what if you're making me all that i was meant to be (lessons in intimacy) -- part two
iii.
it had already been a shitty day. tourists had swarmed the cafe' and everyone seemed to be clueless about why there had been so damn many of them. this had been frustration enough, as they had been understaffed. then the patrons had insisted on trying just about every item on the menu, with specifications on their orders to boot. sean had handled tables, something his co-workers saddled him with because they knew he was a yes man. all throughout, people had demanded quicker service and children had tugged at his clothes. he'd been on his feet for six straight hours.
sean just needed to rest.
the universe, however, had not been on his side. after mumbling something rushed (for fear he'd lose his shit if he actually slowed down) to tom on his way in, he headed straight to bed, for a nap he longed for more than anything. he couldn't catch respite, though, tossing about in the hopes that he could find his way to the comfortable black hole of sleep. no such luck: it didn’t matter how tightly he closed his eyes or how still he lay, he was not rewarded.
so when he stumbled back to the kitchen, irritation wrinkling his usually peaceful features, he was a live minefield -- and tom had never been good on his feet.
standing by the sink, sean frowned and called,
"hey, tom? what happened with these dishes?" sean was baffled as to why his voice sounded so sleepy when he hadn't slept at all. there was no response. he thought he'd been loud enough, but perhaps not, so he called tom's name again. no sound.
sean walked into the living room, where tom was sitting back on the couch; his frown deepened when he realized that tom had left windows open, and rainwater had seeped into the carpet beneath the sill.
tom wasn't asleep, had just been zoning out, so he looked up when he saw sean in his peripheral vision. he rearranged himself into a sitting position, feet on the floor.
“didn’t you say you’d do the dishes, like, yesterday?" sean's tone drew tom to attention. it was sharp, and the way he was carrying himself seemed like he was searching for a fight and shining a light on tom's blunders to get it. because sean had overlooked the window thing, tom hoped he had half a chance.
"i guess i forgot," tom offered. nothing he said would absolve him, so he didn't think too much of the words. "i'm sorry," he said, and braced himself.
sean let out a breath testily.
"you forgot? you forgot, really?" sean asked rhetorically, crossing his arms, appraising. "you didn't forget to leave your clothes on the floor, though, or forget to drink the last can of coke. you didn't forget to tune your guitar. but you forgot to do the dishes, is that it?" he was unimpressed.
"look, i said i was sorry. i meant to, but i didn't. i'll try to next time." tom didn’t have the energy to smooth things over, and he knew he sounded more begrudging than any bit apologetic.
he'd had a bad day, too. he’d needed to put photos on a disk for a client but due to some infuriatingly vague technical difficulty with his computer, it had taken exponentially more time than he'd expected. he had called tech support and had been transferred seven different times to foreigners who'd had to repeat thrice with still-indecipherable english everything they said. tom considered himself a relatively patient person, but just as traffic could turn even the most mild-mannered of people unrecognizable, tech support made him want to smash things; when throwing pillows around the room had proved very unsatisfactory, he’d been tempted to. in the end, he finished the project, took it over to the client, and explained the afternoon’s events. she surprised him with her flippant manner, seeming to not notice or care the extent he’d gone through to get it to her on time.
he wasn't particularly in the mood to be unappreciated by someone else.
"how many times have i asked you to do something and you haven't done it? it happens all the time and i can't be responsible for every damn thing around here. i'm tired of picking up after you. i shouldn't have to. 'i'm sorry' isn't good enough anymore; you don't need to try to do something, you need to just do it." sean began shaking his head, like he was disappointed or talking to a small child, and that made tom defensive. suddenly it didn’t matter that he couldn’t win this: he was going to go down trying, screw it. tom sat up a little straighter.
"fine, maybe i'm not dependable. but at least i don't go around taking my clothes off," tom said, his voice more than a little accusatory.
sean laughed, incredulous. he couldn't help it; they had talked about this two weeks ago and yet tom was still holding onto it.
