Work Text:
Ryan was having a bad day.
As soon as he awoke that morning, he had found a way to mess up everything he did, no matter how small it was. Firstly, he slept through his alarm which set him back nearly fifteen minutes. Then, because he was in a rush, he cut himself shaving. He burned his eggs as a result of being so preoccupied with patching himself up and had to take all precaution in making sure the fire alarm didn’t go off. And when he finally left his apartment, he was met with the unmistakable chicken-scratch of his landlord reminding him that he was late with the month’s rent.
All of this, in addition to his running out of coffee, bore down on him as he arrived at the bus stop at last, his usual commute to work. Despite all the earlier mishaps, he successfully got on the bus and even managed to secure a seat, though he soon offered it to a pregnant woman who looked as stressed as he felt. He thanked whatever Deity it was that was responsible for the break in his excruciatingly bad luck and began composing a text to his co-worker/casual friend, Jack, to explain that he was going to be late for work.
Luckily he had an understanding boss.
Jack had quickly texted back, saying that he had told Geoff and Geoff had done nothing but nod and continue to not-so subtly empty the contents of his flask into his coffee. He laughed and started to reply when the transit suddenly lurched to a pause, sending him careening backwards gracelessly; right into the unsuspecting lap of the stranger behind him.
“Ow, you fuck!”
x
Michael was having the worst hangover.
Normally he could challenge the strongest liquor there was, get absolutely shitfaced, but wake up the next morning, roll out of bed completely all right and pop an Aspirin for good measure. But this morning...well. Everything was his enemy.
The light, the noise, the fucking scent of the air; it was like those three senses in particular were also suffering from the post-Kerry Shawcross house party special.
And what was the worst part of it all? He had consumed nothing but several fucking fruity drinks last night. That’s what really pissed him off.
He had called Lindsay earlier that morning because, lo and behold, she’d left without him during their intoxicated stay overnight. She said Barb had picked her up pretty early and that her car smelled like a brewery enough as it was, when really he knew they were both too chicken shit to wake him up. (Michael promptly texted “Fuck you too, Barb” to the Canadian which then unsurprisingly went unanswered).
Lindsay also explained that Michael had tossed back everything much too quickly last night, that the mixed alcohol and excessive sugar was throwing him off.
She sounded all right, so sure of herself that he rolled his eyes and hung up.
Kerry, the fucking host of the party, was nowhere to be seen so he elected to catch a bus back to his house so he could clean himself up and maybe, just maybe, make an appearance at work. (He doubted it though, he was probably just going to shower and go back to sleep.)
He was not all fazed when he realized he was missing a shoe. He looked for it for like, ten minutes maybe, before giving up. His head really hurt and he just wanted his own bed. So he walked to the nearest stop and ignored the strange looks he knew very well he was receiving.
Sofa-mussed hair, a dangerous scowl and the one-shoe one-sock combination was definitely a charming look.
He bit his fist to prevent anything from coming up during the blurry, nauseating ride. Public transit was sickening enough but when you were hung over as he was, it was like your stomach had taken a personal trip to car-motion hell.
Just as he’d rested his head against the window, feeling his heavy eye-lids close in a pseudo-sense of relief, the bus abruptly halted. And a weight fell on top of him.
“Ow, you fuck!”
x
Ryan immediately scrambled off of the stranger, who was now fully sat up and glaring threateningly at him with dark eyes. “I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, turning around to face him, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Are you okay?”
Around the two, people were paying more attention to the troubles the bus seemed to be having.
Ryan was too mortified to even care.
He received no verbal reply, but the defined jaw line of the dude seemed to tick and Ryan just wanted to go to work.
“I swear I’ll make it up to you. Where are you headed?” he rambled, “I can—I can buy you a coffee!” He nodded his head. “I know a really good place—”
And really, Michael wanted to be mad; it came so easily to him and he wasn’t exactly having the best day today but there was something about the bigger man that amused him more than it annoyed him.
Maybe it was the fact that he was oddly but adorably blush-y, really shy about the whole thing, maybe it was the fact that he was so apologetic that he didn’t care that he was mostly talking to himself at this point. But maybe it was the fact that Michael was still a little half-snapped. Whatever it was, he smirked and said, “If you wanted a place in my lap, all you had to do was ask.”
And while the bus started up again, getting back on track, Ryan faltered, taken aback.
Was—was he flirting with him?
“I—uh,” was all he could manage before the stranger laughed, a giggle that positively did not match his previously intimidating countenance. “I’m kidding,” he said, straightening up and crossing his legs. “I’m fine but... I will take you up on that coffee though. Name’s Michael.”
Ryan clutched his briefcase, just a smidge confused but mostly relieved that the dude wasn’t going to kick his ass. He noticed Michael’s feet. “Ryan.” He paused. “What happened to your shoe?”
“What happened to your face?” countered the Jersey native evenly.
Bringing his hand up to his chin, Ryan swiped off the last piece of his bloodied toilet-paper bandage. “Shaving. Rough morning.”
“Drunken misplacement. Tell me about it.”
The pair rode in silence for a minute before Ryan prodded the other with honest concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know I’m not the lightest thing to have thrown on you like that...”
The curly-haired man shrugged. “I survived. It’s just this hangover that’s killing me.”
“Well,” the Georgian replied with a small smile, “a cup of Joe will do you some good.”
God, his smile was pretty incredible. Michael blurted without thinking: “A cup of you will do me some good.” And he never wanted to cleave the connection from his mouth to his brain so badly. Good-naturedly, Ryan chuckled, though it did kind of look like he was blushing again. Cute.
“I take it you’re kind of still buzzing.”
“Pretty much.” Michael was grateful for the excuse.
The bus came to a stop and very few people got off. Ryan pointed to a cafe just down the street. “That’s the coffee shop I was telling you about,” he said. He took a step and then looked back. “You coming? It’s on me.”
And, man, the fucking things he could have shot back with that one.
Michael nodded, forgot all the dirty comebacks. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah. Cool.” And followed him off.
During their short walk, Ryan turned to look at the shorter man. “You going in to work this morning?”
“Fuck no,” was the immediate answer. They both laughed.
Michael then looked at Ryan, really looked at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered and really, really nice. He was pretty sure there was no better form of irony that he had happened to literally fall into his lap. “What about you?”
Ryan grinned. “I could try again tomorrow.”