we can start out loving like it’s breathing (come get me if your heart is a bad thing) (part two)
we can start out loving like it’s breathing (come get me if your heart is a bad thing) (part two)
~ ~ ~ day nine ~ ~ ~
tom was in no way prepared to wake with sean’s head on his shoulder. what had happened a handful of hours earlier rushed back to him, and the last thing that he remembered was sneaking back into the van like a teenager who’d broken curfew and was praying his parents would stay asleep. he wasn’t sure what to do, because it wasn’t like he could just sit back and go back to sleep with sean’s head on his shoulder, but he couldn’t exactly watch sean sleep, no matter how peaceful he looked. he tentatively leaned his head on sean’s. he didn’t stir. tom hadn’t entirely made a decision one way or another when something flew through the air and hit sean in the chest.
“nice throw, lucky luciani!” mike called.
“sorry! i was aiming for tom.” on sean’s lap was an on-the-go bowl of wheat chex.
“what’s the story, morning glory?” sean mumbled, voice smoky with sleep. the band was in various states of wakefulness, some shedding layers, some putting on layers, and some sleeping. the morning noises continued until they were ready to depart and al remained asleep.
“y’know how we say al will fall asleep anywhere? well, he will .”
“like this one time we were in the thunderdome and i went to go check something and i came back and al was sleeping in the chair i’d left him in, like, a minute ago. he was totally out.” al had stirred at the first mention of his name, and as he blinked awake, he thought about the time max was talking about.
“sleeping beauty has awoken!” ryan shouted.
“hey, in my defense, i was out late with ryan and sean - was sean there?” sean answered in the affirmative. “because luciani here likes to drink for holidays he doesn’t even celebrate, like cinco de mayo,” there were laughs all around and ryan shrugged.
“it’s true.”
“so ‘cause i was up all night with them, i fell asleep in the thunderdome.”
“actually, i’d like to interrupt. you fell asleep for about an hour on a park bench that night. that’s getting some sleep.” ryan was smug in his logic. it was never too early for smugness.
“oh. i don’t remember that. did i try to make friends with the hobo and the tree again?”
“you did.”
~ ~ ~ day ten ~ ~ ~
“you’re not my girlfriend.” max said, after the door to the apartment was opened to reveal a slim girl with candy-coloured hair. she was clad in an oversized t-shirt proclaiming that she was born this way, leopard print leggings and little else.
“excellent observational skills. must be what becca sees in you, maxwell.” rainn said drily.
“i want you to know, you’re the only person in the world who calls me maxwell.”
“well, i do like to be original.” rainn said with a shrug and a laugh before giving max a hug. becca, a petite, doe-eyed blonde, appeared over her shoulder and tom could only imagine the way max’s face lit up. becca was accidentally wearing the same plaid shirt as max was, only tied at the waist, and they both found it hilarious. rainn greeted everyone else with her customary bear hug while max kissed becca almost as if he was worried he’d break her. tom thought it looked like something straight out of cinema.
they all fit quite comfortably in the living room. in true collegiate fashion, they were sans couches, but had instead an array of futons and beanbag chairs, and a non sequitur rocking chair. they hadn’t been there but ten minutes when becca ran off and came back with an acoustic guitar. it was one of the ones max had outgrown. he had begun to teach her how to play and each time he saw her, she couldn’t wait to show him how much she’d improved.
“i’m getting really good!” she exclaimed, sitting back in her place on the rug, indian-style, and treating them to a song. it was an original song and she had a good voice; high and sweet. though her fingers slipped over the strings, she was good at transitioning and the guitar provided a nice sound to go along with her vocals. when she was done, sean offered her some tips with his newfound confidence.
“c’mon, sean, you promised last time.” rainn cajoled. sean agreed and took the too-small guitar from becca with a somewhat bashful smile. “he’s going to play bad romance. ” rainn’s grin displayed her excitement. with ryan on percussion, sean strummed and sang, voice curving over the words with a breathiness that stole the ait right out of tom’s chest. sean got up to the second verse before he repeated the chorus.
“that’s all i’ve got. ryan plays it kind of a lot.” he said, by way of explanation as to how he’d come to know the song. there was a smattering of applause and rainn began to request another song but becca stopped her, for fear she’d teach him lady gaga’s entire discography and make him play it.
“give the poor guy a break.” the felix the cat clock reminded them that the hour was getting late. they stayed up for as long as becca would allow, considering they all had to get an early start the following morning. they turned off the lights so sean could tell the ghost stories everyone had said were the best, swapping tales until they let sleep settle over them.
~ ~ ~ day eleven ~ ~ ~
“so why don’t you ever talk?” tom wrapped two hands around a hot-pavement warm mug of coffee - when was the last time he’d had the luxury of coffee in a mug and not a cheap paper cup? - as he tilted his head and asked sean casually the question he’d been wanting to know the answer to for a while. sean seemed to have his nose constantly in a book, or even multiple books, and didn’t tend to participate in the chatter that came from spending long hours with each other. sean brought only his favourite books on tour; they reminded him of home, kept him grounded. they were dog-earred and that made tom smile. though tom did notice a steady theme, similar to max with music greats: ask him any question about any book and it would be hard to get him to shut up.
it was early, tom estimated, and the stillness of morning seemed to set a certain tone on them, a sort of lethargy that made every question valid to ask, that made anything seem possible. sean leaned forward, elbows on the table making the uneven table leg squeak, as he answered tom’s question. tom leaned in as well, so that their elbows were nearly touching over the small tabletop, his excuse that he was still half-asleep at the ready, if need be, for any unexpected visitors.
“i do talk.” he replied, eye contact making tom glad he was already in a chair, because if he hadn’t been, he’d probably have lost all function in his legs. it felt strangely intimate, this being-the-only-ones-up thing; they were so close that the steam and smell of sean’s tea in the chipped teacup wafted up to tom’s nose and he imagined that he could smell it on sean’s lips as he talked. it was chai with milk, not sean’s usual green, because becca had only had chai and sean’s had been in the van. tom liked this about sean, the necessity of the tea: that seemingly solid sean had such a fragile part of him.
“well, i know you’re not mute, but you don’t really contribute.” tom said curiously, gently. the last thing he wanted to do was make sean uncomfortable, and with sean, a lot of the time he couldn’t tell how sean felt. sean sat back and sipped his tea, as if rolling tom’s words around in his head. the dreamy light through the window cast hazy brightness on everything it could reach, and tom observed its effects on sean’s pensive profile.
“you know how they say high school never ends? well, that’s true, i think. who you are in high school…it’s hard to rid yourself of that once you’re in the real world. so it’s always something that’s just stuck with me all this time. in high school i was that quiet kid, the fly on the wall, the one who didn’t speak unless spoken to. there’s always one. it wasn’t that i didn’t have anything to say, it was that i’d always been afraid to say it.” tom had had his fair share of reclusiveness in high school, so he knew how this was: you didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or want to sound stupid by speaking your mind so you didn’t say anything at all. “i guess i’ve just been quiet all this time, it’s become habit.
“music has really helped me find my voice, so to speak. being in this band, it’s really changed me. when you’re presenting these songs to these guys, especially because they don’t like to show me any mercy when i write stuff that’s sometimes really crappy, you need to feel strong, you need to feel confident. because they will tear you apart, and if you can’t feel comfortable with them, your friends, how are you gonna ever feel comfortable with anyone?
“it’s like - like when people tell you their dreams. when people tell you their dreams, they’re being honest with you in a way that they wouldn’t in normal conversation. music is a way for me to tell my story without having to tell it. and sometimes they aren’t my stories, they’re someone else’s. but the sentiment is the same.i use my words, but in the songs.” sean took a breath, a gulp of his tea.
“but you’re so confident onstage.”
“ah. the crowd makes me confident. singing those songs, just being up there - that makes me confident. it’s not me. it’s all them.” this was the most tom had heard sean say while not on a stage, and he wished desperately that sean would speak more, wished he knew how much wisdom he had to impart on the world, that he would feel confident enough to convey it. tom knew one day sean would get there.
tom stood up, feeling like he was in slow motion, or underwater, and crossed the few steps to where sean sat, feet hooked around the chair legs, fingers creating a nervous rhythm on the table. the caffeinated properties of the tea hadn’t kicked in yet, and sean yawned, looking pretty close to sleep, despite the conversation they’d just had. instilled with a peculiar but definite sort of confidence, for sean had actually confided in him, tom took sean’s face in his hands and kissed him, four-day beard scratchy against his palms. sean was quick to reciprocate, hands finding their place circled around tom’s wrists. tom felt that same swept-away feeling he’d had the first time he’d seen empires play live; like their hands on each other, their lips on each other’s were the only things keeping him anchored to earth. they were still exchanging sleepy kisses when rainn walked in.
“well, well, well. aren’t we the picture of guilt. you guys look like deer in headlights.” she laughed. two pairs of eyes snapped toward her, two faces looked like they’d been caught stealing. “don’t worry, i won’t spill the beans, as long as you don’t tell becca i’m going to eat the last danish.” tom’s knee-jerk reaction was to tell her it was not a secret, but he restrained himself once he realized that he wasn’t actually sure if it was or it wasn’t. rainn rubbed her eyes, which then lit up at the sight of the pastry she’d called claim over. she snatched it up off the counter and peeled the bakery paper off carefully, so as not to disturb it. by the look on her face as she chewed, you’d have thought she hadn’t eaten in days. “so - why are you guys up so early anyway? aside from, y’know, the obvious ‘alone time’.” rainn made quotation marks with her sticky fingertips; a blush crawled up from the neck of sean’s t-shirt and he looked down in an attempt at hiding it.
“check the sink.” tom stepped in. rainn shot him a slightly baffled look and placed her danish down reluctantly.
