“August,” Quincy says with a sigh, “You’re smoking again. You’re a vocalist. You can’t smoke.”
“Oh shut it, Quince, it makes me feel better.”
“Christ,” he replies, shifting his weight to one hip. “You’re pathetic. And when you houseboy tells you you’re pathetic, you have a problem that tequila can’t fix.”
August opens an eye and watches his pierced and tattooed houseboy water his houseplants in turquoise boyshorts with the words ‘power bottom’ emblazoned on each butt-cheek.
“Don’t you think about putting your cig out in my plants,” warns Quincy. “Let me go get you an ashtray, you filthy boy.”
August grunts and rolls his eyes.
A moment later, Quincy returns with an ashtray. August snubs it down and digs in his pack for another one.
“You know, I think I know how to fix this little problem.”
“What?” August eyes him. “It’s not a little problem and it can’t be fixed. We broke up. Let me get over it.”
Quincy rolls his eyes hard and vocalizes in exasperation. “No. I am not letting you break up your band over this bullshit. I am going to fix this.”
August lifts his head. “What? Where are you going? Quincy! Where are you going you little bitch?”
Quincy disappears back into the living room, then strolls back out onto the porch with a phone pressed to his ear. “Oh hi Franz, this is Quince, I’m on August’s phone.”
August jumps to his feet. “Hey! Is that my phone? Get off my phone!”
Quincy shoves an astonished August back into the chair.
“Sorry to bother you dear,” Quincy continues, sweet as treacle, “But I am so sick of this moping that I’m going to say what August can’t fucking say cause he’s a prick. First of all, he still loves you-“
“Quincy, goddammit, hang up!” August hisses through clenched teeth, eyes blazing.
“-and he can’t stop thinking about you. He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping – and he’s fucking smoking. – I know! I told him not to do that, but he won’t listen so maybe you will. You two are not breaking up your band over this. The Gilded Cranes is on fire right now. It’s all you ever – no YOU shut up, I’m not done.”
“Quincy I swear to god I’m going to spank you so hard,” August fumes.
The houseboy ignores him and waltzes back into the living room. “You two are NOT fucking up the lives of everyone else in the band that wants success so bad. You are not fucking over your manager, or your tour manager, or your merch girl who rely on you for work, nor ALL OF YOUR FANS over this PEDANTIC love spat you have. Listen, August will never tell you this but he’s totally scared of commitment.”
August groans loudly.
“His parents had a nasty divorce when he was growing up and so he’s terrified. He loves you so fucking much and wants you to be out with him, but he just can’t tell you that. So he broke up with you instead, thinking it’d be easier. So there, now you know. Now come over and let him fuck you with delicious make-up sex. before I lose my goddamn mind dealing with you – you children.”
Q exhales a puff of air. “There, you can have your phone back August.”
August was beet red. “Your bottom is going to be raw later. Raw, I say.”
“Oh pfft, you won’t have time, you’re gonna be too busy fucking.”
August glowers at him and put the phone to his ear. “…Franz? You’re still there? ..Oh you are. Shit, I am so- so sorry about this. My houseboy will be getting punished for this, don’t you worry. …Was what true? Any of it? …Franz please. You’re my best friend. I’ll always love you.” Quincy watches August wander off toward the bedroom to take the call in private.
When August emerges later, his eyes are red.
“..Uh oh, what happened August?”
“Franz is coming over.”
“Ha! Haha! Woo! I knew it.”
August smirks. “Yeah we’re gonna fuck. But first, we’re going to spank you together.”
Quincy’s eyes go wide. “That’s not how it’s supposed to go!”
“Just be lucky the whole band isn’t participating.”
It’s Quincy’s turn to groan. “Goddammit. This is the thanks I get?”
“Oh, forgot to mention – Franz is bringing you a cake from Domino’s.”
Quincy gasps. “Oh wow, an entire cake? Not just a piece?”
“An entire cake.”
The houseboy gives a dreamy sigh. “You guys really do love me.”
“You know I’m surprised you haven’t gotten fat already, Quincy,” August teases.
He sticks his tongue out in retort. “Bitch. Go shower, you reek of ciggies.”
“Go clean my bedroom before Franz gets here. Make sure it’s stocked.”
“Alright, alright~”
…”Quincy?”
“Yes boss?”
“Thanks.”
Quincy makes a dismissive wave with his hand. “Just credit me when you get famous.”
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Text is fictional. This is model Ash Stymest.
