thisfaceismine | [7/14] a job, a coffee, a date, and more

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peter

[7/14] a job, a coffee, a date, and more

Freddie's been told by more than one person now that new money will keep popping into his account every month with absolutely no input or cause by him. No one knows where it comes from, apparently, but it's supposedly enough to pay for rent and food and basics. It's enough to get by fairly comfortably.

There's a part of him tempted to wait and see if it's true. It's been a long while since Freddie's not had to work some sort of shit job to get by living on his own, but after the warehouse and considering the fact he can't rely on his parents here even if he wanted to, he's not about to take any chances.

After the first few applications he's turned in, Freddie's realized no one here's really bothering to check for honesty. So when he shows up at the coffee shop just down the road, he flashes a wide, easy smile to the woman across the counter and asks to speak the manager. Just as he'd hoped, she not only is the manager, but also the owner, and after about fifteen minutes wherein Freddie insists he has loads of experience both in food service (not a lie at all) and barista work specifically (not technically a lie) he's secured himself both a new job and a date for Saturday night.

It's enough to land him quite a good mood and he happily orders himself a dark roast in celebration and plants himself in an empty table near the window.

With only two other customers, the shop is fairly empty. There's an older lady off in the corner on her computer and a younger lad only a table away, his nose stuck in a booth. There's something strangely familiar about him, Freddie thinks, but he's coming to realize that isn't a wholly unusual sensation.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Freddie slips his mobile out of his back pocket and swipe through to pull up Bangr, lips twitching into a grin when he finds a photo of a truly lovely pair of abs.

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It wasn't that Peter didn't like Shakespeare. He had a healthy appreciation, though some associations had soured the taste a bit. It was that finding a monologue, a Shakespearean monologue from a character he might feasibly play was a whole other thing. The most appropriately doe-eyed characters were in plays Peter wasn't sure he wanted to remember. His eyes had settled on a single line of the Queen Mab speech and his stomach wrenched painfully. There had to be something else.

Nope. The comedies were too sex-centric. The tragedies were hetero-normative. The histories were too old. It all swirled about and there was no retention. Just one, repeating thought:

Peace, Mercutio, peace. Thou talk'st of nothing.

Not helping. The words were in Jason's voice.

Peter closed the anthology hard and let that be the entirety of his tantrum. His coffee was out; the timing was good enough, since his legs reminded him they needed to be unfolded from beneath him for a time. How much time, he couldn't be sure.

A quick turn to the left and Peter noticed something. Someone. A shock of incredibly blond hair, a devious sort of mouth quirked up in quiet appreciation at his phone, a tattoo on the inside of his forearm all caught his eye simultaneously. He was a truly beautiful person; more than that, he was enjoying a quiet moment alone. What was that like?

Peter forced himself toward the counter for more coffee, leaving his bag, book, and laptop in the booth. He hadn't ever had a reason to worry about mistrust until the last year or so. He still wasn't very good at it.

The boy at the next table stands, leaving his book behind as he heads to the counter, presumably to grab the coffee he's ordered. Freddie glances up, gaze catching for a moment on the lean waist and long legs and he wonders just how far his luck might extend today.

His lips twitch into a slow grin when the boy turns to head back to his table and Freddie ducks his head just enough to catch his gaze, his mobile forgotten for now.

Thoug he does wonder how this boy's abs compare to the photo he's looking at.

There was only one other person in the shop and she wasn't sitting anywhere near them. Just a table away, eyes on him, and Peter was asking himself where he could be looking. Bartenders winked, Peter needed Rapunzel to tell him it wasn't a mistake. At St. Cecilia's, there was no one but Jason that would look twice. In Darrow, there was no Jason. So, why would anyone look?

That smile. The contour of the way it dimpled his cheek and the fact that there was no one else around burned pink at his cheeks, betraying him.

The boy put his phone down. Peter found himself smiling. His cheeks burned hotter. This couldn't be happening. He opened the book again, skimmed through it, and retained nothing.