“get out. you didn’t. ” tom just smiled. her hands flew to her face as she as she took in the empty sink, the dishes stacked neatly beside it. he’d only dropped one. in tom’s experience, if you did the dishes at a host’s house, especially if they were your dirty dishes to begin with, they’d always have you back. he figured empires needed all the help they could get. “i hate dish duty! bec and i fight about it every single time because we both hate it. you must be psychic or something, thank you!” rainn threw her arms around him and when she released him, rainn practically shouted, “i don’t care who called it last night, you are so getting the first shower!”
“no problem.” tom said, and meant it. rainn rummaged through the fridge, picking out a piece of bread and scarfing it down as she perched herself on the edge of the counter.
“ so, you ready to rough it?” sean asked, a teasing edge to his voice as he pointed a wobbly finger, addressing her.
“of course i am.” rainn said with typical false bravado, words somewhat garbled because of her chewing.
“says the girl who can’t go six hours without her hair dryer.” sean’s eyes proclaimed mischief and tom was enjoying this, head turning from one and then the other. rainn’s mouth dropped open in mock dramatics.
“well, i never! you underestimate me, van vleet. i’ve been camping .”
“where, in your backyard?” tom added, feeling bold. rainn stuck her tongue out at him.
“you take that back! i’ll revoke your shower privileges.”
“anything but that. sorry.” tom did his best to look contrite.
“accepted. now, who wants more coffee? you haven’t lived until you’ve tried mine.”
~ ~ ~
“so this one time, we got referred to this guy, he was a photographer and a stylist. so we hook up with him, right, he does his thing, picks out clothes for us, y’know, gels al’s hair, and then he wants to cut max’s. and you know stylists, you give them a finger, they’ll take a hand. and look at it, it’s a national treasure. so we said -” sean interrupted.
“ryan goes up to the dude and he says, very seriously, ‘we can handle you dressing us up in these clothes, we can handle you giving sean this lame emo swoop thing, but you are not cutting max’s hair. no way.’ and then we left.” everyone laughed riotously, despite the early hour.
“you just left?” tom was incredulous, trying to fit the pieces of this story with the empires he’d come to know.
“well, yeah, we didn’t really like him, he didn’t really seem to get us as a band.”
“he just totally missed the boat.” sean added.
“what did you tell your friend?” tom asked.
“we kinda bluffed it. we told her it went fine, that she’d see the photos soon.” ryan shrugged. “we hope she forgot.”
world of bagels wasn’t too crowded; a cluster of high school kids polished off plates of waffles in a corner booth, and a few elderly men sat at the counter placing bets on sports scores. the wait-staff inexplicably had roller skates as part of their uniform, and it was amusing to watch the little bagels on the wheels spin. their presumed waitress had been on her way over to them when her skate caught on something and she fell hard on the linoleum. ryan rushed to help her up, and from there, it was quite obvious to everyone at the table that ryan was a goner. she tried to shake off her blush as she glided over to them, but she couldn’t hide it as she came to a halt by the table.
“i’m new here." cjaye explained. she insisted that she was okay, that the only thing hurt had been her pride, and with that, she asked if they were ready to order. they had agreed on a platter beforehand, that way they’d be able to split the bill and everyone could share. the chatter had just begun again when she approached them again, finger wagging. “y’all tried to trick me with your little humility act, but you can’t fool me... i saw right through it. you’re kings of leon!”
“who?” becca asked. she was elbowed sharply by rainn, who had a feeling that something really entertaining was about to happen, and she didn’t want to miss it. the group exchanged glances, but ryan and max spoke up.
“yes, that would be us.” max supplied.
“you caught us.” ryan grinned at her apologetically, shooting them all a look that said, let me do the talking.
“oh, wow.” cjaye gushed. “i play your music all the time.” cjaye swayed as she held on gently to the table for balance, fingers inches away from ryan’s. “but wait, where’s your tour bus?”
“budget cuts. the label gets you with everything.” ryan said smoothly. there were a few muffled snickers. cjaye didn’t notice a thing; she and ryan were looking at each other like they were the only ones there.
“and no security?”
“well, it’s early in the morning-” al improvised, despite ryan’s desire to take the lead in this situation.
“mike! mike’s our bodyguard.” ryan practically yelled, smiling at his own genius. cjaye laughed, not realizing how long it took mike to catch on and reply.
“i keep away the crazy people.” mike said casually.
“he’s got a knife.” rainn put in. mike gave her a look.
“have you ever had to use it?” after she took off her hat, cjaye patted her newly short hair, acknowledging that there were other people at the booth aside from ryan.
“there were these guys once, this group of guys just approaches us and they’re real creepy lookin’ guys, and they start offering us drugs and we’re like, no thanks, and they would just not go away -”ryan interrupted mike, having not expected mike to be perfectly talented at going along with their charade.
“did you just get a haircut?” he asked cjaye.
“you like it?” she giggled, tucking her pixie cut behind her ear.
“yeah, it looks good.”
“it was this long before. how’d you know? ” she pointed out a spot in the middle of her ribs.
“you keep touching it. i used to have these bangs and for the first three weeks after i got them cut, i kept touching my forehead and you know what you do when you’ve got hair in your eyes and i would just keep shaking my head and there’d be nothing there. it’s weird, right?”
“so weird. so where did ya’ll tour last?" ryan was so enamored by her accent that it took a shove from max and a whispered, “dude, she asked you a question,” for him to remember the topic.
“we actually just finished up a tour in australia, so that was pretty awesome. a little nuts, but awesome.” rainn, al, and max clapped their hands over their mouths, presumably to prevent a bad “down under” joke, a loud chuckle, or the truth. “i think someone needs you.” ryan pointed to someone behind the counter who’d been frantically trying to get cjaye’s attention for the past minute. cjaye went to attend to the man, and ryan was relieved that no one mentioned the way he’d adapted a strange, manly laugh in an attempt to conceal his braying, the absolute bane of his existence. they chattered about other things, sidestepping the obvious we are not kings of leon, this is so mean but so funny, aware that cjaye could overhear them and then the jig would be up. several times as she rolled by, ryan turned on the charm, winking and smiling and hoping it looked as he’d intended, not like he had something in his eye, like a contact lens. miraculously, she stayed steady on her feet the whole way through.
cjaye came back ten minutes later with their food. the restaurant had begun to fill up, a family with sextuplets demanding six high chairs and a clan of impatient tourists tying up the attentions of the world of bagels staff. cjaye couldn’t stay to talk much longer, and the band was grateful that she didn’t seem to be telling the entire world their “ true identities.” she was the kind of girl who didn’t like to draw a lot of attention to herself.
when cjaye returned with the check, she also carried a polaroid instax camera at her hip. she shrugged sheepishly and explained.
“we like to get pictures of our famous patrons. we don’t get ‘em a lot, but we sometimes do, because...well, you know, you ordered them. we’re kind of famous for our pumpkin pancakes.”
“not a problem. by the way, those pancakes were possibly the best thing my mouth has ever greeted.” ryan said. she took the photo, flash nearly blinding them; their smiles were genuine due to the absolute absurdity of the situation. ryan pocketed her name and number, prim script on a paper napkin.
once they were in the van, they could not contain their laughter any longer.
“hey, guys, do you think she’ll notice, that we're not actually the kings of leon?"
“probably." tom answered.
“do you think she’ll be mad?"
“probably."
“should i still call her?"
“probably not."
~ ~ ~
tom and empires had become fast friends. in time, tom was included in the group huddles, arms around him on either side, as they all vowed to make this show the best yet before they yelled the requisite, “ wildcard!" they held the phrase, “if you’re not going up, you’re going down,” close to their chests, and they constantly tried to be better. if you’d asked tom, he would have said he was getting a bit tired of the platitude, but admitted that it was a good one, a worthwhile thing to value, and tom admired that in them. with al on his left and sean on his right, tom acknowledged that this was the first time in a long time he’d felt truly happy. they remembered things for each other, like coffee orders. tom liked this, needed this; someone to remember things for him so he, in turn, could remember something for them. the motel arrangements had been decided long before tom was in the picture, but he didn’t mind sharing with max and mike, watching die hard and eating the popcorn ryan had made such a fuss about yesterday.
the incessant crunching had driven ryan to his wit‘s end.
“i swear, if i have to smell, hear, or see that orville what-the-fuck-ever once more time, i’m throwing it all out.” max retaliated by throwing a handful of popcorn in ryan’s general direction. ryan tossed one ratty skater shoe over the middle rows.
“what was that?” max shouted, ducking.
“you threw popcorn at me!”
“you threw your shoe at me! how is that fair?”
“well, i didn’t have anything else to throw!” al calmed them down, max had agreed to lay off the popcorn within ten yards of ryan, and peace was restored.
there was no other bickering on the tour; at least tom hadn’t seen any. and that amazed him.
~ ~ ~
if not for cursory glances at their clasped hands, sean would have thought that no one had noticed that he and tom had become he&tom. except for max. max had seen them whispering by the van in the dusk, exchanging smiles like they knew a secret; they were practically attached at the hip and they didn’t seen to be hiding it.
“sean, can i talk to you?’
“sure.”
