Disclaimer: I can only hope to own them.

A/N: I know I shouldn't, but again I blame lozzigurl for this story. I really don't know how she does that!

This one is mainly to get my feelings out (as always), but I think it will turn into a mini-fic (maybe 10 chapters or fewer? I don't know).

In the Wrong Shoes

Tom woke up feeling ecstatic that morning, his brain barely registering his own actions, as he rushed through his habitual ritual for the past three years; a well-balanced breakfast, half-hour of yoga and a good, cold shower.

"Today is the day, I can feel it," his usual upbeat self assured him, and anyone could see how he was beaming with excitement, though they wouldn't be able to tell exactly why.

The blond thought of leading an ordinary life –studying English, becoming a writer and raising a little family– but after the first two semesters, he felt like his heart just wasn't there, and what he really wanted to do was follow his passion for music, something that he had learned from his father at the youngest age.

What seemed like a dream, turned out into an opportunity when he met Jake Hardin, the man who recognised his talent and have been helping Tom to find himself a band, ever since their paths crossed. Even though Jake had good intentions in his heart, so far they had no luck in finding even a fucking drummer, which would put other people off and made them give up on the quest, but not Tom– his positivism had always spoken for him in every situation in his life.

"Hi, Jake," Tom greeted the older man, shaking hands with him.

"Hey, Tom," the blue-eyed man greeted cheery, with an obvious american accent. "Ready to find yourself your band mates?"

"That's what we're here for," he took his seat at the table, as one of Jake's assistant went to fetch the boys auditioning to play guitar in the band yet to be named.

Fifteen guitarists later –and as much as it would hurt him to admit it–, Tom started to feel drained and a bit tired and hopeless. Most of guys did seem like they had just started playing a few hours before the audition, despite saying they had been playing for three or more years. Jake, who wasn't in the same wavelength as Tom when it came down to being positive about everything, was about to tell his assistant, Lauren, to send the last boy home before even seeing him, when the brown-eyed boy stopped him.

"Come on, mate. I feel like he's going to be the one!" Tom pleaded with his manager, receiving a tired sigh as response, and telling Lauren to let the guy in.

"Your name and age, please," Jake spoke on the microphone when a brunet took the spot a few feet from the table.

"I'm Daniel Jones, 20," he stated with a thick accent and shy smile, firmly gripping his own guitar on the left hand.


"Did you like him?"

"Are you kidding me? He's blooming amazing!" Tom smiled widely in response to Jake's question. "Not only a great voice, but he knew what he was doing!"

"We're working on a pop band, Tom," Jake sighed. "Not only he didn't know any pop tunes, he played a Bruce Springsteen song!"

"And played it bloody well," he countered, crossing his arms.

"If I didn't know better I would say you have a crush on him," the manager laughed, elbowing Tom on his sides.

Truth to be told, Tom indeed got mesmerized by the Daniel guy, but he wouldn't call it a crush or anything; he's not a schoolgirl. He still can remember how the freckled lad seemed to emanate a cool aura or something of the sorts, just making you comfortable to be in his presence after you just met him. And his voice was certainly heavenly, some sort of present from the heavens above, something Tom could spend the whole day listening to.

"Can I call him back?" he tried his long perfected kicked puppy face, with a pout and innocent pleading eyes. "We can't let go of the only real talent we've found, Jake!"

"Ok, I'll let you in charge of telling–"

"Daniel," he offered, seeing as the other man struggled to recall the curly-haired boy's name.

"You tell Daniel that he got in," the american man got up from his chair, wiping the cheek Tom just kissed, watching as the blond boy sauntered outside the audition room, looking through the contacts to call "the Daniel guy".

"Daniel, Daniel... here," Tom quickly typed on his phone, waiting for the ringing tone.

He was almost giving up after no apparent sign that somebody would answer, when he finally heard a familiar voice and thick accent on the other end of the line.

"Danny speaking," he said unceremoniously. "How can I help ya, babe?"

"Err... Thomas Fletcher, from the band audition today?" Tom felt his face suddenly hot and flushed.

"Oh, sorry, mate," Danny chuckled, immediately making the blond smile. "It's usually some bird calling me– Do you need anything?"

"I– Well, I'm calling you to say that you're in," Tom frowned, unsure of how to take the extra information he was provided with.

