Disclaimer: I do not own Lars or Tim -- no one owns them. This story is completely fictional, so don't sue me.

Lars sat back on the worn out couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table that sat in front of the TV in his apartment. The upholstery on the couch had long been worn off of the cushions from wallet chains, studded pants and belts, puke from countless parties, and that was only the stuff he knew about since he�d hauled it in off the sidewalk on trash day many years ago. He set the bag of chips he�d just opened on his belly and stared blankly at an infomercial on the television. He wasn�t hungry, but he plucked a chip from the bag anyway and popped it in his mouth. Jesus, everything seemed terminally boring when he wasn�t on tour. Colorless. Lifeless. Soundless.

Oh, wait, the TV was on mute.

He looked around for the remote and noticed it was on the coffee table next to his feet, so far away� �Aww, son of a--� he began, but was interrupted when the phone rang. His eyes drifted to the phone in the kitchen and he waited for it to stop ringing. Usually people gave up after five or six rings. When it was still sounding after twelve, Lars tossed the bag of chips aside and got up to grab it, pressing the receiver to his ear. �Hello?�

At first there were no words from the other end of the line, only the hiccupping breaths of someone trying their best to recover from a serious fit of tears. �L- Lars?� the voice managed, but broke again into a fit of hoarse sobs.

Lars frowned, listening for a moment, trying to figure if this was the same asshole that had been prank calling his house the last few days and masturbating to the sound of his voice. All at once he thought he recognized the sniffles on the other end of the line and a surge of adrenaline poured through his system making his stomach leap to his throat. �Tim?� he asked. There was no answer, just the muffled sounds of a broken man. He couldn�t be certain it was Tim on the phone, but something inside Lars was screaming for him to hot foot it to his friend�s house because his world had just shut down and he needed someone to try to get it spinning again. �Just sit tight, man. I�ll be over in a minute.�

He hung up and grabbed his jacket off the back of the door on his way out.

Lars rapped his knuckles against the chipping green paint on Tim�s apartment door before he turned the knob and walked in. Tim never locked his door. There didn�t seem to be much of a point to it as he didn�t own anything anyone would want to steal. �Tim?� Lars called, walking towards the dim light spilling from the slightly-ajar bedroom door. His boots crunched on the gritty hardwood floor as he approached, pushing the door open. �Tim?� he asked softly, sticking his head in first then moving into the room.

Tim was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his shoulders collapsed inwards. His head was bowed low and his breathing was ragged. He didn�t lift his head when his friend came in. �What�s up, buddy?� Lars asked sitting on the bed next to him. Tim�s body slumped against him when as Lars� weight distorted the mattress and he laid his hand on Tim�s back, rubbing lightly in a soothing gesture. He wrapped his arm around Tim�s midsection a moment and Lars thought his ribs seemed more prominent than usual. �You okay? What happened?� Tim turned his face slightly towards Lars.

He looked like shit. His eyes were swollen and red, his skin pale, angry marks just below his bottom lip and along his bare forearms. �Tim?� Lars pressed.

The smaller guitarist turned his eyes back to the floor and shoulders began quaking, crying silently, though there were no tears left to shed. He bit his bottom lip hard in an effort to quiet his sobs. Tim pointed towards the dresser, covering his face with the other hand. Lars followed his gesture, getting up and walking around the bed. A Rolling Stone magazine was on the floor and he picked it up.

�Oh, shit,� Lars whispered, blinking at the picture of Brody, Tim�s wife, licking the face of Josh Homme, the lead singer of Queens of the Stoneage. �What the fuck?� he breathed, looking over at Tim. He had laid down on the bed, curling up in the fetal position. Lars checked the postmark. It was from two days ago, and Tim definitely looked like he�d been sitting in the dark, lamenting his situation for the full 48 hours.

�W-why would she do that?� Tim whispered, speaking through the diaphragm spasms left in the wake of his tears.

Lars shook his head, ripping the page out of the magazine and crumpling it in his fist. �Hell if I know, Tim. Jesus fucking Christ.�

Tim curled tighter as Lars settled on the bed next to his feet. �Did I do something?� he asked, mumbling into his pillow.