"i was drunk, tom! on liquor that, if memory serves, you provided me with!” sean’s voice rose, crashing down just as quickly. “and drunken me decided it would be a good idea to start taking my clothes off -- yeah, you're right, there -- but it wasn't a fucking striptease like you seem to think it was."
"how is that an excuse! what if you, i don't know, destroyed someone's living room table or something? could you blame the booze then? say you're sorry but you aren't gonna pay for it because you were drunk and apparently that exempts you from all blame -- "
"well, you've clearly not done anything stupid or regrettable while intoxicated, so excuse me if i haven't quite mastered the art of thinking clearly under the influence -- "
"there needs to be limits, sean! you can't just give everyone a free show like that -- "
"oh, you're one to talk about limits. since you're the king of limits and you always know when to stop, let's look back in time, shall we?” sean’s voice stung with caustic sarcasm. “here we are with you getting completely shit-faced at every show i saw you at during 504 --"
"i was fucking eighteen, how is that -- " tom fumbled for words. this was below the belt and had long ago been exiled to the place of things they didn’t bring up; he bristled because sean was doing it despite that.
"and pretty much every time after that until you were twenty-one and knew how to hold your booze a little better." sean finished his sentence, voice almost smug. after all, he’d been mostly sober all those times.
"okay, i liked to drink. i did, i can't deny that. but i haven't let go like that in -- " tom’s face had begun to redden, at first out of righteous indignation, and then unbridled embarrassment: nothing sean had said was false.
"in years?" sean filled in, mocking. "the reason we didn't talk, didn't hardly see each other for so long was because pretty much whenever i'd see you, you were wasted or in the process of becoming wasted. you and the porcelain throne were pretty tight, from what i understand.”
"you weren't even there," tom muttered, trying to get the last word.
"does it really matter?" sean’s words hung heavy and unwanted, in the air like smog.
tom got to his feet in a smooth, single motion and left the apartment without a backward glance, tail between his legs.
~
neither of them would have gone out to drink; after the conversation they’d just had, it would have felt like losing, and they were both too stubborn for that. tom had instead taken a long walk and had somehow ended up at the coffee place a few blocks down, where he had realized he should apologize properly.
sean was on the couch in the spot tom had left, so absorbed in a large volume that tom thought he would remain there until he finished it. it wouldn’t have surprised him.
tom hadn’t planned it this way, but he thought the white colour of his peace offering was a nice touch.
sean had taken the pale green cup without argument or comment, so tom was left wondering a little uneasily if they were still in a fight.
“you know the way to my heart is paved with vanilla bean latte’s,” sean said, smiling over the lid of his drink as he took a sip. the first one was always the best, and he couldn’t keep a blissful expression away. “i’m probably too easy, aren’t i?” sean reflected blithely.
“probably,” tom said, relieved. “but i’m difficult, so it evens out somewhere along the way.” it didn’t feel right to sit down yet, and tom put his own drink down on the table as he tried to remember what he’d planned on the way over to say. he was the best at thinking up the right thing to say but the worst at saying it at the right time.
sean looked up at him, and it occurred to tom that the roles were had reversed. he was the one standing now, only this time sean’s face was more peaceful, ready to listen. it wasn’t important so much what he said, as long as he said something.
“i’m sorry about before, for getting on your ass about the other week. i was making a big deal out of it, but it wasn’t like it was becoming a habit or anything, and you were drunk. i was too sensitive about it, i guess." he took a breath, letting relief rush into his lungs. “and yeah, i don’t do enough around here, and i don’t have an excuse for that, at least one that isn’t totally lame,” he admitted. “i’ll really try to do things more, before you even have to ask me to.”
“whoa, let’s take it one step at a time,” sean said, putting up his hands. just like that, tom knew things were good again between them, and the way sean moved over so tom could sit down confirmed it.
“i’m sorry i threw the drinking thing in your face. you were just trying to help, in your own way. besides, i am your business. that wasn’t right of me and most of it was so long ago...i shouldn’t have called you a hypocrite.”
“i kind of was, though,” tom admitted, distantly touching the cracked spine of sean’s book between them.
