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“I’m sorry,” Rhett says for what must be about the eighth time, patience worn thin and voice gone weary in that way only truly soul-sucking retail work can evoke, “but if you bought the speakers from Best Buy, you have to return them to Best Buy. I can’t do anything for you. This is Radio Shack.”
“But I have a receipt,” his customer insists for what’s also at least the eighth or ninth time, not that Rhett’s been all that keen to keep count. “I’m entitled to a refund!”
As Rhett listens to the woman continue to drone on about shoddy quality and her rights as a consumer, his eyes drift up over her head and out into the rest of the mall, coming to land on what has quickly become his new favourite sight: The Knife’s Edge, a small, square kiosk that just appeared in front of his store last week.
Retail is hell, but Knife Guy makes it a little easier.
Currently, Knife Guy’s broad set of shoulders and head of short, black-and-silver hair are bent over the glass countertop, fastidiously wiping away any stray fingerprints or smudges. Rhett smiles at the familiar sight, letting it breathe a little life back into him until he feels like he’s gathered enough mental fortitude to go another round with his current customer.
“I am the manager,” he says in response to the woman’s latest demand to ‘speak to somebody who actually knows what they’re doing’. “If you want to talk to someone above me, you’ll have to call corporate.”
The lady huffs, pushing her purse back up onto her shoulder. “Well, the service here is terrible. You’ll never get my business again.”
“I never had your business. You bought the speakers from Best Buy,” Rhett reminds her again, but it falls on deaf ears as the woman shakes her head - like he’s the one being impossible here - and finally gives up, sweeping out of the store with a few mumbled choice words and leaving Rhett in peace so he can finally get back to his favourite pastime of watching Knife Guy work.
He’s moved on from polishing the counter and is leaning one slim hip against it now, idly watching a group of passing shoppers go by. When he reaches up to nudge his glasses back up his nose, Rhett’s heart gives a funny little squeeze.
Even from a distance, Rhett can tell that he has beautiful hands. His fingers are long and strong; masculine, but still oddly graceful as he unlocks display cases or puts through orders on the fancy touch-screen of his sales register.
How in the hell he got a job selling knives though, Rhett’ll never know. The guy’s got enough charm to sell snow to an Alaskan, sure, but watching him handle a blade is a wholly terrifying experience. Charm can only get you so far when clumsiness seems to take up the other 50% of Knife Guy’s predominant personality trait.
In what little time the kiosk’s been operating, Rhett has already seen him fumble knives more times than he can count, and it isn’t unusual for a new band-aid to appear on at least one of his fingers every few days. At this point, every time his fingertips so much as graze a handle, Rhett’s stomach unconsciously clenches out of fear for Knife Guy himself, but also everyone else within a five-foot radius.
All fears of unintentional finger amputation aside though, Knife Guy has made even the shittiest of Rhett’s work days far more tolerable ever since he took up residence out front. It’s like he exudes happiness the way the sun radiates light, and every time Rhett falls into his orbit a little of that bright, joyful sunshine seems to grace him from afar, warming him from the inside out. And Rhett’s grateful for it. He’s been working this scene for so long, he’s kind of forgotten what it’s like to truly enjoy your job. It’s refreshing and oddly endearing to see that capitalism hasn’t crushed all the optimism out of Knife Guy yet.
As Rhett’s staring – respectfully and subtly, of course - a middle-aged couple chooses that moment to wander up to the kiosk, and Rhett sees Knife Guy light up like a freaking Christmas tree, charm dialing up to eleven and smile getting even brighter as he starts talking, articulating with his hands.
Helpless, all Rhett can do is stand there like an idiot, captivated by the sight of Knife Guy in his element. His eyes, his smile, the sound of his laugh. Oh god, his laugh. It’s high-pitched and musical and every time Rhett hears it, his heart soars but also kind of shrivels up and dies because god, what he wouldn’t give for it to be him making Knife Guy laugh like that.
Logically, he knows that he could just go over there and say hi. Maybe even get the guy’s name so he can finally stop calling him Knife Guy in his head, but Rhett is already at least 80% in love with the dude – and has built him up so much inside his own head at this point – he’s 100% certain that any attempt at introducing himself is going to end in either extreme embarrassment where he accidentally blurts out a marriage proposal on the spot, or crushing disappointment when Knife Guy turns out to be a complete jerk or something.
