Work Text:
“Shit,” Daniel muttered as he hit his hand against the tape recorder again. “Shit, shit, shit,”
“Is there a reason you keep repeating the same word?” Armand asked from where he stood in front of the window, watching the people of New York as they mindlessly walked through the summer night, the heat clinging to their skin.
“Fuck!” Daniel shouted as he slammed his hands down on the table and pushed himself away.
Armand turned from the window and watched as Daniel paced the room, pulling at his hair as he continued to swear under his breath. He was tired and frustrated from detoxing. His eyes were dark, sleepless shadows creating heavy bags, which was only made more obvious by his chalky, pale skin. Armand would see that his Daniel would be healthier again soon, but for now, he needed to suffer through this.
“What’s wrong, my darling?” Armand asked.
“Because it’s fucking broken,” Daniel said pointing at the tape recorder left abandoned on the flimsy coffee table. “I have half the damn story left to write up but I can’t because the stupid things broken and I have to have it ready by tomorrow afternoon or I’m screwed,”
“I thought you said you had finished all of your assignments,” Armand said as he walked away from the window and looked down at the small machine sitting on the table.
“Yeah, well, I fucking lied,” Daniel said, dropping his arms finally so they slapped against his legs.
Armand wasn’t fond of the idea of Daniel lying to him so easily, however, he was no longer at risk of pulling his hair out, so he would leave it be. Just this once.
Armand went back to the machine on the table and picked it up, turning in his hands and observing the small intricacies that made it what it was. Daniel was very protective of his tape recorder, it was usually the one thing that Armand was not allowed to touch, or as Daniel put it ‘fuck around with’. As strange as it sounded, Armand was somewhat jealous of the device. It was Daniel’s most prized possession, the one thing that he couldn’t live without. If their apartment ever caught fire, Daniel would run back into the building to save this one box.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Daniel said, running his hand down his face so his voice was slightly muffled.
“Don’t say that, love,” Armand said as he turned the screws in the back of the device with the point of his claw. Truly a godsend in situations like this.
“Why not? I am,” Daniel said, scoffing. “I lied and said that I had enough time to get the story written up. I then lied and said I was finished when I wasn’t. I got high and lost two fucking days that I could have spent working. Now I have somehow fucked up the one thing I need to work so that I can write this stupid article that I don’t even give a shit about because I can’t get any more work because the fucking ass,” Armand assumed Daniel was speaking about his old editor at this point. “Went around telling everybody what a fuckup I was. Which, turns out, was right!”
“You are not a ‘fuckup’,” Armand said, allowing the strange phase to fall from his lips as he fiddled with the inside of the device, shifting wires and turning old, dusty attachments.
“Yes, yes, I am,” Daniel said, his voice strained and heavy, the usual sign that he was close to breaking down in his exhaustion. “I am so fucking stupid. I ruin everything. I screw up everything. The one thing I’m meant to be good at – the one fucking thing – I can’t even do right. Jesus, boss, you might as well save everyone else the trouble and snap my fucking neck,”
“I assure you, I will not,” Armand said, poking at a specific section that didn’t seem to match the rest of the inside of the box. He continued to play with it until it returned to what he assumed was its original state.
“This was the only money we had coming in this week,” Daniel said, his breathing turning quick and frantic. “And I’m sorry I don’t think people are gonna believe I found another missing painting, okay, boss, so unless you’ve got another idea, we are royally screwed,”
“Daniel,” Armand said.
“The landlord already doesn’t trust us,” Daniel continued. “Not just because we’re obviously screwing but because he never sees you in the daytime,”
“Daniel,” Armand said again, hoping to break through his rant.
“Now he’s going to have an actual reason to kick us out,” Daniel said, kicking at the nearby wall with his bare foot.
“Daniel,” Armand said louder, turning to look at him over his shoulder and rolling his eyes as Daniel continued to pace.
“This is all my fault,” Daniel repeated. “I can’t believe I’m so stupid,”
Armand huffed. He snapped the back into the place and redid the screws.
“This was my last contact in the city, too,” Daniel groaned.
Armand flicked the switch and leaned back against the couch.
“We are –,”
Daniel stopped as a familiar sound began in the apartment and his own voice interrupted him.
“How long were you in the city before you found work?” Daniel heard himself ask the woman he had interviewed over two weeks ago. She had been a South American immigrant who came to the country unable to speak or understand a word of English but determined to build a better life for her child, who she was four months pregnant with at the time.
Armand smiled at the slack-jawed expression on Daniel’s face as he walked back to the table and knelt in front of his tape recorder.
“You fixed it,” He said, pausing the audio and staring down at it like it was a miracle.
“Yes,” Armand said simply. “We will probably still have to buy you a new one when – oomph,” Armand moaned as Daniel’s lip found his, kissing him with a desperation that made Armand’s body ache.
“Thank you,” Daniel said before kissing him again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Daniel said between each kiss, his fingers buried in Armand’s hair.
Armand smiled against his lips and pulled him closer, letting himself fall back onto the couch as he ran his hands down Daniel’s back.
“You’re welcome, love.”