Dancing While I'm Dying by EvenStar

He paced in front of the laptop computer, restless and yet tired, at the same time.
He ran his hand through his blond hair - wait, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his hair was unnaturally dark now, the sultry shadow of the colour hiding his golden locks from view. The shade that was directly out of a bottle. Fake.

He'd wanted a change. Something different. Anything different.

He looked up and his green-blue eyes reflected raw emotion as he glanced at his image in the mirror again. Seating himself back in the soft genuine leather of the swing chair, he leaned forward and peered at the laptop. One click of the mouse at his side, and he was at his inbox. Empty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months, even. And not a single word.

Daniel's grip clenched hard over the mouse, writhing quantities of anger and hurt coursing through his veins. He felt the tears well up and threaten to spill over his eyelashes. He blinked them away, drew them back, a practice he had been rehearsing for a long while now.
He glared at the screen, at the pathetically empty inbox, and leaned back, defeated, in the chair.
Another click of the mouse and he closed the window.

Torturous. What was he doing? He was punishing himself. From the screen, that smile beamed out at him. Those eyes - that brilliant blue stare. The lips like fine velvet. The hair, silken. No longer a drastic shade of dark jet. The blond framed Darren's perfect face, like the gold of sand on the beach. Those eyes the deep azure of ocean. Daniel imagined him on the beach, the hair rippled by the salt breeze, the teasing warmth of summer sunlight a rich glow on his handsome features. Beautiful, like a portrait in watercolour, the edges diluted but not tainted by Daniel's patchy memory.

He sighed. His eyes closed, in order to serve his imagination better. That voice. So soft, so high, so gentle. Quiet as a whisper sometimes, until he opened his mouth to sing. Listening to him sing used to be pure heaven. Hard to concentrate on playing guitar, or tampering around with a keyboard occasionally, with Darren's voice in the background, but still, heaven. Now it was a slow, painful reminder.

Glancing over at the CD rack, in between the black plastic slats he could see the name, and the title - of the album, peeking out almost mockingly, accusingly, from his record collection.

From here he couldn't see the picture on the front - from a photo shoot that had fans and non-fans alike marvelling over the radical physical change. The hair was a classic, sweeping, devastating blond. The eyes were hidden away, concealed behind a huge pair of expensive-looking sunglasses. He looked different. He looked like Brad Pitt. Like a Hollywood movie star. So aware of his beauty and not afraid to show it. Bold and sexy, looking away from the camera, lips pursed, lighting effects enhancing his model appearance.

Almost shamefully, Daniel knew the tracklisting off by heart. He'd played it so many times, just to hear how emphatically his voice had evolved. How he had evolved.

Mentally he scanned through each song. Wishing intensely that those sweet admissions of love, the sensual tones of lust and adoration, were for him. But things had moved on. And achingly, the only real space left for him was on the angst-fuelled strains of 'Heart Attack'. The track he knew was for him, despite no formal clarification. And every time he listened to it, was another nail in his lonely coffin.

Why? Daniel squeezed his fists together in frustration. Why did he have to make that stupid decision? Admittedly, Darren was the only thing keeping him sane during the time before Savage Garden came to an end. The only thing he could have dreamed of staying for. And he would have done, if he'd known it would turn out like this. Lonely, depressed and left behind. But the deep-rooted anger wasn't only for himself.

He'd seen Darren once. Once, and it was when he sat in on a show during the Too Close for Comfort Tour. Aneiki were supporting along with Specificus. Darren had been rushing around, too consumed in his show to bother. Daniel ached, tried to speak with him, tried to get a single moment alone. But Darren either couldn't or wouldn't comply. Ignorance, Daniel thought.

A chance, that was all he wanted. A chance to maybe reconcile their differences and let him know that perhaps, he was wrong. Wrong to do this, to throw it all away. He made a vague, pathetic attempt to reminisce, during that show on the tour, but the words didn't arrive. He wanted to say how much he missed it all, how he realized it was a mistake, how cold it had been without him. How he'd be willing to give it another shot, if only he'd consider. But Darren's pure excitement of going solo, made Daniel swallow his admissions. He cared too much. Cared about Darren, didn't want to spoil his adventure. Now he wished he had.

The tour had been a sellout. The gigs had been reportedly successful. Darren was selling records, he was selling.
Too late to go back? Daniel tapped his fingers on the desk. Too late.
Savage Garden had died a death, and Daniel had signed the warrant.
Lost a friend, a lover, a life.

He stared at the screen, and the photos stared back at him. Again, mocking.
The tears were welling up, again. This time, they fell. One, two, and he was crying.
What did it matter anyway? There was no one there to see.
There was no one.

Closing down the laptop, Daniel dragged the chair over to the CD rack. Loaded a disc into the CD player, leaned back, and listened to 'Spin' again.