August 12th

You don't feel as worried as you should two days after being fired. It's a strange experience, staying home all day, knowing that you have no other real priorities. Of course there's Karkat, but today he felt okay and decided to go out with his friends. He hadn't left the house for quite some time, so his sudden burst of energy had put a smile on your face that you haven't worn in what feels like eternity.

The clock by your side reads twelve- something; you can't tell how many minutes of the hour have passed since a glass of water is in the way and distorts your vision of it. Being home alone doesn't feel that much different as when Karkat's home sick. It's equally quiet, though being by yourself guarantees that you won't have to come to the rescue to buy out a pharmacy when your brother's in pain.

Then again there's the feeling of not being enough to handle the job that you once had.

"It was a pleasure having you" your ass. Then again things come up in life and you just have to deal with them.

You finally decide to roll out of bed and get yourself something to eat. Overripe grapes and sunny side up eggs are what you decide to have, which once again reminds you that you have to go food shopping to.

Oh wait, you don't have the money to.

Forget settling for this oblivion- as nice as it is to relax, you need to get back up on your feet again and search for a new job. You sigh and search for the laptop collecting dust under your bed. Maybe a part-time job would satisfy you if you still needed more time to yourself, but it all comes down to whether you have an income or not.

You scroll through pages and pages of Craigslist, reading over the brief descriptions of jobs that you don't think would be enough for you. Even the category of accounting doesn't suit your taste. Nothing does on this damn website and you close out of the tab and shut the laptop.

It's almost disgusting how terrible you're reacting to returning to work. Maybe you just need a longer break before you can think of work, but then again that's selfish when you have a brother to support. For a start, you could check around town to see if any stores are hiring- just something to get you by.

It'll be alright, you just need to calm down. At the office you've always been in overdrive, so a break would have some kind of strange reaction. This could also be a great opportunity to get back in tune with yourself, to see what you actually want for yourself, though you shouldn't get too carried away by it.

The laptop gets slid carefully back under your bed and you head down to the basement to simply relax. Since you've managed to redo the area, it's become the cave for the household. When your own rooms aren't enough, either you or Karkat occupy the cave all for yourselves. Since he was out today, you decided that this would be your time down there; maybe you could search through some storage and let memories numb you up some.

The last two stairs creak the loudest out of the whole staircase, no matter if you stomp down the stairs or tiptoe. It's almost like a security alarm that had evolved as part of the house over the years. The extra couch that didn't match any of the other furniture upstairs was kept down here, along with shelves for your keepsakes.

You had hung up more baby pictures of Karkat for yourself more than him. He still had the same face for over fourteen years, except in these ones the photographer actually got him to smile. You sigh and slump back on the misfit couch, already missing those days. He's already fifteen years old…

Wait that means that you're getting pretty damn old yourself. You frown and sit up straighter on the couch. You're not that old, are you? No, of course not. You're not even in your late twenties; you'll be fine.

You get back onto your feet and search around the storage closet tucked away in the corner. Photo albums get put aside in the back corner of the very top shelf so that at your height it's no more than a dark tower looming in the far back of the closet. Since you're too short to see what else is on the shelf, your hand blindly pats around the area. You grimace when you feel dust begin to stick to your fingertips but eventually you find a binder.

It's black and has your name written in silver Sharpie in the bottom right corner. This thing looks like it's about to fucking fall apart in your hands, so you take it with both hands and skim through the pages.

You thought it'd be just some notes from your history courses in college, but instead you found yourself looking at your old sheet music. The edges of the papers were frayed, but thankfully it didn't interfere with anything important. If you kept this, then your violin definitely couldn't be too far away. The binder gets shut and you leave it on the couch after blowing off the layer of dust that was really starting to annoy you.

It isn't until you have completely ransacked that closet that you found your violin case in the bottom corner, hidden by totes of camping gear that were collecting just as much dust and grime on them. By now you were nearly suffocating yourself with the funk of who knows how long and decide that it's best if you relocate to the couch with your binder. Ugh, you definitely need to clean this thing when you get the chance. The buckles that secure the case shut are sticky with something, which only traps the dust on them.

Disgusting. You never thought that you'd resort yourself to wipe anything on your shirt, but you figure that you'd wash it anyways. Wow, you've seriously let yourself go.

You huff and open the lid to see your untouched mahogany instrument. The strings are so out of tune that they droop onto the fingerboard. Your fingers pluck uselessly at them in an attempt to revive it before they curl around the neck and lift it out of its maroon, velvety grave.

Your metronome has its own compartment in the case hidden under where the neck rests. You dig it out and wipe its dust on your pants. Once the hairs on the bow are taut again and rosined up finely, you twist the tuning pegs at the top of your instrument, getting each string roughly into the range that it belongs in. With some further usage of the fine tuners everything seems right; though you're a bit rusty since the last time you played in your college days. Just as you settle on the chinrest, your phone rings. You're not quite in the mood to talk but obviously the person on the other line is.

Porrim Maryam is what the caller ID reads. You really don't want to pick up because you know you'll crumble and weep to her about your terrible week.

"Kanny, why aren't you picking up your work phone?" Her vanilla sweet voice pacifies your wracking nerves and you figure that you ought to tell her the truth now.

"I got fired." You mumble and sit down with your violin, laying it beside you. There's a gasp on the other line and it gets quiet for some time. With her persuasive coaxes, you somehow agree to meet up with her for a coffee. It's a surprise that you actually managed to pull on a decent outfit and actually step out of the house.

Maybe your outfit isn't the best after all when you realize how badly you're sweating in a long sleeve shirt. Not the brightest idea, but that café is probably air conditioned. When you reach the small shop, you see Porrim beckoning you over to a corner table. She had already bought you both iced coffees and slid yours toward the empty seat in across from her.

You give a small smile and a nod in thanks, taking your seat. Her jade eyes are soft, though you can't look back for long when there's also an aura of pity and some, mostly on your half, embarrassment. Everything was looking fine for you so far and now you're face is flat on the ground. You clear your throat and stir your coffee with your straw.

"Is there anything you need at the moment? We can go– "

"No, you've done enough to help me for the past few years."

"Kanny, what do you think friends do when they're in need?" Porrim reaches out and places her hand over yours and she knows that you won't dare cross her. You sigh and burrow your other hand's fingers into your hair. This isn't right, none of this is. You worked hard and made the best out of that scholarship and now you're here.

"I seriously can't thank you enough…"

"Hush, now I brought you here for a reason. You spent enough time sulking and I hate to say, but life's going to stomp all over you. It really is." She sits up straighter, tossing a wavy lock of hair behind her back and picking off miniscule pieces of lint that only she can see from her beige halter top. Her finger points at the front window that you had passed on your way here and you turn to see what she's talking about. Now hiring…

"I know it's small, but it's a start. You should try applying today."

You turn around to face her and she simply shrugs, knowing how you feel obliged to repay her as soon as possible.

"I will later on today, I promise." You take a sip of your coffee and she nods. You have no idea what to say after that since once again, she saved your ass.