“yeah, but that doesn’t mean i had to call you out on all your shit. everyone’s got something. i know it’s touchy for you. that’s why we don’t talk about it.” laid out like that, in sean’s earnestness, it sounded so simple.
they sat for a moment, thinking about nothing much. enjoying that peace had been restored.
“hey, what’s this?” tom asked, referring, of course, to the book beneath his fingertips.
“anna karenina,” sean said, a little sheepishly; tom was leafing through the book, bemused. “this is my copy from college,” sean explained. “we never finished it.”
“i wonder why,” tom said, flipping to the last page. he’d picked up a habit in college of glancing at the last page of a novel first, and since then, he hadn’t quite broken it. it drove sean crazy. tom said he liked knowing what he was getting into, and sean said the not-knowing was the best part, the crux of reading. why watch a movie if you’ve read the spoilers? tom reminded him that everyone had their own way; sean agreed, but still insisted that tom’s way was just wrong.
“how do you read this, it’s like 900 pages.”
“it’s tolstoy,” sean said, as if that explained it all. he shrugged, smiled a little bit, the way that reminded tom of all the differences between them.
tom knew little about tolstoy, but enough to know that his book war and peace was hefty enough to be sufficient if you needed to hit someone in the head with it. for tom, high school hadn’t exactly been the place where people had used books conventionally.
tom didn’t press sean for more details, because if he knew that if he did, he would become a captive audience for a dissertation on the wonders of tolstoy. besides, sean had a faraway look in his eyes. tom probably wouldn’t have understood.
the book was marked up in the places tom assumed sean’d had lessons on, sean’s lurching penmanship filling the spots where tolstoy’s tiny text ended. tom snickered.
“dude, it’s like tolstoy took notes on you.” tom didn’t even have to look up to know that sean was imagining the sentiment with an expression tom could only describe as dreamy. “go on, read me something,” tom interrupted sean’s reveries of dinner parties and coffee outings with tolstoy. now he was getting curious about what made him a literary legend.
“are you sure? russian literature isn’t for everyone.”
tom looked at sean as if to say, is that a challenge?
“i can totally handle it,” assured tom.
tom was met with skepticism from sean, who decided to humour him even though tom was known to fall asleep during films with subtitles, much less readings of foreign texts. tom settled in to listen, tucking his feet beneath him and laying his head on sean’s thigh.
sean had to stifle a chuckle; tom was absolutely destroying his case. there was no way he would last.
it was easy for tom to listen at first, fueled by his attempt to prove that he, too, could appreciate such intellectualism. the way sean read was natural; he spoke like a leisurely drive down a smooth road, like he wasn’t reading at all. even though sean hardly paused at punctuation, it didn’t feel rushed, and he took the time to roll each syllable around in his mouth, giving each letter the pride it deserved. sean made it sound effortless, never tripping over the interminable traps tom perceived to be lying in wait on each page.
but it wasn’t the book that had kept tom interested; it was the voice reading.
which was why tom grew dismayed when sean suddenly stopped, hand set still in his hair where it had been unconsciously smoothing the little curls that had refused to lay flat.
“now i know that’s not the end of the book,” tom said, shifting to his back so he could see sean’s face, albeit upside--down.
sean didn’t say anything for a long few seconds. the silence was unnerving.
“can i ask you a question?”
“‘course,” tom said, realizing as he spoke how much he actually meant it. tonight was a night without walls. he would tell sean anything he wanted to know. at that moment it was hard to feel otherwise, with his voice still ambling between tom's ears, the feeling of his fingers’ traced paths on his neck still fresh.
"why did you do it?" sean asked gently, without blame. he wasn't sure the reaction he would get; he hoped at worst, tom would clam up.
tom struggled a bit to an upright position. there was space between them and he hated that, but any closer and he’d probably have been in sean’s lap. which wouldn’t have been a problem, but could have made it difficult to talk. he took in a slightly uneven breath. no matter how prepared he thought he was, when it came to truly revealing himself, it didn’t come naturally.
