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Every time Joe and Nathan took the stage, guitars strapped over their shoulders and positions ready at the microphone, they sent the energy out to the surging crowd, who then pushed it back to them, and it became a cosmic force of intense musical euphoria.

That was before things started to change.

They had hired Charles as their manager early on in their career, and he remained a solid and constant force with them ever since. He was an intense number cruncher and usually holed up in his office for hours at a time, leaving Nathan and Joe to their drinking, smoking, and fucking. The boys rather liked it that way, and it had grown into a system that no one tried to get rid of.

It surprised Nathan and Joe when he visited them earlier in the day for an impromptu meeting, finding them in the studio with red eyes and a bowl in their hands. But Charles was used to this, and the news he brought them wasn't anything that seemed (at the time) cause for alarm. The message he gave was simple – "Meet in the conference room in about an hour's time. It won't be long, I promise. You guys will be out of there pretty quickly." – and then he was gone, back to the business side of things.

"You know," Joe started, his long neck curled over the arm of the couch with his thumb and forefinger still wrapped around the bowl. "It's probably about the time I broke that guy's nose 'cause he told us we blew more cocks than an LA prostitute. Whatever, it'll be no big deal, obviously Charles will see our side of it. The guy had it coming anyway. Fucking douche bag."

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The Charles that walked into the conference room for the meeting was a lot different from the one Nathan and Joe had encountered just a few hours prior. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, before settling down in the seat and fixing them with a stare.

"It's over."

Charles was never one to beat around the bush, and this issue was no exception, if the stricken looks on the musician's faces were anything to go by: "not enough gigs, too little support, record sales down, etc. etc." Charles spoke in an emotionless drone, no personal connection, completely opposite from the father figure role he adopted when around Nathan and Joe. He knew about their past, knew about their family ordeals, and tried to keep their mind away from it all by being the mentor they needed. But Charles wasn't playing mentor now – he was the businessman, and he proved so by stating the facts in a detached way. Nathan felt his stomach beginning to wind up, but he tried to calm himself as Joe used his motor mouth skills in an attempt to steer the conversation in a more positive direction.

"We'll pull some extra hours, we can branch out elsewhere, don't give up on us, we can make this work, Charles…"

The pleading wasn't helping, and even though Nathan knew it was a fruitless cause, Joe kept at it. Kept trying to convince Charles that their many mistakes weren't their fault, "all the drunken nights and drugged out days aren't consuming us, that's the lifestyle, that's just how it is, how are we supposed to know anything different? And that one night at Poor Paddy's Pub? The one with the bloody bar fight and a trip to the hospital? That wasn't our fault either, of course it wasn't our fault, obviously that dude knew better than to taunt me, but it didn't stop him, so we had to, right? We had to protect ourselves!"

Charles remained stiff and silent in his seat, completely indifferent to Joe's cries. The musician knew it was a lost cause even as the words continued tumbling from his lips, but this was a battle neither of them could afford to lose. Then Charles shut his eyes and stood up. When he turned his back to them, without so much as an "I'm sorry, boys," (a way that would remind them that their whole time spent together wasn't in vain, to remind them that they did have a connection and to please not abandon them now) they knew that was it. Suddenly, the rock stars, the dreamers, the boys, were left alone to watch silently as their lives fell away from them.