Uncertainty is just a part of life. He learned this mostly from being between jobs.

Being unsure isn’t something inevitable, though. In his case, he’s well aware that his own actions have been the driving factors behind his current state of directionless floating. If there’s one thing he learned the hard way, it’s that he needs to take responsibility for his actions. Especially when he consciously makes them, knowing they will screw him over.

His current state of joblessness is simply because he made the choice to move away from home, spending the little money he’d saved for three months of rent in a shitty apartment. Without the comfort and security of being in his hometown, he’d had to restructure his entire life. Not that he’s a stranger to the city—he did graduate from a nearby university. Other than school, though, he has no connections to speak of.

So he’s here, taking a chance, running on fumes and the last few dollars in his bank account. He won’t ask for help; he’s too proud. Instead, he’s been sending out job applications like there is no tomorrow. He feels like the professional community is probably already talking about him as the ‘desperate guy of the year.’ He doesn’t care, though. He’ll go to all the interviews and answer all the calls he needs to in order to get a job.

It is for this very reason that he doesn’t groan when he is rudely awakened by the sound of his obnoxiously hungover roommate. And a girl, he thinks. They make enough noise in the kitchen to raise the dead, laughing and whining about their hangovers the entire time, and Leo stares at the bumpy ceiling over his head. He can’t complain. He made his bed, as it is, and now he has to lay in it. Even if he can’t sleep in it.

He wonders how much it would cost to rent a motel room for a month and decides it’s probably not worth it.

His phone rings and he turns his head, staring at the offending device while deciding whether or not to answer it. Could be a job. He clears his throat and sits up in bed, stretching and twisting. He has no script for answering calls. He kind of just makes things up as he goes.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Leo. It’s Katie.”

“Right,” he says, brow furrowing as he tries to remember. Katie...Katie...The name clicks and he gets a clear mental image, remembering his former classmate. “What’s up?”

“They liked your samples. If you’re available, Dean wants to see you today,” she says, excited.

He almost jumps off his bed. As it is, he silently pumps a fist and flops back down, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He almost wants to cry. Almost two months of worrying and suddenly, inexplicably, he has a shot at a job he never thought he would land. His stomach growls, and he stifles a laugh, imagining grocery store trips. No more buying dehydrated ramen.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he could land that job. It had been a long shot to email Katie his portfolio, asking her to personally pass it on for the opening. He’d half expected her to refuse; after all, they’d only known each other in passing, and she couldn’t have ignored the rumors that flew around campus. He is immensely grateful she gave him a chance.

“Yes. I’ll interview. Just tell me when and where,” he says, throwing his sheets off as he stumbles around his room. He throws open the tiny closet, tearing hangers off the bar, trying to think of what to wear as he considers how much gas he has left and whether he has spare monologues to read from.

“The office is on Segunda. I’ll send you the address. Come in at three thirty.”

“Thank you,” he says, stressing each word as he stumbles towards the bathroom. He barely listens to her response before hanging up, kicking the door shut with a foot and almost falling face-first into the toilet.

The entire apartment is really terrible. He constantly sleeps in sweat-sticky sheets because air conditioning is expensive and he doesn’t have regular work. The bathroom is usually a mess of dirty clothes and things he accidentally knocked over—soap, bottles and jars of things, his roommate’s junk. The bathroom itself is practically the size of a closet, and he always hits his elbow on the side of the shower stall when he washes his hair.

But that’s going to change, he thinks, jumping into the spray without caring how cold it is. Now, he has a chance at earning his keep. A chance at moving up, even. He feels like singing but he doesn’t, saving his voice for the interview. All he has to do is land the job.

That’s it. Simple, right?

***

HE TAKES A BUS TO THE studio. He gets off after twenty minutes, glad that it’s far enough from the building that no one will see. The last thing he needs is a subconscious bias from someone who associates public transportation with being unreliable. Not that he expects someone working at a video game company to be judgmental.

He notices that this area of town is nice. There’s a nearby shopping center with a coffee shop and some sort of salad bar. The streets are clean and even, the canopy over the bus stop is new and spiderweb-free. It has the atmosphere of a clean, middle-class development. A place it would be safe to walk around in the evening.

The building he walks up to is almost entirely paneled in tinted glass. He can see himself reflected on the doors, hair pushed back and the only nice jacket he owns thrown over a black shirt. I don’t even look like a professional, he thinks, hand hesitating over the handle of the door.

Except he doesn’t have a choice. If he doesn’t do this, he’ll be stuck doing nothing or trying to work as a part-time cashier at five different places. He’ll be stuck scraping the bottom of his wallet for rent money. He thinks that’s what he hates the most—never having the feeling of saving anything. Every cent goes to keeping himself housed and alive.