�You shouldn�t have had to see this, man,� Lars said, tossing the paper into the nearby waste basket. He fished in his pocket for his matches and flicked one across the sandpaper on the back of the book. He watched the glowing tongue of flame for a moment before he dropped it into the trashcan.

Tim writhed as though he might be in physical pain, gripping the front of his shirt at the chest, twisting the fabric. �What�d I do?� Tim groaned under his breath. �I had to have done something.�

�Well, you married the bitch,� Lars sighed to himself in reply.

Tim lifted his head up off of the pillow a little, looking at Lars. �What?�

�Nothin�. C�mon, man,� Lars said, getting up.

�No--.� Tim whimpered.

�You�re too skinny. We�re gonna go get you something to eat.�

Tim shook his head then dropped it back down onto the pillow. �I just want to lie here.�

�You�re too fucking skinny,� Lars repeated forcefully. �Get up, we�re getting you some food.�

Tim�s eyes found an arbitrary spot on the wall as he idly raked his short nails against the insides of his arms. It was clear he had completely zoned out of the world at hand when he didn�t reply to Lars calling his name. Gently but firmly Lars took hold of Tim�s slim wrists, pulling them from their destructive task. �We�re going to Food Maxx,� Lars said.

Tim�s eyes fell to Lars� hands, followed the arms up to his chest then up to his face. He blinked, his eyes feeling sticky from lack of sleep. �All right,� he conceded softly.

�Good.� Lars grabbed Tim�s boots from the corner and dropped them in front of his friend. �Put �em on. I�ll get your coat.�

Lars glanced back just before he left the room to see Tim reluctantly pulling the boots on. He moved into the living room and found Tim�s beloved leather jacket in a crumpled heap on the floor in front of the TV. He scooped it up shook it off, the two days worth of dust having settled thick on it. Tim�s apartment was quite old and Lars wondered if that was the reason dust always hung heavy enough in the air to see it. He leaned over the couch and cracked the window in hopes that it would help, though in the back of his mind he knew it would only let in exhaust and noise from the street. Maybe that�s what this place needed, some noise. It was too goddamn quiet. Normally Tim always had music on in his bedroom and the TV blaring in the living room, just to try to emulate the constant din on the road. He couldn�t sleep without the noise.

Tim clomped into the living room, dragging his heels a little and wearing a different t-shirt. �I look okay?� he asked rhetorically. He always threw that question out before he left the house even though he didn�t really give a fuck.

Lars tossed him his jacket. �Have coat, will travel.�

The walk to Food Maxx was uneventful, but the cool air that blew in in the evenings was refreshing and invigorating. Tim felt better already, just being out of that place he had shared with that woman he had loved with his whole heart. He had never expected she would do something like this, not ever. He had placed unconditional faith in her, so much so that he barely realized how the smallest things she did, things other people could have done and he wouldn�t have batted an eyelash, could cut him to the quick.

And now this.

Tim looked over at Lars who walked with his hands in his pockets, his chin tucked down a little to block out the wind. Lars must have seen this coming, but he had kept his mouth shut and watched Tim fall hard for this girl, give his all to this girl, and didn�t say a word because he knew Tim cared for her so much. He must�ve wanted to rip his hair out sometimes. Lars glanced over and caught Tim�s eyes a moment, and the smaller guitarist smiled.

Smiled.

He hadn�t done that in a while. Lars couldn�t help but smile back before he returned his eyes to the dark sidewalk in front of them.

The fluorescent lights in the warehouse-like Food Maxx were tough on the eyes after the dim street. Both Tim and Lars squinted and could make out the shadowy faces of the few shoppers at the checkout gawking at them. �Good to know we aren�t invisible,� Lars said, grabbing a cart.

�Yeah. You ever wake up one morning and you�re not sure you exist,� Tim murmured softly, �all you gotta do is look at all the stunned faces.�

Lars pushed the cart and Tim followed, dragging his heels slightly the way he always did. There weren�t many people in the store to bother them, and Tim took the opportunity to study the floor directly in front of his boots. �What do you want to eat?� Lars asked.

