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The ferry ride to Brooklyn wasn't entirely terrible, Tom will admit (not verbally). It was miserable in the first half since the other passengers failed to notice their volume, but his mood turned around when they passed by the Statue of Liberty.
While Lady Liberty excited nothing within him after two decades of seeing her face every week or so, Greg had a very different reaction to the sight.
For a minute Tom was actually scared that Greg might fall overboard from excitement and his seemingly relentless effort in taking as many photos of the statue as he could. It was still heavily amusing to watch.
Maybe I should take a photo of this.
And he did, or at least tried to.
He took a photo right as Greg turned back around to walk towards him. The result was half a blurry mess but he kept it in the name of memory.
"Did you take a photo of me?" Greg tried to look past the glare on the phone screen.
"No. Why would I take a photo of you when the fucking Statue of Liberty is right there? Why─" He snorted. "You're imagining things."
Greg nodded, unconvinced by what he heard. "Well can I have a copy of it?"
"No. You probably have a hundred different photos already. This is mine, alright?"
And with an assistant (slash sort of boyfriend) like Greg, that’s always where it ends.
When they reached the dock, Tom wanted to cheer for his freedom. Except he wasn't on the right side of the city and he wasn't at all free.
There was still an IKEA to overcome.
The last memorable moment he had about the Swedish furniture franchise was in college. That was in the '90s.
He wanted to swallow his own tongue at that thought.
"I don't get why we're here." Tom looked up at the items featured high on the wall as they went up the escalator. The hot item of the month is a dresser that's going for a mere $79.
Greg beamed at the statement. "You know that's what I always think when you bring me to a new pop up restaurant every month. So like, you know now, we're even."
"Yeah, Greg, those are dates. They're usually done over food, not in an IKEA."
"Well, Tom." Greg steadied his voice. "I don’t want to just do that. This is a date too.”
"Building furniture together isn’t a date. We’re not on HGTV.” He gestured at the showroom around him.
“We’re not─ it’s cheaper than going to open houses around the city.” There was a second sentence that was mumbled out but it was impossible to discern beyond ‘furnitures are cool’.
For someone who nearly bumps his head on all the fake doorways, Greg was surprisingly fond of all the small rooms and mockup tiny apartments. Turns out some people enjoy the idea of a master bedroom the size of a hallway, Greg being one of them.
Tom pretended to hold in a sneeze a few times to hide the laugh he’s stifling.
And when Greg did hit his head on a picture ledge whilst getting up from a sofa Tom could no longer hold in his laughter.
"It's not really that funny."
"You look like a giant in a toddler's playhouse, it is kind of funny.” Tom covered his mouth again to stop laughing.
Greg pouted at that and skulked away in the direction of the entrance, probably to look at the (adequately Greg sized) kitchen he liked so much.
And he calls me dramatic for throwing a few bottles in the ‘safe room’.
He’s not going to come back on his own, is he?
On his way to console Greg, Tom passed by the wall of chairs and was subsequently bewildered by one of the chairs on display. It was described as an armchair but it was more accurately a dining chair. The back was shaped like a shell and the sides curved outwards to form armrests. It was one of the tackiest things Tom had ever seen in his life.
“Yeah, I would ‘Sköld’ the person who designed this too.” He continued to find Greg after.
The display kitchen was grand in its own way, boasting a waterfall island in the middle that had the most beautiful wooden countertop. The cabinets had a mix of glass and solid doors, all of which seemed to be full. The pantry was stocked with fake food that was enough to feed a party with a hundred people in the guest list.
If a real estate agent were to market it, the first descriptor would be 'farmhouse kitchen', the second probably being 'homely' and 'a communal area for the family' as its third, Greg thought as he sat on one of the barstools.
He imagined himself living somewhere with a kitchen just like this one, a book stand somewhere on the counter with a cookbook he liked. That felt like a life he could live for eternity, with the right person.
Someone he could really care about.
“Greg!”
Tom shouted the name twice as he hurried past all the people who started to stare.
