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Title: Parachute

Author: Me 

Rating/Warning: Eh....if you are in this fandom, then it's PG-13, but know that there's Adam and Blake, who love to fucking swear! May increase later. 

Words: Around 3,357 

Pairing: Adam/Blake ~of course!  

Warnings: Cursing, disability, possible thoughts of suicide, angst, etc.

Notes: This is for a user on here, who's name escapes me, who wanted a disibility! story. This is my crack at the prompt, I hope it works! 

Just thought I give you guys this before I go to bed. The muse came to me and this appeared. I hope you like! 

ANN: Yeah, I know, there should be more Blake. My Blake muse is being a shithead. I love Adam anyway. JUST DEAL OKAY. 

Summary: Jumping into the unknown was risky, especially when all you knew was the wind racing past your ears. He didn't need it though, his sight; he had Blake. 

ENJOY! 

XXX 


XxX

While it should be obvious from his accent and wide smile, the truth was that he was a simple guy. Down to earth; he was a straight shooter with no need for complicated terminology. He was aware that vocabulary was limited compared to some city folk, although there was some southern terms that he could not believe that most people didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care.

Communication was about making sure that another person understood you and your implications, he had been able to do that since he was three, his first words having been ‘Shut it!’ and directed at his brother. Before that had been mostly hand signals and grunting; his momma had not appreciated it when he had left a family reunion with the ‘flipping the bird’ skill. They still did not know who had taught him, though the popular rumor was that it had been his second (once removed) cousin Billy; it had not been confirmed or denied.

Words were like clothes; while some liked fancy suits, it really didn’t matter as long as your weren’t naked. Rags were better than being mute, you could communicate with others. Ask for help or tell them to fuck off, whatever was needed, you were able to speak. Besides, why would you want to sound snooty?  Simple was easier to understand and was friendlier, smartasses just pissed him off.

He was raised in humble roots and while he had adjusted to the big lights and everything else that country music (and the music industry in general) entailed, it still to this day puzzled him why things weren’t solved like they were where he had grown up. There, if you had a problem with someone, to resolve it you either cussed them out or beat their ass, or both. Here is city world, things were sneaky. Dinner parties with a smile while your agent was cutting the other person out, a wink to them right before you announced that you had received the part, not them. While there were fights, both verbal and physical, it seemed that things were more complicated than they needed to be.

Beating around the bush was pointless, just get straight to the point and light the damn plant on fire if you needed to.  Easy, simple, and effective; if you were going to go to war with someone, you do it quickly and put them in their place, not drawn out. That would lead to more blood than any person could be comfortable with.

All that said, he was not shy about his thoughts or his language when speaking. He did not embarrass easily; hell he laughed most things off as jokes that most would cringe and blush at. It had not always been that way, his early years in the business had been tense, restless with the joking ; things were better now, thank god. This was the reason why his reaction to the final judge, and his newest acquaintance, was something along the lines of ‘Damn, what an ass’  

Now while that statement could be a bit more elegant (“What a fine posterior”), he didn’t give a shit because while his language may be inferior or that of a simpleton, he had perfected the skill of thinking before speaking. Well for the most part anyway, there were still fuck ups on his part; he was human, so sue him.

And while his first reaction was correct, given time it had expanded to the point where he was now sitting in his personal leather chair looking down the line at a man who had no idea he was being stared at. Or at least the man shouldn’t have an idea, yet still there were two brown eyes looking his way.

They seemed to be focused at him, even though that was impossible. It was almost chilling to see the stare on him, but fear was the farthest thing from his mind as he looked straight back.  It was fascinating that there was an actual blind judge that would be by his side, figuratively of course since blondie and blackie were between them, during the show. Considering that they were going to be judging on voice and vocals instead of sight, the man was perfect.

His ass squirmed in the leather seat that was his, supposedly anyway though he had yet to see a gold nameplate anywhere with his initials or something, since somehow it seemed that Adam was looking right at him. Like making eye contact looking.

Sure, he had been ogling since the dark headed man had stepped from the car and being thinking about the first round of banter (of many he assumed, most of which he would win) they had since they had first entered the building, but that did not mean that the man could magically see to stare at him. He was a modest man, when he wanted to be anyway, and he knew that people stared; he’d be fine with it if had been possible.

Of course, after making the revelation that a blind man was staring his way, his mouth took over. The filter decided to switch to the off position.  This, in foresight, was more than likely not the best move to make; because first impressions are usually wrong and while the man seemed cool now did not mean that he would be always. He of course, made it anyway; reactions be dammed.

Here goes nothing, the logic part of his brain rolled its eyes as the vocals were used.

“What are you looking at dickweed?”                

XxX

It was a strange feeling, having different levels.

His personal bubble was safe, warm; as it always had to be, no matter where he was. It was crucial, he had found since the time of the accident that he was secure at all times. If not, then the comfort, the level of focus he had when dealing with the fact that he could not see went to hell. If that happened then all the steps he had taken, miniscule baby steps that took everything from drinks to therapy on some level, would be gone; he would fall down that staircase face first and it would hurt like hell. So much that he might not get back up from it; it did not help that the idea, a final solution to all his problems was always at the edge of his mind, just waiting for his weakest moment.

Little to say, he had to be safe. Which he was in this moment; the chair underneath him was a bit too plushie, even though it was made out of leather, but that was details.

When he had entered the studio, labeled such by Avery, the warmth disappeared and the temperature dropped at least five degrees. It was a comfortable surrounding though, since now another beam was on him. It was heavy, reminding him of stage lights; one plus to his condition was that they no longer blinded him. Built in sunglasses, fuck yeah his mind wryly remarked. He had to stay positive somehow.

This fact murmured through his head as his fingers ran across the stiches binding the chair together, red thread if the information he had been given was correct, though she could just be fucking with him again. It was smooth, high quality in construction, as he traced from his seat up the backing before looping back down. A simple task that kept him busy as he adjusted.

While his airtight personal level was safe, everything else was new and unknown.  He was not scared of the darkness that surrounded, containing new sounds and smells. It always brought something new to the table, while he just stayed the same. Adapting to the new surroundings was a short thing, time shaved off the process with practice.

The voices of the unseen masses swirled around him, like a tornado or hurricane that he, his personal bubble, was the eye of.  Each voice a butterfly, a unique thing that smeared into a palate with the others, flying and circling; never coming too close, but just enough to where they were there. It all became background noise; he never really focused in one, instead just listening to the faint buzz of the combined sound.  

Whispers of his arrival, his self-sitting there, so similar yet so different, was a common topic; not that it was anything new. He was used to making waves, eyes or none, so instead he just put on a small smile and made himself at home.

The air brought to him the smell of perfumes, a mixture of different women that for once was not overpowering in the stench. Most were natural, while others seemed as though they didn’t belong or were not in the same class; mint and whiskey slid up his skin, making the hairs standing up on end. He blamed it on the cold subconsciously, ignoring the fact that he recognized the later from only minutes ago. It was on the tip of his tongue, unwavering since they had shaken hands.

If he had sanity left, it would have driven him insane by now; wafting by him with every slight movement of air, surrounding him from an unknown location. The source was in the room, a corner unseen; rarely did he have moments that he wanted to see, the desire waning overtime, but now he wished so much. Then he could see the person that was driving him crazy.

 It mixed faintly with the base powder makeup that was being rubbed against his face, small particles finding their way to his nose causing slight irritation. The woman wielding the brush was blushing; he knew this by the awkward laughs she kept throwing out whenever he said something. He took this in stride, even as he fingered the stitching, speaking with an unwavering tone. She was in his space, but he was safe; Avery was lurking in the shadows, ready to bash someone over the head with the flashlight she carried.

Soon the makeup artist, named Leah if he remembered right, would be finished and he would be left to his own devices until the first episode would begin. Or at least filming of it would. The smell of powder was everywhere, not just on him, meaning that he was last on the list for show prep.

The cast probably didn’t know how to proceed with him, how to not freak him out. Not surprising considering most everyone did that, like he was fragile and weak, something that would scream as he broke into pieces. The smallest thing setting him off into a tailspin, lucky for them that stage had already passed.

Leaning his head to the side, the right so that his left ear could have the spotlight for the moment, he rested his head upon his elbow. Final touches being made, he stared out into space, like he always did. It had been a hobby beforehand, but now it was more of a requirement; he just let his entire senses zone out and just go their own ways. Controlling them was not hard but there was always an alluring and satisfying feeling that came with just letting go.

Like clockwork, as he predicted, she finished, leaving him with the thin grains of powder and sweat as company. The second was already smudging his makeup, glimmering on his skin to the eyes of everyone else but him he was sure; his shirt would be sticking to him soon, clutching to his back like it had when they had been outside.

The colors were dimmed as he hummed along with it, nothing interesting coming with them. Now he was just waiting for the rest of them, preparing himself for what would come with a live audience and the new souls singing to his ears. It would a pleasure, he was sure, but he had to make sure it would make him hypersensitive. He was sure it wouldn’t, but preparations lead to the smoothest ride possible.

A sound pierced the static, the background that had become his dance partner; a low statement that spiked its way into his arms, cut in and turned the brisk tango into a slow waltz. He focused, made it his center; the voice was all that mattered to him, though he found the words amusing that carried themselves with the verbal fingerprint.

“What are you looking at dickweed?”

From the painted surroundings came a smeared streak, blue as a cloudless day, greeting him like an old friend as it flaunted itself close to him. Perhaps if he reached out, he would touch it, cup it like a precious stone. Swinging loosely around itself, the words echoed, extending the path of the primary color; it left him craving more.

Such an easygoing sentence, perhaps vulgar by some standards, but it was perfect. It wasn’t treating him like he was weak, but instead normal. He did not even know if it was directed at him, but he hoped so; the distraction was welcomed.

All the levels felt safe now, by just one voice, for one moment. It was new to him and he wanted more; it was like the adjusting period had been thrown out the window, it wasn’t needed anymore. His personal space bubble had been expanded, limitless compared to the usual restrains. Lasting only for a moment, it was drawing back, shrinking again. He tried fighting against it, wanting to spread his wings instead of being chained to the ground.

More, he needed more. The surroundings were becoming cold, so cold.

But how to get his attention? Him. Brendon? Nah. Bronson? Definitely not….hmmmm…the names kept coming to mind as he let out a reply, hopefully something that would bring back the vocals back to his ears.

“Nothing much, how about you jackass?” It was a teasing tone that imbedded into it, leaving his mouth it sailed hopefully to the right person

“What?” The voice sounded faint, confused; like he hadn’t been heard despite the fact that the background noise had dropped below his range. Like anything he ever said overruled the other conversations. He had that happen sometimes, but now when no one knew him? What was going on?

“Want to say that to my face short stuff?”

Oh. He was tempted to freak out, to swallow his tongue and just hide. There was someone in his space. IN. HIS. SPACE. That was cause for death con five if anything, on a normal basis anyway. He was tempted, because that was what he would normally do. But instead he just shrugged his shoulders and smirked while tweaking his eyebrows just a hair.

“I said that I wasn’t seeing much, what about you?” He left the jackass part out, for now anyway. It was a fluke that he would address later, because rarely did he censor himself, but for now there was just the looming figure he could feel the heat coming off of.

It was like earlier, the feeling sliding up his skin in rivers of moisture; the smell of whiskey and wood wafting and surrounding him like a cloud, lifting him out of the gray lines that were composed of the other conversations.

A arm, large and course with fine hair, brushed against his own skin; he move his elbow before leaning forward so that his body now occupied the space that his arm had.  The flow of warmth was steady, meaning that they were still as close as they had been. For some reason that didn’t bother him.

“Nothin’ much” The blue slipped between his fingers, just far enough to where he wasn’t touching it. Not yet. It was strangely intimate, not sexual, but just new. It felt ancient, something he should have felt before now, something that had been in his dreams but not reality. It was happening now, his focus hinted; he listened as to not fall into a haze.

“Sounds like you’re just as bored as I am” Absented mindedly, he wondered if the creases in his eyes had come out yet. They appeared when he smiled, Avery said she wished her wrinkles were like that, made from joy and not stress. He tried to make her laugh, when he wasn’t being depressed and all.

“Good to know someone is, I kinda want to ditch and get a drink” He basked in the words; he hadn’t realized he wanted the same until now, but it made sense. The plan included stepping out of this zone, to which he had just adjusted, with someone he had just met. He was safe here. But he felt safer with…

Blake. The name came to him and rang clearer than spring water that had come from a mountain river. Why this was coming up now was irrelevant he decided, he replied.