Tim intentionally scuffed the white, buffed floor, leaving a black streak of rubber. �I dunno.�

Lars groaned internally but it only manifested itself as a nearly inaudible sigh. �You have to eat, dude.� Tim just kept his eyes on the floor and made another scuff-mark. Lars pushed the basket to the canned foods aisle and started picking things he knew Tim liked, knowing they would keep as long as he planned to keep up this fast. Then it was off to the cereal aisle, Tim dragging ass in tow.

�You know we have an album to finish,� Lars said, breaking the comfortable silence as he reached up for the Quaker honey graham Oh�s. He heard the chains on Tim�s gear jingle as he shifted positions behind him.

�I dunno, dude,� he mumbled. Lars turned and looked at him without responding, dropping the cereal in the basket. �I don�t know if I have it�� he trailed off lifting his eyes up off the floor for a moment to look into Lars� face. �I don�t know if I have it in me.� Tim returned his eyes to the ground as melancholy surged in his chest, hitting him so hard he lost his breath and wobbled on his feet. He put a hand on the shelf next to him to steady himself.

�You okay?� Lars asked, stepping a little closer to Tim and placing his hand against the back of Tim�s neck, the only place he would be able to feel the warm contact of his palm on his skin without a layer of leather between them. Tim always found skin-to-skin contact comforting. That was one reason the guy liked summer so much; he could walk around the city and accidentally bump into other people, slide past this young woman, skim by that skinhead dude, run through the sweaty mass of kids at a show and feel happier with each incidental brush of damp skin. �We don�t have to talk about this now, if you don�t want,� Lars half-whispered.

Tim shook his head, struggling to breathe without whimpering. �No--.� was all he mustered.

�Okay, okay,� Lars said draping his arm over Tim�s shoulders and pulling him back over to the basket. �Pick out some more cereal.�

Since Tim was busy surveying the bags of generic cereal and Lars was eyeing the toaster pastries, neither of them noticed the young woman advancing up the aisle towards them, staring at her grocery list as she walked. When she was about ten feet away she looked up and stopped dead.

�Hey, Tim, do you like blueberry filling?� Lars asked, lifting a box and reading the back. Tim noticed her first. She was peering at him, walking slowly, a blank expression on her face. �Tim?� Lars repeated, and turned to look at him when he didn�t answer. He followed Tim�s eyes to the young woman who had stopped an arms-length from them. She was small in build and had wide brown eyes.

There was a moment when none of them spoke, just stood staring at one another.

�Tim,� she managed to sputter, pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. �Tim Armstrong, from Rancid.�

Tim cocked his head at her. �Yes,� he murmured, lifting an eyebrow.

Without another word she closed the gap between them, striding up to him and wrapping her arms about his neck in a hug. Tim didn�t react right away. He haltingly returned the affection, closing his arms around her back gently and closing his eyes, relishing the first touch from a woman he had received since�before. All at once her mouth was near his ear and she whispering to him. �You�ve done so much for me�your music. You don�t even know,� she said. Her hug tightened just a moment before she let him go. Tim felt as though it had been months, maybe even years since he had felt the same unabashed, sincere affection bestowed on him. She turned to Lars and he stooped to receive a hug from her as well. �Thank you,� she said to him and pulled away before he could ask what she was thanking him for.

Tim frowned as he watched her retreat. �W-well, what�s your name?� he asked. She just looked back over her shoulder at him and gave a soft smile before she turned the corner and disappeared. Tim dropped his eyes to his boots a moment and lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his knuckles against the short-cropped hair along the side of his head, around the stiff �hawk that was now a faded red.

Lars was still staring down the vacant aisle, not sure the young woman hadn�t been some sort of apparition. �That was weird,� he sighed, setting the blueberry pastries in the cart.

Tim nodded, one side of his mouth kicking up in a cryptic little smile. �Life�s weird,� he chuckled, crinkling the plastic of a bag of puffed corn cereal before he picked it up and dropped it in the basket. �That�s what music�s all about.�

Lars wrinkled his nose. �What?� He recognized the inspired glint in Tim�s eye. The guy wouldn�t be sleeping for the next couple days, doing nothing but writing and strumming a beat-up acoustic guitar. Then he�d come out on the other side with a mosaic of ideas and tunes to be molded and cemented together by kick and guitars into a work of art that would surprise even him.

Tim pressed his lips together, thinking. It�d already begun.

He picked up a pad of paper on the way to the checkout.