It’s better this way, Rhett tells himself. Never meet your heroes and all that.
With no small amount of reluctance, he tears his eyes away and redirects his focus to his own job instead, because as draining as it may be sometimes, this is still Rhett’s store, and he’s always taken pride in the quality of his work.
He manages to lose himself in organizing screen protectors and ear buds for an indeterminate amount of time and the next time Rhett happens to glance up, Knife Guy is alone again, polishing a few of the demonstration knives he must’ve pulled out while talking to that couple.
Rhett has no idea if Knife Guy successfully made the sale, and not knowing annoys him far more than he thought it would. He must’ve at least sold them a paring knife, right? Surely those customers weren’t impervious to Knife Guy’s dazzling, magnetic abundance of personality and appeal.
Rhett is so lost in thought he doesn’t even realize that he’s started staring in Knife Guy’s direction again – with furrowed eyebrows and a tight-set mouth this time, mentally admonishing Knife Guy’s customers for possibly leaving empty-handed – until Knife Guy suddenly looks straight up; bright blue making direct eye contact with Rhett across the corridor.
Rhett freezes like a deer in headlights, wanting to bolt but finding his feet oddly stuck in place as he holds Knife Guy’s gaze for a few long, breathless seconds that are simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
Knife Guy’s lips part into a beautiful, lop-sided grin as he raises one arm to give Rhett a friendly salute, and to Rhett’s slowly-dawning horror, Knife Guy uses the hand that’s currently holding one of his knives to do it; completely oblivious as he brings the tip of the blade dangerously close to his temple.
Rhett’s heart automatically clenches at the sight. Out of fear, definitely, but also something else. Something that gives him a sinking suspicion that he just went from 80% in love with this quirky, handsome disaster of a sales guy to a complete and irreversible 100%.
Rhett is so screwed.
It’s two weeks later when Rhett bears witness to what is without a doubt the scariest of Knife Guy’s butter-fingered blade fumbling to date.
He’s only half paying attention at first – it’s inventory time which always takes up more of Rhett’s focus and energy – but it’s become routine to keep one eye on the neighbouring kiosk whenever he can these days. There’s a certain amount of comfort that comes from knowing that Knife Guy is over there happily making his sales and chatting with customers while Rhett’s also working away. A kind of quiet, unspoken solidarity almost.
So when he sees out of his peripheral that Knife Guy is currently brandishing a long, thin boning knife while taking with his hands as he always tends to do, Rhett spares it a moment of concern before turning back to his handful of paperwork with a frown.
He tries his best to focus but concern keeps niggling in the back of his head, so after re-reading the same line three times without actually absorbing any of it, Rhett scrubs a hand over his face and gives up on accomplishing anything until he’s seen Knife Guy safely put away that particularly scary-looking blade with his own two eyes.
When he looks back out across the mall, Knife Guy is as endearing and enthusiastic as ever as he converses with his customer- a short, young blonde with sunglasses perched on top of her head - but it’s clear that the woman has no interest in actually buying anything, more likely just looking for an opportunity to chat up Knife Guy. Rhett can’t really blame her there.
As he suspected, after a few more minutes she leaves empty-handed, and Rhett would feel bad that Knife Guy didn’t get the sale, but he’s too busy feeling an overwhelming sense of relief instead; strangely happy that Knife Guy didn’t seem to reciprocate the woman’s attempt at flirting.
Knife Guy himself seems totally unperturbed by the whole event, whistling to himself as he starts to pack up the boning knife with quick, deft hands, only he’s moving too fast, and in the next instant his fingers are fumbling on the handle as it slips from his grasp.
Rhett doesn’t even have time to react - all he can do is stare in dread when, instead of yanking his arm back, Knife Guy instinctively tries to catch the falling blade, hand darting back out, and even from afar, Rhett can tell that things are about to get bad.
Sleek, sharp metal makes contact with the length of his fingers and Rhett winces just as Knife Guy does the same, quickly drawing his hand back a few seconds too late.
Like someone’s just hit a giant pause button, everything seems to go still for a second as Rhett stops breathing, mouth dry and heart thumping as he waits for some kind of sign that Knife Guy’s okay. Rhett can’t see his face from this angle; just the way his shoulders are bunched up towards his ears, the way he’s got one hand braced on the countertop and the other tucked in close to his chest.