“We could probably get drunk off our asses, sleep it off, and be back before they’d notice we were gone” He scoffed with ease, the ice seemingly and thoroughly broken between them.  No use holding back now.

The laugh that followed thrummed through his cells, plucking them like well-trained hands to a guitar; it was deep, rough yet smooth. He joined in which a chuckle before the blue spoke again.

“I think they’d notice the blind guy missin’” Some of his visually challenged counterparts might of taken that the wrong way. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck. He was safe and the comment was playful in intent, all was good.

“Nah” Waving off the words, which had a small bit of concern in them, he rolled his eyes. It was a habit that he had not been able to break; the flash of movement was missing, but the motion was the same. It gave him some semblance of normal. “Avery would just be our designated driver, after having a couple of course”

A short laugh, which for some reason stretched out longer than others “I’ll drink you both under the table” So confident, so brash; it was perfect, so different than how he was usually treated.

It made everything else melt into the background; nonexistent and out of his range of caring. The breath against his skin was something that usually would have made him take a step in the other direction, to preserve the bubble that had to be secure. Now was different though, he allowed access to this man, this person without a second thought. Without a care in the world, he brought down the walls and smiled.

Getting up this morning was not a goal, making his presence here a task that had frankly been on his shit list; it was all worth it now, he had another friend. For once, he was actually looking forward to something.

Someone called for Blake to take his seat, part of him wanted to offer him his spot with him in it, but instead he just smiled wider.

“I’m goin’, can you believe these jackasses Adam? So damn pushy!”

He was going to reply, of how he would remember that, to bring it on, but the man was gone. The warm presence evaporated and replaced with the harsh lights. Back into the abyss, the darkness that was always with him; but there were now two flashlight carrying heroes on his side.

He wasn’t alone.

XxX

Hmm.

Never had she seen him like this, so happy so easily. He was never so trusting, not after what had happened. Not even with her, it had taken at least a week. Not minutes, days. Not like now. Interesting sight it was, them together.

Jealousy was time consuming and foolish, so instead she watched them.

Heads bowed together, closer than they would have ever been if he could see, without flinching or fear that she expected; a smile on her friend’s face as the taller man walked away.

Interesting, her eyes flicked to the other coaches; the other woman caught her eye and nodded her head towards her still smiling companion. So she wasn’t the only one who had noticed something.

She nodded with a knowing smile, it was returned.

Interesting indeed. 

XXX

Thoughts? 

Spare no detail! I love long comments, tell me what you like and don't! 

WELL I AM OFF TO BED! GOODNIGHT BITCHES! I LOVE YOU ALL <3333


Title: Parachute

Author: Me 

Rating/Warning: Eh....if you are in this fandom, then it's PG-13, but know that there's Adam and Blake, who love to fucking swear! May increase later. 

Words: Around 2, 900 

Pairing: Adam/Blake ~of course!  

Warnings: Cursing, disability, possible thoughts of suicide, angst, etc.

Notes: This is for a user on here, who's name escapes me, who wanted a disibility! story. This is my crack at the prompt, I hope it works! 

AN: This chapter is dedicated to riversavesworld , who very nicely DEMANDED more of Honey Love/This story, so I ended up writing this today. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT~!   

ANN: This is all Adam, there will be Blake next chapter ! 

Summary: Jumping into the unknown was risky, especially when all you knew was the wind racing past your ears. He didn't need it though, his sight; he had Blake. 

ENJOY! 


XxX 

His designer  sneakers, with gel insoles since he’d be damned if he had arthritis later on, took more effort to move as the chill that had been around him wavered before vanishing to be replaced by heat. It was vacant of moisture and without the glare blinding him (even further, he grimly chuckled) he knew that he was still in Los Angeles.

Changes in temperature were the easiest way to tell what the hell was going on; the sun taking a sledgehammer to his skin was followed by the echo of the noisy snarl known as traffic, combined they shattered his calm cocoon comprised of blessed air conditioning and swirling piano notes.

Nervousness was not becoming of a rising music star, so to be prepared he required a soak of at least twenty minutes in the least complicated sound he knew, classical. It was his own version of meditation; frankly he thought it put the priests and yoga women to shame. It was smooth and unfazed by vocals or guitar riffs, just the chill of the keys he could picture under his fingers.

They were firm, unwavering, and sleek; he had lost the black supporting them along with every other piece of imagery, only a few pictures existed that had not been burned in the fire he had set after the event. It had been a bonfire to remember, complete with drunken screams and voiceless tears; thankfully someone had had the foresight to save some things.

He couldn’t forget them, not after everything.

They were still there, those double eights that were perfect. The stark contrast between them, like that of an old movie, was completely balanced; it always seemed to bring him back to be grounded and not lose is sanity.

Shivers moved across the sensitive nubs called his fingertips, reminding him the void of calm and safe was always there. It was a secret spot, high above cloud nine; no one was ever there, just him. No one had able to mix with the ice that coated upon entry. Even Avery was not hot enough, even though her hair could be fire in itself excluding the flame called her soul; he was alone.

As usual, he was always alone.

The chill spread, making the hole in his self-become more dominant. He would not feel self-pity, but he loathed these moments where despite everything around him, people, animals, heat, he was just a ball of ice that nothing could melt.

And not even classical could solve that.

“Adam”

He was unprepared for the elbow he received to ribs; not to say that it hurt, but it certainly surprised him. It disrupted his personal space bubble, the shreds of balance he was trying to cling on even though they had just exited the car and taken a few steps.

At least now they were in the shade, although it didn’t really matter either way, at least the sun on skin gave another reminder that he was here and in the moment.  That there was something other than ice, that numbness that existed effortlessly, without amber dizziness or morphine, to consume him.

Heat was untouchable, just a memory that was quickly turning to dust in the slowly burning bonfire; there were still coals waiting for more fuel.

Another poke to the ribs, they must be meeting someone or she would just leave him be in his swirling comatose state. The sanded handle of the extension of his arm, also known as his cane, turned once over in his palm before he moved it, searching for...

He assumed that if they were meeting someone, that the strangers would be standing fairly closer, even though most people gave him a wide berth because he was obviously helpless.

Ah, there we go.

His wide spread search came to a stop as he met another solid object; he guessed it to be an ankle. Moving around it, he checked for more solid weak spots; with being blind, he had learned some of the body’s weak points, to know where to protect in case of an attack since he was not capable of dishing it out.

One of the persons jumped when he hit them, a light yelp coming from the instance. Most people did that when he attempted to place them, something about being tapped on a vital bone. Without your ankles, walking became very difficult if not impossible; it was only natural to be squeamish. Still didn’t mean it wasn’t amusing; he had to get his fun from somewhere.   

“Sorry” He murmured with a smile, trying not to seem like a morbid bastard.

“It’s alright, you just surprised me” It was feminine, but deep; similar to his guardian’s, but with a bit more flare. The first word that came to mind was ‘diva’, but with a sophisticated version. The voice appeared to him in the form of a mix of red, a thousand different shades mixing together to move in time with the words.

He had stopped attempting to form lips to move with the conversation, hair that would bristle in the slight wind, a person to match to the voice. Vocals were distinct for each person, which was how he identified others; trying to create faces was pointless. Even if he had known the person before the incident, all that information had been shoved into a huge trash compactor; faces didn’t really matter all that much.

He did it once in a while, when he was really interested in the person; but usually he just assigned colors. The woman had passion and intensity; he could imagine the voice in a song, so he gave her the color of a rose, a fiery shade with a bit of girliness in there.

Seeing as she, the unnamed mess of fire, was to his far left, he decided to start with her; his hand reached out in an open palmed fashion in the direction the voice had come from.

“Adam Levine, call me Adam” It was easier this way, a single name making him seem more normal, more average in relation to them despite the fact that he was obviously missing a key component. These people he was making acquaintances with were important, that much was certain since Avery was having him meet them. She was a very good detector of importance, because she knew he did not like meeting millions of people. He had become a bit shyer with his loss, which would be expected.

The hand shake was brisk as the soft skinned across his own, her medium length nails scratching themselves across his hand to the point where he knew they existed and that she did not play instruments on a daily basis as he did, if ever.

“Christina, Christina…” The voice replied, which he cut off while humming a familiar tune that he had known of before music had become his center in a universe of chaos.

She smiled; he knew it even though the creases were just a part of darkness, as he reached the chorus of one of her highest hits. He almost wished he could have seen the music video, although Avery had described it to him as dark weirdness, he still wanted to see it dammit!

“Good to know I wasn’t the only one listening to your songs” Another voice chuckled from his right, a mellow contrast to the fire. It wasn’t chill, there was still fire in there, but it was more down to earth than the female. It was lavish, with a hint of funkiness; it was interesting. The man was definitely spice to Christina’s hard sugar, with soul seeping in every word.  

The color palate went to a green variety, with a dash of salt and pepper, to embed itself into his memory. It was less controlled than the last stream of color, now it was all over the place as the deep and soulful laugh echoed.  

He smiled as he basked in the sweet syrup like symphony, the numbness abating and relinquishing its hold on a few inches of his heart, although he knew the fizzing sparks would soon start to smoke before going out and the frost would come back.

That’s what happened every time, it wasn’t like meeting other music stars like himself was going to be the epic combo breaker to fuck up the six digit or more score he had going on.

“Nice to meet you brother, name’s Cee – Lo Green” The moment he moved his appendage that came equipped with a very useful thumb to meet the greeting, it was captured by a larger hand that Christina’s had been. It was still as soft, but just bigger and squishier. That last word may have been the word way to describe a person’s hand, but he kept it.

He just kept smiling, unsure what to say; good think he didn’t have to know.

“Hey dickweed, why did you skip over me?”

He felt his head snap up and struggle to meet the gaze of the person straight in front of him, even though he knew it was impossible. It seemed impossible to resist the instinct to do so, the urge that he for the most part ignored with everyone else; he knew Avery probably thought he was crazy.

The tone was that of comfort, every part of the statement large and warm, coming to envelope him. It had a hint of teasing mixed in, like they were good friends already despite the fact he had never met…

The honey like sound reached out to him, he barely resisted leaning in. It was deep, subtle, and a bit sensual; although he had a feeling that the words said by the voice were not of that variety at all. Strength was obvious and apparent, making his emotions leave for a moment.

The colors were silent for a moment, only faint buzzing alerting to the fact that they were attempting to discover which mix to apply. It only took a moment before it exploded in his vision in the form of a wisp of blue. It was deep blue, a pure swirling strand moving towards him; like it was going to surround him, slid up his skin. There were only faint hints of a light shade, like that of the sky on a cloudless day, which flowed effortlessly within the darker version.

Rarely was a vocal color one shade of one color, normally it was many different shades, different colors, or both when it embodied a voice. They were never the same, like snowflakes, but sometimes some stuck out more than others.  

 His tongue stuck to the bottom of his mouth, which was experiencing dryness almost comparable to that of an African summer. His breathing was more rapid ad his heart was slightly sped up and out of its regularly scheduled beats.

Whiskey, wood, and honey invited themselves in, overwhelming and whisking away the smells of smog and burning rubber. It was different, obviously not a mixture or fragrance that one could concoct on purpose, somehow it made it that more endearing in a way.

The thick sweetness could almost be tasted it was so strong, giving his tongue something fluid to once again swim in; he licked his lips out of habit, to give them the same moisture. Even now he knew that something different was afoot, a unscheduled change to his life that would more than likely make it better or fuck it up, he hoped to god it was the second.

With the cane in hand, he tapped at ankle of the newest and most interesting voice.

A light sound was an accomplice to the second tap, one that he slightly raised an eyebrow at; he classified it in the category of ‘amused’ and bet a pretty penny that there was a smirk with it.

“Yep, that’s me” The blue spoke again, with the amusement apparent in it.

“Smartass” His blank expression turned and cracked into a smile; this is the point where he would have made eye contact before rolling his eyes.

Slowly, he tapped his way up the man’s leg, because the fact that he had to look up to be in the direct line of the man’s voice was weird. He was an average guy height wise, if not a little on the tall side, but the guy sounded like he was at least five inches taller than him. That meant the guy was like…

“I’m six five”

…or something like that.

 “Damn, you’re huge big guy”

The guy was huge, probably capable of bench pressing his ass in a heartbeat; strangely the information did not scare him, the blue was too soft. Although he might have just finally lost it, he’d have to wear a sign saying to watch out for the crazy blind guy, but he doubted it.

Right beside him was Avery, who poked him slightly with the unspoken comment of ‘No shit’ to reply to his own comment. He swatted her hand, gently, in return for her silent snarkiness.