“Greg!” And the third time proves to be the charm as he saw his assistant (slash almost boyfriend) sit upright and actually turn around to look back at him. And that was all he did, stared.
Oh, so now he wants to be stubborn.
Tom leaned on the counter and stared at Greg. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Well, not the second part, that could’ve been left out.”
Maybe he should’ve gone back home instead of apologizing. “It was still funny, Greg. We were in a model house for ants.”
“I guess…”
“What were you so deep in thought about?”
“Uhh—” Greg got up and scratched the back of his neck. “You know just, how cool it would be to host a party here and all. Can you imagine all the food and drinks you can fit on here?”
“It might ruin the wood counter but sure, can we get back on track now?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, sure.”
They passed by the dastardly chair again, this time with it catching Greg’s attention. “Oh my God.”
He hates it too. Good.
“I love it. This is so pretty, it would be so cool to own one.”
If humans could hear at a higher frequency, they might hear a mirror in Tom’s mind shatter.
Greg moved on to other pieces afterwards but Tom stood there for a little longer, making a mental note of where that chair should be in the warehouse.
The next two hours of their IKEA adventure wasn’t as interesting, though Greg did fill up his yellow bag every so often with random pieces while Tom refused whatever Greg tried to convince him to buy. The items included a giant frame, a soapdish, and a paper lampshade that’s textured like the spine of an accordion.
Greg makes fun of his reason after hearing it twice.
“Oh yeah, I’m Tom, I only like things of use in my house. That’s dumb. You don’t have to need these things, they’re just handy to have in case of an emergency.” Greg says as he evaluates an assortment of tealights
“When will a three foot frame ever come in handy Greg? Name one good scenario.”
“Knowing you, probably when there’s a two page spread in a newspaper about yourself.”
Tom's eyes widened and he took a deep breath to process what he just heard. There’s not even a solid comeback he could come up with.
In the end, Greg settled with vanilla scented tealights, and Tom pounced on the opportunity. “Oh, look, I’m Greg, I’m so basic and vanilla that I love vanilla candles.”
Pounce might have been an exaggeration.
Two patrons who were nearby shot disapproving looks at Tom as they walked past.
“Oh come on, it’s New York.”
He turned around to find Greg gone.
Not again.
Greg stared at the plants, wondering how fun it would be to actually own some. He could start a little collection of herbs. He knew how to farm, in theory at least and he could utilize the knowledge. It didn’t really matter to him that the knowledge might have withered into mere concepts, it might actually be fun to have land to tend. A dog running around, probably playing a game of fetch with his owner. Him chasing them off his garden space, telling them not to ruin it. There could also be some flowers, homemade arrangements. And berries? There has to be a great recipe for raspberry cobblers somewhere.
He returned from his thoughts when he felt something nudged onto him.
“I didn’t know you like candles that smelled of red garden berries.”
Tom scoffed at that. “No, it adds color. Your apartment is white enough as it is.”
Greg gladly put in the set of red colored tea lights into his bag.
So that’s why he thought of berries.
Tom literally has no idea why his assistant (slash probably boyfriend) keeps going off to a random part of the store and staring at items like it's speaking to him. He should probably ask about that later.
“So, naturally red is the best color to have in my apartment?”
I can't be nice, can I? Tom huffed. “I’m going to take it and put it back if you keep asking questions.”
Greg put his hands up immediately after, “Okay, sorry!”
They spend almost half an hour looking at plants together. By Tom’s standards it would have been hell but each new plant seemed to thrill Greg and he couldn’t bear to say anything. He didn’t want to; he loved the sparkle in those blue eyes too much.
In the end, Greg settled on a small potted plant that he insists on holding in both palms and presenting it to Tom every other minute as though the plant had done something spectacular beyond existing.
It would be much more heartwarming if Greg didn’t make him push the trolley as they went through the warehouse.
“We should have a LACK assembly competition.” Greg lowered the plant in his hands.
