A Hotel Room Somewhere in the US, Tuesday Evening FT

[whenshewasnice]

The North American ENVY tour was in its last leg. Only a bunch of shows on the west coast remained, and then

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[lockestheway]

Peter preferred 'bored'. Certainly, 'bored' was a broad concept when you applied it to the life of someone who held the world's future in his hands, but still, generally - bored was the word.

Or at least that was what he was telling himself. After all, he'd been given two hours off - ordered two hours off - by his chief of staff. And now he was on the sofa, ignoring the droning of the senseless, empty drama on screen, and he had nothing else to do.

Besides call Envy.

He'd blame nostalgia. It wasn't like he could pin it on substance abuse like world leaders past.

[whenshewasnice]

It wasn't unexpected that Envy's phone rang.

It was unexpected that the name on the screen was the one it was when she picked her phone up. (Which wasn't as easy a task as it sounded, when she had the world's fluffiest sleeve to contend with.)

"Envy speaking," she answered after a moment, her tone the mild, detached drawl of someone who hadn't checked caller ID.

[lockestheway]

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. It wasn't as if Peter had fully expected her to pick up.

"It sounds quiet on the other end of this line," he said, "Is it quiet?"

Other people just asked if they called at a good time, Peter.

[whenshewasnice]

"Does an all too thorough rundown of some Desperate Housewives of Wherever star's shoplifting incident count?"

It was impressive she could even rattle off what the junk on her screen was. It wasn't as if she'd actually been watching.

[lockestheway]

Peter pulled a face. "Turn that off," he suggested, "I hear it rots the brain."

He was being half-facetious. Maybe a third.

[whenshewasnice]

Envy rolled her eyes. "I don't know, brain rot sounds pleasant enough."

[lockestheway]

"Is the road treating you that bad?" Peter asked.

The benefit of having this conversation over the phone was that Envy couldn't tell that he was hanging out on his sofa in a bathrobe.

... Okay, it was Envy. She could probably tell.

[whenshewasnice]

It was best to never underestimate the disregard for the fourth wall.

"It's just that kind of an evening," she replied succinctly. A verbal shrug. "But this tour has been intense."

[lockestheway]

"Intense how?" Peter asked. He stretched his legs across the sofa and reached for his glass of water.

[whenshewasnice]

At least Envy's glass had wine in it.

She was quiet for a moment, the drone of the TV quiet in the background. "It's different when there isn't a band. When it's just me."

[lockestheway]

"Because all the focus is on you?" Peter asked.

He took a sip. (He liked his water better, sorry.)

[whenshewasnice]

"Yes."

Well, it was a part of it, anyway.

"I don't know if I took fully into account there being another side to being the sole focus of everyone's attention."

[lockestheway]

"Is that positive or negative?" Peter asked.

[whenshewasnice]

"It's what I make of it," Envy replied. Which was vague, she knew, though it also had a less vague layer of meaning if you tilted your head right.

And, whatever. She was working up to saying things she'd gotten upset at him for not explicitly picking up on last time. She'd had a lot of time to think.

"I'm alone a lot."

[lockestheway]

"Is that what you make of it, too?" Peter wondered. "I mean, it's lonely at the top, blah blah."

[whenshewasnice]

"No. I'm just lonely."

Slowly, she sank a little further into her cocoon of a robe.