His cane went back to the ground, abandoning its journey up the side of mount saint huge, right before the blue appeared again to remind him that he was fine. Somehow, it seemed to not have the same effect as the keys did.

“Name’s Blake” Another line of lighter blue joined the dark as the vocals became huskier, an accent more pronounced than before. The amusement had grown just a bit more, probably in time with the smile.

“Adam, but you probably already know that” He winked for effect with his sarcasm, even though he wasn’t even sure he was looking in the right direction.

A large hand closed around his at the same time he exhaled, the feeling raining down on him like a sudden storm that he had no air to scream into. It was warm, like summer rain that was the only thing that mattered in a moment, to surround him. It slithered in small rivers down his arms to his core, the more subtle version of lightning with the same effects.

His eyes flutter for a moment, feeling overwhelmed as frost retreats to leave him feeling overexposed to everything. Numbness is gone; why is a question that is unexplainable and unneeded. The hand tethers him to the ground when he thinks he is going to float away or that his knees will give out.

Warmth, not sparks, awaken the millions of cells making up his outside barrier, his skin sighs in relief simultaneously.

The finger pads of the man are firm like his own, unlike the other two, meaning that he plays an instrument of some kind. Usually he would have known in an instant, but now he’s floating on his back. Driven to sweet chaos, his mind is barely capable of anything and yet chokes out ‘Guitar’ before humming in satisfaction.

Then the feeling decreases, his manners releasing the other man’s hand before he makes a fool of himself, everything called him whimpered although knowing it had to be done. He’s smiling, the faint sliver of teeth showing even without him being aware.

He was almost so out of it that he almost forgot about her, which is never a good idea since she does not like to be left out. “Fellow Coaches, this is Avery, my…”

She steps in, literally, and asserts herself; she always liked to introduce herself “Guardian, helper, nanny, it’s all about the same”

He rolled his eyes; she’s probably doing some stupid hand motion again which he only knew about since he had been hit by one of these hand motions in the not so ancient past. Of course she had laughed her ass off at him instead of helping him from where he had fallen; her advice had been to stay out of her way next time.

He took back control, trying to ignore a fact that was not going away in his mind “She’ll be helping me out, so I don’t run into shit”

The others laughed, the colors mixing into one big hodgepodge that one might see a version of if on drugs, and he just smiled. The blue was still the most prominent in that sultry chuckle that stood out despite the fact that Christina’s was louder.

 “Let’s get inside the studio, Daly will want to meet you” The blonde, he just decided that that’s the hair color she would have, she sounded like a blonde, decided before the click of two sets of heels was heard as they began to move.

Avery falls into line with him again, their strides matching almost perfectly from time and practice from it just being the two of them. His cane taps in time, when another set steps to join their wall; he smells the sweetness before anything.

The blue comes to mind without a sound, swirling in his mind along with the fact that the man is walking as close as Avery is, just inside his bubble. Moments ago, he met the man, Blake, who was now at the place as his closest friend.

It didn’t make sense…

Shadows covered him, a chill racing over his skin as they enter the building known as the studio, but he’s still warm with a personal heater in close proximity.

A faint smile comes to his lips as murmurs come from the crew.

“This should be fun”

…it didn’t have to.

XxX

Chapter Two Done!

What did you think?

Still in character? 


Title: Parachute

Author: Me 

Rating/Warning: Eh....if you are in this fandom, then it's PG-13, but know that there's Adam and Blake, who love to fucking swear! May increase later. 

Words: 2, 432 

Pairing: Adam/Blake ~of course!  

Warnings: Cursing, disability, possible thoughts of suicide, angst, etc.

Notes: This is for a user on here, who's name escapes me, who wanted a disibility! story. This is my crack at the prompt, I hope it works! 

Summary: Jumping into the unknown was risky, especially when all you knew was the wind racing past your ears. He didn't need it though, his sight; he had Blake. 

ENJOY! 



No day was worth his attention, his attempts to be normal. No matter how much his voice burned with intensity or how high he stood despite his average height; there was always a moment where he had everything, almost.

The surroundings would be silent to his sensitive eardrums, numb to the millions of cells that made up his birthday suit, clean to the nerves that told him that he had let the toast burn (again), bland to the slithering flesh that stroked his teeth every other moment, and there would be darkness. Unforgiving; a pitched room that let nothing in except him, four walls enclosing to remind him that no matter what happened since that day: He was alone.

This was his reasoning as he lay cocooned in Egyptian cotton, a six hundred count set that he had received from her after she claimed his other set was worn out, to not get out of bed. For some reason, the sandman decided that the most comfortable position, and perfect temperature, of sleep should be achieved when you woke and were supposed to get up. He was sure that the fucker had done it as revenge; the man helped others sleep, it was unlikely that the man was able to sleep himself. 

Why anyone in their right mind started the day before nine was beyond him, everyone should be able to enjoy the warm tingles across their skin that was one of the universal ways to achieve comfort.

Currently he was on his back, the pressure on his shoulder blades telling him this instead of the movement of objects in the room. Why he was not on his right shoulder, which is where he had awaken, was because he had been forced to roll to shut up the stupid machine trying to tell him that it was six forty five in the fucking morning. Despite the fact that it was doing the thing that it was made to, well other than playing shitty music off the radio, and he should not blame it for having to get up so early; he had thrown the thing into what he assumed was the wall.  The crunch of cheap and replaceable plastic brought a small smile, although he knew that Avery would get him another.

He had a suspicion that she brought on to work with her each day, since she just knew that he would break the most recent one; although he had yet to confirm it. Another theory, that came to mind as he flexed his toes while burrowing deeper in the blankets, was that she had just had the place rigged with cameras so that she knew he had broken something and knew to bring something with her when she arrived at seven. Why she set the alarm clock early, when she knew she would have to wake him up herself, was something he had yet to understand.

Oh well, he mentally huffed as a slight cold breeze breached his layer of fuzziness, making him twist his body inwards in order to avoid anything colder than his little bubble.

Apparently, the bubble was comprised of dark blue fabric with silver notes scattered randomly, the firm/soft combination of pillows breaking the ocean of soft by being a piano. Black and white keys were under his head, which gave him little comfort though it was his favorite instrument. She had told him, in great detail, as he had slowly helped her spread it out and smooth the creases that came from it being packaged. It had been perfect, as he had told her, though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew she could easily be bullshitting him for shits and giggles.

Really, it didn’t matter; but he knew she wouldn’t.

Avery was capable of screwing him over, she was the lifeline that kept him from floating off and more importantly prevent him from being hit by a car, without her he was even more helpless than usual. Sure he could do the basics within the walls of his apartment, but beyond that he was fucked, plain and simple. Considering that she was his closest friend, beside the band, he knew the odds of being screwed over were very low, which helped since he trusted her with his life.

She had finally been the one to tell him to man the fuck up after the incident when no one else, not Jesse, not Mickey, had done it; turned out that is what he had needed to get his head out of his ass. One day they had been doing something, he really didn’t remember nor did he need to, and then he had heard a voice that been like a slap to the face. The literal slap had come later as she swung through to turn him on his axis like a hurricane of fucking craziness; he had invited her to be his ‘helper’ a week later. She had accepted, to his excitement since he had desperately needed a person to keep up with him…

The door slammed coupled with the steps of heels. Dammit, it couldn’t be seven already. His body curled deeper into blue in preparation for what had just come through the door. 

“RISE AND SHINE MOTHERFUCKER!”

…as well to his despair, since it turned out that she knew how to get him to do what he needed to do even if he didn’t want to do it. Like get out of bed.  It was hell on earth that he had found someone with an ego to match his own that had no qualms about dishing out hot plates of sarcasm and curses.

Something between a mumble and a groan escaped his vocals as he hugged while trying to make the sweet fabric a second skin. He was tempted to say ‘five more minutes’ although he knew it wouldn’t work; he just clutched to the relaxed state of his muscles as she walked right outside of his nonexistent vision.

He did what he did every morning before the sketchy appearance of her ripped him from his safety net, he thought back to grasp at the straws of whatever his dreams had been composed of. For the most part, his dreams had adapted as he had to a lack of light in his eyes. He no longer saw images, but instead just the sensations.

Lately it had been his skin that had come to the awake state with bolts of lightning seeming to crawl across; with hot breaths wisping across to cool the overheated nerves. It was surprisingly not erotic, but instead of comfort since the heat would always come from another body fitting perfectly with his. The moment of consciousness beginning with his head on a living pillow instead of a stuffed one. But he always ended up alone when it all ended, no matter how real it seemed. ..

Bitch” He hissed as the comforter and sheet was yanked away, causing him to do the adult version of whining as a baby might do. While he was an adult, he knew what this was going to come to: she was going to have to drag him kicking and screaming off the custom king side bed. No matter how much sleep he achieved, it was always this way.

Always.

And she knew it.

“Adam…” She said smoothly with a tint of warmth, although he could almost hear her jaw smile as he tried to curl up to conserve heat. A hand, one that he knew was her right one from the scar on her middle finger that was from a cutting mistake with a butcher knife, touched his arm gingerly. It was just enough force to let him know she was there, but not enough to make him even more helpless.

“Go away” She knew he didn’t mean it, that it was just the foul mood talking; she had been there; she knew exactly how he felt. Well at least for the most part, she could see.  

The mattress gave way, just a little, as her hips settled on it to lean closer to him. His personal space was invaded, a move that he usually shuddered at. His space always had to be secure, always under his control; a person that was unknown coming into that could mean disaster.

Smooth skin slightly cooler than his own moved his hair just a bit; Avery was not an unknown which was the only reason why he was allowing the touch and why he was not thrashing in any direction other than where the intruder was coming from.  

“You’ve got places to be” The voice was deeper than his mother’s, but it was still feminine. The deepness to it brought comfort, wrapping itself around him to the point where he considered digging himself out of the fetal position…

…nope, not happening.

“Really?” He replied in a sarcastic tone that was almost dripping with venom, but she wouldn’t be moved.

She shifted slightly, he grinned knowing that her green eyes were rolling at him being a smartass. Well at least he thought they were green, when the truth was they could be purple for all he knew. Although if they were purple, instead of green, he wouldn’t be pissed off that she had lied, oh no, he would be pissed because he could see the awesomeness that was purple pupils.

He closed his limbs closer to him in the silence, wishing that today could just be one of those days where he could just stay in bed and just forget the world, everyone, and everything.

“Don’t make me turn it on” He froze, that wasn’t a threat said lightly; they must be really late.

Of course he had to call her bluff “You wouldn’t”

If he could see, she probably would be giving him a look of ‘you know I will’ but he knew that was exactly what she was thinking as her weight dissipated from the bed toward the CD player.

“Avery!” He struck out a thin air as he uncoiled from his ball, almost falling off the bed in the process as he tried to prevent the horrendous thing from reaching his year.

There was a chuckle to his right; damn sadistic bitch.

His vocal chords prepared to yell at her when it came to wreak havoc on his precious eardrums.

“Baby, Baby, Baby…..ohhhhhhh….like baby, baby, baby....nooooo”

“TURN IT OFF DAMMIT!!!!”

It only became louder.

He went to shove his pillow around his ears to find that they were gone; his scream of frustration was almost lost in the ‘music’. Why couldn’t he have lost his HEARING instead?!

“Like baby, baby, baby….ohhhhhhh….I thought you’d always be mine…”

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!?”

He felt around on the cool floor for the damn music buffers, balancing to make sure he didn’t kill himself…although right now he really wished he could.

Apparently that was her only goal in life.

“Baby, Baby, Baby…..ohhhhhhh….like baby, baby, baby....nooooo”

“I’M UP, I’M UP!!” He tumbled out of the quickly cooling bed, righting himself on his feet in irritation; careful not to make any other moves that could result in him breaking something like a lamp (like he had last week) in his unbalanced state caused by the horrid pre-puberty screeching by the female ‘artist’.

It was still playing….

“Like baby, baby, baby….ohhhhhhh….I thought you’d always be mine…”

He sank to his knees in careful dramatics before bowing “SPARE ME OH MIGHTY BITCH! YOU ARE THE GOD OF ALL!”

There was another laugh, not of the evil kind as the music dissipated to silence.

A hand appeared on his shoulder, before helping him to stand once more.

“Was that so hard?” She knew the answer, so he just quirked his eyebrows and smirked in a combination that still worked even after sight.

The hardwood under his feet changed to carpet, telling him that they were entering the closet. Hopefully she wouldn’t dress him in disco today…

“So, jeans or jeans?”



