On the night stand, his phone vibrated. It was Martin.
Did you see it?
See what? He didn’t bother unlocking the screen. He was getting there, almost. If he could chase the thing that bubbled quietly in the back of his mind, if he had that to hold onto, maybe he’d be ready to face Martin. He’d have something to offer then.
“Can you make coffee?” Kenneth’s voice was muffled and pitiful under his blanket.
Seb threw a spare pillow at him, but he got up and found the room’s single-serve coffee maker and set it to brew.
He showered, still thinking about how the fire remade everything. Was it really any different than what he’d done for years? The fire had been more destructive, less intentional, but the end result was the same.
“Kenny,” he said as he stepped out of the shower, “do you know anyone with cheap studio space for rent?”
“Planning your glorious return?” Kenneth’s voice was muffled behind the bathroom door. He had the TV on; soft music played, and a woman was speaking, although Seb couldn’t hear what.
“It’s just an idea. We’d have to find some somewhere to work first, and they’d have to be willing to let me rent it for cheap, or maybe for free, at least until I can finish and sell some pieces.” He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hotel room. Kenneth was propped up in his bed, a paper coffee cup on his night stand. He was watching something on his phone, his face creased in a frown.
“Are you listening to me?” Seb asked.
“Not really.”
“I said we’d need to find me some cheap studio space. I’m starting from scratch, so there wouldn’t be a lot of money left for rent.”
“Mmm.” Kenneth paused the video. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue.”
“You know a place?” Seb rummaged through his suitcase for clean clothes.
“No. At least not in the price range you’re talking about.”
“That sounds like an issue then.”
“Not really.” Kenneth held up his phone. “Because I think you’re kind of rich.”