“alone?” max led sean to the parking lot and sucked in a breath before he began. sean knew that it had to be important because max wasn’t meeting his eyes; they were trained on his scuffed sneakers instead. “i know you’re an adult and i know you can make your own decisions, but i just couldn’t let this be without saying anything. i’m your friend and i think that makes it my business. this thing with tom…it just feels a little to me like bad timing.” max paused. “you know i think tom’s great, i just don’t think you’re looking too far ahead at this because sometimes you’re like that and i think you’re going to end up hurt again and don’t get me wrong, heartbreak is a great muse, but...” max’s failed attempt at a joke did not coax a smile out of sean or ease the uncharacteristic tension. “i just don’t see how this can end well. i mean, like, what is he gonna say when bill calls and asks how his day was? ‘oh, it was great, i got to have romantic alone time with sean today!’?”
max knew sean was hearing him, knew he was trying to listen in a way that was as unbiased as possible. that was just how sean was. max wasn’t exactly sure what sean’s silence meant, but based on experience, it was probably due to him mulling over what max had said.
sean heard max, he did, but he felt a strong, stubborn defensiveness, because the facts were that max was telling him things he already knew and was trying to forget; he was silent because he didn’t know what else to be. how could he possibly explain to max that being with tom made him feel like the person he’d always aspired to be, made him feel, more than anyone else had, like he knew who he was? how could he explain adequately that intoxicating, exhilarating, blinding new love feeling? and moreover, how could he expect max to understand?
“i just want you to think about it, okay?” max knew sean didn’t have to heed his advice - he would be there to pick up the pieces in any case - but he didn’t want to leave this without feeling like he’d at least tried. he felt like things could become awkward now so he wanted to curb it before it began.
max shoved his hands into his pockets as he stumbled over an apology.
“i don’t want this to be one of those things…i don’t want you to feel-”
“it’s okay, max. we’re family. but the worst mistake anyone can make is being afraid to make one. and right now, i need to make this mistake.” max’s heart broke a little at how earnest sean sounded, how damn sure of himself. the clickclickclick of tom’s shutter brought them back. he walked up to them, camera heavy around his neck, snaked an arm around sean’s waist.
“something wrong?” tom asked, at the serious looks on their faces.
“there’s supposed to be a big turnout tonight. sean’s a little nervous.” max lied. tom frowned. this seemed almost like sacrilege; the idea of sean being nervous was absurd.
“well, don’t be. you’ve killed it every show so far.”
“how are the fish biting?” this was something that sean had started and tom didn’t know why or how, though he thought it was endearing. sean would ask it when he saw tom taking pictures. tom didn’t usually let people examine his photos before they’d undergone the revisions they needed, if any. he would feel exposed, like they were viewing a work in progress. but he showed them the ones he’d just taken anyway, max and sean in silhouette.
“ryan! stop asking those girls how much they’d pay you to take your shirt off! we need to go inside!” they heard al call in the distance, so they followed him in.
~ ~ ~ day fifteen ~ ~ ~
as of a few days ago, tom had decided that when the day came, he’d follow sean’s lead. if sean was backing away a little, he would too. he woke with a distinct heaviness in his chest but since sean was acting like nothing would change, tom just squeezed his hand a little bit harder, kissed his lips a little longer and wished he could stop time.
tom’s last day was one of those rare rushed days where there seemed so much to do and so little time to do it in. and he was needed - ryan had slept funny, despite max’s warning, so they were out a pair of hands. they’d gotten to the venue later than expected, so by the time tom had his bearings together to leave, it was close to soundcheck. the show was in new york city, so tom planned to leave before the show, for fear if he said his goodbyes after the show, he’d never end up going at all.
“ordinarily, i would take this moment to profess my deep and undying love for you and describe in detail how much of a miserable wreck i’m going to be for the rest of the tour, but we only have a few minutes until soundcheck, and besides, you’ve probably heard it all before." ryan’s parting words made tom laugh, which had been the goal: to make something sure to be difficult a little easier.
“it’s been fun, man. be wary of those waitresses. they’ll get you every time.” ryan hugged tom with the same enthusiasm he did everything else, letting go once max tapped him on the shoulder, wanting his turn. “keep making me proud, all right?” tom found himself getting more emotional than he’d expected when he hugged max. it was odd, how tom and the rest felt about max. always, always, they felt they were looking up, rather than down, to max. at the same time, they were all so protective of max, because he was the baby of the band, after all. tom’s brotherly affection for max had increased the more tom had gotten to know him and he knew he’d miss max’s spouts of wisdom and how he seemed to be prepared for anything.
“you’ll work on that driving, right?” al poked fun at tom as max went off to do the last-minute things he needed to. back at the beginning, tom had admitted to the guys that he was pretty much the worst driver ever. it wasn’t that he didn’t want to drive: it was a safety precaution for him to pass on driving duties. instead of the reaction he’d expected, one that would end with them, at the very least, making him drive for a little bit to prove his skills or lack thereof, they simply shrugged it off and said they’d find something else for him to do.
“by the next time i see you.”
“and there will be a next time.” al promised. tom didn’t realize how nervous he was until he finished his goodbyes and all there was left was sean, and then there he was, right in front of him and tom had to remind himself to breathe. he saw sean’s flush and wondered if he was the one who put it there.
he hugged sean because he was afraid that if he kissed him that he, they, wouldn’t be able to stop; or worse: wouldn’t want to stop. he hoped sean understood this. afterward, tom didn’t know what to do with his hands so he put them in his pockets. that felt too casual so he put one in and one out. and then sean took them, hands warm in his. the unspoken words increased the space between them. even sean, eloquent when he did speak, seemed at a loss for words. at least, the right ones, the ones tom wanted to hear.
i wish we had more time
i wish i could stay
so why don’t you?
“don’t forget me.” tom knew that over time the memories would fade, but it would be impossible to forget sean. “call me sometime, okay?” sean’s voice was purposely noncommittal, as if sean just wanted tom to call merely so he could hear his voice, no strings attached.
“i don’t have your number.” tom’s voice was quiet, somewhat sheepish. he pulled out his phone and got up to sea- before his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t finish. he handed the phone to sean, who programmed the number.
it shouldn’t have shocked sean as much as it did that the phrase that popped into his head as he watched tom walk away was something max had said: heartbreak’s great inspiration. he knew it more than anyone.
~ ~ ~
it took bill two days to figure it out, and another two days for him to present tom with the information.
“you’ve been kissing someone else.” bill said, matter-of-factly, not accusingly, and tom knew there was no use in denying it. he was a shitty liar anyway. instead he asked,
“how did you know?” bill chuckled humorlessly.
“i know these things, tom. i do. i can tell.” bill sat down, almost as if admitting defeat. it wasn’t that bill never got angry; he just showed it differently. there were no big blowups or clenched fists or voices raised so high it seemed they would shake the doorframe. rather, bill used quiet, biting sarcasm and remarks that made you cringe with their painful truth. there had been none of that this time. tom stared down at bill and bill closed his eyes until he could force out, “leave. please.” tom knew better than to ask any questions and packed some things quickly, (tour had made him a pro) as well as his laptop so he could at least get some work done of the tour photos. tom left, sean’s lyrics in his head with every step: “does anybody else know you like i do?”
tom sat in a bookstore the next day, mooched off the free wi-fi and sorted photos until the store closed. he tried to view the photos as objectively as possible, which was admittedly difficult, considering the intimacy of the past month, with the whole band, not only sean. his throat betrayed him, breath catching as he re-lived certain moments. one afternoon, max had picked up one of tom’s cameras and put on his aviators, doing his best impression of tom, clicking a dozen blurry photos as quickly as he could. tom had kept them, kept everything always, in case there was something he could salvage. “hi, tom, it’s - it’s me, i w-wanted to speak to you tonight so if you could come by around nine, that would be good, thanks.” he’d gotten a call from bill around six o’clock; he had conquered his stutter long ago, but he lapsed back into it when he was nervous. it made him recall fifth-period english class, bill struggling to read aloud, trying to sound confident. look at him now.
~ ~ ~
they took seats across from each other, at the new set of chairs and a table they had bought to replace their previous back-alley finds. the apartment wasn’t tom’s, never had been, and he hadn’t ever felt it more than he had at that moment. tom wasn’t sure what he’d expected bill to say, so he couldn’t tell if he felt surprised when bill began with,
“i lost you a long time ago, didn’t i?” tom’s eyes traveled to bill’s lips, quirked in a wistful smile; he felt something in his gut and he knew that bill was absolutely right.
later, tom lay back in his hotel bed and recounted the day. talking to bill had made him feel sick to his stomach but at the same time, liberated. he was used to such contradictions. they’d communicated, really communicated; ironically, in the way their relationship had been so sorely missing. they admitted that to themselves, as well. long-buried realizations were unearthed, things they wished they’d told each other before, things they hadn’t realized they’d secretly seen eye to eye on. they had been clinging to the relationship because it had defined them, as the band had, and like a burr, it hadn’t been easy to detach from. bill hadn’t felt tom’s quiet resentment about the move to new york, and was surprised, in fact, when tom admitted his distaste for it. naturally, he felt terrible, but this time it was tom’s turn for wistfulness: there was nothing that could be done about it now.
~ ~ ~
it ended with a text message: seventy-four little electronic characters that changed tom’s life.
to: sean van vleet hey, it’s tom. i’m thinking about flying in next week to visit friends. can i crash by you?
tom had sent the message trying not to think too much of it, and when he got the response, he clicked read now eagerly, for fear if he didn’t open it immediately, he’d spend the next hour staring at the phone.
yeah, sure. do you want to call me when you have more information? tom knew very well what he was saying with his initiation: he could have asked someone else. tom had chosen him, and sean knew it as well.
excellent. i’ll call you.
~ ~ ~
sean met tom at the airport, a welcome face after many strangers. tom was surprised by the familiarity of it, considering the short time they’d known each other. they hugged quickly; a handshake seemed too formal and a kiss not right.
in the car, tom was babbling without realizing it, about plane rides and cameras and broken records. sean was amused, glances darting back and forth between tom and the road. tom was nervous, to be with sean, in these close quarters
“oh, man, i’m sorry. bill and i broke up.” the smile faded from sean’s face, and he glanced at tom more frequently. tom told sean about how it had been after the breakup: there was no way he could have made motels his home until he decided where to go, so he had moved back in with bill. they were in a rather peculiar stage, a walking-on-eggshells of sorts, and tom explained how odd it was to suddenly be polite to each other, courteous to the point of awkwardness. more than once, they had come to the quandary of who should exit or enter first.