"Really? That's amazing!" A manly victory cry could be heard from the other side. "We need to celebrate, then!"


"Call me Danny," the boy interrupted Tom. "Just say where you want to eat and it's going to be on me! I'm not taking 'no' for an answer," he laughed, and instantly Tom knew he had no choice but to accept it.


Danny was feeling incredibly happy. So much, that he had to pinch his cheek four to six times, before acknowledging that none of that was a dream. The previous week hadn't been good at all, and he was almost giving up on music to go back to football when he saw a leaflet about an audition for guitar in a new pop band.

His first reaction was ignore it, but his sister insisted that would be a good opportunity, even if he wasn't too keen on being part of a pop band, but at least it was a band, and not a boy band. Still a bit reluctantly, he signed up for the audition and promised her to go, which he did and seemingly succeeded as Thomas had called him to tell the good news.

"I need to find something nice to wear," the brunet rummaged through his closet, throwing many shirts and trousers on the bed.

"Oh? Seems like somebody's getting lucky tonight," Vicky, Danny's sister, plopped on his bed, skimming through the clothes strewn on it. "Do I know her?"

"You don't know him," Danny replied, head still buried inside the closet, as he dug through a few hoodies and tops.

"You what?"

"I'm just going out with my band mate, don't think anything strange," he frowned, picking a good-looking dark green hoodie as his option. "I got in!"

"I told you so!" The girl sprang from her spot, attacking her brother with a fierce hug. "I hope everything work out between you two!"

"Vicky, I'm not dating him," he grunted, throwing the piece in his hand at her.

"If he's cute, then you can tell him you have a sister," she stuck her tongue out, as she ducked out of Danny's aim and walked away.


Danny and Tom started their night a bit awkwardly, but soon they dropped the formalities and started genuinely having fun, just talking about what their hobbies, aspirations, families, and that sort of thing when you try to get to know someone better.

"So, when are we meeting the others?" Danny asked, shoving a slice of pizza in his mouth.

"That's the thing, Danny..." the blond boy trailed off. "So far it's only you and me," he added sounding a bit deflated.

"Cheer up, mate! I don't mind being alone with you," the large freckled hand reached over for Tom's over the table, both boys blushing when their gazes fell upon their conjoined hands. "Sorry," Danny cleared his throat.

"It's all right," Tom tried to shake the embarrassment off. "It's nice to know that I can count on you," he smiled, and deep inside he knew his words were sincere; for some reason he felt at ease with Danny, something that scared him a bit, given they just met.

Soon it came the time for them to leave, but not without deciding to meet the next day for a jamming session at Tom's, and get him to meet their manager, Jake, a bit better.

"See you tomorrow," Tom waved goodbye.

"Wait, I'll take you home," He felt a hand grab his wrist, and turned around to meet Danny smiling at him, tugging at his arm and dragging him along to a spot where a scooter was parked. "Here," he tossed one helmet to Tom.

"Danny?" He risked, looking dumbly at the headgear in his hands. "I never rode a motorcycle before."

"There's a first time for everything," he laughed, patting the space behind him. "Come on, Tom! We gotta work on this trust thing. For the band!"

Begrudgingly agreeing, Tom took the spot Danny patted earlier, feeling a bit conscious of their proximity. When he didn't know what to with his hands, he found Danny's hands positioning his own on the brunet's waist, followed by a "hold on tight".

Not in a million years he would say it aloud, but after the first three or four terrifying minutes, Tom started feeling less scared and the fear turned into enjoyment, the night breeze touching his body like some invisible mantle, and little leaps in his stomach whenever they made a turn.

Twenty minutes later, they had to say each other goodnight, as they had arrived at Tom's doorstep. Before leaving, Danny quickly pulled Tom into a tight hug, telling him that they were "destined to do big things together", something that made the chocolate-eyed boy's stomach turn a bit –though not in a bad way–, whilst he watched Danny zoom into the night.

"If only we can get a drummer and a bassist as lovely as him," Tom told himself, shaking his head as he realised he had called Danny 'lovely'.

Fumbling through the contents of his pocket, he fished for his keys, turning them in the keyhole and letting himself inside the house. That had definitely been an eventful day for him.