“i only really binged like that when i was with people. you’re at these parties, everyone’s drinking, it feels good. you don’t realize how much you’ve actually got in your system until you’re stumbling around and everything’s all fuzzy. maybe you’re angry, or maybe you’re the kind of drunk who goes around hugging and kissing everyone -- but if there’s one thing you know, you’re not yourself, and you can’t tell if you like that or not. you know what i mean, right?”
“yeah,” sean said, quietly, half--afraid that if he said anything, tom would stop talking.
despite having a tamer youth, sean did understand, and it had only been amplified when he’d gotten to college. more than once at parties he’d met people who’d turned him off with their belligerence and lack of self-control -- yet in class, they were perfectly amiable. while he’d never been a big partier, he’d had his fair share of rowdy get-togethers and knew that you could never trust your first impression of someone.
so it had been fortunate that tom had kept cropping up, reappearing in social circles time and time again, and sean was able to form a more rounded opinion. he’d found tom clever and outspoken -- when he hadn’t had a drink in his hand. sean had enjoyed talking to him enough to overlook that small detail.
it went on for years, this drifting out of touch and finding each other.
until one day, it had finally stuck.
“only...i didn’t really have an off switch. there wasn’t really a point for me where i would think, man, i’m really getting wasted, because the only time it would occur to me was when i was already there, or had done something really dumb. then i was kind of stuck. but i’d forget about it in the morning and it would happen again. i don’t think i did it because i was really unhappy, but i don’t think i liked myself a whole lot, either. most of it was during 504 plan stuff, and there was a lot of fighting going on between us and that really took a toll. not just on me, but on all of them.
“drinking never affected my life more than having to deal with hangovers, so i never thought it was a problem, but looking back on it, it probably was. it was just what everyone was doing at the time, so i didn’t see it.” tom wouldn’t freely admit it, but he did feel a catharsis. sometimes not talking about something made you forget how much you needed to.
“what made you stop?” sean asked less tentatively, putting his hand over tom’s between them.
“getting different friends?” tom joked. “nah, i didn’t. we all just went through different shit and grew up, i think, and realized that drinking wasn’t really helping us at all. plus we had no money because we were spending it all on booze.” tom still felt shame about the way he’d acted back then. it had been an awkward age -- old enough to know better but still young enough to make bad choices.
at all of this, sean wasn’t sure of the best way to articulate what he was thinking. instead, he leaned forward to press a kiss, a mark of gratitude to tom’s forehead.
tom closed his eyes, held onto sean’s arms as he lingered. he was breathing shallowly, soundlessly, as he slowly reached up and guided sean’s mouth to his.
they kissed, at first just a graze of lips, and then with more deliberance: a conversation without speaking.
tom pulled away, flushed and sated, to say, “come on, the night’s still young. i want to know what kind of trouble this anna chick gets herself into.”
“promise you won’t fall asleep?” sean teased, knowing full well tom would.
“give that up, i’m not going to,” tom insisted.
yet when he moved closer to sean, leaned his head on his shoulder, it was just as hard for sean to buy as it had been the first time. sean wasn’t about to complain, though: tom’s swagger had always been endearing. on others it would probably have been off-putting, but because tom’s was so evidently born from someplace other than arrogance, it was just an ironic quirk.
sean picked up from the next chapter, and what had kept tom listening gradually turned into his undoing. sean was reading softer now, and a little slower; while tom was a little curious to see how the plot would develop, he was no match for the tricky devil of slumber. halfway through the chapter, he nodded out.
sean didn’t notice until he realized tom’s weight had become heavier against him, his breathing steadier. he read a few more pages in case tom could still hear, but soon found himself surrendering as well. his eyes were reluctant to open, his fingers resistant to turning pages, his voice fading.
sean lay the book to rest and joined tom in sleep.
