Dinner was supposed to be a surprise, not whatever this is; a misunderstanding, an argument— a mess.

Art'd managed to sneak away from the tour for a day or two— he's leaving first thing in the morning— and while he'd hoped he'd be able to steal you away to Boise to see the show and the sights, you're caught up in rehearsals for your play in two weeks.

"Can't you rehearse anywhere?" he'd asked, and you'd replied with "anywhere you are?" like it was absurd. It doesn't seem like too much to want your partner by your side while achieving big things, but maybe you just don't get it.

Or, maybe he doesn't get it. If this tour's the long haul, that means giving up his dreams, the jazz music— the club. There's no room for any of it if he's continuing to tour with the band, and you've made that abundantly clear.

"I thought you wanted me to do this," Art says, scoffing in disbelief when you mention the tour again. "It— it just sounds like you don't want me to do it. To be in a band, to have a steady job, y'know."

You do want him to have a steady job. You want Art to be able to provide for himself and do the necessary things to get him closer to achieving his dreams (or so you thought). Now, all Art seems to be concerned about is being liked and not chasing his dreams, all because you "told" him to. It just doesn't make sense— where had the passionate jazz musician you'd fallen in love with gone?

"Since when do you care about being liked? Why do you care so much about being liked?—"

"You're an actor— what are you talking about?"

The jazz record he'd put on earlier halts to a stop. "Maybe you just liked me when I was on my ass 'cause it made you feel better about yourself," he mutters eventually, carefully looking at your hurt expression across the table.

There's no coming back from something like that. It's a low blow, and yet Art can't seem to feel fully sorry for it, leaving his lips in the heat of the moment. It's just not clicking for you.

"... Are you kidding?"

He shakes his head. It's quiet, too quiet; the jazz record's still playing static and no longer providing relief from the reality of the conversation. "No."

The fire alarm in the kitchen goes off, whatever he'd set in the oven to cook burning up in flames, just like the hope he'd had before you came home. If he can't salvage this relationship... maybe he can at least save what's left of dinner.