E-mail: angelchildr@freaky.nu
Rating: pg
Summary: Too long on the road.
Disclaimer: The boy is not mine. I have never met him. I don't know what he thinks.
Distribution: http://penned-insanity.freaky.nu/ (My site) or ask.
Author's Note: Do you ever see someone and look in their eyes, and practically know what they're thinking?

* * * *

He dropped his bag on the floor just inside the front entryway, looked around, and sighed.

They'd been gone since the beginning of November, and were only home for a few days before that. They'd spent several weeks overseas prior to those few days, and had been almost constantly on tour since his finger had healed enough for him to figure out how to play with it.

He looked around at the almost-familiar walls. They had a month now to be home before the next show, and he marvelled at the expanse of days ahead of him.

Of course, there were things to do. There were always things to do. Sometimes he felt as if there would always be things to do. He would probably spend more time doing something than he would at home.

Home.

He smiled to himself, almost bitterly. This was hardly home anymore. It wasn't coincidence that they played Boll Weevil. And it wasn't coincidence that he made everyone sing along. Up there, on the stage, with Meg to his right and a sea of people singing back at him, that was the closest he got to home anymore. These walls were just that. Walls. And for all his talk of boxing himself in and stripping things down, he sometimes wished the box was just a little more comfortable.

Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth it. If he wouldn't have been better off with his own shop, working with his hands, married to a girl with children in the house.

He allowed himself a moment to live the life he could've had, then shook his head, picked up his bag, and got to work

* * * *

Send feedback!