“it was like we’d turned into strangers. like we’d completely regressed. very surreal.” tom allowed himself a small digression, something he‘d meant to say at first, but the thoughts had gotten stuck in his throat. “i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. i’ve seen that dance,” tom stopped himself. “i mean, i’ve seen it with other people, and i don’t like it. kind of tiptoeing around, ‘can i say this,’ ‘can i go there or will it be a reminder?’ no, i just want you to feel comfortable. if you want to ask something, i want you to ask.”
“just tell me this. was it because of me?” tom hesitated.
“we were on our way out anyway.” tom cringed at the cliche’ but knew with painful clarity: the cliche’s were always the truest.
~ ~ ~
it wasn’t really necessary for sean to explain sheepishly that he didn’t have guests all too often, and also that he hadn’t had time to clean up: that was quite clear from the state of his apartment. the obvious thing to notice first was the books. tom couldn’t really say he was surprised in the slightest. there were piles and piles. some were small and neatly, evenly stacked, while others were teetering haphazardly in a way that made tom want to hurry over and prop them up against something. they seemed to be taking over the apartment like ants to a picnic. they weren’t limited in scope; decades-old books rubbed covers with shiny ones with spines that hadn’t yet been cracked. he glanced at the low-set table in the middle of the living room; books formed a semi-circle on the edge of it, but there seemed to be a thick one in the middle designated for a purpose. it looked like a dog had gotten hold of it, ripped pages barely attached still. tom guessed that that was what sean was currently reading.
“there’s an order there, i swear!” sean was clearly referring to his bookshelf. it was a tall one, almost as high as the ceiling, and whatever its capacity was, sean had definitely exceeded it. the front and back rows on each shelf were right-side up, but for every book sitting in its proper place, there were two that were poking out or stuck on the shelf in an odd way. next to the shelf sat a scratched black end table with a record player perched on it. the best of sam cooke was off rotation in the player and a box was nestled under the table, housing sean’s collection of records. by the looks of it, they were as motley as his library.
“this is like the definition of organized chaos. i’ll take your word on the organized part, though.” tom said, laughing as he looked around a bit more. once his eyes had scanned the surfaces peeking out from sean’s disarrayed library, he could see that there was another layer to this seeming mess. they weren’t as abundant as the books were, but articles of clothing seemed to be inching in on the books’ territory. they weren’t strewn about like they’d been discarded in a trail on the way to the bedroom, more like sean had done several loads of laundry and had gotten distracted while sorting it. minus the laundry baskets, because there didn’t seem to be any around. everywhere tom looked there seemed to be a shirt hanging off something, or a pair of jeans that had been folded but then left underneath the table, or, in one case, on top of the television with the smashed screen. tom would get the story about that later.
“i haven’t quite unpacked from tour. the past couple of tours, actually. it’s one of those things that i always mean to do but always forget. what can i say, i guess it’s not my number one priority.” sean shrugged. “ready for the grand tour?” he asked, with more than a little irony.
first, sean showed tom the room where he would be sleeping; simply furnished with light purple walls, a colour sean insisted had come with the apartment when he’d gotten it. sean’s instruments, some in cases, some without, took up a lot of the space, but tom didn’t mind, as sean offered to move them. tom didn’t know where he would have been able to put them, in any case. the bathroom was surprisingly clean and clutter-free, though sean admitted that at one point he had been using the shower as a makeshift closet for some books. following that was sean’s bedroom, smaller than the other bedroom, a somewhat unsightly yellow paint coating the walls. again, sean insisted that it hadn’t been his choice. a wilting plant strained for muted sunlight on the sill, a casualty of sean’s erratic schedule. a collection of glossy music magazines sat in a corner, but other than that, the room was pretty impersonal. the unmade bed and suitcase at the foot of the bed were what made it sean’s.
the kitchen was clearly sean’s workspace. composition notebooks and a legal padhad been placed on the table alongside an ink-stained mug full of writing utensils. a stool replaced a chair at the table.
“it has to be clean, otherwise i can’t think at all. the lights suck in here, though,” sean said, pointing up at the flickery muted bulb that shown on them. “i keep meaning to buy better light bulbs. but sometimes i get light from the living room, so it’s okay.” the cabinets were half open, their contents visible. the plates and cups were mismatched and clashing, like the pillows sean had gotten for the couch to make it look better. sean had inherited the kitchenware from a former roommate, and he told tom to use whatever he wanted and to not worry about doing the dishes.
“so this is my humble abode. it’s not much but it gets the job done.”
~ ~ ~
later that night they sat on sean’s couch, continuing the conversation they’d had the night at the beach. sean had his feet propped up on the table (he’d cleared a space) and tom had one leg folded under him. they’d begun with glasses but had eventually abandoned them, trading sips of the bottle, passing it back and forth. it was red wine, cheap but rich and it went down smoothly.
sean had had a roommate prone to violent urges. he hadn't known that at the time he was sharing the space with him and now sean's television was busted, a shoe thrown through it. he now needed someone else to split the rent with. he said he had kept the television because he thought it looked cool and besides, he didn't have the cash to get it fixed.
“so i’m going back on what i was saying. because we’re so infinite, therefore insignificant, it probably seems like you don’t matter. but i think everyone matters. so many ripple effects have happened over time all around one person. you get that especially, with the being in the band. people will come up to me and say, ‘you changed my life,’ and it’s just always a little bit of a shock, like, wow, i matter.”
“i know what you mean. i felt the same way.” a pause settled between them, the cloud over tom’s face making sean unsure of what to say. “how do you do it, the touring thing?” tom got up the guts to ask the question he’d wondered from day one: how they managed to do so effortlessly the one thing he never could.
“what is this, an interview?" sean laughed but composed himself when he saw the genuinely curious expression on tom’s face; like he was pinning all his hopes on this answer. sean sighed, thoughtful. "well, if someone’s in this for the money, let me just say, unless you have the best agent in the world, or talent no one’s seen since the moon landing…you’re not going to make a lot of money. enough to live, but not a lot. i know you’ve heard this a million and a half times, but what it really comes down to is it being a sacrifice for your art. it really depends on how important it is to you. and that importance you place on it, your priorities, that’s what gets you by. that’s all i can say. it’s important to me, so whatever difficulties i encounter, i can endure them because i have a reason to that’s stronger.
“and your band. your band has to be like your family. you have to be able to have fights, to disagree, but be able to not worry, because your relationship will still be the same, maybe even stronger because of it. there can be times when you want to kill each other, but at the end of the day, you have to know who your friends are.” when he turned back, tom was looking down, pulling thread from a small hole in the knee of his jeans, a nervous habit sean recognized. tom picked the bottle up from between their feet and took a drag. “hey. you need a shoulder to cry on?” sean nudged tom gently, breaking his pensive stare; voice teasing but the underlying inflection in his voice making it quite clear that the offer was there.
“only yours.” tom wasn’t drunk, not really, and, heart doing acrobatics in his chest, he knew in full consciousness what he was doing as he kissed sean, moving slowly toward him so he knew what was coming. it felt good, gratifying, to be kissed back. and just like that, they were transported to two weeks ago, when not a thing had mattered and everything had felt infinite. they kissed until they were starry-eyed and breathless, lips purple and pink and swollen. tom wasn’t sure long it’d been before he had to take a moment to catch his breath.
“breathing, that’s good.” tom kind of wanted to slap the smug little smirk off of sean’s face but he would settle for kissing it off. wiseass. he could still breathe. and then tom didn’t have any cause for complaint because sean moved lower, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but sean’s lips on his neck. he couldn’t hold back the little whine that escaped when sean suddenly stopped.
“tom. i have work tomorrow.” sean blurted. “not even tomorrow. in four hours.” sean ran a hand through his hair, somewhat flustered as he fumbled for the right words. “before you, i’d pretty much lost faith in myself, because i would keep getting myself into really shitty relationships. i don’t think we get a choice in who we fall for, we just do. i just happen to fall for the wrong people; i’m unlucky in love. i fall for people i know won’t treat me the way i should be treated. always. whatever the wrong is, it’s like that makes them that much more interesting to me, even though i know i’m going to get hurt. it’s not even like it starts out well and turns sour. it’s turbulent from the start.
“i know i don’t have the best track record, but i have the will and i want to make this work, i do. and i think it’s best to take this slowly, start over a little bit. your thing with bill is still fresh. can we take this slow?”
“a snail’s pace. whatever you want.” they continued where they had left off until tom was the one who pulled away. “now, you’d better stop before i change my mind." tom half-teased and was rewarded with a flash of white teeth as sean laughed. they decided the original sleeping arrangements would be best.
~ ~ ~
the note sean had left on the counter made up for tom’s dismay at his absence once he’d awoken, well into the morning.
hey - i had to leave at six and i didn’t want to wake you. i’ve restocked the kitchen - make yourself at home. call me when you’re up.
sean
i’m glad you’re here.
below, sean had left the address where he could be reached. tom took sean’s suggestion to heart and took out the bag of bagels from the humming refrigerator. he placed one in the toaster and sat at the table with the ragged piece of paper he’d messily penned names, times, and places on back in new york. he decided that he needed to rewrite it because it wouldn’t have helped anyone if he didn’t know where he had to be and when.
he tore a sheet from sean’s legal pad and rewrote the list; meeting sisky and butcher at an old haunt was on the docket for today. frowning, he realized that he still had one day unaccounted for, and after scrolling through his mental rolodex, there wasn’t anyone he’d missed that would be in town. except one. tom scrawled, date with sean, and he smiled.
