"I said I want to be left alone."
"You know I never do what people tell me to do." With a loud screeching sound, Sed dragged a chair across the tile floor to the side of the bed and sat.
"Sed, I honestly don't—"
"Those staples in your head look bad ass. You should keep them permanently."
Trey ran his hand over the shaved side of his head, his slightly curved index finger brushing over the arc of black staples. "I don't know. I don't think this haircut is me."
Sed chuckled. "Looks more like Eric's style." Sed dropped his gaze to meet Trey's eyes. "I've been thinking."
"Always a bad thing."
Trey lowered his arm to rest on the bed beside him. Sed forced himself not to fixate on Trey's fingers, which he continually bent and straightened in sequence. He was trying his best, God love him, but Sed didn't see any thirty-second notes in his immediate future. And the band was on tour. They needed him. Now. Not in a month. Not in six months. Now.
