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Sid hates running but he hates the idea of being cooped up in a gym when the weather is so nice even more.
If he goes early enough in the morning when the streets are almost empty New York City seems a bit more bearable.
He loves it here, he does.
Being on Broadway has been his dream since he was little and he loves his cast-mates, all the museums, and the fact that almost anything he could ever want to eat or do is right at his fingertips at all hours of the day or night.
But sometimes all he wants to do is stand outside and close his eyes and not hear a single thing.
Even in the heart of Central Park he can always hear a car honking or sirens wailing.
He misses the endless stretch of trees and the breeze off the lake and lobsters pulled straight from the ocean.
He loves it here, but it’s not home.
-
His shirt is soaked through with sweat by the time he steps into the Whole Foods on Columbus Circle.
Theater actors aren’t like movie or TV stars. They don’t get recognized or swarmed wherever they go but still, Sid’s thankful for the hat he decided to throw on his morning.
He really doesn’t need his picture circulating when he desperately needs a shower and possibly a few more hours of sleep.
He pulls the hat down low over his face and grabs a basket.
He left the shopping list stuck to the fridge on his way out the door this morning but he’s pretty sure he remembers what he needed.
Eggs, chicken, spinach, pasta.
It should be a quick trip but he lingers up and down the aisles throwing impulse buys into the basket.
The air conditioning is pumping and he’s rapidly cooling off and he’s not looking forward to getting back into the humidity even if it is just to hail a cab.
No way he’s going to be able to walk back to his apartment with everything that’s weighing him down.
He steps back into the dairy section and stops on a dime when he sees the man standing in front of the organic eggs.
He’s tall- incredibly long legs and arms and he’s dressed almost exactly like Sid in running shorts and a t-shirt that has a hole in the left sleeve. There’s a line of sweat darkening the fabric down his back and around his neck and the snapback he’s wearing can’t quite hide the way his hair is curling softly over his ears.
Eggs are the last thing Sid needs and unless he wants to take another lap around the store he has to get to them now.
He steps up close and sees that the man has his eyes trained on the the carton of eggs that he has in his hand. They’re kind of glazed over and when Sid clears his throat the man starts and almost drops them.
The man takes a deep breath and juggles them against his chest. Sid tries to help by throwing his hand against the carton but he mostly hits his chest and his fingertips press into his damp chest.
“Sorry,” the man says. His voice is deep with an accent that makes Sid’s heart race. “Get up so early. Hate running. Almost fall asleep standing here holding eggs,” he laughs and Sid meets his eyes from behind the brim of his cap.
The man’s deep brown eyes widen and he looks wide awake as he takes a sharp breath and points a finger at Sid.
“Know you,” he says. “Sidney Crosby.”
He seems to forget that he’s holding the eggs because he reaches out like he wants to shake his hand then immediately pulls it back, catching the carton for a second time.
“Maybe you should put the eggs down,” Sid gently suggests and the man nods frantically.
“Yes, yes, good idea.” He slides them back onto the shelf and smiles shyly at Sid, his cheeks painted with a pretty pink flush. “Drop eggs and embarrass myself in front of Sidney Crosby.” He plucks at the front of his shirt and pulls it away from his chest. When he lets it go it clings back against his skin. “Already look terrible.”
“You look great,” Sid says quickly and then it’s his turn to blush. “I mean, you can’t look any worse than I look.”
“Look great. Always look great. See Winger four times. Amazing. You’re amazing.”
The guy is practically vibrating with energy and Sid ducks his head and rubs his hand against the back of his neck.
“You’ve really seen it that many times?”
“Yes. Want to go again, too. Really going to miss you when you close. Can’t wait to see what else you do.”
“Oh.”
“Big, big fan. Can’t believe I’m meeting you here.”
Sid’s equal parts thrilled and bewildered at his enthusiasm. This man looks nothing like the types of people that wait outside stage doors afterwards hoping for a picture or for him to sign his playbill. He looks more at home court side at a Knicks game or against the glass at a Ranger’s game. He should know by now that people can do both.
“Would ask for picture but left my phone at home. Can’t believe I left my phone at home,” he says to himself with a shake of his head. “No one believe me when I tell them I meet Sidney Crosby at grocery store.”
“I could maybe sign something for you.”
The man snaps his fingers and pats himself down. “Don’t have pen or paper,” he says then drops his basket and holds his hands up. “Can’t wait one minute? Please?”
Sid doesn’t even finish saying “no problem” before the man is taking off towards the front of the store.
He stares after him until he turns the corner and heads up the aisle.
Sid tries to collect himself but before he even has time to begin to give himself a pep talk the man is back with a small slip of receipt paper and a black sharpie in his hand.
He hands them over and leans his hands on his knees. “Thanks for waiting.”
“You weren’t gone long,” Sid says as he uncaps the marker. “You’re quick.”
“Long legs,” he says as he stands up straight. “Hate running. Have to ask cashier for those. Think maybe she thinks I’m crazy but it’s worth it.”
Sid is completely charmed. There is nothing about the man in front of him that he doesn’t like or want to know more about.
Except for his name.
“Who should I make this out to?”
“Geno,” he says with a hand across his chest. “Name is Geno.”
“Geno,” Sid repeats quietly as he writes a short message and signs his name. He glances up at Geno. He’s still smiling and Sid decides to take a chance and scribbles his number next to his signature.
When he hands it over Geno goes a bit pale and Sid worries that maybe he made a mistake.
“This really your number?”
“Yeah,” Sid says and winces. “I just….I don’t know. I thought maybe…”
“Coffee.” Geno says quickly. “Or dinner. You eat dinner? I mean, don’t know what I mean, I just. Know you have show late at night and I-.”
Sid puts his hand on the inside of Geno’s arm and Geno cuts himself off. “I would love to get coffee. Or maybe lunch. I have Sundays off so I could get dinner then. Anything, really.”
“Anything,” Geno says. “How about everything?”
Four Months Later
Sid slips into bed next to Geno and places a hand in the middle of his shoulder blades.
Geno stirs and Sid drops a kiss onto the back of his neck.
“Home late,” Geno says, voice thick with sleep and Sid kisses his skin again.
“Stage door went long.”
Geno smiles and turns to his side. He holds his arm up for Sid slide under and pulls him close. “Everyone loves you. Lots of fans.”
“I just wanted to come home and see you. Did you have a problem with the key?”
Geno shakes his head, eyes already closed. “No. Hung it back up for you.”
“You should keep it,” Sid says and Geno turns his head and opens his eyes. “You want to keep it?”
Geno slides his hand up from Sid’s waist and cover’s Sid’s heart. “Yes. Can make you one for my apartment.”
“I’d like that.” He puts his hand on the side of Geno’s face. From the glow of the streetlights he can see the warmth in his eyes. “I love you,” he says and Geno closes the small gap between them.
Sid can taste his smile against his lips.
“Love you too. From first moment I see you on stage.”
“I had to wait until I saw you holding a carton of eggs.”
Geno shrugs and presses his face into the side of Sid’s neck. “As long as it happened, don’t mind you waiting.”
Outside his apartment walls the city is just waking up.
But right here with Geno, it’s like it all disappears.
He’s calm and warm and loved.
He’s home.