~
tom made friends everywhere, and after weeks of chatting with the person who delivered their pizza, tom had found out that he played drums. tom was convinced it was a happy coincidence because they’d just started talking about looking for new members. sean had liked the drummer’s demo -- though, frankly, he hadn't really known what to look for -- and hoped he could replicate that in person. still, sean wasskeptical of the whole situation, especially after tom had mentioned the part of town they were meeting at. sean tried his best to be open-minded, always, yet for some reason he was getting apprehensive about this.
when they arrived, a solid week after they’d gotten the demo, he eyed the area with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. it wasn't the best of neighborhoods, one with a high crime rate; everything he saw seemed to have a greyish tinge. despite that, it sort of fascinated him. he was getting a very cinematic vibe. the door they knocked on was brick-red with peeling paint and the faded doormat read welcome, so that was a good sign, though sean.
a muscular guy with his hair flat-ironed into submission, much like tom's, answered the door with a grin. he introduced himself, but sean didn’t quite catch his name and didn’t want to ask again, since first impressions were important. sean didn’t want to seem spacy. the host explained that the house wasn't his, but rather, a friend's place, and he kept his drums in their basement.
when they followed him inside, sean couldn't help but notice the way the guy and tom had already begun to chat about the city. sean and tom hadn’t prepared a lot of questions, had just decided to play it by ear, and somehow, that had seemed to have been the best choice. sean was a little nervous, though, which brought out his shyness, and he appreciated how tom tried to include him anyway, when he and brian -- was that his name? -- could definitely have held their own.
it soon came time for business, and sean was not disappointed. brian played something a little showy, clearly meant to impress -- it did. despite the overconfidence, the complicated sequences were not just an overcompensation: brian had the skill and energy sean thought the band really needed. as they clapped for him, sean pretended not to notice tom’s i-told-you-so smugness. it felt like a golf clap in comparison to the rhythmic chaos they’d just been treated to.
brian smiled again, bowed a little before he apologized for the state of the practice space.
the acoustics sucked in the garage, he said. but he had nowhere else to go, so it was better than nothing.
tom and brian began to talk again, sweeping up without sean. he didn’t really mind: he was kept busy enough trying to follow the conversation as it jumped from tom’s opinions of the song that had been played, to the gear brian used, to their prior musical experience. they stayed for a while longer, up until sean had to leave for his afternoon shift.
as sean and tom headed out, exchanging handshakes and pleasantries, brian told sean something he had to replay in his head before replying, to make sure he’d heard it right.
“actually,” brian had said, smiling. “my name’s not brian. it’s ryan. without the b.”
“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” sean exclaimed. “you can call me by the wrong name if you want to. that would make up for it."
ryan laughed heartily.
“that won’t be necessary, but thanks anyway."
then sean remembered tom, who was smirking, amused. sean stopped.
“wait, you knew? and you didn’t tell me?”
“i didn’t know how to tell you!” tom said, waving his hands around for emphasis. the picture of innocence.
“because this isn’t embarrassing,” sean said sarcastically.
“part of it was my fault. not telling you was too funny to pass up,” ryan admitted.
“i see why you guys get along so well,“ sean said, a little wryly. “you’re already making me look like an idiot together.” still, sean had visions of this story being told at countless parties in the future, with the humor amplified even more.
“hey, don’t sweat it,” ryan put an arm around sean, making up for his laughter at sean’s expense. “i’m sure i’ll act like an idiot a hundred times worse than this, and then you can laugh at me.”
“i’ll hold you to that, ryan.”
~
tom hadn’t mentioned that ryan needed a place to stay, but now that he was a part of the band, sean was happy to accommodate. of course, there would be the usual settling-in, the baggage and quirks that came from living with someone new. tom presumed they’d learn that stuff soon enough anyway; for now, they had one more person to help with rent and to fill the other bedroom.
something sean hadn’t counted on, however, was technological criticism.
“dude, don’t take this the wrong way, but these demos sound like they have a blender cranked up behind them. you’ve been using these, really?” ryan was baffled as to how sean was managing with his current system. he motioned at the bulky computer and the scratched cd’s taking up space on sean’s lap.
“yeah,” sean said sheepishly. “the laptop serves my purpose, even if it is old.”
it’s way old, tom mouthed over sean’s shoulder.
“i don’t know jack about any of this stuff, but there has to be a way to record better without breaking the bank. there’s gotta be.”