Tom sighed. “What we should do is assess the fact that you sound like a maniac. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re LACK-ing in IKEA knowledge. You can keep going, I need to get something.”
Way ahead of you.
Greg returned with two plastic wrapped boxes, or at least that’s what Tom thought they were. The plant was safely placed in the middle, seemingly stating its superiority over Tom.
“So this is what you meant.”
“Yeah, we’ll see who can build a table faster. I mean it’s only 10 bucks each.” Greg shrugged.
Tom started to move the trolley again only for Greg to grab the plant at an inhuman speed.
“It’s a plant, Greg. It doesn’t live in the same way we do.”
“Yeah, but it’s Dawson.”
Tom paused and looked up at Greg. “You named it Dawson?” He moved his gaze to the plant, contemplating the thought of throwing it on to the ground.
He should probably do it since the plant is getting more attention than him.
“Yeah.” Greg hurriedly walked past Tom, holding onto ‘Dawson’ just a little tighter.
Tom tried his best to make it seem like he wasn’t actively trying to find the random pieces of furniture that Greg liked. Mostly using the excuse of checking his phone and getting distracted by it to wander into random sections.
Unfortunately for him, Greg didn’t actually want the first three things which included a vanity, a utility cart, and a cube-shaped shelving unit.
The two did however stumble into the nightstand aisle and Greg happily picked up one of the smaller nightstands that were offered.
Tom didn’t even know he wanted that but they were getting close to the chair section of the warehouse. So he was going to try to buy Greg this one thing. Even if he himself hates said thing.
It wasn’t really hard to find when the chair stared at them in the face.
“What do you think, Tom?”
I think that it’s really dumb and impractical but I’d buy eight for you. “It looks fine. Do you want it?”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to take two. Do you want one?”
He snorted. “No─” Shit. “I mean I’d pay for it, but it won’t make sense in my house.”
“You’d pay for it?”
Oh Greg, we’ve done this so many times.
“Yeah, like I always do. I’m paying this time too, alright, dear?” It took him a moment to process what he just said. He wanted to throw ‘Dawson’ on the ground just so Greg would forget it happened.
FUCK FUCK FUCK. WAMBSGANS YOU IDIOT. CAPITAL ‘I’ IDIOT.
On the other hand, Greg was beaming. Tom had never seen him happier. Maybe he did something right for once. (Maybe he wanted to see it for the rest of his life.)
It took them a couple of minutes to get past Tom’s slip in words, mostly since Tom didn’t want to admit to it. Tom blamed it on the smell of wooden furniture, claiming it's probably spiked with something while Greg just thinks that Tom is finally starting to experience his own form of IKEA tranquility.
Tom did pay for everything including the shell shaped chairs, the red tea lights and the two LACK side tables that still baffles him. The only thing Greg insisted on paying himself was ‘Dawson’. The $4 plant that has been in Greg’s hands since he laid his eyes on it, or for most of that time. (Maybe Tom is a little jealous.)
Greg couldn’t actually explain why he named the plant ‘Dawson’. It was just a name that lied in the back of his mind that brought him some good memories. It would take him a Google search whilst in line at the IKEA restaurant to actually remember it.
Dawson’s Creek.
He remembered watching one episode of it when he was 11. He also remembered spending his fourth ever paycheck on the DVD collection for it. He can’t recall if he finished the show from A to Z but it made a few things a lot more clearer to him.
Tom’s motivation to leave the line at the restaurant has done nothing but grow.
He might actually do it, let Greg buy their— is it even lunch time anymore? He hasn’t even checked his watch since they entered this labyrinth.
Half past four. This has to be some form of joke; there is simply no way they’ve been here for the past four hours. There is no way his perception of time has been this fucked up.
“Greg.” He tried to get his assistant’s (slash possibly boyfriend) attention. He then noticed the Google page on Greg’s phone screen.
Oh that’s the Dawson I’m competing against. Leery. Yeah fuck you, James van der Beek. This is Tom Wambsgans, motherfucker.