A second passes where Knife Guy just stands there, swaying a little, then his legs seem to give out from under him and he completely disappears behind the counter.
Rhett doesn’t even think; he just runs.
Out the front of the store, dodging a mom with a stroller and a pack of giggling teens, not even bothering to look for the hidden swing-door entrance to the kiosk - he just vaults over the counter like an Olympic hurdler, operating on pure, panic-filled adrenaline.
When he gets there he finds Knife Guy curled on his side, lying in a heap on the floor, and for one wild second Rhett fears that he might be dead, but then he sees the steady rise and fall of Knife Guy’s chest and lets out his own breath of relief. As long as Knife Guy didn’t actually hit his head when he fell, he should be fine.
He will be fine.
Rhett can handle this.
Cradling the back of Knife Guy’s head with one palm, Rhett lays the other hand on his shoulder before gently coaxing Knife Guy to roll over onto his back.
“C’mon man, wake up,” Rhett urges softly, eyes roaming over Knife Guy’s face. His eyes are still closed, cheeks pale, and good god, he really is gorgeous up close. Rhett would really, really like him to wake up now so he can stop internally crapping himself.
After another long, anxiety-filled second, Knife Guy’s eyelids start to flutter and Rhett practically collapses next to him in relief.
“Hey,” he says, quiet and gentle and way too fond when Knife Guy finally opens his eyes, “there you are.”
Knife Guy groans, brilliant blue eyes gazing up at Rhett as his lips part and he lets out a second, softer sound at the sight of Rhett hovering over him.
Bracing his good hand on the floor, Knife Guy tries to sit up, so Rhett puts a steadying hand on his back, helping to prop him up gingerly.
“Easy,” he warns, gently rubbing Knife Guy’s back in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “I think you passed out, man. How’re you feeling? Can you tell me your name?”
“S’Link,” Knife Guy says, eyes drifting around in unfocused confusion until he finally lands on Rhett’s face and stays there, keeping focus on him like a lifeline. “My hand hurts, but I think I’m okay.”
“Link,” Rhett repeats, just to see how it feels in his mouth. Somehow, it’s a perfect fit. “I’m Rhett.”
“I know,” Link says, and Rhett’s heart soars because holy shit, Knife Guy Link knows who he is.
The shock must be showing on his face because Link gives him a faint, woozy grin before adding, “It’s on your name tag.”
Oh. Right.
Rhett glances down at his polo-style work shirt for a second – and the dumb plastic name tag currently affixed there - before shaking off any of his embarrassment. Link is hurt; that’s the main priority.
“Should I call an ambulance?” Rhett asks him. “You went down like a tree, man.”
“Oh gosh.” Link huffs out a slight laugh, looking a little embarrassed himself now. “I’m okay, promise. Not the first time I’ve fainted and it probably won’t be the last. It just kinda happens whenever I see blood.”
“Well, at least let me help patch you up,” Rhett offers, because judging from how faint Link still looks, Rhett wouldn’t even trust the guy with applying a band-aid to the correct finger right now. “D’you have a first aid kit in here?”
Link shakes his head. “Uh, I’ve been meanin’ to get one, but...”
Rhett stares at him. Link’s been flirting with sharp, pointy danger every damn day and he doesn’t even have a first aid kit? How is he still alive?
“Then you’re coming with me,” Rhett decides. “I’ve got a staff room in the back. You can rest there while I take a look at that hand.”
Link looks like he’s about to argue as he brings one hand up to nudge his slipped-down glasses back up his nose, but when he realizes that said hand just so happens to be dripping blood, he makes a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat, leaning heavily into Rhett as his eyes squeeze shut.
“It’s okay,” Rhett tells him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible as he resumes rubbing Link’s back, “it’s gonna be okay, buddy. Can you stand up?”
Link seems to debate that for a second, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks. “If you help me,” he says quietly, looking up at Rhett with a slightly shy, hopeful look. “I think I’m gonna need to lean on you.”
“Lean away,” Rhett confirms, hoping the faint crack in his voice isn’t too detectable. Palms sweating even more than usual, he brushes them off on his pant legs before helping Link up from the floor, clasping his uninjured hand tightly and pulling him upwards.