“well, what did you do when you sent us demos?”
“i used pretty much the same program you did, but a more updated version -- my laptop isn’t from prehistoric times.”
sean grimaced.
“hey, watch it. she may not be the fastest or the prettiest, but she’s reliable.” sean was becoming defensive. he’d had this computer for years, and it had served his purpose every time.
“i think i know someone who could help.” tom stepped in before a serious disagreement started up. the last thing they needed financially was to be talked into buying something shiny and new, even if sean’s computer was practically older than he was. “i’ll hit him up.”
~
watching sean record in the booth for the first time was for tom like seeing and holding in his head the manifestation of their efforts. before max, he'd only really gotten to see things when sean had, in his opinion, finished all he was able to do or else needed a second pairs of ears.
except, of course, those times when tom had pressed his ear to the door, listening to strains of chords, to delicate keyboard keys. he thought it was organic, raw, to hear the unfiltered frustration and triumph, sometimes mingled. after all, if he couldn’t see it, hearing was the next best thing. he hadn't ever gotten caught or told sean, who liked to keep his process to himself. somehow, though, tom thought sean might not have gotten mad if he knew the pride it had given tom to see how invested sean had become in their musical foray.
tom could honestly only remember snippets here and there of the work max did -- much as they were friends, it wasn’t something his memory had been refreshed on recently. he had never worked with max, only jammed with him, so he was pleasantly surprised at max’s work ethic. max had a balanced strictly-business style that still left room for play. nothing max did was stifling or imposing; he merely suggested things, prodding here and there, but mostly leaving them with food for thought. they hadn’t taken max on officially, and max didn’t act like his thoughts held as much weight as if he was a part of the team. tom liked that about him.
ryan thought max was gentle and wise. max wasn’t a drummer, yet he had been around music for enough years that he certainly knew what he was talking about when he told ryan to add another kick drum to his kit. max had taken a stab at the instrument himself at ryan’s request, and ended up not half-bad. even though he was shocked and pleased at his own skill, it was never apparent, because max ducked his head and said he’d go back to letting ryan do the drumming. and the thing about it was -- ryan would have let max do whatever parts he wanted. max had that effect on people.
though max seemed withdrawn in his personal life, in his studio he took charge in a way sean never would have expected. max had met with them for coffee before they went back to check out the recording space, and he’d skirted nearly all of the questions that didn’t center around the music plans. tom couldn’t even get max to admit the lauds he had received that had made him such a big local name. tom’d had to share them -- as if he’d had a part in max’s career, which he hadn’t. sean wasn’t put off by it. in fact, he was intrigued when max became a seemingly new person before their eyes.
~
some people have epiphanies at times of no significance; others have epiphanies at their most important moments. tom’s could have been taken either way: he’d been struck by his on the train with sean and ryan as they rode back late after a party.
“guys, i just had a revelation.” tom nudged sean, who’d been nodding off against the window, and shook ryan in the seat in front of him.
ryan removed his headphones and turned to face tom.
“i had a revelation,” he repeated.
ryan looked at him skeptically. tom always got really excited about his “revelations”, but usually they made more sense in his head, like rehashing a vivid dream. sometimes he’d realize halfway through that what he was saying was completely implausible.
tom didn’t even need goading before he shared his big idea.
“max should be in the band,” he said meaningfully.
“what?” ryan asked. he leaned a little closer to tom, unsure if he’d heard him right. the music had been near-deafening at the party, and a tinny sound still rang in his ears.
sean rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up. he hadn’t wanted to, since his neck had cramped from the seat, but he knew what tom was saying involved him.
"it makes so much sense! we need a guitarist, and he's got experience; he knows the songs and we work so well together. max is our guy." the words tumbled out of tom’s mouth and he waited as sean and ryan considered. if tom had been a dog, his ears would have been raised to attention.
they didn’t take long.
“i’m in. he’s just what we need. plus, if we wanted to record demos at, like, three in the morning, he’d totally be cool with it.” ryan said this as though it was something he’d aspired to have the resources to do for years.
