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It’d been about two months into the GoJo merger and things were going swimmingly according to one Greg Hirsch. He got out of the mailroom and is now working two jobs at once. It's kind of like if he was double majoring in Executive Assistant and Brightstar Coordinator. It’s surprisingly easy? Some would say too easy, and they’d be right since the former of the jobs isn’t so much a job as a way for one Tom Wambsgans to be able to call him to just kind of hang and not get in real trouble for it.
Greg really liked his job with Brightstar. He’d initially asked Tom to try and negotiate the Buffalo joint for him, but they were both pleasantly surprised when Matsson straight up delivered the entire department on a silver platter to the guy who once puked out of the mascot’s eyeholes. Speaking of, Greg always feels like he’s counting his days until that somehow comes to light. Upon being promoted, his first order of business was to physically burn and digitally wipe the reason for his previous employment’s termination for good.
Regardless, the point is he got the promotion. Somehow. And that 'somehow' did very much scare Tom and Greg because, apart from the merger (which at that point had been a done deal), they had brought virtually nothing to the table and were utterly unsure as to what chip Matsson was going to cash in in exchange. However, amid the commotion of settling into a new job, keeping his old one, and getting the rights to set up the Green Lantern: First Flight coaster in Buffalo, Greg kind of completely forgot to be concerned about that.
Up until right now.
“I don’t want to be uncouth, Tom, but, uh, what the fuck?”
That was also new. He could swear at Tom now? Greg thinks Tom’s emotional stability heightened significantly with the reduced numbers of Roys in office now that Shiv is almost entirely outside the Waystar sphere, Ken’s been touring for his Lifestyle Brand™ in Cali, and Roman’s been banished to Europe (again). Oh, also Connor literally never comes by, so he doesn’t count.
“Greg. If you tell me you didn’t listen to a word I just said, I’m punting you across the Hudson.”
“No, I did hear you, I’m just. I guess I’m in shock?”
“Oh, are you? Have you just witnessed a murder, Greg? Do you need a little chrome blanket to soothe you? Are you astounded by being asked to, y’know, do your job?”
“My job is to run Brightstar, not to be involved in propaganda.”
"You’re still the Head of ATNGo+’s assistant. Your job is quite literally to find how to sell more subscriptions. Through propaganda.”
Greg did that thing where he groans a little whine and looks around the room like he can Dora the Explorer his way out of this one. Tom noticed that whenever he does this, Greg gets the doe eyes that don’t say “fuck me” as much as they do “oh, fuck, car approaching” (although Tom can literally never tell the difference between the two so he just guesses mostly).
After finding no mousketools on his very cluttered desk, Greg’s voice went a touch more hysteric and replied the doubtful “And- and what, you think eating a sponge will get more subscriptions?”
“My sweet Greg, have you been listening to any of the information I’ve been saying because it sounds like you really haven’t.”
Greg didn't even process the nickname, too busy pacing. Tom ignored the pacing and did something he hates, which is repeating himself, a positive character trait evident to anyone who has ever spoken to him, surely.
“Well if you insist, the line-of-action of the shitty little knock-off figurine you must possess goes like this; you own Matsson one for the job in Parks; Matsson does not want any Roy apart from Logan to have a hand on his shiny new toy; You are generally inoffensive and spineless; Matsson needs to keep a Roy as the face of Royco and Logan’s too old to be relatable; You're a Roy; You need to be the new face of Royco. Questions?”
“Yes, dude.”
“Too bad! You’re doing the super bowl ad spot, end of story.”
“Tom, you can’t just-”
“I’m not asking you to run a mile in the nude, Greg, I’m just asking-”
“For me to go on live television? National TV? On- on the most-watched event of the calendar year?”
“Yes, Greg, it really isn’t-”
“And drink dish soap?”
“I was more thinking guzzle, but sure.”
Greg shook his head with his tongue out and made a gagging noise, and Tom did not ponder that even a tiny bit because Greg was saying, “Outside of the technicalities, I really shouldn’t be doing this? I’m not an actor or anything. Why not, I don’t know, ask Willa?”