~ ~ ~ day nine ~ ~ ~
tom was in no way prepared to wake with sean’s head on his shoulder. what had happened a handful of hours earlier rushed back to him, and the last thing that he remembered was sneaking back into the van like a teenager who’d broken curfew and was praying his parents would stay asleep. he wasn’t sure what to do, because it wasn’t like he could just sit back and go back to sleep with sean’s head on his shoulder, but he couldn’t exactly watch sean sleep, no matter how peaceful he looked. he tentatively leaned his head on sean’s. he didn’t stir. tom hadn’t entirely made a decision one way or another when something flew through the air and hit sean in the chest.
“nice throw, lucky luciani!” mike called.
“sorry! i was aiming for tom.” on sean’s lap was an on-the-go bowl of wheat chex.
“what’s the story, morning glory?” sean mumbled, voice smoky with sleep. the band was in various states of wakefulness, some shedding layers, some putting on layers, and some sleeping. the morning noises continued until they were ready to depart and al remained asleep.
“y’know how we say al will fall asleep anywhere? well, he will .”
“like this one time we were in the thunderdome and i went to go check something and i came back and al was sleeping in the chair i’d left him in, like, a minute ago. he was totally out.” al had stirred at the first mention of his name, and as he blinked awake, he thought about the time max was talking about.
“sleeping beauty has awoken!” ryan shouted.
“hey, in my defense, i was out late with ryan and sean - was sean there?” sean answered in the affirmative. “because luciani here likes to drink for holidays he doesn’t even celebrate, like cinco de mayo,” there were laughs all around and ryan shrugged.
“it’s true.”
“so ‘cause i was up all night with them, i fell asleep in the thunderdome.”
“actually, i’d like to interrupt. you fell asleep for about an hour on a park bench that night. that’s getting some sleep.” ryan was smug in his logic. it was never too early for smugness.
“oh. i don’t remember that. did i try to make friends with the hobo and the tree again?”
“you did.”
~ ~ ~ day ten ~ ~ ~
“you’re not my girlfriend.” max said, after the door to the apartment was opened to reveal a slim girl with candy-coloured hair. she was clad in an oversized t-shirt proclaiming that she was born this way, leopard print leggings and little else.
“excellent observational skills. must be what becca sees in you, maxwell.” rainn said drily.
“i want you to know, you’re the only person in the world who calls me maxwell.”
“well, i do like to be original.” rainn said with a shrug and a laugh before giving max a hug. becca, a petite, doe-eyed blonde, appeared over her shoulder and tom could only imagine the way max’s face lit up. becca was accidentally wearing the same plaid shirt as max was, only tied at the waist, and they both found it hilarious. rainn greeted everyone else with her customary bear hug while max kissed becca almost as if he was worried he’d break her. tom thought it looked like something straight out of cinema.
they all fit quite comfortably in the living room. in true collegiate fashion, they were sans couches, but had instead an array of futons and beanbag chairs, and a non sequitur rocking chair. they hadn’t been there but ten minutes when becca ran off and came back with an acoustic guitar. it was one of the ones max had outgrown. he had begun to teach her how to play and each time he saw her, she couldn’t wait to show him how much she’d improved.
“i’m getting really good!” she exclaimed, sitting back in her place on the rug, indian-style, and treating them to a song. it was an original song and she had a good voice; high and sweet. though her fingers slipped over the strings, she was good at transitioning and the guitar provided a nice sound to go along with her vocals. when she was done, sean offered her some tips with his newfound confidence.
“c’mon, sean, you promised last time.” rainn cajoled. sean agreed and took the too-small guitar from becca with a somewhat bashful smile. “he’s going to play bad romance. ” rainn’s grin displayed her excitement. with ryan on percussion, sean strummed and sang, voice curving over the words with a breathiness that stole the ait right out of tom’s chest. sean got up to the second verse before he repeated the chorus.
“that’s all i’ve got. ryan plays it kind of a lot.” he said, by way of explanation as to how he’d come to know the song. there was a smattering of applause and rainn began to request another song but becca stopped her, for fear she’d teach him lady gaga’s entire discography and make him play it.
“give the poor guy a break.” the felix the cat clock reminded them that the hour was getting late. they stayed up for as long as becca would allow, considering they all had to get an early start the following morning. they turned off the lights so sean could tell the ghost stories everyone had said were the best, swapping tales until they let sleep settle over them.
~ ~ ~ day eleven ~ ~ ~
“so why don’t you ever talk?” tom wrapped two hands around a hot-pavement warm mug of coffee - when was the last time he’d had the luxury of coffee in a mug and not a cheap paper cup? - as he tilted his head and asked sean casually the question he’d been wanting to know the answer to for a while. sean seemed to have his nose constantly in a book, or even multiple books, and didn’t tend to participate in the chatter that came from spending long hours with each other. sean brought only his favourite books on tour; they reminded him of home, kept him grounded. they were dog-earred and that made tom smile. though tom did notice a steady theme, similar to max with music greats: ask him any question about any book and it would be hard to get him to shut up.
it was early, tom estimated, and the stillness of morning seemed to set a certain tone on them, a sort of lethargy that made every question valid to ask, that made anything seem possible. sean leaned forward, elbows on the table making the uneven table leg squeak, as he answered tom’s question. tom leaned in as well, so that their elbows were nearly touching over the small tabletop, his excuse that he was still half-asleep at the ready, if need be, for any unexpected visitors.
“i do talk.” he replied, eye contact making tom glad he was already in a chair, because if he hadn’t been, he’d probably have lost all function in his legs. it felt strangely intimate, this being-the-only-ones-up thing; they were so close that the steam and smell of sean’s tea in the chipped teacup wafted up to tom’s nose and he imagined that he could smell it on sean’s lips as he talked. it was chai with milk, not sean’s usual green, because becca had only had chai and sean’s had been in the van. tom liked this about sean, the necessity of the tea: that seemingly solid sean had such a fragile part of him.
“well, i know you’re not mute, but you don’t really contribute.” tom said curiously, gently. the last thing he wanted to do was make sean uncomfortable, and with sean, a lot of the time he couldn’t tell how sean felt. sean sat back and sipped his tea, as if rolling tom’s words around in his head. the dreamy light through the window cast hazy brightness on everything it could reach, and tom observed its effects on sean’s pensive profile.
“you know how they say high school never ends? well, that’s true, i think. who you are in high school…it’s hard to rid yourself of that once you’re in the real world. so it’s always something that’s just stuck with me all this time. in high school i was that quiet kid, the fly on the wall, the one who didn’t speak unless spoken to. there’s always one. it wasn’t that i didn’t have anything to say, it was that i’d always been afraid to say it.” tom had had his fair share of reclusiveness in high school, so he knew how this was: you didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or want to sound stupid by speaking your mind so you didn’t say anything at all. “i guess i’ve just been quiet all this time, it’s become habit.
“music has really helped me find my voice, so to speak. being in this band, it’s really changed me. when you’re presenting these songs to these guys, especially because they don’t like to show me any mercy when i write stuff that’s sometimes really crappy, you need to feel strong, you need to feel confident. because they will tear you apart, and if you can’t feel comfortable with them, your friends, how are you gonna ever feel comfortable with anyone?
“it’s like - like when people tell you their dreams. when people tell you their dreams, they’re being honest with you in a way that they wouldn’t in normal conversation. music is a way for me to tell my story without having to tell it. and sometimes they aren’t my stories, they’re someone else’s. but the sentiment is the same.i use my words, but in the songs.” sean took a breath, a gulp of his tea.
“but you’re so confident onstage.”
“ah. the crowd makes me confident. singing those songs, just being up there - that makes me confident. it’s not me. it’s all them.” this was the most tom had heard sean say while not on a stage, and he wished desperately that sean would speak more, wished he knew how much wisdom he had to impart on the world, that he would feel confident enough to convey it. tom knew one day sean would get there.
tom stood up, feeling like he was in slow motion, or underwater, and crossed the few steps to where sean sat, feet hooked around the chair legs, fingers creating a nervous rhythm on the table. the caffeinated properties of the tea hadn’t kicked in yet, and sean yawned, looking pretty close to sleep, despite the conversation they’d just had. instilled with a peculiar but definite sort of confidence, for sean had actually confided in him, tom took sean’s face in his hands and kissed him, four-day beard scratchy against his palms. sean was quick to reciprocate, hands finding their place circled around tom’s wrists. tom felt that same swept-away feeling he’d had the first time he’d seen empires play live; like their hands on each other, their lips on each other’s were the only things keeping him anchored to earth. they were still exchanging sleepy kisses when rainn walked in.
“well, well, well. aren’t we the picture of guilt. you guys look like deer in headlights.” she laughed. two pairs of eyes snapped toward her, two faces looked like they’d been caught stealing. “don’t worry, i won’t spill the beans, as long as you don’t tell becca i’m going to eat the last danish.” tom’s knee-jerk reaction was to tell her it was not a secret, but he restrained himself once he realized that he wasn’t actually sure if it was or it wasn’t. rainn rubbed her eyes, which then lit up at the sight of the pastry she’d called claim over. she snatched it up off the counter and peeled the bakery paper off carefully, so as not to disturb it. by the look on her face as she chewed, you’d have thought she hadn’t eaten in days. “so - why are you guys up so early anyway? aside from, y’know, the obvious ‘alone time’.” rainn made quotation marks with her sticky fingertips; a blush crawled up from the neck of sean’s t-shirt and he looked down in an attempt at hiding it.
“check the sink.” tom stepped in. rainn shot him a slightly baffled look and placed her danish down reluctantly.