There's no missing the tinge of pink to the boy's cheeks or the way he hurriedly looks away. It could mean there's no mutual interest, of course, but it could also easily mean he's only shy.

And Freddie still can't get over how familiar he looks.

Grabbing his phone and his bag, Freddie stands up from the table, his chair making a sound against the slightly bumpy floor and he walks the few steps over, grinning still as he rests his hand on the other chair at the boy's table.

"Mind if I sit here?"

...at which he starts and wakes and being thus frightened
swears a prayer or two and sleeps again
This is she...

Peter was grateful for the the other boy's voice. Had he been staring at Romeo and Juliet that whole time? He'd just opened a page and looked at it. He'd unknowingly put himself in a situation where he suddenly didn't want to be alone anymore and just as quickly, company had been provided.

"No, yeah, go ahead," Peter said, gathering some of his stuff and beginning to tuck it away neatly in his bag. It was a quick process; everything had a place and being a student meant learning to pack up quickly.

"I'm Peter."

The invite is quiet, but seemingly sincere enough and Freddie pulls out the chair to sit down, watching with a small smile as the boy -- Peter -- begins gathering his things. He's meticulously neat about tucking everything back into his bag; there seems to be a dedicated pocket for everything.

Though the book stays out, he notices, and he catches the title. Student then, he thinks. He doesn't know many people who read Shakespeare in their spare time.

"Freddie," he replies with a nod of his head, brow furrowing slightly though his smile remains. "Not running you off, am I?

"No," Peter assured him with a soft laugh. He raised his eyes and found himself smiling. It was a reflection, probably, of what was trained on him. "I thought you might like a place to set your coffee when you sit." The book, Peter's coffee, his phone and one of Peter's arms were all that was left on the table once he was done.

"Nice to meet you." Peter had a habit -- a history -- of tripping over himself when he concentrated too hard on not doing so. Imagining this guy had come over to talk to him, no, that was something he had some trouble dealing with. Regarding a person who had a desire to connect, that was much easier.

"Was that you that just got the job interview? Congrats." It had only vaguely registered in Peter's mind as a white noise under Troilus and Cressida.

Still smiling, Freddie lifts his cup to his lips, blowing across the steaming liquid before nodding in reply to the question. He laughs then as he lowers his cup, a quiet breath of sound as he glances briefly at Dharma before turning his attention back to Peter.

"Apparently," he says, tapping his fingers against the cup. "Wasn't expecting it to be quite so easy."

Then again, maybe the supposed date he has on Saturday is actually a job interview. Freddie figures he'll find out soon enough.

He nods down at the book. "Work or pleasure?" he asks, partially genuinely interested and partially simply keeping up the conversation.

"Does that mean you're new here?" Peter ventured, sipping some of his own coffee in a bit more of a utilitarian gulp. He'd been sleeping less and working more and exhaustion was usually a brush away.

"Both? There's an audition coming up in the fall at Barton." He nodded to the anthology: a thick paperback thing with tabs carefully color-coded along the side. The second half was the most populated, with the exception of a good chunk of the "R" section.

"S'been a week, give or take," he says. He still finds the reality of it intensely unsettling, but there's no denying it. Could be some sort of mental break and he's actually still back in Manchester strapped to a bed somewhere.

He takes a sip of his coffee as he listens, nodding along at the slightly familiar name. "That's the uni, isn't it?" he asks. Just as he'd thought. That should make Peter here a few years younger than him, but nothing drastic. "You're a student then. Theater? Or is that just something to do in your free time?"

"A week?" Peter echoed, brows going up. "I never would have guessed. You seem to be taking it pretty well." Well enough to sit down with random strangers. Though maybe that was just how he was. Peter had sought company immediately, had been lucky enough to find people that became his support network, eventually Jason. That group was one person smaller, but his network proved its strength in his absence.

