back at him, then continued to munch at the bright orange triangles he’d poured into a bowl.
“What’s the difference between this and corn Chex?” Miki said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Just cheesy powder. And you dairy Chex up with milk.”
Damien couldn’t argue that. In reality, there was little arguing with Miki St. John. Most of the time his odd decisions on food, love, and life in general made sense if asked. It was just the convoluted path getting there that made Damien dizzy.
But there was definitely no arguing the point of Doritos and Chex.
It was early morning, early being relative for a couple of musicians. Ten was early in Damien’s mind, but he guessed Miki’d been up for hours. The passing years were good for the guttersnipe he’d found on a Chinatown fire escape. Sure, the car crash was a shitty thing to happen, but what followed seemed to hang okay on Miki’s shoulders.
A lot of that had to do with Kane Morgan, the man Miki’d fallen hard for, and the scraggly blond terrier gnawing at an old bone on the couch by Miki’s feet.
“Give any thought about the band?” He figured he’d make an early stab at it. Get the argument over before the day really got started so he could call it done and move on. Surprise wasn’t a big enough word for the shock Damien felt when Miki nodded while he scribbled in one of his damned notebooks. Damie waited his mostly-brother out; then when Miki remained silent, he prodded again, “And? What do you think?”
Miki stared up at him, glittering hazel eyes through a shock of dark brown hair. In all the years Damien’d had Miki at his side, never once had they’d been at the crossroads they were at right now. Damien longed for the stage, but Miki needed the music. They could play in a closet at the back of a fast food restaurant on pans they found in the kitchen and Miki would be happy.
Damien would not. He knew it. They both knew it. What Damien was asking—begging, really—was for Miki to step up onto a stage and live his life out in public. Again.
Back when they’d had nothing and no one, being a touring band was all they’d known, all they’d wanted. Now without a reason to sleep four to a van or eat stolen diner crackers for lunch, climbing back up on the boards seemed a lot to ask of Miki.
But there Damien stood, at the edge of the refurbished couch they’d dragged around from apartment to apartment, silently begging Miki to join him in the insanity of being in a band. It was a lot to ask the very private Miki St. John.
Maybe even too much. But he couldn’t do it without Sinjun. He wouldn’t do it without his brother.
Miki licked the bright orange dust off of his fingers, scraping at it with his teeth. He swallowed, then said very softly, barely loud enough for Damien to hear, “Yeah, we should do it. D. Let’s get a band together.”
MIKI’D BEEN waiting for Damien to push again, asking once more to cross over a line he thought he’d never have to cross again.
He’d thought about what to say. What to do, really. Recording was exhausting. Touring was…. He couldn’t even think about that. Not yet. Not with the searing guilt building up inside of him.
Damien spent the day on Cloud Nine. Excited and chattering away, he didn’t seem to notice Miki slinking down into his thoughts, plunging into the inky thickness waiting for him beneath the what-nows plaguing him. Sionn came home to snag Damien off to a date night, and Miki waved them off, thankful to be alone.
That is how Kane found him, alone and in the dark with a snoring Dude splayed out in the middle of the living room floor.
“Any reason you’re sitting here without the lights on?” Kane’s Irish rolled thick and deep, breaking away the fragile solitude Miki’d built up.
To give Kane credit—and Miki was always one to give Kane credit—his lover didn’t flip on the switch. Instead, Kane found his way across the warehouse’s great front room, probably using the ambient light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows to see, until he was standing at the end of the couch where Miki sat staring off across the Bay.
“You okay, a ghra?” Kane sat on the shipping crate they used for a table. His hands were on Miki’s face and arm, stroking away the tickle of