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Danny Bolasco hasn’t lived in New York long. He did what any self-respecting theater kid does after they’ve graduated high school. He packed up and moved to the Big Apple to pursue a Broadway career.
To pacify his parents, who are very supportive but very worried about the possible financial situation that could entail, he’s attending NYU with a minor in accounting.
Danny isn’t ever going to be the doctor that they want, but at least, he has something to fall back on if this all explodes in his face. Which it might. Danny’s under no delusions that he’s going to have it easy in this industry. He’s got a brown face and a “foreign” last name and speaks two languages at home. Broadway might be more progressive than Hollywood, but it certainly still liked to see white people more often than not.
New York is a lot to get used to. Danny’s originally from a small town in New England, and the nearest city is over an hour away, a drive that could be considered a road trip by some. To say that New York has been a culture shock would be an understatement. He can’t see the stars from the city. It’s dirty and kind of stinks most of the time. There’s never a moment of silence. It took him a full two weeks to be able to sleep straight through the night because of the constant sirens and noises and people yelling. But it also has the best food he’s ever had all within walking distance. He’s been to shows that have left him nearly in tears with wonder, and he’s met some of the greatest people he’s ever known.
Most of all, though, New York is just fucking weird.
He’s lost count of all the strange shit he’s seen in his six months of living in the city. More naked people than he’s frankly ever wanted to see. He’s been harassed by a rat the size of a small dog, walked by a man dressed like a turkey doing the running man in the middle of a crosswalk, watched someone dragging a huge palm tree onto a subway car. All things that everyone else around him has barely blinked an eye at.
The strangest, by far, has been one of his delivery stops in Brooklyn Heights. It’s a nondescript apartment building, kind of fancy-looking, honestly. Wrought-iron gates enclose the steps leading up to the doors, and a bronze plaque reads Nightingale Towers. It looks fairly normal, but it gives Danny the creeps. The loft on the top floor has ordered from Empire Kitchen twice now and both times, Danny has been the one to deliver. Both times were … pretty memorable.
“It’s just – it’s weird,” he tries to explain to the restaurant manager after the address shows up as one of his stops again.
“Weird how?” Abel’s giving him a look like he thinks Danny’s full of bullshit. To be fair, Abel looks at him like that regularly. “Like they got illegal shit going on over there or something? Drugs?”
“No. Not like that. At least, I don’t think so. There’s just a vibe, I guess, I dunno, man,” Danny squirms, a little embarrassed that his explanation sounds so weak, “All I know is the last time I was there, some big dude with tattoos answered the door with a fucking sword. And it was glowing.”
Danny’s met with silence for a second, and then the whole kitchen starts laughing which is just fucking typical.
“Shit, Danny! I would have thought you’d be into that. How big was his sword, huh?” Jared grins, thrusting his hips as he walks by, punctuating each one with an exaggerated moan.
Danny manages to land a solid punch to his shoulder before he gets too far out of range, “Fuck off, dude. You’re such a dick.”
“Maybe if you go over there this time, you’ll finally get some dick, right?”
Ignoring him, he turns a pleading face to Abel, “C’mon, please, can you just take this one? I’ll owe you.”
“No! You and Tam are on delivery tonight. I’ve got the restaurant to run. I can’t leave everything because one place has some bad juju. Just suck it up. All you have to do is drop shit off and go.”
“Maybe they’re just nerds or some shit, Danny,” Diego’s leaning across the counter with a more sympathetic tone of voice than he’s been getting from the others.
Danny likes Diego. Diego’s a good guy. Diego has always been his favorite.
“Like you know them LARP-ers? My cousin’s girlfriend’s into that stuff. They use swords and dress up like fucking knights and comic book characters and shit. Run around the park having fake battles.”
Danny very deliberately bites his own tongue before he blurts out that he was one of those nerds into LARP-ing in high school.
Abel grabs the warming bag full of orders and shoves it into Danny’s arms, “Get going Bolasco. You’ve still got five hours left of your shift, and there’s more where these came from.”
Danny sighs, clutching the bag tight and turns to head out the back door. He ignores Jared still humping the air by the stoves.
