My head drops into my hands and I try to ignore the pieces of paper covering the desk in front of me. The red writing is staring at me, warnings I knew were coming but still are a shock – FINAL NOTICE and EVACUATION. I heave a deep sigh and reach for my glass that's been refilled many times this past hour with whiskey. I've emptied a bottle now but I don't feel any sort of buzz.
A knock on the door comes and I groan quietly – I really don't need company right now.
"Come in," I only raise my head to see who it is – Jeff – and then put it back into my hands, sighing.
"Nick, you just sighed. Audibly. What's wrong?"
I can't stop a smile, because even when I feel like shit, i.e. right now, Jeff's presence always makes things seem brighter. But it's Jeff; he's fun, caring, hot. Wait, what? Maybe the whiskey IS having an effect on me.
I sit up, letting my head loll back and gesture to the papers. He moves forward, picks up a handful, skim-reading before tidying the rest up and moving them before coming to sit in front of me on the desk. I swallow thickly, flushing at the feel of heat radiating from Jeff's body, so close to mine. If I moved my leg slightly, it'd brush him. We're staring at each other now, eyes turning a little darker, or it might just be me? I'm not exactly in a clear state.

I look away quickly, Jeff clearing his throat. The tension is still thick in the air.
"So, what are we going to do boss?"
Worry is etched into his face and I wish I had a solution; but I don't. I honestly have no idea what to do.
"If I knew, you'd be the first to know. A few more of these, and we're out. I can't afford the bills, Jeff." I'm staring at the wall, my eyes slipping out of focus when I see the Arsenal poster, and it hits me.
"Sebastian Smythe."
Jeff stops swinging his legs and turns following my eyes.

"Sebastian Smythe," he repeats.
I sit up straight, a small flicker of hope in my chest.
"He owes us – we put him on the map, made him known! If we could get him to play here, the place would fill up and we could raise the money to pay off the bills!"
Before I can say anything else, Jeff throws me the phone.
"Ring Adam," he says, but I'm already dialling.

Everything's a nightmare - the fans are causing riots, the band is complaining, as if it's my fault! And what do I do? Take it all like the 'nice guy' I am. I hate my job... that's a lie.
I'd love my job if my client wasn't such a pain in the arse. I walk around a corner, coming up to a door guarded by security, who let me in. Normally, I would knock and wait, but now is not the time. 45 minutes ago, he was meant to be on stage. I step in the room slamming the door behind me, taking in the mess. Empty bottles, cans of god knows what covering every surface. Random pieces of clothing, the air smells like smoke, liquor and sex, and there, tangled in a pile of bed sheets with two other guys, is Sebastian. I pinch the bridge of my nose, walk over to the bed and start kicking him until he wakes.

"Smythe! Clothes, now! You were supposed to be on stage nearly an hour ago." He groans, blinking in the harsh light.
"Adam, man, calm down. This," he says pointing to the bed "this is my stage."
I roll my eyes, picking up his clothes and throwing them on him.
"I told you not to drink before a show," I say, giving him another kick.
"I wasn't. I drank, slept with two guys, drank some more then slept, so technically the last thing I did before the show was sleep."
Man, sometimes I just want to punch that smirking face of his.
"Sober up and get out there." I'm losing my patience.
"Fine, fine." He heads to the bathroom.
When did my job become so stressful?
Before I can ponder this though, my phone vibrates and I check the caller ID. I sigh, but answer.

"Hey, Nick."
"Adam, great, I need to ask you something," of course he does
"Sure, what's up?"
"Sebastian owes us, you owe us, and now I would like to cash in those favours." Is there never a 'thank you' or a 'please' in this line of work?
"What is it?"
"Sebastian Smythe, to play the Bourbon room next week, for free."
I only hesitate for a second.
"Fine, sure, whatever. We'll see you – yes, now, Seb – sorry, we'll see you then."

I hang up the phone, Jeff's looking at me with nervous eyes but when I smile, he does too.
"He said yes," Jeff comments.
I nod and he jumps, fist pumping the air. "I knew you could do it, Nick!"
I almost blush. He walks over to the stereo in the corner of the office.
"I think this calls for some celebratory music
Jeff starts to dance as the music fills the room and I finally start to feel the alcohol running through my veins, and sing along.

I saw him dancin' there by the record machine

I sing, pointing to Jeff dramatically and making my way over.

I knew he must a been about seventeen
The beat was goin' strong
Playin' my favourite song
An' I could tell it wouldn't be long
Till he was with me, yeah me

Singin

I love rock n' roll
So put another dime in the jukebox baby
I love rock n' roll
So come and take your time and dance with me

Jeff is dancing up against me, I can smell his own drink on his breath. The heat that was there before, is back but this time neither of us want to stop, or seem to care. We immerse ourselves in dancing and singing the lyrics. I look into his green, shining eyes and it makes me want to lose control.

He smiled so I got up and asked for his name
That don't matter, he said
'cause it's all the same

He turns around, still dancing on me, but now we're face to face. His arms link around my neck, making my breath hitch.

Said can I take you home where we can be alone
An' next we were movin' on
He was with me, yeah me

I love rock n' roll
So put another dime in the jukebox baby
I love rock n' roll
So come an' take your time an' dance with me

Our faces are a matter of centimetres away when the song finishes and we pull away, breathing heavily in each other's air. Jeff moves first.
"I should go clean up," and he leaves.
What do I feel for that man?