As soon as Link’s up, he immediately stumbles, balance off-kilter and shoulder knocking hard into Rhett’s as he unexpectedly lurches forward into Rhett's chest.
“Head rush,” he explains sheepishly, ducking his head to hide his face in the front of Rhett's shirt. “Sorry.”
Rhett can't tell if the action comes out of embarrassment or a need for Link to steady himself until his equilibrium comes back online, but either way, he isn't about to complain.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re doin’ great,” Rhett tells him, repositioning himself so he can tuck Link’s body in close to his, still keeping a hold of Link’s good hand while his other arm slides loose around Link’s waist; an extra measure of support in case Link starts to keel over again. “Is this okay?”
Link nods, looking a little flushed. “You can, um, hold a little tighter, maybe? Still feelin’ kinda woozy.”
Rhett curves his arm until Link is drawn flush against his side, and he’s so warm and solid and his waist is so small under Rhett’s hand, it’s... a lot.
Clearing his throat, Rhett nods in the direction of his store since both his hands are currently occupied. Occupied with an up-close-and-personal armload of Link. Rhett has no idea how this suddenly became his life, but he’s prepared to thank every deity in existence for it. “You ready to try walkin’ over there?”
When Link answers in the affirmative, they start a slow, steady trek out of the kiosk, across the corridor, through the belly of the Radio Shack and into the tidy - if not slightly cramped - back room.
After directing Link to sit in one of the plastic chairs next to the break table, Rhett gathers up his supplies: first a bottle of water that he passes off to Link immediately, then the rarely-used first aid kit that’s been collecting dust on a shelf for longer than Rhett can remember.
With his height working against him, Rhett opts for kneeling in front of Link’s chair, figuring that’s the best of his options since it puts him in a good line of sight for tending to Link’s hand without having to hunch over too much. The hard tile flooring isn't the most forgiving surface under his knees, but Rhett can worry about any of his own aches and pains later.
Kit laid out on the floor next to him, Rhett shuffles forward until his kneecaps brush the toes of Link's shoes.
“Alright. Let me see?” he asks, gesturing to where Link’s still holding his injured hand up against his chest protectively.
Taking a shaky breath, Link carefully holds his arm out and uncurls his loosely-clenched fist, letting Rhett see the damage.
Rhett winces on instinct, but overall it’s not quite as bad as he’d expected. The blade caught two of Link’s fingers - ring and middle - leaving clean, relatively shallow cuts across them. They’re still bleeding sluggishly, but from the looks of it, he won’t need stitches at least.
Link’s eyes automatically lower to watch as Rhett studies his hand, but as soon as he sees the dark red smudges of blood his face goes pale and he lets out a weak little, “Oh.”
“Hey, hey,” Rhett urges, bringing his free hand up to touch the side of Link’s jaw, gently guiding him to look back up, “keep your eyes on me, okay?”
Link’s eyes are startlingly blue as they lock onto Rhett’s. He gives a single, shaky nod and there’s already more colour blooming in his cheeks again, so Rhett isn’t quite as worried about him keeling over anymore.
“It’s not that deep,” Rhett promises. “You’re gonna be just fine. I’ll get you bandaged up and in a few days you’ll be as good as new.”
A tiny smile lifts the edge of Link’s mouth. “Thanks, Rhett.”
His voice is soft, grateful, and Rhett quickly retracts the hand that’s still cradling Link’s face as he ducks his head, sorting through the first-aid kit to hide the way his cheeks have started to go warm.
“Y’know, I always wondered what it looked like back here,” Link says, glancing around the room as Rhett gets to work, ripping the top off a packaged antiseptic wipe and then gently swiping it across the first of the cuts.
“Really?”
Link’s probably just trying to make small talk to distract himself, Rhett figures. He finds it kind of hard to believe that anyone outside of a very narrow window of electronics nerds would be interested in the mystery that is the back room of a Radio Shack.
Link grimaces a little at the burn of the antiseptic, but nods. “Yeah, I – uh, it’s kinda embarrassing and probably a little creepy so sorry ‘bout that, but I...I like to watch you work sometimes.”
Brain blanking, Rhett’s hand stills over Link’s as he stares up at him.
“Like, when you’re in the middle of doin’ stuff, sometimes I’ll look over here and make up little stories about what you might be workin’ on. I know it’s weird, but you’re really good at your job, and you’re so tall and your beard is really nice and when you laugh – like one of those big, genuine laughs with your whole body - it’s just...yeah. Sorry,” Link apologizes again, eyes dropping to the floor as he starts to blush.