"I'm a Math major, actually," Peter laughed, because it was absurd. "I wanted to begin undeclared but I was advised strongly not to, so I panicked and chose Math." He wrinkled his nose to indicate his touch of embarrassment. His cheeks (thankfully) spared Peter of their help in telegraphing the situation.

"I might change it to theatre, though. I don't know. My counselor strongly advise against that, too." He shrugged. There was nothing extraordinary about his struggle. Not that part of it, at least.

"Were you a student? Back home?" It was a better-worded question than what do you do in your spare time and sounded less like they were on a game show.

"You seem to have a rather opinionated counselor," Freddie remarks with a faint grin. There seems quite a leap between maths and acting, but then, what does he know. He's barely touched maths since uni himself even when there's been an itch to pull out his prints.

Some part of him is grateful he doesn't have those here, following him around. In all his moving, he's never had the heart to leave behind his portfolio. This time, he hadn't had the choice and Freddie thinks maybe he's all the better for it.

"I was," he says, though he gives no indication of just how long ago that'd been. "Know a bit about maths, even. I was studying to be an architect."

He nods down at the book again, lobbing the conversation back toward Peter. "Can you do both?" he asks, bringing the coffee back to his lips. "Maths and theater?"

"You mean not all counselors are like that?" Peter asked, a half-smile to match his half-joking. "I come from a Catholic school. I assumed that's how it was." Maybe he'd suspected there were other types of people around, but between the "school" administration (which was really the church's administration) and the students' parents (including his own), Peter figured being in school meant being sufficiently subordinate choosing his life's path.

"I don't want to do math." He laughed, one huff of a breath. God, he was cute, and every dimpled smile was bit of flush just behind Peter's ears. He was probably straight, Peter figured. New in town and looking for a friendly face. Peter was approachable.

"It's easy for me, to be honest. I knew it was something I could do while I figured out what I wanted to do." Theatre. Or music. Something that he could toss his whole heart into before it shattered again. Music could help him understand and rebuild.

"There's a lot of overlap in theatre and architecture, too. Not a lot of math in it, though. Maybe that's part of its appeal." He felt like he might have been babbling. He tugged at his hair to replace it, as if it had been out of place to begin with. It was an absent thing: a self-conscious teenage habit.

"Have you gone downtown yet? It's nice at night." Really, Peter loved it. It was New York to him without all of those pesky steep bills and invisible bottom line.

"Wouldn't know, I s'pose," Freddie admits with an absent sort of shrug. "Only ever had the one. Guess he wasn't so great in the end seeing as I pissed me way out not too long in."

He says it easily, as though it doesn't bother him.

And it doesn't. Not as far as anyone else is concerned, at least.

He cocks his head as Peter keeps talking, watching the movement of his mouth, his easy smile and freckled cheeks, smiling quietly to himself all the while. "Mmm," he finally responds, taking a quick sip of his coffee. "Few times. Still feels all bit strange if I'm honest -- not exactly the city skyline I'm used to. Definitely can't say I know the area very well at all. D'you know any decent clubs?"

Peter sincerely doubted that Freddie's counselor had something to do with his not being in school anymore. There was no way to know -- and Peter wouldn't presume -- but to ask, and Peter got the feeling that wasn't the kind of conversation that this was. He was a curious boy, all questions and consideration for the answers, and thankfully he was also a perceptive boy.

"You know, I'm not really sure," Peter admitted, flushing as he tried not to spend too much time noticing that he was being watched. Curiosity was the burn in his cheeks. He was such a fool. "I know there's a place called Prohibition and a place with music called Hideout. I haven't really looked into it too much." But he should.

"There's a place on Stag Trail. I don't know what it's called but I've been there once." He didn't know if Freddie knew what he meant. He wasn't sure how to explain it. He'd only said that particular three-letter "G" word out loud once, and only to Kavinsky. It was who he was and he was okay with that, but the word still scared him. It was how he was taught to feel about it.

Freddie can't say he's seen either place Peter's named, but it's only been a week, and he doesn't typically go to places just for the music.

