Sam walked to stand in front of the counter. Jamie watched him, feet planted where they were, and he held still. He clutched the counter harder as he felt his heels raise up. His anchor was slipping. The rope had snapped and he was at risk of slipping away to sea.

“What happened?” Sam opened the cabnet above his head. He pulled out a white mug with a disgustingly ugly mustache on it.

Jamie stared at that and not at Sam. He didn’t even glance at his face. He was that good at ignoring him.

He turned his head. He felt sick to his stomach. “Nothing.”

The lie tasted like vomit. He could feel the signs working at the back of his throat. The first wave of saliva and the spasm of his stomach muscles. He faced away from Sam, hoping that he would drop the conversation.

He was getting flashbacks again. There were many times they were caught in a situation like this. They were going around and around in circles, waiting for the other one to fall down and for the other to walk away.

It would never happen.

Never again.

They weren’t kids anymore.

The faucet turned on once more. He could feel the warmth of Sam right beside him.

They never touched. They were both sure of that.

“Hm,” Sam said. He drank down the water. Jamie could hear it all, but he wasn’t going to look. He wasn’t going to even think about looking.

The cup clinked as Sam put it down on the counter. “Are you going to see her?”

Jamie snorted. He couldn’t fucking believe it. He couldn’t fucking believe he was having this fucking conversation with Sam fucking Cassle. The world must really love fucking him over.

He shook his head in disbelief as he stared angerly up at the ceiling. Nothing out of place. Everything was perfect. This world was left untouched by the horrors he’d faced on the battlefield. Back home, there were cracks in every wall. Some had markings from when he punched them when he went on his drunken sprees and some were because he just wanted to leave his mark.

This place had nothing of him in it. This was Sam’s world. Not his.

It felt even more like the lights were getting brighter. He covered his eyes, too far gone to even care what Sam though about his little break down. They weren’t close anymore. They had never been and he wasn’t going to start pretending.

He laughed. It was a dark snort that came up from the pit of his stomach. If his laugh could be described as anything, it would have been a large ball of anger that was black as smoke. His lungs must look that color too. He’d been smoking so much these last few years that he wouldn’t be surprised if he lost a lung in the next few months.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t fucking hit a note. Or why he couldn’t do a simple run.

But the biggest and the most obvious reason was that he just didn’t have it anymore. The talent, the urge, and the people backing him in the beginning. Things had changed so much that he couldn’t even go into a little box, sing a couple lines, and leave like nothing had happened.

There was too much tying him down.

“Jamie…” Sam reached out to him.

Jamie jerked away. He glared, backing toward the door.

“What do you know about having a kid? What the fuck do you know about anything?”

Again, it was laughable. This situation, the arrangements that took place, and the fact that Sam was the one to try and comfort him. Just fucking ridiculous.

Sam’s face fell.

Jamie scoffed. “Don’t be a drama queen. We both know you’re not the victim here. Never was, never will be.”

The cutting words were knives coming up from his mouth. They cut him just as much as he hoped they cut Sam.

Sam pressed his lips into a thin white line. He gave a firm nod.

“Right,” he said. He looked around the room, but he was looking for anything in particular. The look in his eyes said it all. There was really nothing here to salvage.

Thank god they were on the same page. Jamie was tired of running in circles. He was tired of trying to go back to the past when all he wanted to do was finish his burning future.

And then die. That was the plan.

Sam walked out of the room. He didn’t rush. He didn’t storm. He just went. It felt too familiar. Too real and as much as Jamie wanted to believe that he wasn’t bothered by it, he couldn’t stop the twisting in his gut.

There were still some things he couldn’t control. That was just as maddening as having to go back out there.

***

Two hours later and the clip was done.

Jamie sat in the same chair in the corner as the first day as he listened to fucker-face—that was what he was now calling the guy because he still hadn’t worked up the energy to ask his name. He picked at the seam of the armrest. The fabric started to fray under his worrying fingers.

Marshall came up beside him and slapped his hand.

Jamie continued to pick at it until Marshall gave up with a sigh.

That was a little too easy.

The room had fallen silent. Not silent silent, but quiet enough that it began to drive Jamie up the wall. He tried to keep his focus solely on picking at the thread, yet, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering back to the conversation he’d had with Sam.

That had been the first time in almost three years that they talked to each other. Alone. And it had gone downhill faster than he could realize it. In all honesty, it had felt good to finally get something off his chest. It also made him feel like shit when Sam tried to weasle his way into matters that didn’t concern him.

What they had now was better than what they use to have. They needed to keep their distance, stay out of each other’s lives, and just deal with the stuff they did. Or, at least, what Jamie did.