Rhett’s mouth goes dry. Is this a dream? Is he the one who really fell and hit his head and now he’s in some kind of concussion heaven?
“No,” he blurts out quickly, heart pumping a mile a minute when he confesses, “don’t be sorry. I’ve...I’ve been doin’ the same thing, honestly.”
Link’s embarrassment slowly melts into a smirk, head tilting to one side as he looks back up at Rhett. “Watchin’ yourself work?”
Oh god, he’s a smart ass too. Rhett didn’t think it was possible to fall any more in love, and yet here he is.
Chuckling, Rhett sets the used disinfecting wipe aside before digging a butterfly bandage out of the first aid kit. “Watching you, ya jerk.”
Link blinks, looking surprised. “Wait, really? You noticed me?”
“Noticed you?” Rhett repeats, incredulous. “Link, you’re the best thing that’s come outta this job aside from my paycheck.”
Link’s lips press together like he’s trying to hold back a big, elated kind of grin, but he stays silent as Rhett peels the backing away from the band-aid and carefully secures it over Link’s ring finger.
“Almost there,” Rhett murmurs, pulling a second butterfly bandage from the kit that he holds up in front of Link this time. “This is gonna keep the skin pinched together so it’ll heal faster,” he explains. “If you don’t have any of these at home you should probably get some.”
“I will,” Link promises, still looking vaguely delighted as he watches Rhett work.
Once he’s sure he’s got the placement just right, Rhett secures the second bandage to Link’s middle finger and, without even thinking about it, raises Link’s injured hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss over both bandages.
Link’s breath hitches in his chest as he stares at Rhett, an expression on his face that Rhett can’t quite decipher. Something soft and startled and a little bit wonder-filled.
“Sorry,” Rhett immediately apologizes, burning with embarrassment. “I don’t know why I did that.”
Link doesn’t say anything; just slips out of his chair and onto his own knees in front of Rhett until they’re right in front of each other, faces close and kneecaps touching on the hard tile floor.
Link’s eyes rove over Rhett’s face, slow and deliberate like he’s memorizing every detail, and then he’s saying, “Tell me if I’m reading this all wrong,” and Rhett barely has any time to process the words before Link’s good hand is curling around the back of Rhett’s neck and pulling him forward into a kiss.
For all the watching and wondering and daydreaming Rhett’s done over the course of the last few weeks, he never once let himself imagine how it might feel to actually kiss Link, and now he’s glad that he didn’t, because as it turns out, reality is so, so much better than anything he could’ve imagined.
Link’s mouth is soft but he kisses firmly, confidently, and Rhett feels like his whole body’s caught fire as they move together easily; fluid and comfortable like they’ve been kissing each other for years and not seconds.
Bringing one hand to the side of Link’s neck, Rhett cups the warm, smooth skin there, feeling Link’s pulse thrum quick and steady against his palm as he lets his thumb extend to graze over Link’s prominent Adam’s apple.
Link makes a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat as he presses into Rhett’s touch, causing goosebumps to skitter pleasantly over Rhett’s skin. If he thought Link’s laugh sounded amazing, it’s nothing compared to the kinds of sounds he’s pulling from Link now.
“Hey,” Link murmurs, pressing one last, fleeting kiss against Rhett’s mouth before pulling away, “when d'you get off?”
Rhett chokes a little on his own tongue. “What?”
“Work,” Link clarifies, laughing happily at the look on Rhett’s face. “When does your shift end? I wanna buy you dinner. To say thank you for all ‘a this.”
“Well, I mean, I’m the boss,” Rhett fumbles, brain mostly still focused on how close Link’s mouth is to his; how perfect that grin looks and how sweet that bright, musical laughter sounds. This might just be the best damn day of Rhett’s life. “So...now?”
“Now’s good.” If possible, Link’s smile gets even brighter as he gets onto his feet, all tousled hair and blue eyes and flushed cheeks as he holds his uninjured hand out to Rhett in a silent offer.
Rhett reaches up and takes it, letting Link help pull him back up to standing, and as their eyes meet and his fingers entwine seamlessly with Link’s own, Rhett makes a quiet promise to himself that he won’t let go.