Everyone was here, well almost anyway; which was fine with him, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to do this anyway. Sure, it was going to have his music promoted and it sounded like fun, but he was going to be a coach. A mentor to some hopeful youth who more than likely wouldn’t make it; was it a cynical view? Yes, but it was the truth. For each famous artist there was a hundred or more who had failed.

He wasn’t sure he could handle being in the position, to see the faces of the hopeful and try and coach them through it. He wasn’t ready.

 Yet he was here, damn manager.

Supposedly there was one last coach they were missing and from what he had heard he was a bit of everything. Tattoos, language, and everything else was mixed together to for the reputation he had heard of.

And as the blonde bust, errr woman he had met earlier by her formally batting her eyelashes at him talked to the darker cousin to Santa Claus, the shared genetic traits being happiness all around and smiles, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be the outcast of the group. The other two flowed seamlessly, already establishing roles and who was going to do what. The soon to arrive would probably do the same, leaving his huge self on the outside.  

Most saw him as intimidating, but that just hurt him when it came to immersing himself in a social setting. He wished he was hunting or drinking; although both would be perfect. The burn of his throat accompanied by the chill of the metal at his fingertips in the crisp morning air…

The screech of rubber snapped him to reality, he looked just in time to see the driver of the black escalade set out.

In heels.

Unless the man was a cross dresser, in a tight skirt, over sized shirt, and earrings he assumed that wasn’t the other judge.

The red headed woman did not spare them a glance, not even with the blonde and her breasts looking on, while circling the car to the passenger side.

Classic piano filtered into the humid air, faintly reaching his ears, making him reconsider the genre he thought the newest judge to be in.

But of course that was blown out of the water when he saw the long white can, which could only signify one thing, hit the ground in time with black masculine shoes.

Well, he thought off handedly as the truth of the situation sunk in, this was going to be interesting. 


Tada! 

To the user who requested this, I hope you enjoyed! I hope you all enjoyed! 

How was it? Is it descriptive enough?! Tell me! 

New Oneshot - Glitter - Adam/Blake

Title: Glitter
Author: Me
Words: No Idea
Pairing: Very few hints of Adam/Blake
Warnings: Cursing, excessive use of sparkly things.
Notes: This was a drabble written in thirtyish minutes on the fly. I apologize for spelling and that it isn't as detailed as my usual stuff. This is no way tied into my other monstrosity of a story.
Summary: It was a normal day, at least they wished it was..."Blake, I think you have something on your hat" ...."GODDAMMIT ADAM!" Playful!Adam and Pissed! Blake.



HERE! Collapse )



Title: Honey Love, Bitter Misery

Rating/Warning:  R (NC-17 later XD )  

Words: 8,493

Paring: Adam/Blake aka Shevine

Contains: Cursing, violence, mentions of slash, slash, MAN SEX...maybe anyway, but much later, depression, ect.

Summary: The spark to set off the hot mess is when Adam is beaten by a past flame; guess who takes him to the hospital? As the chilling truth comes to life, Blake’s life falls apart…and he has no idea why.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and know nothing.

Dedicated to Untouched-Angel, my Blake. Thank you for the support, stalking, and ass kicking.

AN: Adam’s part is a situation that will come in the future. Meaning that we will get all the Blake feels next chapter. I know it seems out of place, JUST DEAL! Also, rating for this chapter is mostly for Jesse, who can’t keep his fucking mouth shut.

ANN: This was finished at five in the fucking morning, if there are spelling shit that needs redone just tell me and I’ll fix it. My vision starts to water when I am really tired.

ANNN: The quote is to be taken in the context of Adam/Blake, nothing applies to that bastard.

Quote: “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is a reaction, both are transformed” ~Carl Gustav Jung



Clarification was something he really wished he could do about his personality for the reporters, who happened to get it wrong in the recent days.

He was not a bad mouthed douche bag; he just felt that respect needed to be given where it was due. And the reporter that he had been slightly rude too, they had blown the incident up way too far out of context, had not deserved respect. She had sold her soul to the industry; her face frozen in a Botox induced smile, every part of her body down to the heel of her feet had been changed. She was one big plastic robot, and that was not the reason he dissed her.  She was cold, heartless; it showed in every word.

And it pissed him off.

So he had been labeled a talented bad mouth pixie that needed to shape up.

Usually it didn’t get to him, but this one time he was furious. Because the reporter had labeled the entire band assholes; his behavior should only reflect on him, not on his band. They had all worked extremely hard for this, to make it. It was fucking ridiculous that one interview had put them all in the dog house; it was irritating to no end.

“In other news, the up and coming band Maroon Five is gaining steam despite the bad reputation started by lead vocalist Adam Levine…”

The grimaced look on his face does not disappear even as he sips his second beer of the night; he hated how becoming famous led to a lack of privacy. It was ridiculous, but he knew this was going to happen.  Yet he did it anyway, because he loved music and fuck anything else that got between him and it.

He needed more to drink, he decided as the last drop of amber numbness disappeared from the bottle in his hand; signaling the bartender for another, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. Ripping off the sunglasses he had worn in, the metal frames slid against the old worn wood of the bar, allowing more light to his eyes in the dimmed place.

He knew he was in a bar, but he had stormed in the place so pissed off that he really didn’t know anything about it. It was downtown, obviously since he had exited his hotel in rage before arriving here about a minute later. Due to the shadows and his stylish shades (Courtesy of himself, he had bought them as a ‘making it big’ present) he was not spotted; although he wasn’t that famous to be mobbed yet. Where he was was dimmed in the department of light, the brighter areas filling in for the job of a dance floor; currently it was a like a rich velvet that filled his ears, the classic piano alone in playing since the rowdier of the crowds had gone to more lively places.

He did not know the name of the establishment, but he needed to find out. Jesse and the others would enjoy it; he knew he would more than likely be coming back; because while drums and guitars were pleasant, there was nothing quite like a solo piano to his ears.

It was slow, smooth, with a hint of being sultry in the sense that it sent sparks up the spine with every note. At points it was almost silent, before the master brought a crescendo into play, but never did it become too loud. It seemed perfect, which was exactly what he needed.

Well that and beer.

Getting lost in the music wasn’t too hard; he leaned against the wooden bar while looking out towards the source of the music. Only the shiny gloss of the musical instrument could be seen, very little of its wielder other than the fact that it was a man. The sight of fellow drinkers soon grew boring, his eyes closing on his own accord as the stream of conscious known as his mind grew silent in order to relax and enjoy.

The musical selection was something he did not recognize, but who the fuck cared? The pianist knew what he was doing and was doing it well, which was all that mattered. The tune was warm, like a body wrapping itself around him to hold him. The embrace was welcome as a timed reaction of electricity spread with every few moments that passed.

Unlike most music, this type was not one to dance to; you were supposed to listen, with no emotions or thoughts, just listen as it enveloped you. He felt weightless, the feeling of polished timber against his back dissipating so that he just floated as the streams of notes moved around him.

Bliss had been foreign these last few months, between everything happening in the somewhat organized chaos known as his life and career; now it seemed as though nothing else existed. A clean slate; as though his mind and body were in a pristine balance.

The notes slowed, leaving him hanging as he waited for them to pick up again and continue the sweet song. But instead it stopped.

Falling back into his body took only a moment, but he refused to open his eyes. He hoped that if they remained closed, that perhaps the numbing morphine version of music would return. The sound of soft applause registered in his pain, as a sign of it ending completely.

Sadly, he soon, as relenting for a few more moments, relinquished his lack of sight for light in order to turn and take a sip of the quickly warming beer that had been placed before him. He knew that the liquid would not bring the same sparks as the keys had, but it was better than nothing.

In the edge of his slightly blurred vision, he saw tanned fingers wrap themselves against a bottle similar to his own. They were strong and long, similar to his own, looking as though they were precise enough to perform surgery or play piano.

“What did you think of the song?” Another melody, almost as smooth and warm as the song, reached his ears in the form of a question. He looked up to find the owner of the fingers, and apparently the piano skills that were so amazing, looking at him with interest.

He swallowed quickly or perhaps slowly due to the alcohol, before thinking of an answer for the performer. As he was doing so, details of the man seemed to seep into his brain, slightly distracting him.   

He was tall and slender, as his musical digits were, dressed in very simple but tasteful clothes. Blonde locks were styled short, in a way that framed the face and his eyes. Two brown circles with the faintest hints of green, like stars outlining planets in the sky stared at him with a hint of amusement.  The demeanor, the air around him, was cold, but not in the sense expected. It was like a frost swirling across the skin, making every hair stand on end and every brain cell focused on one thing.

Maybe he was drunk, to not have noticed the man before.

Perhaps it was the silence, due to him not speaking, but the man chuckled lowly. He felt himself mirror the vocal gesture, the muscles called his body attempting to relax with the resonating echo of the happy hum.

This went on for a moment, the two of them chuckling as the world and it’s craziness went right around them. Somewhere, a glass dropped to the floor, creating a mess of glass and drink; but none of the shattering or cursing reached their little bubble to interrupt.  It was silence around all, like they had disappeared from the public sight despite the fact that there were persons only a touch away.

Finally it stopped, as the song tragically had, and the soft chaos came back to his ears. There was no longer a bottle in his hand, instead it has somehow found itself on the bar to where his loosen muscles could not drop it.

His eyes were locked with those milky way colored orbs, connecting there during their small moment. While he rather say nothing and just keep exploring, and keep guessing the exact color of those damn things, the thought that he really needed to say something hit him like a logical eighteen wheeler coming through the lusty fog to run him over.

Quickly, or perhaps slowly due to the fuzziness of his mind, his hand stuck out for one of the oldest ways of greeting someone. Licking his lips due to them suddenly becoming bone dry, he took a breath and put on a classic smile of his.

“Adam, Adam Levine”

Soon a cool hand, with the slender fingers, wrapped itself around his firmly. They shook twice, before he gave his name; he watched the thin lips curve into a pleasant smile with the name. It slipped out smoothly, like the beer had gone down, winding through the air into his ear.

"Silvanus Colt...”

The man was interesting, he’d admit that.

“....but call me Silas”

The slow hum of consciousness slowly filtered through the sweet static of darkness, bringing with it an unwanted but familiar ache in every nerve. Unlike it had been then, there was no music to his ears when his heart finally stopped being the only thing heard.

Surrounding him were sheets rougher than his own personal set, meaning that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be; in the haze of pain there was no memory of why he was anywhere else but home.

His eyelids refused to move, giving up was the only option since he could barely breathe let alone more due to the pain currently occupying his chest. Helplessness may have set in, had he been lucid enough; but now it was just cool wind of reality sliding across his fever ridden dream state.

Other sounds beside the steady beep of the machines echoed, making him wonder who else was in the room. Words were unrecognizable, only to sound of them winding together as almost silent conversation.

His first response was to panic; he was in a strange room with unknown voices and weird sheets. Had he been able to, he would have moved his arms to see if they were tethered to the sides of the bed, one of his worst nightmares being that of kidnapping, but alas he couldn’t. His mind hinted at the fact that panicking would not solve anything, the logical side of him overpowering the fear as his heart rate slowed slightly.

That seemed to not only be the only thing calming him; a hand had been loosely gripping his, the pressure having increased as the panic had boiled inside him. Now that it had decreased, the grip had not, giving him something firm to hold on to in this strange new environment. It was larger than his own, stable in the way that he craved in the semi-conscious state he was in. Using the warm skin as a tether, he tried to push his limit of awareness further, to discover what was going on.

The voices from before his slightly panic attack came back, bringing more information he could use. Only one was higher, making it easy to assume that there was only one woman, the rest of the hushed tones being that of a masculine origin. The hand seemed to be one of them, the slight vibrations that he felt by the contact corresponding to a deep frequency.

The amount of people in the room, despite him trying, was a fact that he could not discover; and after a moment, he decided in frustration that he really had not wanted to know anyway. The noise level of the surroundings seemed to be muted even more, the numbness of darkness seeming to be creeping back. 

Normally, he would have fought it; but the voices were not smooth or cunning, but warm making him feel as though he was somehow safe. The hand holding his was another factor that was leading to his surrender, the grip feeding him love and comfort with a word.

Letting his guard down was something he never did due to his past and present dilemma of being somewhat head over heels for someone of not only high social status but of being of the opposite sex as well; but this time he couldn’t help it.

One of the fingers stroked the back of his hand, slowly bringing sparks as well as the message of ‘It’s alright’ with it; any and all doubts were gone by the gesture. It was something he expected not even from his closest friends, and yet he felt as though he knew the person. Had his mind not been going fuzzy, distorted as one’s television was with a lack of signal, he may have given it more thought.