“I’m not even going to begin to answer that. Here,” Tom started, handing Greg a laminated schedule, “These are your lines, the camera test days, and the press pieces you’re going to do, okay? And you’re never going to question this or any of Matsson’s suggestions ever again. This is literally the last time we will ever speak on it. Bye, Greg.”
Tom left the room before Greg could wave the plastic in his general direction (making it do that wlubwlubwlub sound) and therefore missed him saying “You could’ve just sent a Google Calendar invite, stop using analog systems, dude!”
They actually do talk about it more. Like, extensively.
Greg isn’t really mad about the less-than-kind exchange; he now knows Tom lashes out like that when placed in a stressful situation by someone with more power than him, trying to lift the pressure off his shoulders by chucking it at the next poor schlub’s back. It's also worth noting that 20 minutes after the fight, when Greg came back from a meeting where his own Greg (her name’s actually Izzie and she’s not like Greg at all, but that's what Tom calls her) informed him that buying the Vipère would be a terrible idea for park-goers and their theoretical future children alike, there was a warm cup of caramel macchiato (his favorite, only dispensed by the executive lounge’s machine) with a sticky note reading “sorry :(“ on his desk. They’ve been getting better at this whole friendship thing, Greg thinks. It's nice.
They’re on the couch at Tom’s “Bachelor Pad” with a movie playing in the background, largely ignored in favor of casual conversation. Their ties are loose and Mondale’s on Greg’s lap and Tom is refilling their flutes with bubbly champagne. It’s nice. Tom’s laughing a sincere laugh that Greg hadn’t known before the separation-but-not-quite-divorce with Shiv post-Tuscany and the therapy sessions Tom began to attend. He might have known it before, but it always sounded so blue, like the hook and sinker of the joke were a person and also one and the same. This sounds different. Greg smiles at that and he sees Tom’s eyes crinkle in response. He thinks they could stay here forever, the three of them; not against the world, but with it into oblivion. He would like that very much. He feels Mondale wag his tail. He takes another sip.
“Hey, Greg, about the whole Matsson ’face of the company thing’...”
“No, don’t even sweat it, man, I… I completely understand, to be honest. Like, it's a family company at heart; Roy is literally in the name. Right now, everyone just looks at it like ‘oh, look at that senior citizen running the media conglomerate that kind European fellow took a pity on’ which like. Isn’t untrue, per se, but not a great look for balanced, like, the perceived value of both properties' products? Like, y’know, optics-wise?”
There’s this thing Tom does where he’s clearly beaming but only with his eyes and a barely contained smile. Greg thinks it's just a default expression, but Tom knows it's just him physically restraining himself from peppering Greg’s face with kisses like a Sunday cartoon. He just nods and sips his drink, looking straight at Greg with glimmering eyes over the rim in a way that makes the latter’s heart skip a beat.
“So I’m gonna accept. I’m gonna do it, Tom, I’m going to- to artificially become a relatable media sensation with the help of the entire ATN behind me, a role earned by being the least bad common denominator, I guess.” Greg doesn’t know if it's the drinks or his earlier monolog or the general tenderness in the air, but he decides to snag this as one of the few moments he responds to Tom’s… shall we say enthusiasm with his own.
Greg throws his head back, hair flapping behind him, then kicks a leg from under Mondale and onto Tom’s thigh. When he brings his head back, he levels his eyes at Tom and does his best impression of a sultry voice “You’re going to make me a star, Mr. Wambsgans.”
… And that was too much too fast because they both immediately turn beet red, down the rest of the flutes, then turn towards the screen as they both pretend not to notice Greg’s leg slowly but surely going back to its original position and not, y’know, a breath away from Tom’s- not thinking about that, Greg.
“Wait, so you’re done?”
“Yweash!”
Tom frowns at the response and waits for Greg to spit the toothpaste out into the sink before posing any other questions. Before he can ask any, Greg starts the conversation up again.