“get out. you didn’t. ” tom just smiled. her hands flew to her face as she as she took in the empty sink, the dishes stacked neatly beside it. he’d only dropped one. in tom’s experience, if you did the dishes at a host’s house, especially if they were your dirty dishes to begin with, they’d always have you back. he figured empires needed all the help they could get. “i hate dish duty! bec and i fight about it every single time because we both hate it. you must be psychic or something, thank you!” rainn threw her arms around him and when she released him, rainn practically shouted, “i don’t care who called it last night, you are so getting the first shower!”
“no problem.” tom said, and meant it. rainn rummaged through the fridge, picking out a piece of bread and scarfing it down as she perched herself on the edge of the counter.
“ so, you ready to rough it?” sean asked, a teasing edge to his voice as he pointed a wobbly finger, addressing her.
“of course i am.” rainn said with typical false bravado, words somewhat garbled because of her chewing.
“says the girl who can’t go six hours without her hair dryer.” sean’s eyes proclaimed mischief and tom was enjoying this, head turning from one and then the other. rainn’s mouth dropped open in mock dramatics.
“well, i never! you underestimate me, van vleet. i’ve been camping .”
“where, in your backyard?” tom added, feeling bold. rainn stuck her tongue out at him.
“you take that back! i’ll revoke your shower privileges.”
“anything but that. sorry.” tom did his best to look contrite.
“accepted. now, who wants more coffee? you haven’t lived until you’ve tried mine.”
~ ~ ~
“so this one time, we got referred to this guy, he was a photographer and a stylist. so we hook up with him, right, he does his thing, picks out clothes for us, y’know, gels al’s hair, and then he wants to cut max’s. and you know stylists, you give them a finger, they’ll take a hand. and look at it, it’s a national treasure. so we said -” sean interrupted.
“ryan goes up to the dude and he says, very seriously, ‘we can handle you dressing us up in these clothes, we can handle you giving sean this lame emo swoop thing, but you are not cutting max’s hair. no way.’ and then we left.” everyone laughed riotously, despite the early hour.
“you just left?” tom was incredulous, trying to fit the pieces of this story with the empires he’d come to know.
“well, yeah, we didn’t really like him, he didn’t really seem to get us as a band.”
“he just totally missed the boat.” sean added.
“what did you tell your friend?” tom asked.
“we kinda bluffed it. we told her it went fine, that she’d see the photos soon.” ryan shrugged. “we hope she forgot.”
world of bagels wasn’t too crowded; a cluster of high school kids polished off plates of waffles in a corner booth, and a few elderly men sat at the counter placing bets on sports scores. the wait-staff inexplicably had roller skates as part of their uniform, and it was amusing to watch the little bagels on the wheels spin. their presumed waitress had been on her way over to them when her skate caught on something and she fell hard on the linoleum. ryan rushed to help her up, and from there, it was quite obvious to everyone at the table that ryan was a goner. she tried to shake off her blush as she glided over to them, but she couldn’t hide it as she came to a halt by the table.
“i’m new here." cjaye explained. she insisted that she was okay, that the only thing hurt had been her pride, and with that, she asked if they were ready to order. they had agreed on a platter beforehand, that way they’d be able to split the bill and everyone could share. the chatter had just begun again when she approached them again, finger wagging. “y’all tried to trick me with your little humility act, but you can’t fool me... i saw right through it. you’re kings of leon!”
“who?” becca asked. she was elbowed sharply by rainn, who had a feeling that something really entertaining was about to happen, and she didn’t want to miss it. the group exchanged glances, but ryan and max spoke up.
“yes, that would be us.” max supplied.
“you caught us.” ryan grinned at her apologetically, shooting them all a look that said, let me do the talking.
“oh, wow.” cjaye gushed. “i play your music all the time.” cjaye swayed as she held on gently to the table for balance, fingers inches away from ryan’s. “but wait, where’s your tour bus?”
“budget cuts. the label gets you with everything.” ryan said smoothly. there were a few muffled snickers. cjaye didn’t notice a thing; she and ryan were looking at each other like they were the only ones there.
“and no security?”
“well, it’s early in the morning-” al improvised, despite ryan’s desire to take the lead in this situation.
“mike! mike’s our bodyguard.” ryan practically yelled, smiling at his own genius. cjaye laughed, not realizing how long it took mike to catch on and reply.
“i keep away the crazy people.” mike said casually.
“he’s got a knife.” rainn put in. mike gave her a look.
“have you ever had to use it?” after she took off her hat, cjaye patted her newly short hair, acknowledging that there were other people at the booth aside from ryan.
“there were these guys once, this group of guys just approaches us and they’re real creepy lookin’ guys, and they start offering us drugs and we’re like, no thanks, and they would just not go away -”ryan interrupted mike, having not expected mike to be perfectly talented at going along with their charade.
“did you just get a haircut?” he asked cjaye.
“you like it?” she giggled, tucking her pixie cut behind her ear.
“yeah, it looks good.”
“it was this long before. how’d you know? ” she pointed out a spot in the middle of her ribs.
“you keep touching it. i used to have these bangs and for the first three weeks after i got them cut, i kept touching my forehead and you know what you do when you’ve got hair in your eyes and i would just keep shaking my head and there’d be nothing there. it’s weird, right?”
“so weird. so where did ya’ll tour last?" ryan was so enamored by her accent that it took a shove from max and a whispered, “dude, she asked you a question,” for him to remember the topic.
“we actually just finished up a tour in australia, so that was pretty awesome. a little nuts, but awesome.” rainn, al, and max clapped their hands over their mouths, presumably to prevent a bad “down under” joke, a loud chuckle, or the truth. “i think someone needs you.” ryan pointed to someone behind the counter who’d been frantically trying to get cjaye’s attention for the past minute. cjaye went to attend to the man, and ryan was relieved that no one mentioned the way he’d adapted a strange, manly laugh in an attempt to conceal his braying, the absolute bane of his existence. they chattered about other things, sidestepping the obvious we are not kings of leon, this is so mean but so funny, aware that cjaye could overhear them and then the jig would be up. several times as she rolled by, ryan turned on the charm, winking and smiling and hoping it looked as he’d intended, not like he had something in his eye, like a contact lens. miraculously, she stayed steady on her feet the whole way through.
cjaye came back ten minutes later with their food. the restaurant had begun to fill up, a family with sextuplets demanding six high chairs and a clan of impatient tourists tying up the attentions of the world of bagels staff. cjaye couldn’t stay to talk much longer, and the band was grateful that she didn’t seem to be telling the entire world their “ true identities.” she was the kind of girl who didn’t like to draw a lot of attention to herself.
when cjaye returned with the check, she also carried a polaroid instax camera at her hip. she shrugged sheepishly and explained.
“we like to get pictures of our famous patrons. we don’t get ‘em a lot, but we sometimes do, because...well, you know, you ordered them. we’re kind of famous for our pumpkin pancakes.”
“not a problem. by the way, those pancakes were possibly the best thing my mouth has ever greeted.” ryan said. she took the photo, flash nearly blinding them; their smiles were genuine due to the absolute absurdity of the situation. ryan pocketed her name and number, prim script on a paper napkin.
once they were in the van, they could not contain their laughter any longer.
“hey, guys, do you think she’ll notice, that we're not actually the kings of leon?"
“probably." tom answered.
“do you think she’ll be mad?"
“probably."
“should i still call her?"
“probably not."
~ ~ ~
tom and empires had become fast friends. in time, tom was included in the group huddles, arms around him on either side, as they all vowed to make this show the best yet before they yelled the requisite, “ wildcard!" they held the phrase, “if you’re not going up, you’re going down,” close to their chests, and they constantly tried to be better. if you’d asked tom, he would have said he was getting a bit tired of the platitude, but admitted that it was a good one, a worthwhile thing to value, and tom admired that in them. with al on his left and sean on his right, tom acknowledged that this was the first time in a long time he’d felt truly happy. they remembered things for each other, like coffee orders. tom liked this, needed this; someone to remember things for him so he, in turn, could remember something for them. the motel arrangements had been decided long before tom was in the picture, but he didn’t mind sharing with max and mike, watching die hard and eating the popcorn ryan had made such a fuss about yesterday.
the incessant crunching had driven ryan to his wit‘s end.
“i swear, if i have to smell, hear, or see that orville what-the-fuck-ever once more time, i’m throwing it all out.” max retaliated by throwing a handful of popcorn in ryan’s general direction. ryan tossed one ratty skater shoe over the middle rows.
“what was that?” max shouted, ducking.
“you threw popcorn at me!”
“you threw your shoe at me! how is that fair?”
“well, i didn’t have anything else to throw!” al calmed them down, max had agreed to lay off the popcorn within ten yards of ryan, and peace was restored.
there was no other bickering on the tour; at least tom hadn’t seen any. and that amazed him.
~ ~ ~
if not for cursory glances at their clasped hands, sean would have thought that no one had noticed that he and tom had become he&tom. except for max. max had seen them whispering by the van in the dusk, exchanging smiles like they knew a secret; they were practically attached at the hip and they didn’t seen to be hiding it.
“sean, can i talk to you?’
“sure.”