The order for Nightingale Towers is left for last. Danny puts it off for as long as he can, but Empire Kitchen guarantees delivery in twenty minutes or less. There’s only so much time he can take. It’s a fairly quiet street which is shocking for Brooklyn or anywhere in New York, really.
He’s moving like molasses as he gets out of the car, fussing with his keys and double-checking that his car is locked, taking extra care with making sure the bag doesn’t shift as he walks. It isn’t until he’s at the elevator doors that he finally huffs at himself.
For fuck’s sake Bolasco, get it together.
Stepping into the lift, he reaches to hit the button for the top floor only to find that it’s already lit up. Huh. That’s – well, maybe he accidentally brushed up against the panel while he was… walking in. Or maybe it’s broken.
The doors shut, and Danny takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he begins his ascent. It’s just one stop. It’ll take less than five minutes. Magnus Bane, as weird as his apartment and other occupants have been, was nothing but kind both times he was here. And an incredibly generous tipper.
The elevator doors slide open and Danny steps out into the hallway. It’s quiet out here, sparsely decorated but clean and nice. Approaching the door, he clutches the bag tight to his side and reaches out to knock.
It’s about a minute of standing awkwardly and waiting. And then.
The door opens, and Danny’s confronted by … a lot of abs. Wow. That is – Danny’s never seen that many abs in real life. This is like Chris Evans as Captain America level abdominal power. Danny’s a little stunned.
It’s not until he manages to wrench his eyes back up that he realizes this is the same guy who had the glowing sword. He’s got a towel around his shoulders, using one end of it to dry his hair.
“I – um, I have a delivery for Magnus Bane?”
He hates that it comes out like a question. His voice doesn’t shake, but his tongue feels a bit too big for his mouth.
“Alec, is that the food?” A male voice comes from further inside the apartment and then a blond guy appears in the doorway, peeking a bit over the other’s shoulder. Neither one of them are Magnus Bane. The blond is new, though, and Danny notes the same type of tattoos cross his arms as they do on his friend. Maybe they’re all part of a cult? An absurdly weird cult full of good-looking model types who are fond of swords and leather?
Thankfully, there aren’t any weapons in sight this time.
He can hear more voices, and it’s clear there’s some kind of gathering going on. Danny very much wants to shove the food at them and book it, but before he can say anything further, he can see the actual recipient approaching behind the two guard dogs at the door.
“Alexander. Blondie. Stop intimidating the delivery man.”
“We’re just standing here,” Alec – Alexander? says.
“Yes, that’s all you have to do.”
He slips in front of Alexander, reaching up to smack a hand against his chest to push him out of the way.
His smile is warm when he looks at Danny, wallet in hand. He pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and Danny’s first instinct is always to protest that much cash. All he did was drive the food here, but the last two times he tried, Mr. Bane had waved it away, insisting.
He swallows hard about to express his thanks when there’s a small voice from somewhere around their knees.
“Magnus? I’m hungry.”
Looking down, he sees a little girl of no more than five, holding onto Alexander’s leg and peering up at the four of them.
“Sweetpea,” Mr. Bane says with an indulgent smile, “Why don’t you go with Alexander and get washed up, and then you can help me set it all out after?”
It happens at that moment. One second, Danny’s holding the bag, and the next, it’s disappeared. Briefly, his brain and his eyes don’t seem to sync up, and he stares at his hands in confusion where there was a bright red warming bag full of food just a second ago.
There’s a very pregnant pause, all four of them wide-eyed as the little girl smiles up at them and says, “It’s all done.”
And then it’s a flurry of movement. Alexander scoops the child up into his arms, saying very loudly, “Okay, time to wash our hands, let’s go!”
The blond slides back inside without a word, and Magnus Bane whirls on him with a tight and overly cheerful smile and presses the money into his now very empty hands and says, “Thank you so much. I hope you have a good night.”
The door slams shut behind him.
Danny stands, staring blankly at the plain black surface, his brain still trying to process what exactly just happened. He glances down at his hands, blinking a few times. The money is laid out on his still open palms like an offering. Danny clenches his fists, crumpling it up and turns, practically powerwalking back to the elevator.
He’s getting a new job.
Fucking New York.