He’d cooled down marginally by the time he made it home.He tried to tiptoe in without being heard—something he’d thought he wouldn’t have to do again after moving out of his mother’s house—but Remi swore it was like West had supernatural hearing or something.
West peeked around the corner from the living room, where he had his desk set up.He worked freelance web design, so he was always home.
At first, West’s eyebrows were pulled together in concern, but his expression promptly shifted into annoyance when he saw Remi wasn’t wearing a shirt under his jacket.
“What the fuck did you do this time?”he groaned.
Remi grunted and threw a dismissive hand at him.He went to the kitchen, hoping against all reason that West wouldn’t follow him.The kitchen was a mess with empty pizza boxes everywhere and a putrid smell coming from the sink.Remi avoided that.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and popped the cap off.
West tilted his chin down and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
Remi sighed.“My dickhead boss was looking for any reason to fire me, so I figured I’d give him something better than the shitty no-phone policy.Or no piercings.Or no tattoos.Actually, I don’t even know which one it was.”
West rubbed his eyes after Remi detailed what he would like to think was a stellar exit interview.
“Jesus, Remi,” West said.“That’s the third job in eight months.You can never just walk away from something.You have to burn the bridgeandthe whole fucking town.”
Remi shrugged, taking a hefty swallow of his beer.West wasn’t wrong.When shit went sideways, Remi could feel a creeping nihilism overtake him.The product of a hopeless childhood of never doing anything right and never being good enough.His dark void.
Remi went to the living room and plopped down on the couch.“It’s fine.I’ll get another job.Besides, I would have had to ask for two months off to go on tour this summer, and the asshole would have probably fired me for that, so it was bound to happen.”
Remi reached out to move the bong off the coffee table so he could see the TV, but accidentally knocked it over with the back of his hand, spilling bong water everywhere.Someone’s dirty t-shirt was wedged between the couch cushions, so he soaked the dank water up with that, before settling back onto the couch with the remote.
West grimaced.“Yeah…so about the tour…”
Remi put down the remote and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.“What?What happened?”
“Two promoters called to cancel some shows.”
“Why?”
West shrugged.“Poor ticket sales.Something about booting us for another act.”
“Okay…” Remi said, sipping his beer.“Well, that sucks, but it’s only two shows.”
West shook his head.“No.More than two shows.The promoters had multiple venues lined up for us, and these were the only ones with guarantees.We can still do the tour, but best-case scenario, we come out even.Realistically, we walk away a couple thousand dollars in debt.”
Remi hung his head in his hands.“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.He took a deep breath.“Okay, so we call more venues and promoters.We schedule other shows at different bars.We can still make this work.”
West pressed his lips together and sighed.“Remi…”
“Don’t give me that fucking look.”He pointed a finger at West.“This sucks, but we can still make do.We have to.We have to get out there and be seen.”Sold-out stadium tours came from building a following one show and one fan at a time.
West scratched the back of his neck.“I was offered a job.”
Remi blinked several times, processing, as his finger slowly lowered.
“A full-time salaried position with, like, health insurance and sick days and retirement and shit,” West said.“A real fucking job with real fucking money.”
“And they’ll let you take time off for touring?”
West gave him a hard look and then shook his head.“I can’t take two months off twice a year to go touring, Remi.”
Remi fell back, sinking into the cushions of their secondhand couch.He wished it’d swallow him whole.“You’re quitting the band?”he whispered.
“Remi…”