“alone?” max led sean to the parking lot and sucked in a breath before he began. sean knew that it had to be important because max wasn’t meeting his eyes; they were trained on his scuffed sneakers instead. “i know you’re an adult and i know you can make your own decisions, but i just couldn’t let this be without saying anything. i’m your friend and i think that makes it my business. this thing with tom…it just feels a little to me like bad timing.” max paused. “you know i think tom’s great, i just don’t think you’re looking too far ahead at this because sometimes you’re like that and i think you’re going to end up hurt again and don’t get me wrong, heartbreak is a great muse, but...” max’s failed attempt at a joke did not coax a smile out of sean or ease the uncharacteristic tension. “i just don’t see how this can end well. i mean, like, what is he gonna say when bill calls and asks how his day was? ‘oh, it was great, i got to have romantic alone time with sean today!’?”
max knew sean was hearing him, knew he was trying to listen in a way that was as unbiased as possible. that was just how sean was. max wasn’t exactly sure what sean’s silence meant, but based on experience, it was probably due to him mulling over what max had said.
sean heard max, he did, but he felt a strong, stubborn defensiveness, because the facts were that max was telling him things he already knew and was trying to forget; he was silent because he didn’t know what else to be. how could he possibly explain to max that being with tom made him feel like the person he’d always aspired to be, made him feel, more than anyone else had, like he knew who he was? how could he explain adequately that intoxicating, exhilarating, blinding new love feeling? and moreover, how could he expect max to understand?
“i just want you to think about it, okay?” max knew sean didn’t have to heed his advice - he would be there to pick up the pieces in any case - but he didn’t want to leave this without feeling like he’d at least tried. he felt like things could become awkward now so he wanted to curb it before it began.
max shoved his hands into his pockets as he stumbled over an apology.
“i don’t want this to be one of those things…i don’t want you to feel-”
“it’s okay, max. we’re family. but the worst mistake anyone can make is being afraid to make one. and right now, i need to make this mistake.” max’s heart broke a little at how earnest sean sounded, how damn sure of himself. the clickclickclick of tom’s shutter brought them back. he walked up to them, camera heavy around his neck, snaked an arm around sean’s waist.
“something wrong?” tom asked, at the serious looks on their faces.
“there’s supposed to be a big turnout tonight. sean’s a little nervous.” max lied. tom frowned. this seemed almost like sacrilege; the idea of sean being nervous was absurd.
“well, don’t be. you’ve killed it every show so far.”
“how are the fish biting?” this was something that sean had started and tom didn’t know why or how, though he thought it was endearing. sean would ask it when he saw tom taking pictures. tom didn’t usually let people examine his photos before they’d undergone the revisions they needed, if any. he would feel exposed, like they were viewing a work in progress. but he showed them the ones he’d just taken anyway, max and sean in silhouette.
“ryan! stop asking those girls how much they’d pay you to take your shirt off! we need to go inside!” they heard al call in the distance, so they followed him in.
~ ~ ~ day fifteen ~ ~ ~
as of a few days ago, tom had decided that when the day came, he’d follow sean’s lead. if sean was backing away a little, he would too. he woke with a distinct heaviness in his chest but since sean was acting like nothing would change, tom just squeezed his hand a little bit harder, kissed his lips a little longer and wished he could stop time.
tom’s last day was one of those rare rushed days where there seemed so much to do and so little time to do it in. and he was needed - ryan had slept funny, despite max’s warning, so they were out a pair of hands. they’d gotten to the venue later than expected, so by the time tom had his bearings together to leave, it was close to soundcheck. the show was in new york city, so tom planned to leave before the show, for fear if he said his goodbyes after the show, he’d never end up going at all.
“ordinarily, i would take this moment to profess my deep and undying love for you and describe in detail how much of a miserable wreck i’m going to be for the rest of the tour, but we only have a few minutes until soundcheck, and besides, you’ve probably heard it all before." ryan’s parting words made tom laugh, which had been the goal: to make something sure to be difficult a little easier.
“it’s been fun, man. be wary of those waitresses. they’ll get you every time.” ryan hugged tom with the same enthusiasm he did everything else, letting go once max tapped him on the shoulder, wanting his turn. “keep making me proud, all right?” tom found himself getting more emotional than he’d expected when he hugged max. it was odd, how tom and the rest felt about max. always, always, they felt they were looking up, rather than down, to max. at the same time, they were all so protective of max, because he was the baby of the band, after all. tom’s brotherly affection for max had increased the more tom had gotten to know him and he knew he’d miss max’s spouts of wisdom and how he seemed to be prepared for anything.
“you’ll work on that driving, right?” al poked fun at tom as max went off to do the last-minute things he needed to. back at the beginning, tom had admitted to the guys that he was pretty much the worst driver ever. it wasn’t that he didn’t want to drive: it was a safety precaution for him to pass on driving duties. instead of the reaction he’d expected, one that would end with them, at the very least, making him drive for a little bit to prove his skills or lack thereof, they simply shrugged it off and said they’d find something else for him to do.
“by the next time i see you.”
“and there will be a next time.” al promised. tom didn’t realize how nervous he was until he finished his goodbyes and all there was left was sean, and then there he was, right in front of him and tom had to remind himself to breathe. he saw sean’s flush and wondered if he was the one who put it there.
he hugged sean because he was afraid that if he kissed him that he, they, wouldn’t be able to stop; or worse: wouldn’t want to stop. he hoped sean understood this. afterward, tom didn’t know what to do with his hands so he put them in his pockets. that felt too casual so he put one in and one out. and then sean took them, hands warm in his. the unspoken words increased the space between them. even sean, eloquent when he did speak, seemed at a loss for words. at least, the right ones, the ones tom wanted to hear.
i wish we had more time
i wish i could stay
so why don’t you?
“don’t forget me.” tom knew that over time the memories would fade, but it would be impossible to forget sean. “call me sometime, okay?” sean’s voice was purposely noncommittal, as if sean just wanted tom to call merely so he could hear his voice, no strings attached.
“i don’t have your number.” tom’s voice was quiet, somewhat sheepish. he pulled out his phone and got up to sea- before his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t finish. he handed the phone to sean, who programmed the number.
it shouldn’t have shocked sean as much as it did that the phrase that popped into his head as he watched tom walk away was something max had said: heartbreak’s great inspiration. he knew it more than anyone.
~ ~ ~
it took bill two days to figure it out, and another two days for him to present tom with the information.
“you’ve been kissing someone else.” bill said, matter-of-factly, not accusingly, and tom knew there was no use in denying it. he was a shitty liar anyway. instead he asked,
“how did you know?” bill chuckled humorlessly.
“i know these things, tom. i do. i can tell.” bill sat down, almost as if admitting defeat. it wasn’t that bill never got angry; he just showed it differently. there were no big blowups or clenched fists or voices raised so high it seemed they would shake the doorframe. rather, bill used quiet, biting sarcasm and remarks that made you cringe with their painful truth. there had been none of that this time. tom stared down at bill and bill closed his eyes until he could force out, “leave. please.” tom knew better than to ask any questions and packed some things quickly, (tour had made him a pro) as well as his laptop so he could at least get some work done of the tour photos. tom left, sean’s lyrics in his head with every step: “does anybody else know you like i do?”
tom sat in a bookstore the next day, mooched off the free wi-fi and sorted photos until the store closed. he tried to view the photos as objectively as possible, which was admittedly difficult, considering the intimacy of the past month, with the whole band, not only sean. his throat betrayed him, breath catching as he re-lived certain moments. one afternoon, max had picked up one of tom’s cameras and put on his aviators, doing his best impression of tom, clicking a dozen blurry photos as quickly as he could. tom had kept them, kept everything always, in case there was something he could salvage. “hi, tom, it’s - it’s me, i w-wanted to speak to you tonight so if you could come by around nine, that would be good, thanks.” he’d gotten a call from bill around six o’clock; he had conquered his stutter long ago, but he lapsed back into it when he was nervous. it made him recall fifth-period english class, bill struggling to read aloud, trying to sound confident. look at him now.
~ ~ ~
they took seats across from each other, at the new set of chairs and a table they had bought to replace their previous back-alley finds. the apartment wasn’t tom’s, never had been, and he hadn’t ever felt it more than he had at that moment. tom wasn’t sure what he’d expected bill to say, so he couldn’t tell if he felt surprised when bill began with,
“i lost you a long time ago, didn’t i?” tom’s eyes traveled to bill’s lips, quirked in a wistful smile; he felt something in his gut and he knew that bill was absolutely right.
later, tom lay back in his hotel bed and recounted the day. talking to bill had made him feel sick to his stomach but at the same time, liberated. he was used to such contradictions. they’d communicated, really communicated; ironically, in the way their relationship had been so sorely missing. they admitted that to themselves, as well. long-buried realizations were unearthed, things they wished they’d told each other before, things they hadn’t realized they’d secretly seen eye to eye on. they had been clinging to the relationship because it had defined them, as the band had, and like a burr, it hadn’t been easy to detach from. bill hadn’t felt tom’s quiet resentment about the move to new york, and was surprised, in fact, when tom admitted his distaste for it. naturally, he felt terrible, but this time it was tom’s turn for wistfulness: there was nothing that could be done about it now.
~ ~ ~
it ended with a text message: seventy-four little electronic characters that changed tom’s life.
to: sean van vleet hey, it’s tom. i’m thinking about flying in next week to visit friends. can i crash by you?
tom had sent the message trying not to think too much of it, and when he got the response, he clicked read now eagerly, for fear if he didn’t open it immediately, he’d spend the next hour staring at the phone.
yeah, sure. do you want to call me when you have more information? tom knew very well what he was saying with his initiation: he could have asked someone else. tom had chosen him, and sean knew it as well.
excellent. i’ll call you.
~ ~ ~
sean met tom at the airport, a welcome face after many strangers. tom was surprised by the familiarity of it, considering the short time they’d known each other. they hugged quickly; a handshake seemed too formal and a kiss not right.
in the car, tom was babbling without realizing it, about plane rides and cameras and broken records. sean was amused, glances darting back and forth between tom and the road. tom was nervous, to be with sean, in these close quarters
“oh, man, i’m sorry. bill and i broke up.” the smile faded from sean’s face, and he glanced at tom more frequently. tom told sean about how it had been after the breakup: there was no way he could have made motels his home until he decided where to go, so he had moved back in with bill. they were in a rather peculiar stage, a walking-on-eggshells of sorts, and tom explained how odd it was to suddenly be polite to each other, courteous to the point of awkwardness. more than once, they had come to the quandary of who should exit or enter first.