“Huh?”
Tom couldn’t even start his sentence but when a very high pitched voice seemed to command the attention of everyone in the line.
“Mommy, giants exist! There’s a couple right there!”
Did that kid say couple?
Whoever heard that kid was looking at them now, he felt the glances spared towards them. He turned back to see Greg trying to keep his grin contained, there was also a visible blush creeping up.
Maybe he’ll just stay in line. (If he and Greg were a couple to the patrons of this IKEA’s restaurant, he’ll accept it with open arms.)
We're a couple to that kid!
If anyone were to ask Greg if he’s okay, he might break down and cry. That or he might explode out of happiness, either works.
He’s so happy he almost forgot how to breathe.
The two of them realized that some mistakes have been made. Some of which were very sweet, others purely questionable.
But one of them just made Tom feel ancient.
The first mistake was taking both of the cakes available from the dessert case. While Tom liked dessert, two cheap cakes just seemed like an overkill.
The second was letting Greg order for him. It was just a regular order of two plates of meatballs but Greg, probably on some weird hop of confidence, went “Extra Gravy for both of those”.
Just because we’re adults who can order extras, doesn’t mean we should, dar—. He won’t finish that thought.
Tom hates the last one.
At first he thought Greg just got lost in his thoughts again, he didn’t know there was anything significant about a cheap artisanal soda dispenser. He crossed his arms while waiting.
“Are you watching?” Greg’s question just made him more confused.
“What kind of question is that? Yes, I am. I have to. Come on, we have to go to find a table, Greg.”
“Good.”
Greg had a third of his glass filled with ice, and it seemed like he was going to take the one on the right.
He did and didn’t take it at the same time.
Tom watched as every single one of the sodas went into Greg’s glass. The sound of it dispensing almost like a chime of annoyance.
Greg stared right at him as he took the first sip of whatever monstrosity was now in it and said, “Fuck you.”
Tom wanted to scream and throw his bottle of water at his assistant (slash idiot of a boyfriend). He instead walked away with his tray, refusing to even respond to whatever the fuck that was.
The table he found had a lovely view of trees, serene enough to calm his anger.
Greg took his seat across from him and placed his phone on the table for Tom to see. It was a 5 second video on Youtube of some guy getting all of the sodas McDonalds had to offer, taking a sip of it, and saying ‘fuck you’.
“It’s a very good Vine, Tom.”
“Uhuh. Fine, Greg. What is a ‘Vine’?” He kept his focus on the cheap plate of smoked salmon in front of him.
“They’re like 6 second videos that got like, posted onto this app from like 2014 to 2016. You know?”
“Interesting. Can we eat now?” It’s not that he didn’t care, it’s just that it made him feel old.
Greg looked a little upset with his reply. “...Yeah.”
Fuck. He shouldn’t have been that harsh.
Their meal was going a little too quietly even by Tom’s standards.
He should probably say something that’s been on his mind. Especially since they’re coming down from the high of this wooden furniture scent.
And if Greg gets mad at him, it evens it out. He deserved it.
“Greg, I’m going to be honest. I still think visiting open houses would have been a lot cheaper.” It worried Tom when Greg didn’t answer even after a minute passed. “Gregory.”
“Well, Tom, it’s New York. We would be paying for a car or a cab since you refuse any other form of land transportation. So it wouldn’t be cheap at all. Also it’s IKEA.”
“You keep saying that like they paid you to come up with ads. And I didn't know you got a marketing side gig.”
“Okay, okay, fine. Have you ever sat in a room and imagined your life around it? Imagine a life that’s like, a lot more different than this one.”
Sure I have, Greg.
“So, it’s like that when I was in that kitchen or when I was staring at all those plants. And no one here is going to judge you for it. Probably all of them imagine a new living room or bedroom for themselves. I don’t know, maybe they imagine living with someone else.”
Greg had so much more to say, so much he wanted to say but couldn’t.
Tom could see it and he understood it because he felt the same. (He even wanted to break his public PDA rule because of it.)