His body ached for sleep, for darkness to block everything for healing and he obliged it.

Darkness was welcomed this time around.


Out of all the colors, they picked the cleanest and the one most likely torture one retinas.  They just had to pick that bloody color. Already it was burning his eyesight out of focus, any amount of time staring at it screwing with his focus levels. Humans were not meant to be surrounded by the blank abyss, especially not in a time of worry or mourning.

White.

He hated the color with a passion that almost rivaled how much he hated the institution he was currently a guest of. Almost being the key word in that sentence; some thought the devil’s color was red or black, being that of blood or darkness, he would strongly beg to differ. In modern times, the color of evil was that of white, due to the fact that he was currently surrounded by it as well as the psychopath who committed the attack had more than likely been in when the person had been locked up.

Every wall, every surface, every uniform, EVERYTHING was white; making him feel as though he did not belong.  His person was wrinkled, from the jeans he had been sitting in since he had arrived in to his hair that was lusterless from his hands running through it consistently. The colors of what he worn only made the room that much somber, not even the morning light streaming through could help. Actually, it only made it worse as it made the stupid fucking color of white that much brighter.

The nurses had already tried to get him to go home, telling them he would be called when anything changed; he glared at the nurse who was peeking in the room currently. A growl could come from his throat if he chose it to, but that could put his position of belonging at risk.

He belonged, he did.

He did; if he didn’t, then fuck them. He didn’t care, he was not moving; he was not going to leave the room, much less the hospital. He had seen at least one nurse sizing him up, as if researching him for if something happened; he had only given her a ‘you’re fucking crazy if you think you are moving me’ look that had sent her scattering.

There were two security guards for this building, neither of which could take him if he was calm; both were fucked if he was pissed. They would have to use their Tasers, because the pepper spray was going to do jack shit, to drop him and then drag his fat ass out before he would leave.

The thing was that he wouldn’t even be here if the doctor had fucking done his job and diagnosed Adam correctly. They said he would be awake by now, they said that he was healing and there was nothing wrong. They had said this and that which had all turned out to be fucking bull shit since Adam was still out. Christina had already talked to the doctor, not because she was any less angry, but because she could ‘communicate’ with him and not punch him in his lying mouth like he did.

One look at the patient in the bed shifted the tide of emotion streaming from him to the other end of the spectrum. Anger dissolved as the worry blanketed everything, even the look of the nurse who was again checking in on the hospital’s celebrity patient.

Pale, so close to white; the color mocked him in the form of an unmoving and unresponsive body. It had already destroyed his nerves, ripping them into shredded coils of paper having gone through a shredder five times. Soon, his brain cells having been driven to insanity, he would probably being doing more than mumbling to himself.

He was the only color currently existing in the room, Christina having left to feed the press and get food for them. Despite the fact that it had been at least (he had lost count when the first splinter had hit the floor) ten hours since the show and fifteen since his last meal, he was not hungry. It was if his stomach had been swallowed by a black hole, there being nothing to hint that he was in need to food; it seemed to worry everyone more since he was not a small guy. He had told her this, that he did not fucking need or want food, but she wouldn’t listen as she rubbed his shoulder affectionately.

He was really glad that she had come; it was a little bit easier to deal when you had a guard dog that was as ferocious as a German shepherd and as loyal as a golden (blonde) Labrador. Somehow he had slept an hour, when she had threatened him to the point of him closing his eyes so she would quit yapping. It wasn’t much, but it was enough so that he was less delusional from lack of sleep more than he already was.

Supposedly Cee-Lo was supposed to be here right about now, as he had understood when Christina had explained the arrangement, but had been held up due to the fact that one of them needed to be there to find out information to convey to the others through the police that were currently at the studio. Since Cee-Lo was available, he had taken the job; leaving him without a babysitter.

Not that he really needed one, but the white was getting more boring even though it did not seem possible. He could have walked the spotless hallways aimlessly or visited the cafeteria to see what food he did not want to eat; but it all seemed like a waste of time. He just wanted Adam to wake up and make the white disappear through the colorful force of nature that was the never ending storm of craziness known as Hurricane Addy.

He wished he could paint the room with what was swirling in his mind, so that when the man finally woke up he could see a small essence of himself on the walls instead of the blank emptiness. Vibrant paint to convey the colorful language he wished to hear; verbal fireworks to burn into the white. The favorite adjective of the man, a firm yet fine black FUCK, would stretch across three walls and would be the centerpiece of the chaos. Piano notes would be intertwined around each letter before flowing onto the celling where quotes of the memorable kind would congregate. Then coming out of that would be song lyrics that would spread from the hub of the ceiling down every wall to the floor in the organized mess one would expect of a weeping willow tree.

I am in Misery…a deep red before colliding with the blue of a randomly placed star wearing sunglasses. The man would get a kick out of that, knowing that the cartoon like symbol was him, especially with the slight stubble the star had.

Feels so good to be back…silver on a slick black outline, flying to partially outline the guitar on the back of the door. It would be the last thing he and Adam would see before they left this retched room, a lyrical promise of freedom and a return to normalcy. It would perfectly mirror the tattoo that the man had on the underside of his left forearm, one that he had seen in person when performing on stage with Adam.

Filling in the blanks, the few that were left, would be random logos and other images that seemed to be in his head when thinking of Adam. Such as doves and cherry blossoms, which was supposedly another tattoo that occupied the man’s chest; he had yet to see since well Adam had not decided to go shirtless on the show….yet.

It seemed as though it was a miracle, since the man was known for sensual dance moves involving those hips of his and nudity. Perhaps it was just part of a bromantic plot to judge his first reaction to Adam’s bare skin on live television; it did seem like something the man would do.

And he was fine with it, after all he knew that Adam would just be kidding and doing it to screw with him, although he would probably throw a hissy fit about in on the show just for drama purposes or he could just pull the man closer to turn the tables…

Put your hands all over, put your hands all over me…Surprisingly, well maybe not since everything had gone to hell, the first through that those lyrics came to mind was a whole hearted and deep: Yes.

Perhaps it was that the white had fried his brain, or that the antiseptics smell of pine sol and Clorox bleach had prevent air flow leading to brain damage, or maybe it was a mixture of both, but the idea of Adam’s hands sliding across his skin wasn’t one that was instantly banished from his mind.

Shaking hands, the man’s had been smooth ever so much that they could be when playing the guitar on a regular basis. That moment had been the genesis, as some (Christina) had playfully referred to it as, of the bromance between himself and Adam.

It seemed almost like it had been yesterday when he had first seen that slightly evil smirk and those eyes that had had enough of a tint of amusement that he knew he was going to like the man.

Sometimes he hated Los Angeles. [AN: Or wherever the hell The Voice is filmed]

Sure it had sights, sounds, and booze to offer but none of that even came close to balancing the scale when he didn’t need a thermometer to tell him that it was really fucking hot. Oh, so the city wasn’t as humid…a hundred degrees is still a hundred degrees no matter the moisture in the air. If an egg could be cooked before it hit the sidewalk, then it was not the time to be outside.

Yet here he was, watching the concrete sweat with the fluids of squirt guns and sprinkles being used in a desperate attempt to get cool.

The day was too hot; the sun seemed to be on a destroy him mission, not caring if it boiled the seas in the process. Despite having been in a cool as ice care, one step out of five to the studio had left him sweating and thirsty. This quick change, as his driver had pointed out in humor (or attempted humor anyway), could be due to the fact that he was taller and therefor closer to the hot boiling hell circle known as the sun.

Entering the shade of the building gave a few degrees of chill back, but not enough to halt to stream of sweat he could feel drifting down his chest under his short sleeve shirt. Miranda had forced him not to wear the long sleeve plaid shirt, he was ready to bow down to her right about now. Thank god he had no sleeves longer than what he had.

“Hey country boy, you’re late” A teasing feminine snap came to him, bringing him out of his heat caused daze.

His eyes went to the insult’s origin, for some reason he expected an unspeakable evil; like a video game boss that always laughed at you when you lost. Every single time you would hear that laugh. Well he found it, turns out the boss like red heels, spandex, and blonde hair.

They had met once before in passing, but due to the new gig, he would get to get to know her better. His thoughts sounded sarcastic even to him, adding a mental eye roll and a ‘joy’ to the comment.

“Ain’t my fault the tires decided to melt on the way here” He replied while smirking in her direction; she seemed amused, perhaps she wasn’t completely evil.

The dark skin male to her left laughed, filled with enough heart to match his physical build, before drinking some water. Supposedly the man was hip hop and blues, while the blonde was pop and r&b. He was to fill the country slot, since they wanted each coach to have an area of expertise.

Which left one coach and he hadn’t heard a lot on the guy…

Before he could consider it any more, he decided to add on to his comment “ ‘sides Christina, by my watch I’m not late. We were supposed to be here at noon and it’s only eleven fifty five”  

The black man laughed again, to which she flatly rolled her eyes at. She was enjoying the banter, so everything was alright.

“You were the last one to arrive, no matter the fucking time, you are still late” A new voice came from his left, Christina’s right. Moving his gaze, he found the sentence to have come from what had to be the fourth coach.

His eye brows raised, well that was a nice choice of language; he had a feeling he was going to like the guy. He didn’t even know a name yet but the way the man seemed to be embracing the heat in his casual jeans and white tee seemed to say one thing, not to mention the slightly gnarly beard that could use a bit of a trimming, …’don’t give a fuck’. The tattoos he could see snaking up the man’s arms affirmed this theory, as well as the devious and slightly bored look the man had.

He liked it, it was nice to see someone in this town that wasn’t a hard ass like most of the other singers/actors/others.

Before he could respond, the man, who seemed to want to verbally state the spitfire attitude that his current stance was putting off spoke with his silver tongue again “How’s the weather up there?”

Well that was blunt; he knew he was a big guy, most didn’t mention it since they thought it would embarrass him or something. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck if they mentioned it or not; he came from a family where his brother was just as big as he was and wasn’t afraid of telling him to move his fat ass. [AN: RIP Richie Shelton] And truth be told, his sister had done it too, when she wasn’t being all sweet and innocent. His father, his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father had all been large men; what could he say, it was in his blood.

With all that said, he did not react badly to the comment, instead he retaliated.

“Hot as hell, how’s it down there short stuff?” He made it a point to look down on the man, letting his eyes sparkle with amusement which he hoped would translate to the man. The other guy did not seem as though he would react violently, but then again anything could happen, a lesson in which show business had taught him.

The man, who was in no way short, he just happened to be a giant, stared up at him for a minute. Two brown eyes were unreadable as they just looked at him, he really hoped he hadn’t pissed the man off; he actually wanted to be friends with the guy.

The man laughed, making his fears of anger disappear, and smacked his shoulder at the same time. He returned to blow by poking the man in the chest, in saying ‘I am going to get you for that’. The man just laughed harder instead of swatting his hand away. Laughing as it seemed, was as contagious as the heat today, especially since the man’s laugh was neither deep nor high, just a nice mix.

“Bromance alert” The laughter ceased, his head turning in what seemed like perfect synchronization as the still nameless man’s, them both staring at the blonde who was grinning as widely as the man beside her.

“Fuck you Christina” The man he was standing shoulder to shoulder with spewed with little reaction time needed to the comment. There was little blush on the other’s cheeks, which he contributed to the heat, perhaps she thought it was something else?

“I’ll make sure to remind me of this moment later on when you are hanging with your new best bud here, okay Levine?” She whipped back, as the other man just watched.

So she had thought the same as he had? They did seem like they would make good friends, but who knows…the last name hit him like something from the shadows. It seemed familiar, but he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what the hell it was…Levine, Levine, what the hell was the guy’s first name?

As he tried to figure it out, the battle continued; no true verbal response came this time, as Mr. Levine (the title he was using for the man until he could think of the damn first name. The fucker was escaping him though, which was irritating him more than the sun at that point, though it seemed impossible) just stuck his tongue out to resemble a grown up, with a kid heart.

She did not replied, just giving him the biggest eye roll of what seemed like the day, if not the year.

Seeing his slightly strange look to the situation, the black man came closer to him. “Siblings” The word explained so much, he didn’t question why the two were acting as they were after hearing it.

“Ah” He said, keeping an eye on the fight while still trying to think.

“Cee Lo Green” A big hand, somewhat like his own, was held out, which he shook. The name was familiar, almost as familiar as the name Levine. He took a mental note to listen to some of the man’s music when he got home.