“it was like we’d turned into strangers. like we’d completely regressed. very surreal.” tom allowed himself a small digression, something he‘d meant to say at first, but the thoughts had gotten stuck in his throat. “i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. i’ve seen that dance,” tom stopped himself. “i mean, i’ve seen it with other people, and i don’t like it. kind of tiptoeing around, ‘can i say this,’ ‘can i go there or will it be a reminder?’ no, i just want you to feel comfortable. if you want to ask something, i want you to ask.”
“just tell me this. was it because of me?” tom hesitated.
“we were on our way out anyway.” tom cringed at the cliche’ but knew with painful clarity: the cliche’s were always the truest.
~ ~ ~
it wasn’t really necessary for sean to explain sheepishly that he didn’t have guests all too often, and also that he hadn’t had time to clean up: that was quite clear from the state of his apartment. the obvious thing to notice first was the books. tom couldn’t really say he was surprised in the slightest. there were piles and piles. some were small and neatly, evenly stacked, while others were teetering haphazardly in a way that made tom want to hurry over and prop them up against something. they seemed to be taking over the apartment like ants to a picnic. they weren’t limited in scope; decades-old books rubbed covers with shiny ones with spines that hadn’t yet been cracked. he glanced at the low-set table in the middle of the living room; books formed a semi-circle on the edge of it, but there seemed to be a thick one in the middle designated for a purpose. it looked like a dog had gotten hold of it, ripped pages barely attached still. tom guessed that that was what sean was currently reading.
“there’s an order there, i swear!” sean was clearly referring to his bookshelf. it was a tall one, almost as high as the ceiling, and whatever its capacity was, sean had definitely exceeded it. the front and back rows on each shelf were right-side up, but for every book sitting in its proper place, there were two that were poking out or stuck on the shelf in an odd way. next to the shelf sat a scratched black end table with a record player perched on it. the best of sam cooke was off rotation in the player and a box was nestled under the table, housing sean’s collection of records. by the looks of it, they were as motley as his library.
“this is like the definition of organized chaos. i’ll take your word on the organized part, though.” tom said, laughing as he looked around a bit more. once his eyes had scanned the surfaces peeking out from sean’s disarrayed library, he could see that there was another layer to this seeming mess. they weren’t as abundant as the books were, but articles of clothing seemed to be inching in on the books’ territory. they weren’t strewn about like they’d been discarded in a trail on the way to the bedroom, more like sean had done several loads of laundry and had gotten distracted while sorting it. minus the laundry baskets, because there didn’t seem to be any around. everywhere tom looked there seemed to be a shirt hanging off something, or a pair of jeans that had been folded but then left underneath the table, or, in one case, on top of the television with the smashed screen. tom would get the story about that later.
“i haven’t quite unpacked from tour. the past couple of tours, actually. it’s one of those things that i always mean to do but always forget. what can i say, i guess it’s not my number one priority.” sean shrugged. “ready for the grand tour?” he asked, with more than a little irony.
first, sean showed tom the room where he would be sleeping; simply furnished with light purple walls, a colour sean insisted had come with the apartment when he’d gotten it. sean’s instruments, some in cases, some without, took up a lot of the space, but tom didn’t mind, as sean offered to move them. tom didn’t know where he would have been able to put them, in any case. the bathroom was surprisingly clean and clutter-free, though sean admitted that at one point he had been using the shower as a makeshift closet for some books. following that was sean’s bedroom, smaller than the other bedroom, a somewhat unsightly yellow paint coating the walls. again, sean insisted that it hadn’t been his choice. a wilting plant strained for muted sunlight on the sill, a casualty of sean’s erratic schedule. a collection of glossy music magazines sat in a corner, but other than that, the room was pretty impersonal. the unmade bed and suitcase at the foot of the bed were what made it sean’s.
the kitchen was clearly sean’s workspace. composition notebooks and a legal padhad been placed on the table alongside an ink-stained mug full of writing utensils. a stool replaced a chair at the table.
“it has to be clean, otherwise i can’t think at all. the lights suck in here, though,” sean said, pointing up at the flickery muted bulb that shown on them. “i keep meaning to buy better light bulbs. but sometimes i get light from the living room, so it’s okay.” the cabinets were half open, their contents visible. the plates and cups were mismatched and clashing, like the pillows sean had gotten for the couch to make it look better. sean had inherited the kitchenware from a former roommate, and he told tom to use whatever he wanted and to not worry about doing the dishes.
“so this is my humble abode. it’s not much but it gets the job done.”
~ ~ ~
later that night they sat on sean’s couch, continuing the conversation they’d had the night at the beach. sean had his feet propped up on the table (he’d cleared a space) and tom had one leg folded under him. they’d begun with glasses but had eventually abandoned them, trading sips of the bottle, passing it back and forth. it was red wine, cheap but rich and it went down smoothly.
sean had had a roommate prone to violent urges. he hadn't known that at the time he was sharing the space with him and now sean's television was busted, a shoe thrown through it. he now needed someone else to split the rent with. he said he had kept the television because he thought it looked cool and besides, he didn't have the cash to get it fixed.
“so i’m going back on what i was saying. because we’re so infinite, therefore insignificant, it probably seems like you don’t matter. but i think everyone matters. so many ripple effects have happened over time all around one person. you get that especially, with the being in the band. people will come up to me and say, ‘you changed my life,’ and it’s just always a little bit of a shock, like, wow, i matter.”
“i know what you mean. i felt the same way.” a pause settled between them, the cloud over tom’s face making sean unsure of what to say. “how do you do it, the touring thing?” tom got up the guts to ask the question he’d wondered from day one: how they managed to do so effortlessly the one thing he never could.
“what is this, an interview?" sean laughed but composed himself when he saw the genuinely curious expression on tom’s face; like he was pinning all his hopes on this answer. sean sighed, thoughtful. "well, if someone’s in this for the money, let me just say, unless you have the best agent in the world, or talent no one’s seen since the moon landing…you’re not going to make a lot of money. enough to live, but not a lot. i know you’ve heard this a million and a half times, but what it really comes down to is it being a sacrifice for your art. it really depends on how important it is to you. and that importance you place on it, your priorities, that’s what gets you by. that’s all i can say. it’s important to me, so whatever difficulties i encounter, i can endure them because i have a reason to that’s stronger.
“and your band. your band has to be like your family. you have to be able to have fights, to disagree, but be able to not worry, because your relationship will still be the same, maybe even stronger because of it. there can be times when you want to kill each other, but at the end of the day, you have to know who your friends are.” when he turned back, tom was looking down, pulling thread from a small hole in the knee of his jeans, a nervous habit sean recognized. tom picked the bottle up from between their feet and took a drag. “hey. you need a shoulder to cry on?” sean nudged tom gently, breaking his pensive stare; voice teasing but the underlying inflection in his voice making it quite clear that the offer was there.
“only yours.” tom wasn’t drunk, not really, and, heart doing acrobatics in his chest, he knew in full consciousness what he was doing as he kissed sean, moving slowly toward him so he knew what was coming. it felt good, gratifying, to be kissed back. and just like that, they were transported to two weeks ago, when not a thing had mattered and everything had felt infinite. they kissed until they were starry-eyed and breathless, lips purple and pink and swollen. tom wasn’t sure long it’d been before he had to take a moment to catch his breath.
“breathing, that’s good.” tom kind of wanted to slap the smug little smirk off of sean’s face but he would settle for kissing it off. wiseass. he could still breathe. and then tom didn’t have any cause for complaint because sean moved lower, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but sean’s lips on his neck. he couldn’t hold back the little whine that escaped when sean suddenly stopped.
“tom. i have work tomorrow.” sean blurted. “not even tomorrow. in four hours.” sean ran a hand through his hair, somewhat flustered as he fumbled for the right words. “before you, i’d pretty much lost faith in myself, because i would keep getting myself into really shitty relationships. i don’t think we get a choice in who we fall for, we just do. i just happen to fall for the wrong people; i’m unlucky in love. i fall for people i know won’t treat me the way i should be treated. always. whatever the wrong is, it’s like that makes them that much more interesting to me, even though i know i’m going to get hurt. it’s not even like it starts out well and turns sour. it’s turbulent from the start.
“i know i don’t have the best track record, but i have the will and i want to make this work, i do. and i think it’s best to take this slowly, start over a little bit. your thing with bill is still fresh. can we take this slow?”
“a snail’s pace. whatever you want.” they continued where they had left off until tom was the one who pulled away. “now, you’d better stop before i change my mind." tom half-teased and was rewarded with a flash of white teeth as sean laughed. they decided the original sleeping arrangements would be best.
~ ~ ~
the note sean had left on the counter made up for tom’s dismay at his absence once he’d awoken, well into the morning.
hey - i had to leave at six and i didn’t want to wake you. i’ve restocked the kitchen - make yourself at home. call me when you’re up.
sean
i’m glad you’re here.
below, sean had left the address where he could be reached. tom took sean’s suggestion to heart and took out the bag of bagels from the humming refrigerator. he placed one in the toaster and sat at the table with the ragged piece of paper he’d messily penned names, times, and places on back in new york. he decided that he needed to rewrite it because it wouldn’t have helped anyone if he didn’t know where he had to be and when.
he tore a sheet from sean’s legal pad and rewrote the list; meeting sisky and butcher at an old haunt was on the docket for today. frowning, he realized that he still had one day unaccounted for, and after scrolling through his mental rolodex, there wasn’t anyone he’d missed that would be in town. except one. tom scrawled, date with sean, and he smiled.