Sam stood there. Trying to understand if what he heard was really what had been spewed out of Nate's mouth. Nate showed no intention of taking it back. From his nose his warm breath escaped to the air from his labored lungs, breathing against his tense malice filled diaphragm.
So Sam turned and left. Not giving two shits to continue the argument. Instead of defusing Nate, with every step Sam took his anger swelled.
Did Sam not give a fuck about what he was feeling? Nate was being irrational, and selfish, he knew that. But he didn't care. Both of them were at fault. Why would he just walk away? Why wasn't he as pissed off as Nate was, with only a dozen or so people showing up for something they both have worked their ass off for? Did he just not care?
Nate swung around and continued walking in the direction opposite of Sam, pulling at his hair, muttering curse words and put downs, and generally feeling like the mud he was stepping on. He got to a hallway and under a halo of light he stopped, shaking, looked over across the field of grass to see Sam getting into the tour van and fumbled for a cigarette. He had grabbed the cheap cardboard box and flicked the lid open to see the rows of his addictions, when-
"Nate-"
A voice startled him, and Nate already being on edge, threw his box with flailing arms and watched as they fell anti-climatically to the concrete walkway. He kneeled down quickly, put the first smoke he picked up in-between his lips and the rest he messily shoved back into their box, some facing the wrong ways and others not. He should have been angry, but there was a more desperate sounding quality to his voice, as he looked up to who has startled him.
"Jesus Andrew," Was all he could say as he pulled out his lighter and passed his thumb over the flint wheel of the lighter irregularly, determined to light up before saying more then three words. When his cigarette finally caught a glow at the end, Nate visually relaxed, hes shoulders slouching into the tacky walls.
Andrew stood silently thoughtout nates ordeal, analyzing him with watchful blue eyes, his eyebrows showing worry. He took a little sigh before addressing the razzled singer.
"So... are you alright?"
Nate was just happy he had smoke filling his lungs again, wiping clean the anxieties and anger and replacing them with tar. "What are you talking about?" he mumbled absentmindedly.
"Well you just- that... back there," Andrew stumbled over his words, worried about angering him again. "that was kind of intense."
"Yeah, you get used to it." Nate replied bluntly. Bitterly. Flatly. Still zoned out. Then he looked over to the taller man. "Usually people just stay out of it."
"Uhh yeah. Well it kept me awake." Dost replied, picking at the lint on his jacket which wasnt really there. "Thought it was serious."
Nate replied with a grunt. Thinking about the events that had past unfolded. His head began to throb. He stopped thinking about it.
"Maybe we should get some rest." Andrew cleared his throat. "Its late..."
Nate glanced at him. "Do you think its a waste of time." It wasn't a question. It was obvious what Nate thought about it. The subject had been bouncing around in his head for months now, but hasn't reared its head to become vocalized until tonight. (Do you ever have those feelings that you are too sacred to admit to your closest friends because they're opinion could mean too much for you to handle?)
Andrew suprisingly knew what Nate was talking about. "Me? Well, really... I don't think its a waste of time." Andrew gave a slight smile. "What are you aiming for, recognition of talent? Fans on their hands and knees? Fame? Money? Parties? Media coverage? Drugs? Slander? Scandals?" He paused. "Because I'm certain you can get there. If you want it that bad."