“Blake Shelton” He replied, the name coming out smooth and unchanged by his accent as it was said after years of practice. It was his name, the first defining factor of his life, it fit him like a glove as it should.

Cee Lo seemed to take it upon himself to introduce him to the others, who were still fighting in a way to where he half expected either to give the other an Indiana burn in the next moment. Pointing to the blonde, he began with the feisty female “That’s Christina Aguilera, someone who can be your best friend or sister in his case…” A black thumb motioned to the shorter man squaring off with her “…or your worst nightmare”

“So don’t piss her off” The dark man nodded, with a small smirk somehow knowing that it was going to happen anyway.

Next was the man, perhaps he could finally know what the man’s name was. It would probably be a, god dammit how did I forget that moment, but he really didn’t care. He wanted to know now. “And that there is…”

Before the sentence could be said, said man decided to introduce himself.

“Adam, that’s all you need to know because if you call me Levine like her I will verbally beat your ass” The man huffed in Christina’s direction, before looking for a reaction from him.

Whatever he did expect, he didn’t get since the next emotion on the man’s face was surprise “Good to know, since any physical ass kicking will be done by me”

He heard another laugh from Cee Lo beside him, along with a soft ‘Burn!’ from Christina; both of which seemed to go by Adam’s ears. Adam, while it had holier beginnings and meanings, it seemed to perfectly fit the self-made badass in front of him.  

“Name’s Blake by the way” He held out a hand, which was soon in contact with a smaller version of another singer’s.

“Well this is going to be interesting” Adam smirked

“I’ll say, you two are going to be scheming against me from the beginning!” Christina pouted in the dramatic way that seemed to be second nature to her.

He was about to reply that they were not, before he caught an evil look in Adam that was directed at him. Deciding against his former plan, he went with the gut feeling he had that said to go with it. Whispering, but not really, to his newest buddy he said “Damn, she caught on fast”

“Don’t worry, we’ll still get her” The dark haired man replied, on his tip toes now trying to get to his ear level; he crouched slightly to help.

She seemed to pout a bit more, glaring at them; although it was all fake, amusement clearly on her face.

“Don’t worry Christina, I’ll help keep them away” He barely heard Cee Lo’s comment as they all moved towards going deeper into the building.

He did not hear the response of the woman, if she did respond.

All he heard was Adam.

“Let the games begin”

That would be the quote over the door, to remind him that is was all part of the game of being a coach.

He needed his tag team partner though, his Bonnie to his Clyde (although Adam would probably say it was reversed role wise); everything was getting a bit too boring and serious for his tastes.

Another look at the man, he was still unconscious.

Back to redecorating then.

Surrounding the FUCK, would be little shits and damns flying around the notes. For some reason he also found that bees belonged in the mess as well. Little bumble bees, he wasn’t really sure why…but he’d put them by the cherry blossoms transferred from Adam’s chest to the wall with a bit more color.

Everything and every space would be covered; moving in time as it swirled inside the mess currently known as his brain.

He needed to sleep, instead of musing what he would be doing when he was doing nothing. Truth was that his logical mind strayed when faced with exhaustion, bringing him into thinking modes such as musing about the color white and it’s evils; but there was no way he could sleep.

Not when the bastard who did this was still out there, not when he was the only one watching the room (sure there were nurses and doctors, but who could you really trust?), and not when Adam was lying there with no way of protecting himself.

He needed to be there, he needed…

…close your eyes, his internal self said, almost begged due to the lack of sleep.

No. If he did that, he would be out.

It’ll just be for a moment…the other side cooed.

Resisting was something he had been doing for the last few hours, the fight was almost gone out of him right then.

“Just a minute” He confirmed by saying it allowed; a promise to himself and Adam.

Darkness swept over his light sensitive eyes, from too much exposure, making the feeling of drowsiness turn to wonderful bliss in relief. Before he was gone, he acted without thinking; not recognizing that he perfectly found and held Adam’s hand in the dark. It was like connecting a circuit, any thoughts of uncertainty gone as well as guilt for the decision.

The skin seemed like a live wire against his, one who’s created a hum like a lullaby to rock him off.

Just a moment…


The dark windows, to ensure comfort by blocking glares as new persons coming to the city looked out to the sites, did nothing for him as he sat in the overused leather seats.

Normally, he wouldn’t use transportation such as this, but from the restaurant he had been hanging out in, this was the quickest way to the hospital. With traffic starting to swell to its normal height of frustration and time consuming – ness, the only exceptions being really early in the morning when the partiers were gone and the workers will still sleeping, about five am, it would have taken too long for him to back his car out and drive.

Fuck it, he’d take a cab; it was Adam after all.

The cabbie was going to rip him off and might get him killed, they had already driven on the sidewalk twice as well as almost getting hit three, but he didn’t fucking care. Whatever got him to his band mate the fastest, he didn’t fucking care that he could barely keep the phone in his hand due to the bumps of rolling down not the finest streets at twice the speed limit.

“Pick the fuck up Mickey, come on you fucker” Currently he was trying to get ahold of the other major part of the band, who was either hung over (as he had been until this morning when the story with an update had come on the TV) and unaware of the news or on his way already. Whichever it was didn’t fucking matter, he just needed to coordinate with the man; someone needed to call Ryan and the other members if needed. He would do it, but since Mickey probably had a longer time before he got to the hospital, it may be more time efficient for him to do it. Because when he entered those walls, he knew wasn’t going to get shit done.

He was still listening to a frankly annoying ring back tone as he looked back up at the cabbie “How long?”

The man rolled his eyes, seeming irritated that he had asked the question again for the five thousandth time in five minutes, it may not even had been that long. “Five minutes”

“You said that five minutes ago” He tried not to put malice in his voice, but it seemed the cab was going so fucking slow, he was not at the hospital with Adam yet.

“I said that ten minutes ago, cool it” The man glared in the mirror, seeming tempted to add a few other choice words in the mix but resisted because he wanted a tip.

The ‘fuck off’ was on the tip of his tongue…

He glared back, but resisted mouthing off, it wouldn’t be a good idea since the cabbie could drop him off anywhere and say fuck you and drive away. It had happened before, especially when he and Adam had encountered an especially nasty cab driver.

“Jesse, man, what’s with all the messages?” Finally.

“You fucker, why the fuck did you not pick up your phone, Adam is in the hospital man!” Had that last part not been tacked on, Mickey more than likely would of cussed his ass out, starting an all-out shit storm in result. Instead there was just silence, just for a moment…

“What?” That idiot must be hung over, even if he wasn’t that wasn’t the right response.

“You heard me” He repeated, trying to not let the cocktail of fucking EVERYTHING get to him.

“What the fuck happened, it he alright?” That was better, at least the man was fucking focused now. He loved the band members to death, but he did not have time nor the patience for stupid shit right now.

“Mostly banged up, I’m going to be at the hospital in…” He couldn’t finish his sentence as his head literally hit the ceiling. Turns out that there had been a pothole the size of his head that the fucker driver had to hit at high speeds.

Instant headache.

His tongue reacted to the pain “Fuck, hey fucker, try and avoid those!”

“Do you want to get there or not motherfucker?!” The cabbie yelled back in his accented tone, apparently not able to hold his tongue any longer either.

“Just fucking drive!” He snapped in a death voice before going back to the phone “I am almost to the fucking hospital, I’ll update you with the details”

“K, do you want me to call Ryan and the others?” Ah, the band mind sharing thoughts thing had finally kicked in, thank fucking god.

“That would be wonderful” He huffed as the breath he had somehow been holding slide out of him.

“Will do, txt the hospital address to us”

Then the call had ended, he was on his own. Well, him and the fucking psycho cab driver. And the thoughts of what the fuck had happened.

He had only caught a few details of the story when it had come on, mostly they had gone in one ear as he bolted for the door right after the name of the hospital had been said.

Slash marks.

Male.

Please, he begged to whatever the hell was up there, please please PLEASE don’t be him. Mickey and Ryan would be thinking the same exact thing when they heard and would be doing the same thing he was doing right now.

His mind was swimming, trying to comprehend…he couldn’t be back.

Talking to the man was…interesting.

He seemed to know everything there was to know about everything, it was almost a struggle to hold a conversation with him. But he was doing this for Adam, so he would suffer if he had to.

“So I heard your family owns a business…” It was a last ditch effort before they ran out of things to talk about.

“Have you heard of Colt industries?” The man’s voice was cool, smooth in the way of thin ice that with one crack could send you to an icy death by drowning or hypothermia; neither of which was fun.

He nodded his head no, before taking a drink of the liquor in front of him. Although it seemed there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make the man go away.

 “Oh course you haven’t. My father, James Colt, created the company and was the CEO for years, god bless his soul. I have since taken over for him, but have a board to make decisions so I can live my life. Colt Industries is an investment firm if you will, we have power in most areas of business but we don’t really show face. The company is like a puppet master, we control everything without ever being seen.”

He felt a chill go down his spine, something about that montage of company pride did not sink well with him. This man had power and it wasn’t hard to see nor was he shy about sharing.

It felt unsafe, he felt his eyes dart to his best friend, who was asking how it was going through the ‘thumbs up, thumbs down’ system. He put on a fake smile before flipping the man off, who just childishly returned to gesture.

He didn’t trust the guy, but he trusted Adam to make good decisions; so he let it go.

God, he should of fucking stopped in right there and then, so none of this shit would of happened. He clenched his temples, about ready to explode at the next noise that entered his overheating organ called a brain.

Thankfully, the next words he heard were heaven.

“Yo, motherfucker, we are here! Fucking pay me!”

Heaven for some may have been more elegantly phrased, but for him he did not fucking care as his eyes flashed open to see the concrete building that he really needed to be in right now.

Throwing money, too much he knew that much, over the seat, he flung the door open before slamming it shut in one fluid motion. The sound of the cab cursing at him before peeling out of the parking lot was ignored.

The crowd he knew would be waiting had died down, but the real killers were still there. Those blood thirty wolves that could smell fear and gossip a mile away, they could still be seen and sensed as they watched him.

They waited for a lead in form of a raw steak that their sharp teeth, over time brought to razor blade slicing capacity, could tear apart.

But none advanced on his position, more than likely how he probably looked like an about to wreck train as he sped towards the doors. Soon, he broke through the glass dividing him from the inside of where Adam was, it shielded him as he looked around for someone that could fucking help him.

“Jesse Carmichael?” He turned to see a blonde woman coming closer, her heels tapping on the floor with every step. She looked familiar, Adam had mentioned something about a ‘blonde devil’ or something along those lines…

“Do you know where Adam is?” The woman must have known and that’s why she was waiting for him and/or greeting him as she was.

“This way, my name is Christina by the way” He followed the woman down the long hallways, barely feeling the name register. He would probably forget it, but that was alright.

Just as long as Adam was alright and it was that fucking bastard.  


It was a shame, it really was.

Why they did not serve alcohol at eight in the morning was beyond him, the profit margin that the business would make would be so substantial from men just as himself who really didn’t care what time it was and just wanted a drink.

But then again it was a diner of the mom and pop variety, where no alcohol was served for that matter but instead grease and alright cooking. But this is where he had ended up since it was the closest thing to the hospital and well, he couldn’t let his prey get away.

At the top of his list though, with the brown eyed man still hovering in the back of his mind, was how the area needed a drinking establishment. He had already made a decision, construction would begin and the squeaky stool he was currently sitting on would be gone.

His IPhone was currently lying on the worn, but somehow clean counter, having been turned off after he had sent a message to his assistant to buy the restaurant forcibly and assemble a construction crew to begin tomorrow.

His waitress was more than likely the wife of the owner, one wall proudly  proclaiming with a disgusting amount of joy that the diner had been in some family for x amount of years. She was too happy and overweight by at least thirty pounds, he considered telling her this.

No, he rather not ingest spit today, although it probably wouldn’t make that much of a difference concerning the health content of the food. They would be angry with the comment, but neither of the workers were capable of poisoning his food with anything that would do real damage.

Thankfully, his ham and cheese omelet arrived before his brain could start listening off the names of poisons and the amounts needed to kill a person, because that was something he only did when he was really board.

He shifted the flowers, now near death, over to allow just enough room for the plate, carefully so that the six inch blade wouldn’t show. Not that he couldn’t diffuse the situation, or just kill them all, it was too troublesome, so keeping it hidden was his best bet.

“Lucky lady” The woman said in her happy go lucky voice that made him want to see blood, hers, drip down his blade even more. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

He just smiled, without showing the teeth that were grinding together in irritation. Calm, calm is what he needed. Taking the first bite of baby chicken embryo sandwich seemed to do so to him, as looked back towards the doors of the hospital.

