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Ches is snoring lightly at what he generously calls a desk when Glam comes to.
He doesn't usually sleep, not at Ches', but the adrenaline of the last few days (weeks?) must've finally caught up with him because he'd managed to doze off upright in his chair. The soft crackle of an Alice Cooper vinyl is the only thing that gives him an indicator of how much time has passed, and as he sees the light flickering in through the blinds, he figures it'd be safer to bolt back home while he has the chance.
So he gently removes the needle from the record before stepping lightly out of the room. He expects it to be a minefield between here and the door but it's impossible not to note how the seemingly endless clutter that usually coats the floor is now...Well, it's certainly not clean but it's upgraded to something a little easier to navigate. He glances around, as if to look for a culprit, and that's when he spots her. Sat in her usual chair but for once unmistakably conscious. Lucid.
"Do you ever get a minute's rest?"
Glam glances around. Maybe the question's rhetorical, or otherwise not aimed at him. As if to nudge him along, she continues.
"'S leftovers on the stove. Mac 'n cheese." She doesn't so much as glance over. "You're a stick. Get it in you."
Hunger isn't even one of the first dozen things on his mind right now, but maybe it's confusion of all things that pushes him to do as he's told, remarkably managing to grab a bowl to scrape a modest amount of pasta into. It's cold, but he can't bring himself to care. He's too puzzled.
"Don't just stand there. Sit down while you're eating."
Glam takes a couple of reluctant steps forward. He sits. His gaze remains pinned to the bowl.
"Thank you, Ms..." And he's blanking. "Har...Haf..."
"You're around often enough. I'd hate for you to drop dead from malnourishment on our watch."
Glam chuckles weakly at that, hoping it'll mask the unfathomable tension gripping his body. The scent of cigarette smoke causes him to subconsciously hold his breath, coughing as discreetly as he can into the back of his fist. He tries to focus on the soap opera droning on the TV, some murder mystery with a contrived romance that he’s suddenly very invested in. He picks at his food absentmindedly.
“He met you at the conservatory, right?”
“Uhm, yes, ma’am.”
“You must be pretty well off. You and your folks.”
Glam’s eyes snap wide open with alarm for a moment, taken aback. He takes one look around and it’s enough for him to retreat self-consciously into himself. He stares back down at his food, grip tightening on the bowl. He’s not sure if she’s actually looking his way, but he feels the judgement. “We live…Comfortably.”
That earned a scoff from the woman, long and beautifully painted nails tapping the ash off of the end of her cigarette. "Yeah. Comfortably." A slow drag punctuates her statement, before he feels eyes on him once more. "But in spite of your music scholarship and silver spoon life, ya dress in rags every night and play guitar with my son. I think the least you can do is tell me why you bother."
Glam had never thought of it that way. That he does Ches some kind of favour by visiting every night. The idea's so bizarre to him that in spite of his nerves he feels obligated to set the record straight.
"I'm sorry, but you've got it all wrong. Really, I'm lucky that Ch- your son bothers with me. I didn't know anything about the guitar before he started teaching me." The fondness seeps into his tone effortlessly, idly twirling his fork between his fingers. He really should eat, it'd be impolite not to. He pauses to take a bite.
"And what do your folks think about that?"
"My 'folks' don't know. I'll probably never tell them."
Her tone shifts to something he can't quite place. "So there is trouble behind those white picket fences. Who'd have thought?" Glam's not sure how to respond, but he certainly doesn't expect what he comes out with.
"It's more common than you'd think."
That earns a small laugh, one that doesn't feel as scathing as her demeanour had moments prior. "Well, I'm glad to know even the bourgeoisie have problems. Makes people like us feel a hell of a lot better." Glam wants to take offence. Sebastian might have. But he's not on Sebastian's turf right now. Right now, he's Glam. And Glam has to realise people have problems outside of his four walls.
"I like him having someone over. Makes it feel like a home in here for a change." Glam can't help but take pause, stunned by her admission. "He has other friends. Couple of musicians. But he's always been too embarrassed of this," she gestures with one hand around them, "to bring them over. I don't know what makes you so special, but I figure he's taken a real shine to you." Another puff of smoke wafts past him. He tries not to look as bothered by it as he feels. "With all the girls he's constantly bragging about, I never figured it'd work out like this. " There's no time to question what exactly that's supposed to mean before she continues, "But if you're treating him right, keeping him out of trouble…"
"O-Of course." Glam nods emphatically, though he's inclined to say that Ches is really the one who helps him more than anything. He takes another forkful of pasta; honestly, the taste is kind of growing on him.
"Maybe you could consider using that abundance of cash you've got to buy him a nice meal at some point. Lord knows he needs to stop eating junk all the time." That he can't deny. It's all empty soda cans and fast food packaging with Ches. He can't imagine the last time he ate anything with real nutritional value.
"I wish I could, but…" He feels ashamed that there even is a but when he has a mansion to go home to after this. "My father doesn't give me any kind of allowance. I don't have any money."
A silence elapses.
"Well, isn't that just typical?" He once again can't tell if she's mad at him or not.
“I’m sorry.” A pang of guilt creeps up Glam’s spine. He takes a look around, really processes his surroundings. It’s sad enough that they have to call this home, let alone him being here knowing he can waltz out whenever he feels like it. He can’t fathom living in a place like this. He figures he’ll never really have to.
“ Sorry? Word of advice, kid; don’t put that word anywhere near me. You may be living the high life, but that doesn’t make us your charity case to pity.”
“I didn’t—”
“—Mean it like that. I figured. ‘Cause if you did see us like that, my son would have kicked you to the curb on day one. Besides…You just don’t seem like that kind of kid to me. You’ve been honest so far. I respect that.”
Glam smiles weakly, moving to take another bite from his meal before his fork hits the plastic. Has he really finished already? Maybe he was hungrier than he’d given himself credit for. He rises to his feet, heading for the sink.
“Cleanliness, too? He really knows how to pick ‘em.”
“Ah, well…Father runs a pretty tight ship back home.”
“Too tight, huh?”
“What?”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
. . .
Suddenly, Glam’s all too conscious of the fierceness of the sunlight. He gives the bowl another quick rinse before setting it on the washboard, already heading for the door.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.”
He pauses, though, idling in the doorway. He trills his fingers against it idly for a couple of seconds before managing a measly,
“Thank you.”
They finally lock eyes. Glam’s breath hitches, tearing his gaze away fiercely within seconds. There’s something in those eyes of hers that he’s not sure he’s prepared for. Maybe Ches was right. He doesn’t know nearly as much as he thinks. Eventually, though, as he’s prying the door open, he just manages to hear —
“Don’t be a stranger.”