So, he tilts his chin up and pushes the door open, tapping into every acting bone in his body. He smiles and shoves one hand in his pocket, pretending he’s a million times more at home than he feels.

“Leo!”

“Hey,” he grins, tapping a hand on the counter. He remembers her more now—purple hair, attentive gaze. Katie. They hadn’t been good friends but they’d shared notes sometimes.

“Dean’s in the back with a new recruit. I’ll go get him,” Katie says, adjusting the wireless headset in her ear as she stands.

“Thanks,” Leo says, glancing around the waiting room as she leaves.

It’s a nice place. There are a few leather chairs and some gaming magazines scattered on a round coffee table. Enough room to move around but not too much. Economical. Katie’s desk is high enough for him to rest an elbow on but short enough to keep the receptionist visible. He can see framed concept art and magazines lining the hallway Katie disappeared through.

It feels professional but familiar. Like a place he could wear jeans to. Which is good, because he doesn’t have enough office wear for a week of interviews, let alone a full-time job.

“Hi. Leo, is it?”

“Yes. It’s nice to meet you—”

“Dean,” he smiles, shaking his hand briefly, “Your listed reference on your résumé was a former coworker, I recall. We couldn’t get a hold of him, but I think his initial letter of recommendation was good enough to move forward with.”

Thank God for that, Leo thinks. He knows the former coworker is someone who wouldn’t have given such a glowing testimony now, given the fact the guy was an ex from college. He just can’t afford to take a reference off his resumé, it’s a connection that’s been on his reference list since graduation. Probably a bad move, not trying to look for a replacement before submitting his résumé, but...

“I appreciate that,” he says, ignoring the lingering fear of failure, “and I’m sure I can put to rest any doubts you might have.”

“Absolutely. Come on into my office,” Dean says, gesturing towards a nearby door.

It’s a nice room. Very open to outside light. Leo’s focused on Dean though—he’s looking for any type of brand name on his clothing or watch. Anything that could tell him how well-off he is. He doesn’t see any telltale logos, which tells him that either Dean isn’t rich or he’s not fond of posturing with labels. Both are good signs.

“I’m not used to meeting with directors of video game companies,” Leo confesses, hoping it shows his willingness to be truthful. “I usually just talk to the voice directors for the projects.”

“Absolutely,” Dean smiles, “and I appreciate your candor. Erin did love the samples we received from you. She was ready to hire you right then, apparently, but I like to sit down with anyone who’s coming into my company.”

“Of course.”

“It may seem excessive, since you’ll be contracted for the project and not through the company itself, but I run a tight ship. So, Leo, tell me a little bit about why you’re interested in VA work.”

“I enjoy acting,” Leo says immediately. He stops then, reminding himself to pause and think about what he’s going to say next. Think. “I’ve always loved it. I think, as a voice artist, I could use my acting skills in a capacity that would be supported by other people and their artistic talents. Basically, I’d be bringing an idea to life, just a little. It would be great to work with a team in that way.”

“Hm. So instead of acting on stage or in film, you’d rather work somewhere you won’t be seen? Why?”

Ideally, I’d do all of it, Leo thinks. But don’t say that. They’ll just think you’re idealistic and silly. He shifts in his seat, leaning back, remembering to look as comfortable as possible. At ease.

“It’s not about me,” he says, “it’s about the character. Whether I’m seen or not has nothing to do with it. The point is that the audience should only see—or hear—the character. Not Leo.”

Dean nods, a small smile hidden as he raises his hands to clasp them in front of his face. His eyes are scrutinizing Leo, as if they’re looking for something specific. I hope he finds it. It’s always been exciting, placing his bets on first impressions and past experience. He can never really tell what potential employers think of him. Most times he thinks things go well, but it’s hard to guess his chances.

“Why don’t I show you around? Erin sent me your samples, which were fantastic, by the way. Very clear diction,” Dean adds.

“Thank you.”

“So, I think, if you feel comfortable in the space, we can move forward. Let’s take a walk so you can see the people who will be the other artists in your team.”

He rises to follow Dean, a little dazed, hoping the interview is going as well as he thinks it is. It certainly sounds like he is willing to hire him right then and there. The building suddenly feels surreal around him, and he wonders if he ever really did wake up or if this has all been some elaborate dream. I sure don’t want to wake up, he thinks, leaving the office and walking into the hall.

“This is the development studio,” Dean says, gesturing to a set of glass doors. The room beyond them is large, computers and people wearing headphones scattered around the area. “It’s where most of the initial work happens. This is our ground team, building the project from the ground up.”

