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Yugikun
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i'll be your light, your match, your burning sun
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Man, it had been such a long time since he’d actually done anything.

((trends that get far too much of a bad rap, continued from a place where it doesn’t feel tacked on as a necessity of a post))

Backstage. 5 PM. Midnight. Not actually either of those times because the first was the time he’d arrived and the second was an exaggeration for when he’d be able to get out of here but he could probably take those times as fact, for now. Devil’s proof, or something; he couldn’t prove that those weren’t actually the times he needed to know right now so he’d take them as real. Jeremy was laying back in a chair, the bridge of his violin in his hands. It had a name, actually - Veronica - but he always forgot it until it was too late for him to call it that. Sort of a shame. There were jokes that he could make out of that. He could call it Veronica and the other dude would not know what the fuck he was talking about and then he could pretend to act pretentious and pretend that he called it by something else other than “his violin.” Yeah, a shame. Sucked that he could never think up of good jokes until it was too late for him to say them.

But yeah. He was here. The grand return after two-to-three days of total absence. Well, what were those days absent spent doing, Jeremy? Were they spent doing the work you needed to do? Nope. That was already all done. Were they days spent doing anything productive? Nope. Going outside probably wasn’t a great idea since he felt like he was going to fucking freeze if it wasn’t a hundred degrees, and it wasn’t like there was anything he could do in the house. Were they spent doing anything of worth? Nope. Not unless you counted playing video games and binge watching episodes of a TV show that exited the public consciousness 14 years ago as doing anything of worth. Wow, you really are a disappointment, Jeremy. Yeah. He knew.

But at least he was doing something now? Depends. He was kinda doing fuck all right now, to be honest. The performance night started in an hour, if the time he assumed above was to be taken seriously, but still, an hour. Not entirely spent practicing. Not entirely spent tuning. Not entirely spent worrying about whether he was going to sound good or not because there was no way he could get over any of those feelings. Just kinda spent sitting on a couch waiting for time to pass. Not exactly the best use of it, but hey. He could take it. The chair was kinda comfy, and it was cool seeing people again.

It’d be even cooler to talk to someone again, though.

That’d be nice.

They were kinda getting ready for their performances, though. Probably wouldn’t be very nice to interrupt them.

Hmm…

This was a bit of a conflict.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to solve this one.
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Beg, Barter, Steal. · Memories from the Past