Joe returned home to a quiet apartment, aside from the sound of water running in the bathroom. Probably just Patrick showering, which Joe will need soon and if Patrick doesn't hurry the fuck up, Joe just may have a mental breakdown. But for now he relaxes a bit, kicks off his too tight shoes and dumps them in his closet, unbuttons his dress shirt to reveal his Pink Floyd shirt underneath, then takes his belt off and also tosses that into his cluttered closet.
Normally Joe would never bother with the neat clothes and the semi-professional look, but he wanted all the employers he visited to see him as potential job material. Although some of them weren't hiring and others just didn't reach Joe's requirements, --nothing wrong with having standards-- he left with six paper applications, eight different websites to visit in order to apply online, and two scheduled interviews: one at an arcade and the other at a flower shop. Flowers weren't really his thing but the employer, he must say, was an extremely attractive guy.
The only problem with that was Joe has never found a guy attractive before.
But he didn't dwell on that thought too much, he was too exhausted from running around the city all day to care right now and he was fucking starved.
He entered his kitchen and looked through the refrigerator, finding some leftover chicken and a bit of rice held inside some Tupperware. He grabs the containers of food then closes the fridge, popping open the rice and adding it in with the chicken so he could just microwave it all at once. While it's heating up --and he literally stares at it while it spins around inside the nuke machine-- Patrick emerges from the bathroom in fresh clothes, towel-drying his hair for a moment before draping the towel around his shoulders.
"How'd the whole job hunting thing go?" He asks, pretending not to be worried about his friend having his eyes glued to the microwave.
"Fine, I guess." Joe responds without looking away. "Got two interviews, one Thursday and one Saturday. Both at three." He's got his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face as if his child just got sent to the principal's office.
"That's great, glad to hear that. Well uh, the rest of my stuff should be arriving here tomorrow. I should be officially moved in by the end of the day." Patrick had sent for his things a couple days ago and his parents were more than happy to help him out, hiring a moving company to take all of the heavier things to Joe's address. The smaller, easy to carry luggage was neatly stacked in boxes and suitcases in the corner of the spare room.
"Cool." The microwave dings and Joe immediately yanks the little door open to retrieve his food, steaming and wafting its scent directly into his nose. He grabs a fork from the utensil drawer and digs in, humming contentedly. "I'll help you set everything up. We'll have to split up the fridge too so, you can get the bottom two shelves and the right side of the freezer."
"Thanks. A whole two shelves all to myself, what a time to be alive." Patrick deadpans, turning on his heel and heading to the spare- his bedroom, closing the door behind him and plopping into the green beanbag. Joe simply chuckles at his friend's response then sits at the small dining table to eat his food in peace.
He decides that when he finally showers and gets comfortable that he should give Pete a call, or send him a text. He probably got tired of waiting for him to come back so Pete is most likely at home, watching old reruns of Law and Order or something. Joe will check and see if he's been job searching, and if not then he'll recommend a few places. Because Pete is never too lucky when it comes to getting a job, his tattoos are one thing but his style choices are another. It makes people uncomfortable for some reason and a lot of people are judging and homophobic. He was just lucky Brendon was the gayest, most nonjudgmental employer in the world. But, well, that all ended.
