Perfect. A word used to describe those who excel in a particular subject to the point where you can’t help but feel jealous. This word, coincidently, carries many burdens along with it. Perfection can never be reached; it is a hidden connotation within the word. Therefore, to say someone is perfect is to say they have reached an unreachable level. The pressure this places on said “perfect” person is unbelievable, and the effects seem invisible to “normal” people. All it would take to change this is one person; someone who is willing to reach out and help this “perfect” individual realise perfection is a work of fiction.

~*~

“Oi, Tom, hurry up!” a shout travels up the staircase to said blonde’s ears, “quit being so perfect.”

Tom sighs, looking into the mirror with heavy chocolate eyes. “I’m coming,” he calls out, slipping his glasses on quickly and adjusting them.

The blonde shakes his head, walking out of the bathroom slowly, his sock-clad feet padding against the plush carpet.

“Hey Tom,” a Northern accent draws his attention upwards, a smiling, freckled brunette in front of him.

“Hey Dan.” His voice is small, timid, uncertainly hidden in every syllable. The brunette gazes at his friend, blue eyes searching to meet brown.

“You alright, mate?” he questions, not too sure what has afflicted the blonde.

“M’fine,” Tom replies, avoiding the intense cerulean gaze.

Danny reaches out an arm, patting Tom on the back reassuringly. “I know you’re not, but I’m not going to press you. I’m here for you, you know?”

Tom nods, slipping out of Danny’s one-armed embrace and down the stairs quickly. He pads down the stairs to be met with the sight of his two bandmates chatting quietly on the couch, Dougie with a jelly doughnut that seemed dangerously close to leaking the purple substance on the couch. They stop as soon as Harry spots Tom, a grin on his face.

“Hey Tom, fancy going out tonight?” the elder of the two asks. Dougie nods and Tom fidgets from their stares.

“I dunno, I think I’ll just stay in. I’ve got some stuff I have to do anyway,” the blonde replies, turning as he hears Danny thundering down the stairs.

“Of course you’re coming tonight, Thomarse. Why wouldn’t you want to go and get completely plastered?” the brunette pats him on the back friendly, giving him a wide smile.

“I dunno, Dan. I’m just gonna stay in.”

“C’mon, Tom!” he retorts, keeping his hand on the blonde’s back. “It’ll be fun!”

“Okay,” he sighs, brown eyes scanning the others.

“Ohellllllllo Tommy-boy!” a drunken voice meets his ears. He turns and sees Dougie, his eyes glazed from a combination of too much alcohol and the bright lights hitting him from above, where strobe lights swirl rapidly.

“You’re drunk, Doug.” A gross understatement. He’s drunker than a monkey on helium from one of those birthday balloons, if he’s to be honest.

The younger man shakes his head. “No, m’not. M’perfectly fine.” He stumbles, grabbing onto the bar for support. Tom rolls his eyes, hoping he won’t have to be the designated driver once again.

“M’going to go dance, alrighty?”

“Go on then, Doug.”

Tom shuts his eyes, closing off that stupid, right voice.

“Tom?” an all-too familiar voice interrupts his mental crisis. “You alright?”

“Yeh.”

“Liar.”

Tom turns around to be met with the face that plagued his dreams.

“Dan, I’m fine. I think I’m just going to go home.” His voice is worn, and the brunette figures he’s not really telling the truth.

“Liar.”

The elder narrows his eyes, frustrated. “I’m fine, alright?! Leave me alone!” Moving past the younger of the two, he briskly runs to the exit, where he’s suddenly in an alley. Trash cans overflow, everything from empty Marmite jars to cheese graters scattered on the ground.