Write-tober 1
Some of us are artists, some of us are not and just make do.
1266 words, MA15+: swearing, nudity.
Dawn hit the spacebar, pausing the mix. Something was wrong, somewhere, but he couldn’t even identify the problem, let alone think of a solution. And his eyes hurt.
The espeon rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, keenly aware that it was probably only going to make them hurt more. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking at the clock in the corner of the monitor.
5 30. AM, not PM. Ugh.
At least everyone else in the apartment block was quiet, this time of morning. Dawn stood up out of his chair, gripping the desk as the rush from having sat down for too long tried to put him back into it, and then took out his phone as he wandered unsteadily towards the kitchen, looking to slake his long ignored thirst.
He skimmed the notifications as he sipped the water, mindful of having too much too quick on an empty stomach. A few spam emails, an actual email about the project he was working on, wondering if it was done yet. Some instant messages from a program he hadn’t actually opened in a week. Some text messages he didn’t feel like reading.
A calendar notification. 10 am, meet with Raz at the cafe to discuss setlist.
Crap.
***
“You… look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Dawn took the paper coffee cup out of Raz’s hands, taking a deep breath of the rich aroma as he shuffled his way into the cushioned seat on the far side of the table, his tail curling lightly in his own lap as he fought the urge to lie down on the soft surface.
Raz took the slightly less comfortable plastic seat on the other side of the table, the jolteon leaning forward onto the cheap, unstable table, gently testing his weight on it and keeping an eye on his cappuccino as he rested his head on one of his palms.
“So… Late night?”
Dawn took a deep, strength gathering breath. “Last minute rush job. Some moron who thinks he’s gonna be the next Metallica but only if his album is mixed before the 12th.”
Raz glanced down at the table, clicking the button on his phone to check the screen, and the date.
“Oooh. Yikes.”
“Right? He’s paying out the ass for it, though.”
Raz clenched his jaw, frowning a little. Dawn didn’t need to be psychic to know he was thinking about how money wasn’t worth the stress and the sleep deprivation, and that Dawn needed to learn how to say no.
“I needed the money.” Dawn lied.
“Uh huh.” Raz continued to frown, thinking about how what Dawn was really looking for was a distraction and if you’re gonna be evasive about it and read my mind instead of talking to me can we at least think about the show next week which you ARE going to sleep before, right?
Dawn shook himself, blinking and trying to wake himself up. “Ugh. Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You’re exhausted.” Raz rolled his eyes. “You should have just cancelled and gone to bed.”
“I didn’t wanna cancel just because I forgot about our meeting.”
“You only forgot because you spend all day trying to not think about things!”
“My thinking is just fine.”
The unspoken implication that it was somehow everyone else that was the problem hung in the air between them. Raz sighed, taking a sip from his coffee, and Dawn took a second to do the same.
Long black, more bitter than savoury, slightly too hot. The espeon knew he’d be jittery and have broken sleep because of it. He took another sip anyway.
“So… Did you get a chance to look over the list?” Raz asked, his tone of voice much lighter.
“Yeah, kinda. My wires are a little crossed because of the all nighter, but it all seemed fine. Three encore songs seems a little optimistic, though.”
“You gotta leave space in your life for good luck. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”
“Is it me. Am I the secret weapon.” Dawn asked flatly.
“Yes.”
Dawn rolled his eyes, which hurt. “Ugh.”
“They’re good songs! You might not believe it, but singing and playing is the easy part.”
“It’s really not. But whatever, if you’re happy and the audience is happy, I’m happy.”
“Well I’m glad you’re happy.” Raz smiled. No bad mood ever seemed to stick to him for long. “But I did actually want your input, as well. I was wondering about going from Beat Blasting Butt Puncher straight into The Power.”
“Why do you never use the real names for the songs?”
“Mostly to annoy you.”
The worst part was, Dawn could tell it was true.
***
“...Because if I don’t, you’ll just go right back to mixing this jerkoff’s album again.”
Dawn turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open. Raz followed him in, in high ‘I insist’ mode and showing no signs of stopping.
“For your information, I was going to have a shower and go straight to bed, and I’m not actually incapable of taking care of myself, I just lost track of time.”
“Of course. And when was the last time you ate solid food?”
Dawn was too tired to bluff. “Seven… PM?”
Raz gave him a look. “I’ll microwave you something while you shower.”
“Gee, thanks dad, I really appreciate you looking out for me.” Dawn’s sarcastic reply had no bite to it. It was actually kind of nice to have someone else in the apartment for once.
Dawn could vaguely feel the shape of Raz’s mind out there, moving around the kitchen while Dawn pulled his shirt over his ears, the large appendages popping out of the fabric and flicking back up straight, along with most of his disturbed fur. He finished disrobing, not bothering to smooth down the unruly lilac fluff, instead opting to step into the shower, standing out of the way and turning the hot water on, waiting until the stream started to steam before mixing in just a touch of cold and stepping into the water.
The tension went out of him, washed away by the water and the heat. Eyes closed, Dawn focused on the sound and sensation of the movement through his fur, across his face, down his back and chest. The smell of clean, hot water filled his senses.
There were a dozen, two dozen minds maybe, all close enough to feel. Raz was closest, and the most familiar. He had decided to microwave a tin of soup he’d found in the cupboard, and was making toast to go with it, humming to himself. The song was one of Dawn’s, a composition he’d finished and then retrofitted with lyrics, with Raz’s help. In Raz’s mind, Dawn was the one singing it.
That Dawn was different. That Dawn wasn’t wearing his hoodie, he was wearing a tight shirt that exposed the midriff. He swaggered on the stage, the star of the show, unashamed and delighted to be in the spotlight. Raz was watching in the crowd, reveling in the show, and it never occurred to Dawn just how shamefully flirty the lyrics were until he was singing them, watching Raz in the crowd and giving him an elaborate, theatrical wink as he hit the extended high note, and Dawn realised, to his horror, at the exact same moment as Raz, that he was still in the shower, actually singing.
He snapped his mouth shut, and the note echoed in the confined space.
Oh god, he could SMELL how smugly delighted Raz was.
No more all nighters, Dawn decided.