Latin music is an unexpected reveal, and Jeff can't help but grin as he pictures it, Raylan pulling off some salsa dance moves-- or trying, anyway.
"Yeah..." Jeff laughs a little, but it's less in amusement than it is self deprecation. "Mine pretty much put me on the burnout track and washed their hands of me." Which meant that Jeff had been mostly left to his own devices, so long as he wasn't a distraction to his fellow students when he bothered to show up. As long as he did the bare minimum, they would've shuffled him out of high school with a C average and sent him on his way. But back in those days, even the bare minimum was too much to expect from Jeff, not when he had his eyes on a future of packed venues and screaming crowds. Who needed high school for that? "At the time, I didn't mind, but..." He shrugs. "I never want to do that to a kid. Wash my hands of 'em."
There's a lingering smile on his face and you know what? Jeff's absolutely going to write a song about the Panama Canal now, just for Raylan. But he doesn't exactly want to talk work right now, especially with how tired Raylan seems. They might not be the same person, and maybe Jeff spends too much time hiding his own sadness behind an armor of cheer, but he can see something small but painfully familiar in Raylan's expression.
"Hey, uh... You don't have to tell me anything you don't want, but--"
But what? Are you okay? That's the most easily dodged question in the universe. Jeff's an expert at that one, and he's sure Raylan is, too. Did something happen? Also easy to slip right past.
"--are you sure you should be staying alone on the other side of town? I know, I know, it's a 'vacation,' but--" Fuck it. He'll just be direct. "What happened?"
no subject
"Yeah..." Jeff laughs a little, but it's less in amusement than it is self deprecation. "Mine pretty much put me on the burnout track and washed their hands of me." Which meant that Jeff had been mostly left to his own devices, so long as he wasn't a distraction to his fellow students when he bothered to show up. As long as he did the bare minimum, they would've shuffled him out of high school with a C average and sent him on his way. But back in those days, even the bare minimum was too much to expect from Jeff, not when he had his eyes on a future of packed venues and screaming crowds. Who needed high school for that? "At the time, I didn't mind, but..." He shrugs. "I never want to do that to a kid. Wash my hands of 'em."
There's a lingering smile on his face and you know what? Jeff's absolutely going to write a song about the Panama Canal now, just for Raylan. But he doesn't exactly want to talk work right now, especially with how tired Raylan seems. They might not be the same person, and maybe Jeff spends too much time hiding his own sadness behind an armor of cheer, but he can see something small but painfully familiar in Raylan's expression.
"Hey, uh... You don't have to tell me anything you don't want, but--"
But what? Are you okay? That's the most easily dodged question in the universe. Jeff's an expert at that one, and he's sure Raylan is, too. Did something happen? Also easy to slip right past.
"--are you sure you should be staying alone on the other side of town? I know, I know, it's a 'vacation,' but--" Fuck it. He'll just be direct. "What happened?"