“Oh, and, dude, thank you so much for letting me brush my teeth here; I was gonna do it at the set but it felt kinda weird? But also I needed to do it soon cause the taste was… bleugh.”
Tom laughs, “Wait, did they actually make you drink dish soap?”
“Surprisingly, no! It was this syrupy thing that was very tasty like the first 5 times but by the 12th take I was no longer acting and the agony was real. It got so bad I considered asking for the bottle that had colored lube instead, but we cut before it got to that.”
Tom is very pointedly not thinking about Greg having viscous liquids in his mouth and also using lube, so he decided to course-correct into a different topic. “Well, congratulations on your big debut, Gregory, don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous. Here’s to your sweet and short-lived acting career.”
Greg scrunches up his nose “Ugh, Tom, don’t bring up anything sweet or I’m going to hurl.” He physically shakes out his body before walking out of the bathroom. Neither he nor Tom mentions he left his toothbrush in the Bachelor Pad's master bedroom instead of his travel bag. "And actually, Tom, I did such an okay job I'm going to be filming another ad spot! Not for the super bowl, we can't really afford that, but for Valentine's Day the day after."
Tom's brain short-circuits a bit trying to picture what they're going to ask Greg to do so instead of going down that mental rabbit hole he asks "Oh, really? What's the plan for that?"
"Well, since it's more lowkey than the big ad of the ATNGo+ Streaming and Food Delivery for watching movies combo, it's only going to be me; we're not inviting other celebrities."
"Other celebrities, Greg? What, apart from yourself?" Tom fails to mention the relief he felt at Greg not having to act lovey-dovey with anyone else.
Greg laughs good-naturedly and responds "You know that's not what I meant. Anyways, what I wanted to ask is if you would, I don't know, maybe come down to see me? It was a bit easier with 7 different parts to film so no one really cared about me, but I'm kinda scared to solo it out. Since it's just me, we're filming in the decrepit ATN sitcom studio on floor 38, so it shouldn't be that much of a problem for you, I think."
Tom notices Greg tug his hair behind his ear and flash a quick nervous smile, like there was any reason to doubt Tom's willingness to attend. He simply smiles and says "I'll have my assistant pencil you in."
It's the day of the shoot and Tom is weirdly nervous about going to see Greg because he has no idea what studio etiquette is. He already feels bad to be running late (the chairman meeting lasted longer because a multimillion-dollar company can't afford competent projectors, apparently) and he doesn't want to screw it up further by his presence fucking up, I don't know, the number of soundwaves going into the mic.
When he gets there, he silently opens the door and thankfully slips in unnoticed. Later, he realizes it wouldn't matter if he was noticed because he is literally the head of ATN, why would he get in trouble. Right now, he shuts up and watches as Greg's hair is fixed and his nose powdered for the next take.
Tom hates to run a metaphor into the ground but Greg looks like a Roman statue. He is pure grace and chiseled hardness and Tom cannot tear his eyes away from his Sporus. Consciously or not, he steps more into the studio, past the PAs who are suddenly very aware that the head of their sector is suddenly in the room with them.
The makeup people are done and Tom hears the director call for action. He sees Greg somehow shed the awkwardness he handles himself with and begins to promote the company, pulling out a food item and a non-food item from one of those crinkle-less paper bags they make for movies. Tom responds pretty neutrally, he thinks, until Greg pulls out a can of whipped cream and makes a corny innuendo. Tom's head and body do not care it’s corny as evidenced by the sudden rush of blood in opposing directions due to the mental image the line provided.
Only when he reaches this new flustered state does Greg spot him past the bright lights of the set. Almost unnoticeably, Tom sees Greg's eyebrows quirk up in pleasant surprise upon being spotted and a slyly grin at spotting Tom back.