From his seat, he had a perfect view of who went in and out, so that he could visit someone at the right time. Where he was seemed to also be the perfect place to see a yellow car, which was obviously a taxi, screech to a halt before it’s passenger seemed to fling himself out before stalking towards the doors.

Getting a good look at the newcomer, he recognized the man who was classified as a threat.   Oh, goodie, reinforcements. It seemed his quest had just gotten a little bit harder, but not worries…

Taking another bite of his omelet, his began to think of the flower shops nearby to replenish his drooping hiding spot.

…he always liked a challenge.


Review bitches.

Alright, sorry, Please Review?

My sleep deprived self is not so nice.

Will Adam wake up, for good?

Will Blake end up beating someone’s ass?

And will Jesse/Christina walk in on the bromance and push the two together?

ALL THIS AND MORE, NEXT CHAPTER! 

I'mmmmmm BACCCCCKKKKKKKK!!!! 

Title: Honey Love, Bitter Misery

Rating/Warning:  R (NC-17 later XD )  

Words: 5,486


Paring: Adam/Blake aka Shevine

Contains: Cursing, violence, mentions of slash, slash, MAN SEX...maybe anyway, but much later, depression, ect.

Summary: The spark to set off the hot mess is when Adam is beaten by a past flame; guess who takes him to the hospital? As the chilling truth comes to life, Blake’s life falls apart…and he has no idea why.


Disclaimer: I own nothing and know nothing.
 

 Quote: The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost.” - G. K. Chesterton


Chapter Four: Aftermath


Breathe, she chanted inside her mind.

Ignoring the people around her, she looked to her partner. He nodded before the bright light of the camera was shone on her. Readjusting her grip on the microphone, she puckered her shiny lips once last time before nodding back.

She was ready, her sun kissed hair illuminated by the moon and the artificial lights of those around her; snapping photos and recording what was shaping up to be the media blood fest of the summer.

“B!” Focusing on the hand of Cody, her cameraman, with two green eyes, she watched as the digits counted down to when she would be live.

Three.

Two.

In her ear she waited to hear the cue that would introduce her in, the voice being an older and better paid anchor that would be grilling her smiling fakely in each word. A feeling crept up her spine, her knees shaking together as she faced the bright lights.

Just do you job, she took a deep breath, and you can do this.

Despite the fact that she had been doing this for a few years now, she still got nervous those few moments right before the camera went on. Especially that one moment before you know that all eyes would be on you.

It seemed like all time slowed, the cheering, the loud music playing, the flashing of cameras; it all became less than a whisper as the lens zoomed in on her and the finger of her cameraman pointed to her. 

One.

Showtime.

“And live at the hospital we have Rebecca Aston, good evening Rebecca” Hearing the sound of an elder’s voice did not help the shaking, but like she had been told a million times, she just put on a smile and started to speak.
“Good evening Tom” From her stand point, she couldn’t imagine that thousands were watching her; although her mind knew it as a fact. Taking another breath, she waited for the inevitable first question.

“Now Rebecca, tell us, what is the scene like in wake of the unfortunate event?” It almost sounded like he was a teacher, quizzing her on a war that was thousands of miles away; instead of it being a newscast where he was asking ‘friendly’ questions.

Planting her firmly feet to assure herself, she began to speak “Well Tom, since the news that Maroon Five vocalist Adam Levine was attacked in his dressing room on the set of the new television show The Voice; many fans have gathered outside the hospital as you can see…” She watched the camera do a pan of the crowds of people around to show the chaos. “…to hear news of the condition of Levine.”

Good, you’ve got this, keep it up.

“What is his condition at this time?” Another moment, another question; too bad she couldn’t have a moment to think.

“At the moment, he is currently unconscious, but he is expected to regain consciousness within the next few hours. From what was seen at the scene of the attack, Levine was covered in bruises and was bleeding from multiple slash marks on his chest from a blade of some kind. But it unknown how serious the damage was.”

There was a moment of silence to let the news sink in, then another question.
  
“The information I’ve received has said that Levine’s fellow cast member on The Voice, Blake Shelton, was the one that found Levine; is that true?” Obviously or you wouldn’t be asking it dumbass. Breathe Becca; she told herself, this was not the time to have a temper.

“That is correct; Blake Shelton was the one to find the injured Levine, breaking down a door in the process” The fact wasn’t totally known to everyone, it would drive the ratings up even more, which was perfect.

“He broke down a door?” The man sputtered in surprise. She knew that the reaction was fake, the entire news team knew the facts, but she didn’t mind, she could always dream that she had caught the bastard off guard.

“Yes, Shelton has yet to comment despite the fact that he was the one that arrived with the ambulance with carrying Levine, but a stage hand that was on the set at the time said that he saw the door, ripped off it’s hinges, on the floor as the paramedics arrived” Another example of the ‘bromance’ she mused, the fan girls were going to lose their minds.

“Not surprising for his man his size. Do the police have any idea who the attacker was?” Nope, but god help the person because the Adam Levine/ Maroon Five fan base was going to eat him alive, that was if Blake Shelton or “Papa Bear” as he had been nicknamed didn’t get to him first.

Little had been seen as ambulance had arrived, except the sight of Adam Levine lying limply on the stretcher with a paramedic barking out orders as it was pushed. The hulking form of the country singer had been only a step behind, concern with a tint of anger in his eyes as his huge stride kept up with the body of his ‘bromantic’ partner.
While his presence was expected, due to the big man finding the singer and all, it really didn’t help the ‘anti-bromance’ case. Not that it mattered, the ratings of the two would soar and so would the news station; so the more slightly sensual hints that were presented the better.

“Unfortunately, only the unconscious Levine saw the attacker’s face, the police hope he will identify the man once he conscious again. But it has been determined by security tapes that a solitary figure exited Levine’s dressing room moments before the 911 call went out; the man being average in height and weight. No distinguishable features were able to be seen due to the figure sticking to the shadows” Now it was time to wrap it all up, not that she would be going home tonight.

No, she would be sitting infront of the hospital with all the other news vans, fans, and people until more news of the singer came out. No sleep, lousy coffee, and all the worried fans; it would definitely be a night to remember.
“Well hopefully they will find something, thank you for the update Rebecca” Time for her to be left in the shadows as the big dog went back to doing stories. You’re not qualified they told her, that she wasn’t ready. Even though she knew she could handle it…oh well, she had a job and that’s all that mattered.

“Hopefully better news on Levine’s…” She ran off as she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair above a spot where the crowds of people were now swarming. It was the front door of the hospital, figures that this would happen…

“B?” Cody whispered to her, trying to remind her of the LIVE button on the camera; that it was still on.

“Christina Aguilera has just arrived on scene, perhaps with news of her fellow coach’s condition” With that sentence she dove into the horde of bodies, hoping that her cameraman was right behind. He was tough, so she knew he would be.

And as she neared the center of the people, she knew that this could be her big break. If she milked it right, hello a new job with better everything. No more petty stories, she could do what she always dreamed of doing, being a primetime anchor.

Even if she had to elbow a few people, she was going to get some information.

And that was a fact.


The muffled sound of the song “Misery” reached her ears as the car stopped after what seemed like an endless eternity; she grasped the leather handles of her handbag before directing her eyes to the mirror that already had the driver’s eyes in it.  

“Mrs. Aguilera?” He was already waiting for her instructions, using a proper tone even though she had told him otherwise multiple times. 

“It’s going to be a while” That was an assured fact due to there being two injured men, two friends, in the hospital; both oh which she was going to visits. One was injured in the body, the other in the heart. And while both were on her mind, Blake ranked higher than the unconscious man he had escorted here.

The country man had cradled, not held but cradled like a baby, the younger man; she had to finally talk the man away when the paramedics arrived. But he had never gone two feet from Adam, which was why she knew he was taking what happened very hard.

But who wouldn’t? Their little goofball on the show had been attacked, moments after they had let him go. There was no doubt that Blake felt guilty; she, Cee Lo, and Carson Daly felt it since they were in the room right when Adam had walked away. But since the country man had been the one to find him, the guilt was more than likely tripled.

“I’m aware” Her driver held up a stack of magazines with a news paper tucked in, she smiled.

“See you later Ray” After a few weeks, the formal treatment had gone away, at least on her end.

Opening the door to let the sounds and shouts of the crowd swarm her ears, she barely heard the statement said by her trusted driver. “Be safe Mrs. Aguilera”

Nodding, even though she was already half way out of the car, she put on a straight face that was neither happy nor sad with a hint of worry before closing the door. Walking straight and true in her high heels, she aimed for the glass doors of the hospital.

Around her, the crowd of fans and reporters swarmed. Camera flashes, roared words, waving hands; but she focused on the doors. Behind the doors were the two men, the two friends, which she was going to help.
They, Cee Lo and herself, had already agreed that they were going to take shifts. She would stay for a few hours then they would switch out, until Adam was out of the hospital, to make sure that nothing happened. Nothing included and was mostly narrowed down on that one of them would be there so that Blake wouldn’t lose his mind.
The man took things hard, period. There was no telling what would happen since the feeling of guilt was building and that there wasn’t no way in hell that it would dissipate until Adam woke up. Hell, it might even get worse; like when Adam winced at the cuts and bruises, what would Blake’s reaction be? She’s be guilty, pissed at the man who did this, mad at herself, and sad that the badmouth pixie of the coaches had to deal with that.

Her hunch was that it’d be worse for the big man.

Almost there, she walked a bit faster.

“Mrs. Aguilera!!” A voice called, she was tempted to ignore it when she heard the question. “What is your reaction to the attack?”

She hadn’t said anything to the press; she hadn't had anything to say to them. But now that she thought about it, it may be a good idea to…

“I am horrified that someone would do this and I…” A hush went over the many people, every person hanging on; waiting for her next words.

She always did well with crowds, well except for that one time during the Super Bowl….

Clearing her throat, she continued “I think I speak for all the coaches and fans when I say that I want the bastard that did this brought to justice.” A roar of approval went up in the people with her words. The woman holding the microphone smiled while her camera man smirked.

“For now, though, I’m going inside to see what’s going on with Adam and Blake. Probably nothing, but you never know…” Laughter erupted, she smirked. The bromance was still going strong…

“Anything you want to say?” The young woman asked.

“Yes. I wish Adam a speedy recovery; he needs to get better because The Voice needs his crazy antics….”

“AND SO DO HIS FANS!” A voice boomed from the crowd

“And does Blake” She muttered to herself, giving one last smile before heading back on her original path. Sure, she had wasted a bit of time talking to the press but it was worth it to know that the world knew that she and everyone was worried about Adam.

Nothing bad could have happened while she had spent those moments, at least she hoped so…

Having the door held for her, her heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the nurses’ station.

“Room 758” A woman her age answered the question she was about to ask as a few other nurses stared at her with a tint of sadness, a tanned finger pointing her in the right direction.

“Thank you” She said before turning to speed walk towards the room, no doubt where both the men were.

“Miss?” Her plan was halted for a moment.

She turned to show she was listening, but didn’t say a word.

“Talk to that Big Fellow, he won’t calm down even though Mr. Levine is stable” A sigh of relief came from the second part of the sentence, Adam was stable. That phrase in itself was soothing, although the feeling vanished to be replaced by frayed nerves.

Just as she had thought, Blake was going crazy with guilt.

She nodded before turning and walking down the stark white hall.

751

Despite the fact that she was worried, she hid the emotion. She had to be calm for Blake’s sake.

752

She had rehearsed a thousand times, when she had first heard of the attack and the ride to the hospital, what she was going to say. Not an exact speech, but just something calming…

753

But now that she tried to call it all back, nothing came. It was like it had all vanished, every thought replaced by white nothingness. Just like the walls…

754

Maybe it was the fact that, since she was in the hospital, that the fact that Adam was here was sinking in. The fact that they, her and everyone else, could of lost him. Sure, he had survived, but the thought that she wouldn’t have heard the slightly deep, slightly girlish laugh again. That she wouldn’t have bantered with Addy again, that there would have only been three judges…

755

Maybe that was why…

Not that it mattered; she had to be strong for both of them. Strong for Blake, so that the man would do something stupid. Strong for Adam, so that when he woke up, he saw was her…

756

…fussing at him for walking away. It would be like nothing happened; normalcy was something Adam would crave in the future.

“Makes me that much stronger, makes me work a little bit harder…” Her voice carried softly down the halls as her pace slowed.

