I don't own the rights to Bread, or to A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, which as you may have guessed is my inspiration for this set of drabbles. If this turns out somewhat decent (though I don't know if it will tbh) I also kind of want to do a Vices and Virtues AU set (because come on, there's no way I'd do a set inspired by this album and leave the best one imo out...). Perhaps a set of steampunk Joetina drabbles... who knows? I am really into AUs right now, sorry. Sorry for ruining the bread fanfic archive with all this self-indulgence rubbish ie. Hearts and Roses, Tragedy, and now this :P

Ladies and Gentlemen; We proudly present a picturesque score of passing fantasy.

The radio crackles ceaselessly behind him. It is fixed on static, lost in the hours between broadcasts. He does not switch it off; he stares out the pane of the window, the light illuminating his face, making it ghostly. Outside, the wind scatters raindrops along the cobblestones.

He shrugs his shoulders from the silk lining of the jacket, lets it pool on the floor around his feet. A part of his mind registers that it is cold, only thin cotton fibres protecting his arms. But nothing compares with the bitter cold that claws at his insides- why should he bother trying to make the exterior warm when the interior is frozen?

The words she left embedded in his brain swirl around his insides like frost. He wonders where she is- if one of the glowing lights on the horizon signals her presence. If she is thinking of him, as he is thinking of her. But he knows this will not be the case; his mind's eye envisions her body, smooth and pale as a pearl under the moonlight, entangled with sheets that reek of lust and a stranger's body.

Joey Boswell does not cry. But his eyes sting with a longing he must curb- he must be a pillar of strength, strong and focused. He cannot crumble. The view before him blurs; he digs his fingers into his scalp, tugging at the coarse hair, rubbing his palms over his face. The wind continues to dance across the sky, rattling his window, a phantom desperate to enter. His hands twitch towards the latch, but he withdraws. He does not know what will happen if he lets the wind of change into his home.

He can still hear the radio as it hisses behind him. And if he listens hard enough, between each pop of static, he can make out a strange, haunting melody. The beating of a heart, perhaps. A melancholy fanfare that could symbolise an ending- or a beginning.

The catch breaks on the window, then. The wind rushes into his room, ice on his skin. The lights extinguish themselves, and he is plunged into darkness.

But the radio plays on, whispering its secrets to him under the hum of static.

This is going to be weird, artistic and slightly AU. Uh... I hope you enjoy.