"Stag Trail," Freddie echoes then with an arched brow. Because even if it's only been a week, that's a name Freddie does recognize. It's no Canal Street, really, but it's clearly this town's best attempt at it. Or something like it anyway. He has no idea what club Peter might mean, but that's not the juiciest part of his statement by far.

His lips twitch into a knowing smile and he takes another sip of his coffee, considering a moment before cocking his head again, gaze playful. "Only once? Did you not like it?"

A smile broke out on Peter's face. This time, his cheeks did betray him and he thumbed at the corner of his text, hoping the angle would hide that. It never did.

"I liked it," Peter said, as brightly as he could through thick embarrassment. It was like being called out, even though Peter had opened the door. "I guess I just haven't found occasion to go back, yet." Was he flirting? He hoped not. Peter had always hoped he'd be smoother when he was out, that letting out the secret would magically give him what he needed to be okay at it. Unfortunately, that was not part of Darrow's magic, and Peter's cheeks burned again. He drank his coffee. Maybe he could pass his stupid blush off as a drink-related temperature change.

"What sort of occasion do you need?" Freddie asks, his grin widening at the flush of pink that spreads wide across the bridge of Peter's nose and over his cheeks. "You don't need some sort of invitation, do you? Tell me it doesn't work like that here.

"Unless," he adds, eyes widening as though the thought has just occurred to him and he leans over the table, one hand wrapped around his coffee, "it's that you're only waiting to go with someone. Another boy, perhaps. I'd say introducing a newbie might be invitation enough, don't you?"

He's smirking by now, eyes locked on Peter's as he brings his drink to his lips for another sip.

Oh, good God, that smile; Freddie's whole thing. Like Jason, he knew exactly how cute he was, but that was where the similarities ended. Very much unlike Jason, Peter hadn't felt his entire world shift into focus when they'd locked eyes.

Something happened, though, and it wasn't order from chaos. Maybe the opposite. Still, whatever it was felt good and Peter smiled. It was even easy.

"It would be the civilized thing to do," Peter said, sort of floored by the idea that this was even happening. Less than 15 minutes ago, he was trying not to admire some impossibly attractive guy out of self-preservation. He'd forgotten what Darrow was like, that so many things that should have been okay in the real world just were here.

"You have your phone? I'll give you my number. He put his hand palm-up on the table, inobtrusively on his own side.

Smirking still, Freddie draws his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it with a quick swipe before handing it over. He watches Peter over the rim of his cup, taking in the scatter of freckles and the stretch of his wide smile.

He still can't quite shake the idea that he's seen Peter before, but it's not cloying enough to distract and he rests his coffee cup on the table a moment later, considering.

"I'm free anytime," he adds. "Got nothing but free time in this place so far. Is it true this place just deposits money into your account every month? D'you know where it comes from? Seems a bit suspicious to me, I'll be honest. Don't think I'll believe it til I see it."

Freddie watched Peter in the ensuing silence as Peter saved his number into Freddie's phone. Even if he couldn't see it over the top of his phone, he could feel it. Those features were dynamic: pale skin, some killer cheekbones and a mouth that made unfair shapes in public beverage establishments. And his eyes. They told Peter more or less everything he needed to know. Was he ready for that sort of thing? When there had only been one other?

What about Saturday?" Peter asked, since he happened to have the day off by some miracle. He had work the next morning, but that was okay. When Jason was around, Peter'd very rarely slept before his AM shifts. "8?" He slid Freddie's phone back to him and included his own.

Freddie picks up his own phone, still grinning just a little as he searches for Peter's name in his contacts and then presses the icon to send him a text message.

8 is good.

Peter's phone lights up and Freddie hands it back to him, head cocked almost flirtatiously.

"It's a date then," he says, his tone implying it very well could be. Or might not be at all. It's really up to Peter what he wants to call it; Freddie's not fussed either way. "I'll make sure to buy you a drink. Should I meet you there?" he asks, getting to his feet then as he finishes his cup of coffee.

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[7/14] a job, a coffee, a date, and more

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