right."

Gilbert looked down his fingers. "Argh!" he groaned. "I can never freaking get it right!" He then proceeded to hit himself in the forehead with the headstock.

Arthur cringed, watching the action. "Don't do that, please," he said in a slightly strangled voice, and Gilbert looked up.

"Oh." He ducked his head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said Arthur, but his expression said otherwise.

"No, it's your bass. I'm sorry," Gilbert said, his eyebrows crinkling together. Arthur quirked an eyebrow. It was quite odd to see this one-eighty turnaround in his roommate, especially in their dorm. If he wasn't deluding himself (which he was quite sure he wasn't), then Gilbert had been acting differently towards him. Nicer. Less arrogant. Docile, even? Arthur even felt himself starting to like the bloke a little bit. Only a little something about the German bothered him. Just a little bit. Only a little.

"Arthur?" Gilbert tapped the fretboard. "Earth to Arthur?"

Arthur blinked. "Erm. Sorry. Where were we again?"

"C major…," Gilbert said, look down and awkwardly placing his fingers on the fingerboard. Then he looked at his other hand, gripped the pick nervously, and swung downward. The sound that vibrated was soft and metallic, and Arthur nodded.

"That's good," said Arthur. "Don't forget that you don't play that bottom string; you have to mute it."

"Right." Gilbert licked his lips and tried again.

"Yeah, that's right." Arthur stood up. "I think all you really need to do is practice that and shifting between chords. Then maybe we can get started on other things. Like riffs. Serious riffs."

"Seriously?" Gilbert groaned. "Why?"

"It's only been two weeks since you started bass," Arthur pointed out. "And you're the one that insisted we do chords now, since they're 'so important to the basis of rock music,'" he added, making finger quotes.

Gilbert scratched his head. "Yeah. I guess I do stink at it."

Arthur shrugged and checked his watch. It was almost one o'clock, which meant it was almost time for him to go to class. He took his school books and began putting them in his bag, including his extremely thick Western Civilisation textbook. How anyone could write so much about Europe, Arthur would never understand. Or care.

"Where're you going?" asked Gilbert. He kept strumming softly, and Arthur frowned a little bit.

"Do you never stop playing that thing?" he asked, and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

Gilbert grinned sheepishly. "It's really fun."

Arthur exhaled, grabbed his thermos, and put his hand on the doorknob. "I'm going to class. What about you; don't you have class to go to? It's almost one."

"No," said Gilbert. "I've got a free period next."

"Oh. All right." Arthur turned back around and opened the door.

"Hold up a bit," Gilbert said.

Arthur paused, his hand still on the handle, one foot halfway out the door. He put his foot down and looked at Gilbert. "Yes?"

"…Do we have a drummer yet?"

The image of that wild-haired boy from Arthur's vision flashed briefly in his mind's eye. How the boy's hands were so fast they were a machine, skillfully hitting the toms with this straight precision. Arthur was fairly certain the boy was only a figment of his imagination, but if there was a guy out there like him…

Arthur breathed in and out. Do we have a drummer yet?

"No," he said slowly to Gilbert. "We don't."

He turned away and shrugged.

"But I'm looking."

author's note~

This section didn't quite fit into the second chapter (which came out super ridiculously long) but it doesn't quite fit into what was planned for the third chapter either, so… it stands by itself… /sweatdrop. I'm just gonna call this a baby chapter. Cheers!

[And also, I was incredibly busy this week. *sob* I promise to return with a long juicy chapter next time! :)]

*A lot of people noticed Arthur's intense bitterness towards Francis, even though they'd barely been in the same room for two seconds. …I have no explanation for this phenomenon. I'M WORKING ON IT, PROMISE PROMISE.