Disclaimer: I don't own Camp Rock.

--

He steps foot in the almost empty coffee shop located on a forgotten corner somewhere in one of the fifty states of America.

A little bell sounds from above him as the door is pushed open.

Immediately, his eyes find the only other human in this seemingly abandoned building (excluding the teenage girl who's fallen asleep on the cash register). Some of the paint is chipped on the pale walls and a fine layer of dust coats some of the dull green tables.

A perfect match for the dull expression on the man's face.

There's no steam rising from the full coffee mug in front of that man. It's noon. He might have been around since even before the sun came up.

Because Nathanial Jonas knows Shane Gray can be stubborn like that.

His attention is drawn back to the mug. It's so familiar. It's a light pink and there are daisies hand-painted on the side by a fifteen year old girl. They're as bright as her smile once was.

A perfect contrast with the melancholy expression on his former best friend and band-mate's face.

"Are you going to keep standing there like an idiot or what?" Shane suddenly snaps. He's sneering.

It's the first time he's spoken a word to him in six years.

Six years ago, Nate's girlfriend used him to break Connect 3 up. What started as an innocent, blissful relationship turned into a horrible disaster filled with lies and involved an intoxicated Shane, the girl, a bed and a hidden video camera. No clothes were seen. It was all posted on the internet. The result was a heart broken brunette with bangs, a fuming Nate and a whole bunch of bad (to put it lightly) publicity.

Six years ago, Nate stopped playing music.

Six years ago, it was the beginning of the end for Connect 3.

"Mind if I sit down with you?" But Nate plops himself on the chair beside the has-been pop star without waiting for a reply.

He speaks again. "How have you been?"

"How do you think I've been?"

There's a silence.

"I wish things had been different too. I wish I'd never even met that girl." He pauses. "I'm sorry, Shane."

"Bullshit. There's nothing you gain by wishing."

"How have you been?"

"Better--I've been better."

"I see."

"I had to chop all my hair off, get a wig. I was basically Hannah Montana for a few months after it happened. I had to make sure no one would recognize me."

Nate can definitely hear a smirk in his voice. No matter how spiritless he looks, he knows Shane, like himself, is glad to have someone to talk to after six years of silence.

"I know, man. It was hell."

"But I went out yesterday and after six fucking years they still remember the stupid mistake I made. I know I fucked up, Nate. Everyone does but just because I was famous before that, I get to relive that mistake every fucking day of my fucking life?"

He's screaming. Six years of pent up anger finally released. There wasn't much left of it but it's gone.

Now that it's all out, Nate knows he can change the subject.

Running his thumb over the smooth sides of the mug covered in cheerful daisies he speaks in a lowered voice, "It's been six years, Shane."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Just shut up."

"It's okay to talk about her."

"Shut up. I knew it. I knew from the moment you walked through that door you we wouldn't be able to have a conversation without bringing her up."

"I'm sorry, Shane."

"I don't give a damn."

"Even though we haven't been talking it's not like we never see each other. I live right across the street from this place. I see you come here everyday--"

"Stop it, Nate."

"You've come here with that mug every day for the past six years and--"

"Please, Nate."

"It's not healthy, Shane."

"I don't care."

"You need to move on."

"I can do whatever I want."

"You can't keep living like this."

"I can't live anymore. Not without her."

"Yes, you can. Because she'd want you to."

"You don't know what she'd want."

"Shane--"

"Stop making it seem like everything's okay. Because it's not. Everything's all fucked up."

"You can move past this."

The older man slumps in his seat. He desperately wants to replace the annoying curly-haired figure with her a young girl with soft and beautiful features. Her hair was thin and straight and her eyes… they were the prettiest shade of brown he'd ever seen and her smile was as gorgeous as it was infectious and--

Fuck, he was starting to forget her. What she looked like, what she smelled like. Was it fruity? Strawberries or cantaloupe? Did they even make cantaloupe-scented items? Oh fuck. No, he couldn't forget her. He wasn't ready to let her go.

He secretly wishes she was still with him. And they could come here every morning, together like they used to. He'd wrap an arm around her waist as he placed their orders. He'd always use the mug she painted for him during her first stay at Camp Rock. It was the eco-friendly choice. He would be pro-environment just to please her. Then they'd sit at the anything-but-dull green tables and she'd occupy the seat Nate was currently slouched in. He'd chuckle and she'd giggle for hours without a care in the world just like they'd used to do, once upon a time. Happiness would engulf them, creating a bubble that'd separate them from the hardships of the outside world. They wouldn't need anything else but each other.

And he wants to come here every morning. He wants to be alone in this dreary place, surrounded by ripped up walls and seeing despair everywhere he looks. He wants to feel as close to her as possible even when he knows he can't. He wants to spends all his time in the run down coffee shop. He knows they've had some of their favourite moments here. He feels as close to her as ever here even when he's not.

"I don't want to move on. I don't want to forget her."

--

A few weeks later, he and Shane walk out of the busiest place they've seen an a while.

An airport.

"Do you want to go now or…" Nate trails off.

"Let's go now." the other man replies firmly with a determined edge to his voice.

They call a taxi, Nate instructs the driver where to go and soon they're on their way to visit the girl Shane once loved and who once loved Shane.

It's a sunny, beautiful day. It's as if she's smiling contentedly down on them right now.

"STOP!"

Out of the blue, Nate feels his body being jerked forward. The driver has slammed on the breaks and it's all because of Shane's unexpected outburst.

"What's wrong?"

"Flowers. We need flowers. It wouldn't be right to come there empty handed."

So the driver makes a detour and they find themselves in front of a store that says Sally's Floral Shop.

Ten minutes later, Shane finally comes out. His head is barely visible behind the enormous bush he's holding.

There are roses, daffodils, carnations, lilies, tulips and of course daisies. But those are the only ones the curly haired boy can name. He never intended to be a botanist when he grew up.

Shane makes his was over to the vehicle and Nate opens the door for him.

He's cradling so many flowers that it looks like he's purchased a whole garden just for her.

"Okay, let's go now." He grips the flowers tighter. He thinks that he is finally ready.

It's only a few more moments before Shane screams out again for the driver to halt the taxi. He panics. He'd been confined to the small coffee shop for so long and talking to Nate was the first time he's had a conversation in six years. Now he's flown half way across the country to visit her again but now he's not so sure he wants to. It's all too overwhelming for the former celebrity.

"Shane, what's wrong?"

"I can't do this. Not--not now. I can't."

Then he jumps out of the car and races down the street with tears running down his cheeks and sadness in his eyes.

--

He no longer lives across the almost empty coffee shop located on a forgotten corner somewhere in one of the fifty states of America. Now he's the proud owner of an apartment located half way across the country from the place where he used to live.

He's lonely. It's been weeks since he's last spoken to his former best friend.

But recently, he's been coming to visit the former best friend's former girlfriend every day now. It's calming, to be able to talk to someone who won't bite your head off when you're only trying to be of assistance.

Today he's making his 58th trip to see her. Unknown to him, it's also his last.

Nate steps out of his newly-bought truck, runs a hand through his bushy hair and starts walking.

A familiar gravestone that he knows reads Michelle Torres comes into view. And in front of it lies an even more familiar mug, recently placed because it wasn't there yesterday. It's a light pink and there are daisies hand-painted on the side by a fifteen year old girl. They're as bright as her smile once was.

--

Fin.