He doesn't remember when else he'd felt like this. He doesn't remember what this pure sensation of overwhelming care and being seen could feel like, could continue to feel like in all his interactions. Where he thought he saw a Roman statue, cold, unmoving, powerful yet unattainable, is a person who is made of blood and bones and hurts as he does. The marble he saw moments ago melts into the warmth of his radiance and he sees not a parallel or metaphor or anything but Greg. Just Greg. And he feels love.
It is at that moment, amidst the contemplation of Greg's being, about all the things he wants but argues with himself he can't have, about the missed moments and soft scenes their tenuous friendship has survived, that Greg decides to deliver his final line, meeting Tom right in the eyes as he does so.
"This", Greg says, and it feels like a verdict dropped from the heavens, "is something for a healthy relationship."
And that's when the director yells "Cut". She chastises Greg for not looking dead into the camera for an uncomfortable amount of time as instructed until she turns to find the source of the disruption to be her boss just kind of chilling on set. She then wholly ignores Greg and strikes up a conversation with Tom to convince him that everything is going great and it's just so nice of him to drop by.
The makeup people are on Greg again, and Greg is a bit shell-shocked, to say the least. He doesn't know how to explain what just happened but something definitely just happened and something about the look in Tom's eyes tells him their will-they-won't-they has wordlessly reached its breaking point and whatever happens next will mark their relationship forever. But before he can act or even think of what to say, the director has already escorted Tom out the door and he needs to say his lines again.
When he finally gets off set, Greg is greeted by Tom's "You did great today :) movie marathon at mine?" text. He can't quite contain his grin as he practically books it to the parking lot downstairs and is met with a Tom reclining lazily against their car, the sound of Candy Crush Saga reverberating through the space as he undoubtedly runs out of moves. Greg can not put into words how endearing that is.
He waves to Tom as he approaches, and Tom beams at him, opening the door for them. The ride back to the Bach-Pad is a short one, but there's a buzz of electricity coursing through them both as Tom pretends to be able to beat level 326 and Greg reminds himself of their "no serious conversations outside of the 'Pad rule."
When they finally get up the elevator and in front of the apartment door, Tom cannot for the life of him open it. He's somehow both fumbling with the keys and missing the lock. Throughout this process, they haven't said a word and the antsiness keeps building and building until Greg can't take it anymore and snatches the keys out of Tom's hands, their fingers brushing in the process. They pointedly do not look at each other until Greg manages to wring the door open.
Once inside, Mondale comes bounding towards them. Greg greets him with a "Hey, buddy" and a head scratch as Tom locks the house again. When Greg stands back up, Tom steels his nerve, and his voice only stutters a bit when he tilts his head up at Greg, ready to actually begin the dialogue that could potentially end their relationship as they know it.
"So! About that ad-"
We never do get to find out what it was about that ad because Greg is gripping unto Tom's lapels and kissing him square on the mouth, lips closed, a kiss not for the kiss but to imbue the action with every emotion he'd felt for Tom that day.
He pulls back after a few seconds, still hanging onto Tom's suit like a lifeline, unsure of how to proceed. He scans Tom’s face with the deer eyes again, an animal assessing whether what's in front of him is predator or prey, if he jumped into an ambush or will get to eat the whole meal up. It's neither, because a relationship is a two-way street, and Tom's already surging back for a kiss, a real one this time, a full stop that doesn't end the book but instead starts the new chapter.
Later, after Greg drags them both towards the couch to continue in their indeterminately long session of joyful pecks and softly breathed out laughter, Tom sighs contentedly on Greg’s chest as Greg plays with his hair.
It is a pleasant lull, a reminder that their actions brought not an avalanche of chaos and distress but (hopefully) a placid future of togetherness in calm.
"So," Tom says, turning to look up at Greg with a hint of mischief in his eyes, "about that whipped cream…"
Greg smacks him with a throw pillow to the face. Mondale barks and wags his tail as they look back at each other, and Tom launches into an attorney-worthy spiel of Mr. Hirsch's crimes against his personage. The words are not exchanged, but both do think, "Yes, I could get used to this.", and they're both right.
… They do end up buying whipped cream on Uber Eats.
Don't ask.