A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! This is the sequel to Everlong, I'm really excited for you all to read it. It's a lot more angst ridden, there will be more mature themes, and it is set in the future with random flashbacks to explain the events leading up to this point. Some of the chapters will be shorter than others, sorry keeping it real, sometimes our brains shorten memories as time goes by. Review and let me know if you like it. And thanks for everyone who has given me positive comments about wanting to read this story—this one's for you

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, not the show, not the characters, not the songs. I am not affiliated with nor have I ever met anyone depicted in this fictional story. Song credits to B.O.B. and Hayley Williams, Filter, Bruno Mars, and the Foo Fighters for the title.

Rating: M for language and themes

Times Like These

1: Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?

Awake on my airplane,
Awake on my airplane
I feel so real

Could you take my picture?
Cause I won't remember
Could you take my picture?
Cause I won't remember

-Take a Picture, Filter

He shut his eyes tightly, shifting back and forth on the reclined leather seat, but sleep would not come. He really didn't want to pop an Ambien, they made him feel like shit the next day, but he doubted he'd get any sleep otherwise. He needed something. He had eleven hours of a flight to kill until he finally touched back down in LA.

Home. It would be nice to finally get to stay there for a while. He hardly knew the meaning of the word anymore. He'd been back and forth for award shows and premieres and whatnot, but he'd lived a nomad's life for the past few years and had not stayed in one place for more than a week at a time. He couldn't wait to throw away his ratty suitcase, glad to finally be rid of it for now. He loved travelling the world, but they were all getting a much-needed break now that the tour was over. He was looking forward to sleeping in his bed, driving his car, doing mundane things like going grocery shopping and working out at the gym. Shit, he would even relish sitting in traffic on the 101. That's how he knew he really missed LA.

He looked over at his brother who was already sound asleep in the seat next to him. In fact, his entire family was already off in slumber land, where he should be, and they'd just taken off. It was unfair. He wished it could be that easy.

He should be just like them, but once again, he was the anomaly. Always. He was exhausted, too, which was the irony of it all. They'd done a huge amount of promotional shows and appearances to support an upcoming documentary that had been made about their tour. The whirlwind past few days had caught up and he just wanted some sleep, but it still would not come. His life. He had felt dead on his feet just as they were getting on the plane, but now he was wide awake.

Of course.

He told himself it had nothing to do with the stupid tabloid bullshit he read on one of the useless websites he'd just happened to see Rydel reading earlier. So what if her boyfriend had been seen in a jewelry store. That could mean anything.

They'd never gotten as serious as her new relationship purportedly was, their relationship flaming out in a fantastic explosive fashion in a way that only teenage relationships could. And like most teenage love stories, their egos had been too bruised, too damaged for them to ever find a way to forgive each other and find each other again. They were too young, too dumb. That was the problem.

One that he still was not willing to address to anyone who even wondered what had become of the cute Disney Channel couple who had once dated while they worked together side by side. Austin and Ally didn't make it, their partnership not built for forever. End of story.

The people closest to him knew to shield him from any news or info about her. He simply did not talk about her ever. The wounds were still too raw and fresh for him to bear, even though it had been years since they'd been together. And even though they sometimes still were linked to each other, through group email correspondence alerting the collective gang of a new marriage or new baby or some other milestone, it was just for courtesy purposes. At least from his standpoint. Because as far as he was concerned, pretending that she no longer existed made it easier for him to go on and ignore the way his heart shattered again every time he thought about her.

But he did still think about her. Often. If he had to be truthful, he had to admit that he was lying to himself about trying to forget her.

It was nights like this, when the world around him was asleep, she would infiltrate his being, like a ghost out to settle a score with him. She permeated his thoughts, drowning him in memories. If he lay real still, his eyes clenched tight, he could even imagine the scent of her hair and her skin, and then that thought would make his insides ache until he was almost crying. But he did not shed any tears, the ducts had dried up for her long ago. All he was capable of doing was to sit and numbly stare at his phone, at her contact information, like he was doing now. That was all he had left of her.

He'd long ago deleted all her texts. All of the angry words and disappointment that she had once directed towards him. All the reminders of how he had failed her and himself.

If he were really feeling self-loathing, he'd spend the wee hours of the morning torturing himself by searching through their old pictures or watching old episodes of their show. The internet would always be the gatekeeper of his memories, and his fans similarly wouldn't let him forget. To many he would always be Austin, and she'd always be his Ally.

But they were singularly Ross and Laura. God, they had been stupid kids to think that this could be their happy ending. How many 18-year-olds ended up with each other? Instead, they became another lost teenage romance, drowned in a sea of what ifs and never was.

He was especially haunted by all of the good memories. The little private moments, the kisses, the declarations of love, the happy times. Sometimes a fleeting picture of a random, trivial moment they shared would pop into his head and leave him reeling. Those were the memories that cut the deepest, as they served as further reminder of what he was missing. He was always so stricken by the fact that everything was always so vivid, as if the moment had just happened; that his mind could not let go, even though he knew it was his heart that had the photographic memory.

Sometimes when he lay there alone at night, he thought about how fucked up it was she probably wasn't doing the same. She wasn't obsessing over him, wondering if he was thinking of her. She had moved on, and clearly he had not. She'd created a new life with someone else, someone to come home to and with whom to spend her nights. He spent his evenings with visions of a future with her that would never come to fruition. Those thoughts alone kept him up all night wondering how many more sleepless nights would he have to endure? What would it take for him to achieve absolution, for his heart to allow him to finally forget about her?

If he did get rest, it was fitful, taking him into a dream world where they both lived, forever their 18-year-old selves, forever happy and in love and perfect. Sometimes he thought the insomnia was better. Without sleep, he didn't have to wake up and face the moment where he would be jolted back to the reality in which he and Laura did not exist. It was a never-ending cycle in which he was afraid he'd never be able to escape.

Maybe it was just better not to give into sleep.

A/N: Do you like it, hate it? What you were expecting? Leave me a note! And next chapter is actually one of my favorites I've ever written:)