Chapter Text
If someone told Victor he would be working for a Division 2 basketball team in the South, he’d have laughed at them. Then again, there he was living in a sleek apartment in Grant Park, with plenty of eye candy and the promise of evading both the snow and the desert in which he had spent his childhood and adolescence. Born in New York, raised in northern Arizona, his mother was grateful he lived a few states closer than he had been while going to school in one Carolina to then work in the other. His sister, Pilar, had moved to Miami with her husband, so she was glad to have her kid’s favorite gay uncle a road trip versus an airplane flight away, too. Adrian, having just started his year in the PeaceCorps was now the only cause of stress and frustration for the family, living across national and oceanic borders.
Georgia’s green was inviting, a little bit like his grandparents' house in Puerto Rico, which he and some of his cousins worked on helping them restore. Victor was looking forward to bringing his nephews there once he settled in, though, if he was realistic, it’d have to be during their next spring break.
At the end of his second month on the job, his best friend from college, Mia called to check in on him. “Hey, Victor,” she starts their face time conversation, “Charlotte’s not the same without you.”
“Well,” Victor says, “as much as I live near yoga and queer-friendly coffee, getting into the social or dating scene isn’t easy--
“How’s Tinder?”
“A mess,” Victor says, “between guys asking me if I’m a twink or a twunk, I had to deactivate it--
“How are you gonna get out there, Vic?”
“I dunno,” Victor says, “I was thinking of checking out neighborhood bars to see what I could find. Maybe, you know, try the old fashioned way.”
“It’s not like you have to find true love tomorrow,” she says rolling her eyes at him.
“Not everyone finds love in high school, Mia,” he says spotting her high school sweetheart, Andrew, juggling their twins in the background. “How are your girls doing, by the way?”
“Good,” she says turning to them, her smile beaming, “it’s Andrew’s turn to feed them today--
Victor laughed, knowing that Andrew often struggled with taming his daughters, who loved pulling on his ears.
Mia and Victor exchanged a few stories of the goings-on at work and their families until the twins’ bathtime. Victor rearranged his living room as both the reminder of his romantic and sexual drought racked his brain. “I’m going out,” he says, grabbing his keys.
Having been there a couple of months, his attempts at hanging out with coworkers werewas, well, limited. Coworkers, mostly straight, were either married or stuck to straight bars. The eye candy he often ran into there didn’t amount to much because nearing thirty, he was tired of one night stands or friends with benefits.
He was a romantic. He wanted to wine and dine, someone, go camping-- I could join the gay outdoors club-- he wanted small talk and smiles, and time. He’s an old-fashioned, monogamous romantic that way.
Victor leaves his building with no clear destination. The street lamps are bright; neighborhood residents and others are scattered on the streets with friends, dates, and partners, looking for something to do. Victor takes a deep breath, grateful to find a place to live in one of Atlanta’s gayborhoods. Some of the people he passed, scanned his long lean figure. Yeah, I work out , he thinks to himself. Because he runs with the team, he opted not to join the gay runner’s group. Soccer was different, it was an athlete he didn’t work with and it was the demanding athleticism he missed since leaving college ball.
On finding a classically hipster yet subtly gay bar, Victor walks in, taking in the art on the walls, the acoustic music overhead, and the laid back vibe he was looking for. Sports bars tended to be exhausting and, if he wanted to hang out at one of those, he could call Chris, the assistant to the defensive coach. Chris had a lay of the land, being born and raised in the ATL.
He orders a sprite, asking for a lemon slice so that it looks like he’s drinking alcohol. He takes his time with his liquor, especially as he’s scoping out a place, not wanting to lose his inhibitions or tie himself to one bar.
There’s a stage, there’s art on the wall, barely visible rainbow flags. People are on dates, sitting in booths with friends or, like him, scrolling through their phones as they drink alone. No one at the bar is his type. A bear here, a himbo there. “Would you like another?” Iris the bartender asks, “once the band starts, it gets pretty loud in here.”
“Maybe some mozzarella sticks?”
“Coming up,” Iris says, turning with a smile.
He went to the bathroom, knowing that he wanted to make sure he took care of himself before the crowd filled. While walking out, he spotted the cutest boy. He was wearing a tank top and carrying an amp in through the backdoor by the restroom. Their eyes met and the boy’s hazel eyes and extra sharp canine teeth glittered on scanning Victor’s form. “Hey,” Victor says, raising a corner of his mouth in a smile.
“Oh, hey,” the beautiful boy says, walking towards the front, “you staying for the band?”
Victor nods, following him. “I just got here, so,” Victor explains, “I didn’t know there was going to be a band.”
“Stay for the band,” the beautiful boy says, setting the amp on the stage, “the lead singer’s pretty great.”
“Yeah,” Victor asks as the beautiful boy turns around.
“Oh yeah,” the beautiful boy answers with a smile exposing the most adorably sharp canine teeth. “Definitely--Benji,” the beautiful boy says offering a hand.
“Victor,” Victor answers taking it.
“You new around here, huh?” Benji asks as he returns to the amp, plugging it in.
“Never been here before,” Victor says.
“Good place and good food,” Benji says wiping his hand on his acid wash, fashionably ripped jeans, “Welcome to Brasstown, Victor,” he says walking away.
Victor goes back to his barstool, his mozzarella sticks landing in front of him. “Let me know if you need anything else,” Iris says with a smile.
“Thanks,” Victor says, picking up a mozzarella stick.
Before she goes too far, he then asks, “What time does the band start?”
“In an hour,” Iris answers, wiping down the drink prep station, “The Sticky Beaks.”
Victor chuckles.
“Yeah,” Iris says shaking her head and smiling, “I know. At least Benji stopped covering other people’s songs and writing his own.”
“Benji?” Victor asks.
“Yeah,” Iris says, “the lead singer you just met--they’re our Friday night band--
“Oh,” Victor says, face warming.
“He definitely is a pretty one,” Iris says holding onto Victor’s face, “isn’t he?”
“Uh,” Victor begins to say.
“It’s okay,” Iris says, “even the lesbians get a little weak in the knees for that one.”
Victor turns to the stage, Benji setting up the mics as other bandmates bring their equipment. He was definitely going to be a regular.