Heading out...

It was Saturday. He'd spent all day Friday packing, just to be ready. Of course, he'd been ready Wednesday night, but for Warren and Alma's sake, he'd curbed his impatience. But the principal's accusations still rang in his ears. The idea that he'd done something to Warren hurt, not entirely because he'd been unable to, even to prove a point. But he wouldn't ever have put them into this situation, even if he could and the fact that she thought he was strong enough to still hadn't registered under the hurt that she thought he could. That he would. It was likely that even if the thought did register, he'd dismiss it as putting on a good show. All show, no substance.

But they were going on tour and so, really, that didn't matter. He could play the game well enough, and had enough natural musical talent, that tour would give him what he needed. What he loved and craved and maybe the hurts would be soothed and insecurities at what he couldn't do be eased. He hoped so, at least. It...felt broken somehow that he didn't know how to fix. Didn't know how to fix himself and...

He pushed the thought away as he started carrying things downstairs to the van. If he got his in and done, they'd have less to do together with Warren's.

He bounced at that thought. They were going on tour. Just him and Warren and the people who thought they were wonderful. The show and the music and the lights and the make up. The groupies and the fans and the energy. And then just the road, and them. Hotel rooms and wide open spaces and something new to see every day. Something new to show Warren, to experience with him for the first time.

He was ready.