Missing [ST]

Fifty Five

"-Well if ya don't know how to do it, I'll show ya how to walk the dawggg."

Steven wasn't satisfied as he drew out the final note, but it wasn't the quality of his voice that was the main issue.

It needed ironing out in places from not singing properly in over a year, and it didn't exactly help that he was recovering from a punctured lung, but his displeasure was actually because he couldn't find a fault in the band.

As the perfectionist he was, Steven had been focusing on Joey's drumming out of one ear of his headphones, and Joe's guitar out of the other ear, just waiting for either of them to slip up, but they didn't. It was faultless from start to finish and Steven knew when a beat was a millisecond off and a riff was veering out of tune.

"For the first day back, I don't think we sounded half bad," Joe declared proudly. "Steven, whatcha thinkin'? Up for a set this weekend?"

A final hit of the snare drum interrupted the space to reply.

"Joe, just give him some time, yeah?"

"But we can push for the label then! Attract the attention and shit."

A slide of frets on a guitar followed Joe's counter argument, his default fiddling between rehearsals that usually turned into either a known lick, or something that could be tweaked for a Joe Perry original.

"Or we could just wait a bit longer until we're all rested and ready before we start gettin' a career going?"

Steven zoned out of Joe and Joey's dialogue around the intermittent sounds of their instruments after that. They were packing up, as were Tom and Brad, but Steven just sat on his chair in his personal area behind his Korg keyboard, watching, but not really paying attention to the musical clatter in their hired studio setup.

He slid the headphones to his neck and pushed the mic out of reach, and then ran a hand through his hair that desperately needed a cut so it wasn't hanging so low over his eyes.

He'd have to dig out the bandanas if he didn't sort it out soon.

Amps were turned off and wires were unplugged and reeled in around him. Guitars and a bass were placed in cases or safely balanced on padded racks, because this studio might also become the first trial for recordings.

"See ya tomorrow, Steven."

Steven turned his head from imagining the managers and tech savvies behind the glass box perfecting each track, to Tom's tall figure and Brad, who had a bag over his shoulder. They were both dressed in smart clothes and nice jackets which was puzzling because he hadn't really noticed their outfits before, and there hadn't been enough time to change.

Apparently they were also practicing tomorrow, which not only did he have no recollection agreeing to, but it was going to be another two hours of shitty singing torturing his own ears, out of sync thoughts, and a lack of clear focus for reasons he wished wouldn't be so present and cruelly pinning him down to his chair.

Steven cleared his throat, managing a smile towards them.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. And uh...nice job."

Brad shook his head, and nudged Tom to get him to move.

"We're gonna be late. Let's go."

Opting for a frown, Steven watched the duo leave his company with no clue where they were off to, and conscious that his slouched body language really was that easy to read.

So, he stood up, stretching out his stiff neck, and slipped his hoodie on that hung over the back of his chair.

His wardrobe was still in the recovery period; jeans, t-shirts, sleeveless shirts, and comfy hoodies or jumpers would be his preferred choice until his face looked pretty again, and could match his extravagant scarves, loose-fitted shirts that could be tied in a knot at the hem, and bold print jackets.