Tom put his fork down, reaching over and placed his hand over Greg’s and squeezing it. They shared a knowing look, a tender look they never keep for longer than a second in public.
It’s fine, Greg. I know.
Between crying in public and kissing in public, Greg wanted a kiss so badly.
He flipped his left hand over to hold Tom’s.
They’ll steal this moment from the world.
Leaving IKEA turned out to be much harder than Tom imagined. Both emotionally and physically.
He gave up on taking a ferry due to lack of space and called for a car. There’s more privacy in one than a ferry could ever give, he didn’t care if there was traffic either.
The car was only a 5 minute wait and everything nicely fit into the cargo area, out of sight.
“See, Greg. Now this is a little familiar, right?”
“I mean, I guess.” Greg sounded deflated as their journey home began.
Oh, you’re quick at turning back into a prick, Wambsgans.
He then thought a ferry would’ve been better when he lowered his voice. “Hey, look at me. That was a really nice date, alright?”
Maybe he screwed up a little. (Two people kissing on a ferry would have definitely gone unnoticed.)
Greg only spared a nod and a weak smile as his answer before leaning against the window and looking out.
Fuck.
It wasn’t spacing out. It wasn’t another case of him daydreaming that life went about differently.
It wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
But, it was.
Greg was daydreaming of what it would have been like on the ferry. It’s not that he would’ve done anything rash, but the anonymity of it was enticing. He and Tom could’ve sat on the lower deck and just talked about everything they wanted, they could be close to each other. Hell, he probably could have rested his head on Tom’s shoulder and no one would have known that it was them, no one would have cared.
More moments they could have stolen from the world.
Sure the car is more comfortable, cooler, and has nicer seats but he couldn’t help but think about if it went the other way.
He wanted to tell Tom about it, to suggest it back when they were back at the entrance of IKEA. But he thought it would have been dumb and that it would have scared his boyfriend. So he didn’t.
It didn’t help that he accidentally left Dawson in the car trunk.
To chase away the thought of crying, he closed his eyes.
He didn’t even notice that his hand was on the empty seat between his and Tom’s until he felt another holding his.
He kept his eyes closed but let a small smile bloom.
The only description Tom could give the feeling of holding Greg’s hand is that it feels like a home they both want but can’t ever openly express their wish for.
The half hour drive seemed to Greg’s apartment passed by a little too swiftly for either of them to like.
Both of them had a hard time letting go of each other’s hand as they approached the building.
The process of moving the furniture and decor up the apartment wasn’t hard but it took a couple trips since Greg was once again enamored by Dawson and wasn’t as helpful.
Tom didn’t actually mind the plant but he did make jabs towards Greg a few times and threatened to drown the plant once. It’s just their normal routine that they have to refamiliarize with.
Since Greg insisted on building his nightstands alone, Tom decided to take a small nap in the living room. A well deserved rest considering how tired his legs are from roaming the vastness of IKEA.
Greg woke him up when it neared sunset, a familiar grin plastered on his face.
"That look means you want something and if building furniture makes you horny then might I suggest therapy, Greg?"
That caused Greg to have a double take with his own facial expression. "No. No, well— maybe later but can I go see Mondale and maybe we can take him for a walk probably?"
“Now?”
“I mean, yeah, I mean he’s probably lonely since no one’s home and Mondale’s the only dog I know in New York and it’s gonna be nice since it’s sunset so, please?”
Oh, how could someone resist those eyes and the wishes it wants.
“Yeah, sure. It’s not like there’s anything else planned.” Tom grabbed his coat from the coffee table and followed his assistant (who he wished was his boyfriend) to the elevator.
They shared a kiss on the way down and it felt like all the burdens had been lifted off of his shoulders.
Maybe they’ll assemble the chairs and have a competition to build those side tables some other day but for now they have a dog to walk and a dinner to figure out. It has been a very good Saturday, even if their date was less than conventional by Tom’s standards.
They're both content and in love; that's all that matters.