“dude’s a genius. yes. we should take max,” sean agreed, suddenly not tired at all. tom grinned.
“cool. i’ll see what he thinks.”
~
“yes!” max grinned before telling to sean in the booth, “you’ve got it. that was exactly what i heard in my head.”
“finally, man,” sean said and smiled, too. there was a limit to how many times someone could sing the phrase hatchet man before going out and becoming one.
“go take a breather; i’ll tie the loose ends together and then you can see what i’m talking about.”
“thanks.” sean was relieved to be finished with his bit of the song -- at least, for now -- and also glad that max had spoken in words he could understand. usually max used phrases that sounded like they’d been plucked from a music tech textbook, and since sean understood about forty percent of it, ryan tended to translate. he was handy like that.
because max had been working with sean, ryan and tom played with max’s puppy, dangling a shoelace above its head. sometimes tom would debate about getting another dog, and sean always managed to talk him out of it. however, he wasn’t sure tom had completely ruled out “borrowing” someone else’s. personally, sean thought it would be smart for max to keep an eye out to make sure tom didn’t steal it, but he knew better to say so within tom’s earshot.
sean yawned hugely and took a sip of water. he was still getting over spring allergies; still, he trusted max when he assured him it wasn’t affecting his vocals.
tom stood up and joined him, leaning against a table littered with writing utensils and equipment.
“singing is such hard work,” he teased, bumping sean with his hip once sean had yawned again.
“we can’t all be like you, tom,” sean countered with a good-natured smirk, picking up tom’s crimson guitar and laying the strap across his chest. “oh, look at me, mr. high-and-mighty guitarist. i get to stand here behind my axe and look pretty. i never smile because that would betray my badassery. i only do sullen.” sean didn’t do a bad imitation once he deepened his voice; ryan’s snickering and tom’s slightly indignant expression proved it.
while tom was getting ready to say something, probably a denial of how accurate sean’s caricature of him was, sean shrugged off the guitar and grabbed tom’s fake ray-bans from right on his nose.
“yo, i’m tom and i wear mirrored sunglasses even when i’m indoors because that way you won’t be able to tell what i’m really looking at.” even tom had to smile at this, despite the fact that sean had just taken his sunglasses from his face.
“okay, that was funny,” he let out a laugh. “is it your turn to be roasted next?”
ryan continued to chortle as max’s dog licked his face and arms, wanting to be included in the excitement.
‘definitely,” sean answered. he took off the glasses and studied his reflection. “hey, can i have these?”
“sorry, dude. i’ve had these since high school. girls went for them big-time.”
this time, sean seemed like he was doing his impression of ryan as he laughed a little too loudly.
“yeah, okay." sean wasn’t buying it at all. he’d known tom in high school. “i’ve seen the pictures and read the novel. you weren’t exactly a stud back then.”
“you’ve got some nerve, van vleet.” tom made a face before reaching for the glasses; sean held them above his head before clutching them to him. it wasn’t that tom didn’t trust sean -- it was that sean had a worse history than he did of breaking things.
“come on, sean, give ‘em back,” tom pressed. “ryan, get over here and help me! this is a two-man job!” he called insistently.
ryan figured he could take his sweet time getting up: it was a little hard to take tom too seriously when he had his arms around his boyfriend, wrestling for a ten-dollar pair of sunglasses.
they scuffled a little bit on the floor, stopping abruptly when max walked in and stood over them. tom had come dangerously close to knocking over a mic stand.
max blinked.
they were a tangle of limbs, panting like they’d run a marathon. the object in question nearly blinded him as the light reflected off its lenses.
“i don’t even want to know,” max decided. his bandmates looked up at him sheepishly. “anyway, the demo’s good to go, c’mere.” before they could get up, max plucked the shades out of sean’s hand. “what do you know, i kinda like these,” he said, walking into the other room.
sean was first to get up.
“truce,” he offered, holding out a hand to tom.
“stalemate,” tom corrected with a grin, taking it. they dusted off their clothes and followed max and ryan, trying to regain a minute amount of dignity.