They continue walking, and Leo can hear voices already getting louder, mid-range chatter and laughter echoing from within a new room.

“This is our animation pool. We usually pull people from here to make up smaller teams for different projects, leaving a few free-floating animators to do cleanup work and quality control,” Dean explains. Leo is barely listening anymore, caught by surprise at what—or whom—he sees inside.

He almost recognizes the man. He can’t see his face well—it’s probably not him, his mind helpfully supplies. The man is wearing a suit jacket and navy blue pants, leaning against a table and talking to some other animators. His curly hair is pushed away from his face.

Leo has a sudden, powerful memory. Laughter and the way a hand curled around his, pulling him in. He almost walks closer to the room, wanting to say something. Instead, he steps away, hands shaking in his pockets.

“Can’t be,” Leo murmurs, shaking his head briefly.

“I know,” Dean laughs, startling him back into reality, “it seems impossible. They’re fantastic, though.”

Leo doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he smiles and nods anyway, following Dean down the hallway. He’s mildly shaken by the encounter, uneasy at the sudden memories it brought up, but he reminds himself that it’s impossible.

It can’t be Austin. After all, what are the chances? Zero, he thinks. There’s no chance that the one person he regrets never making up with is working at the same place he’s about to be hired at. He knows Austin had studied animation, but he can’t accept that the other man is still in the same city they went to college in. Is in the same tiny company that Leo is applying to.

Not that he would hate the idea. He’d love it, in fact. If there’s one thing he can claim to regret, it’s the way his relationship with Austin ended in college. It had been going so well until he screwed it all up. Even immediately after, he’d wished he could get Austin to understand. It wasn’t because the man wasn’t enough; that’s one thing Leo never wanted to make anyone feel. Except he had, in his fumbling way, and now he has to deal with the fact that almost no one in college had kept in contact with him.

They’d cut ties, which is reasonable, considering the fact that his relationships had average shelf lives of something like five weeks. So maybe it’s better if it’s not Austin, he thinks, smiling and nodding as he follows Dean to fill out paperwork. Maybe it’s better that he start over again and hopefully find something that will last.

He’s grown up since college. He just needs to prove it now.

***

HIS FIRST MISSION IS to clean. He has an energy about him now, knowing he’s about to do something worthwhile. It’s been ages since his last real job, and he feels the excitement thrum in his veins. I’m doing it, he thinks. I’m actually starting fresh.

He’d known it would happen. He just hadn’t dreamed it would happen this soon, or when he’d already lost hope. He’d resigned himself to an office temp job—even retail or food service. Anything to get by. He’d worked low-paying jobs to support himself before.

The fact that he no longer has to feels immensely relieving. It’s like the universe is sending him a sign. Be a new person, do great things.

He changed after college. Mostly he got out of being typecast; leaving the pool of people he’d been around for years had allowed him a new start. People weren’t focused on his looks; he wasn’t as handsome or ripped as some of the other actors he auditioned with. Instead, people paid attention to his emotions. To the way he tried so hard to show feeling.

Thinking about Austin brings him back to that. Now that he’s got a little more experience in the real world, he recognizes that he shouldn’t have screwed up so badly. Maybe he had been hurting, but that wasn’t an excuse to go out and be an ass. Even if he had felt neglected.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I changed, and now I’m seeing the good results.

“What are you so happy about?”

Well, it’s not all perfect. He glances at his roommate, rinsing off a dish he’s in the middle of cleaning. There’s a guy with him, some friend Leo is used to seeing. The friend is marginally nicer.

“Nothing. Just interviewed and landed a job today.”

“Oh. Cool.”

More than cool, Leo wants to say, but he keeps quiet. He’s not expecting much from his roommate. Jordan isn’t much more than a pocketbook, if he’s honest; someone that contributes every month to the rent. Not that Leo hadn’t tried—he’d been perplexed, actually, to realize that Jordan just didn’t care. Leo’s usually quick to make friends and easy to keep up with. Somehow, his roommate is an exception.

“Anyway, it’s regular hours. I shouldn’t be bothering you late at night,” he explains, knowing he doesn’t really have to tell Jordan. He certainly bothers me enough at night.

“Hey, we’re going out later,” the friend says—Leo can’t remember his name. “You can totally come. Celebrate. Maybe pick up someone to celebrate with.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s not really my style,” Leo says, embarrassed. Not anymore.

“Okay. Good luck,” the man says, disappearing into Jordan’s room.

Leo decides if there’s anything he doesn’t want to be, it’s probably like Jordan. He hopes he can avoid that, with his new job and the prospect of actually being able to save money for once.

Things will get better. They will.