757

Almost there, she took a deep breath.

“Makes me those much wiser, thanks for making me a fighter…” The lyrics she knew by heart came out as a whisper just before she heard…

“Damn it!” A deeper, rougher voice she would know anywhere came echoing down the halls, she quickly took the last few steps.

758

Entering the room, she found herself staring at an emotionally distressed and exhausted man. His clothes were wrinkled, hair disheveled, and soul torn to shreds.

A man that was currently holding one of Adam’s limp hands between his own paws, as tender as a man might hold a newborn.

In the back of her mind, she knew the bromance thing was more than a publicity stunt created for fan girls, but now was the wrong time.

“Blake”

Slowly, the hands let Adam’s slid back onto the bed before the frame creaked as the man’s weight moved off of it. In large steps, she soon found herself looking up into two baby blue eyes.

Ones that screamed anger, pain, guilt, but most of all fear.

There was definitely more behind Blake and Adam’s relationship, the look she was being given reinforced that.
Without words, she gave him a hug. Well actually, it was more like he gave her one, but who cared for the details.
“It’s gonna be alright” She cooed softly after a moment before they broke away.

Rubbing his shoulder warmly, she sneaked a look at the man in the bed.

Addy, to think the man had been blushing madly earlier at the nickname.

Now it looked as though no color could ever come back to Adam’s face, he was as pale as a piece of notebook paper.

But everything was going to alright…

After all, Adam was a fighter.



No.

That was the word echoing over and over and over….

Many pairs of eyes watched him through the glass as he paced back and forth in the room that was just tall enough so he didn’t bump his head. Sitting had grown old to him, his legs cramping after of the tapping furiously on the floor since he couldn’t sit still.

But who would of?

He wouldn’t even be in the fucking waiting room except for the fact that two pair of the eyes that were looking at him was security guards. Not that he couldn’t take them on; both were short and stocky, but the worst thing that could happen would be him getting kicked out of the hospital.

That would be even worse than being forced to not be with Adam.

At least he was on the same building this way, instead with the mob that had quickly gathered. There must be hundreds out there; he had expected them to ambush him when he and the ambulance had arrived.
Instead, they had just stood there. Perhaps to take in the sight of a quickly bruising Adam or his worried expression…

Didn’t matter, nothing mattered then and nothing mattered now other than the man he had let slip through his fingers to end up here.

“Fuck” It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he had gone after him, why had he let him go?
Five minutes, five lousy minutes.

And between those five fucking minutes, someone had assaulted his Adam; slashed him to pieces when the younger man had called for him.  

“Blake…”

Had he been calling for him the entire time, how many times had the call gone unanswered because he wasn’t fucking walking fast enough?

God, why the hell did he let Adam go?

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, considering hitting the plaster wall in frustration. No, no, that would get him kicked out.

He had to be here when the singer woke up; he owed Adam that much after all the shit he had done wrong in the last hour.

Taken mumbles for an answer? Fuck that, he shouldn’t of even had let Adam get out of his plushy leather seat.

When Adam had gotten up, he should have pushed the man back down. But did he? Oh course not.

Put an arm in front of the man? Pitiful, he should have shaken the man by the shoulder while saying that he wasn’t going to let go until he was going to get an answer. That’s what he should have done, then NONE of this would have happened.

No, he should have immediately gone after Adam, not waited to laugh at the stupid and cheesy joke. Not have leisurely walked backstage…

He had done everything wrong.

And because of that one fact, Addy was now hurt.

His Addy was hurt…

He wasn’t sure where his had come from, where and when the possessiveness had come into play. He was protective of his friends, but it seemed that this time it was something just a bit more. Hell, the only other person he felt this way about was Miranda… what was he saying? That he…

“Sir?”

Looking up, he saw the doctor cringe just a tad at his appearance. He must of aged five years, the luster gone from his eyes, the shine from his hair, and the spirit from his soul; hell, he’d be scared of him. The only thing that probably made him stick out as a part of is old self was his height, even though his shoulders were bowed slightly from the ache of breaking down a door.

“How is Adam?” His country accent was much thicker, it always got that way when he was tired. The tone was not angry (for being stuck in the waiting room) nor was it sad (as one expect), instead it was lacking emotion. All the worries, the fury, nothing showed; the doctor’s face fell a tad at the monotone question, but he answered.

He expected the man that had many more years of college that he or many others had to stay professional, not give anything other than the facts. Mr. Levine blah blah….but he didn’t. Not that he minded, but maybe it was his state that had made the emotion seep in. Who knew and who cared? He listened to the words that came with a tint of sympathy and hope.

“He suffered slash marks to the chest, nothing too deep but we want to keep him overnight just as a precaution.” He didn’t hear the last part, images flooding his mind.

The warm skin next to him didn’t respond to his touch, as the world slowed around him.

His vision narrowed on the one thing that matter at the moment, nothing coming to his ears other than the shallow breathing that was one of the only reasons he knew the man was alive.

Blood was drying on his plaid shirt, but fuck if he cared as he kept the limp body in his arms.

Whatever happened, all he knew was that nothing was going to make him let the man go. He hadn’t been there when needed; he wasn’t going to move now. Every step of the way, he was going to be there.

“The paramedics are here.” A hand touched his shoulder, it was Christina

But he didn’t comply with the silent request to move away from the unconscious man, he wouldn’t…

“Blake, you need to let him go so they can help him…” She kept going on and on about medical bullshit and how Adam needed to be out of his arms.

He wasn’t letting go…

…at least not for now.

“Mr. Shelton?” Shoving the memories back, although he knew they would come out in the near future to haunt him, he looked back to the doctor…

…who had a hand on his shoulder.

When had that happened? The doc was only slightly shorter, making the movement easy; he locked eyes with the man.

“Everything….he is okay” This man, one that he didn’t even know said these words and yet it brought him such relief. And while the cocktail of worry and guilt still remained, those last three words soothed the wounds of guilt and worry.

Just for a moment, the weight of the situation wasn’t on his shoulders.

One moment…

But then the pain flared, reminding him that he had, no he needed to see Adam. That if he didn’t, everything in his world was going to fall apart more than it already had.

Unknown to everyone, except Christina who had walked in on one of their fights via phone, he and Miranda were having trouble. He loved her, but the small cracks between them seemed to be magnified by a thousand with the pressure of the rapidly approaching wedding. [AN: Although we all know this has nothing to do with Adam, the sexy bad mouthed pixie….of course not XD]

He was going to die; he knew that much to be true. As of now he could hardly breathe, if this keep up he would die of suffocation. But he couldn’t stop; I mean who could stop when…

“Anybody got some whiskey? Cus’ I really don’t want to walk way out yonder to get some…” A decently faked southern drawl said, as the clomp of too big cowboy boots came with the comment.

He was limp in his chair, his long legs the one and only reason he wasn’t in the floor as Christina was. She was currently balling her eyes out while clutching her stomach, her mighty vocal cords cracking from laughing so long.

She had been talking to him about the upcoming show, while he had gotten his makeup and hair done, when he had strode through the door…


“Blake, you idjit, did ya hear me?” The mouth that spoke moved the too big cowboy hat, his hat, to show two amused eyes and a pair of lips in a smirk while holding a piece of straw between them.

He managed to let out a cracked cackle before silently laughing since his voice had given out so long ago when it had all started.

“Adam…stop….” Xtina grinned, before letting a few more tears of amusement out.

“I want my whiskey” The ‘fake’ him let his pretty boy self-shows as he struck a pose with his hands on his hips, letting those feminine features of his show more than ever it seemed. The skin tight jeans hugged every curve and a small patch of skin showing right where the plaid shirt was supposed to meet the pants. It seemed he had even smoothed some dirt on his face, but the grime just made his dark eyes shine that much brighter…

He gave the body a once over once more, just to make sure he got the while costume in. He noted that his boots were on the man’s feet, which made the situation that much funnier. Moving up the legs, his eyes were about to drift over the slight bulge in the very center, before going up to the man’s face, when his phone rang.

It was Miranda, this kind of shit was NOT appropriate for her.

“Shhhhhhh” He successfully shushed the two idjits before taking a breath.

When he could breathe with slightly less difficulty, he answer the call “Hello”

He heard the anger before she even said a word, his face falling as he awaited the inevitable yelling...

“We need to talk”

And then she hung up.

Maybe it was because she knew he was with the other coaches and she didn’t want to cause a mini scene over the phone. Although it wouldn’t matter, it wasn’t like the two would rat him out and sell him to the media wolves…
He closed the phone, the darkness of the situation slightly overwhelming him. He tensed in his chair, tucking the phone back into his pocket before rubbing his face. Just because they didn’t argue didn’t mean they wouldn’t. It didn’t happen then, but when he got home.

A hand was placed on his knee

“Blake”


He looked up to see Adam, who held a whiskey bottle in his hand.

“Found my stash eh?” He grumbled in fake annoyance, trying to forget the hell that was going to await him.

The other man just smiled before taking a swig and outstretching the bottle to him.

A smile came to his face; everything was going to be fine.

Somehow.

Bickering and fighting was supposedly a good sign, that they were acting like a ‘married couple’ already, but it just seemed like they were even more disconnected since he began being the country twang on The Voice.
He didn’t understand how the situation had become how it was now, it was like he had cheated on her or anything. But there did seem to be a jealously factor in there. But who?

 He had made it clear that:

A) He did not like Christina like that. She was more of a friend/sister than anything, besides SHE was married.

B) He did not like younger women. He was not a pedophile, there was no way in hell he was going for any of the girls on his team and/or on the show.

C) It was only a bromance with Adam.

The last one seemed to be becoming sketchier as the night drew to an end for the morning hours, driving his madness even further. There was no way he was attracted to those lips that seemed to reach heaven when they smiled or the chocolate eyes that showed the soul when you stared into them. He did not want to feel the body heat against him, not as they had that one moment…

 “I said, I’m fine”

 “Adam”

Sparks flew up his arm, the feeling something completely new. It was the opposite of goose bumps, the heat invading to make the limb tingle as it had never before. The concern for the man was the only thing not making him freeze and letting his eyes roll back into his head to concentrate and focus on the feeling.

What if he felt that on his entire body?

He quickly pushed the question back to keep his attention on Adam, but…


…it came back. With everything that was going on, the question came back. How the hell was he going to attempt to answer now when he had less idea of the answer than he did then?

“Room 758”

The words barely reached, as the doctor exited the room; seeing that he was in no mood or metal state to talk.

He pulled enough brain cells together to acknowledge the number and its meaning before running down the hall.
The ache in his legs faded as they stretched at their full length to quickly cover the tile floor, the pain in his shoulder vanishing as he focused on getting to the room he had to be , no…needed…to be in.

Sliding on the heels of his boots into the room, the air around him became stale and cold as he laid eyes on his best friend. The usually flushed face, from laughing or singing was pale as snow and his lips were dull as a piece of charcoal. And while he was breathing on his own, the monitor that was bedside was showing that he was straddling the fence. He wasn’t exactly okay, but he wasn’t exactly dead yet. At least that’s how he saw it.

“Adam”

 His voice came out so soft and broken that he hardly recognized it as his own as he crept towards the bed. While it seemed that he was moving at light speed down the hallway a moment ago, now it seemed that he couldn’t faster than a snail; every footstep taking focus that he didn’t have due to the man in the hospital bed.

He wished the man would snap out of it and ask “why the hell he was being stared at” but that didn’t happen.
When he reached the bed, he let his huge frame sink down; the bed squealing in protest as he did. But he ignored it, running a finger down the motionless arm of the pixie.

“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…”

There wasn’t a response, telling him that he was wrong, though he wished to hell that…

He found himself cradling a hand, something he didn’t realize he did but didn’t resist doing. The skin was cool, yet so smooth; a spark was still there. It wasn’t as strong as before, but it was still there…

“DAMN IT!”

The words exploded as the compacted emotions did.

What the hell was going on? He didn’t understand it, why?'

Nothing was making sense, the world was imploding on him.

All because of Adam it seemed.

But how could one man make so much of a difference?

Why did Adam mean so much?


Ignoring the crowds, he weaved to stand in front of the barricaded doors.

The flowers he carried concealing a knife wouldn’t be enough…

But he would get in somehow; he tucked the hat around his blonde hair closer.

After all, he had to make sure that Adam was his.


Reviews? PLZ!

Another cliffee, I know, I suck. XD

Will Adam wake up?

Will Blake figure out that he looooves Adam?

And will this mysterious bastard get a beatdown?

FIND OUT NEXT CHAPTER!!