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“Price still needs another stagehand, you know.”
Rodolfo groans, looking over to Alejandro in his kitchen, skillfully flipping an omelette he hasn't asked for.
“Alejandro, I say this with love, but also for the twelfth time; I can’t. I literally can’t. I'm already doing more bar shifts.”
“But it's Rocky Horror! You love it!”
He does. Oh, he does. But Rudy likes it best when he’s not sweating and burning his fingers on fucking ancient light fixtures. He likes it best, when Alejandro puts on his leather jacket and fluffs up his curls, smudging that eight years old kajal along his lashes.
His dense, feathery lashes that are brown, not black, and you can only really tell when you look at him up too close.
“You know, you could come early to meet the cast tomorrow. There’s a couple of names even I don’t recognise.”
Right. Because Alejandro’s only worked at the theatre for thirteen years. Started early.
It was the theatre or the military. And he chose the theatre, even if he looks the military part.
Looks it good.
“Really, now? Colour me stoked, then, I suppose.”
“So you’re coming early?”
“Is that why you came here and rang me out of bed at four in the afternoon?”
“No, I came to bring you groceries and make sure you get your ass up, because I am not fighting Price if you’re late again.”
“I’m never late,” Rudy replies haughtily from where his head’s dangling off the couch, “Also, I have groceries.”
“Canned chickpeas and mouldy avocados are not groceries.”
“I have bread.”
“And just how long have you had that bread?”
Rudy thinks the silence is snarky enough.
“Come on, brother, don’t let me meet new people on my own. You can’t do that to me,” Alejandro sighs, placing a plate on the wobbly table.
“Because you’re so bad with new people. You’re so introverted.”
“I am! You wound me so. Eat.”
“It’s disgusting,” Rudy murmurs around a mouthful of soft, fluffy omelette, tasting butter and fresh chives. He doesn’t own fresh herbs.
A sidelong glance into his small kitchenette enlightens him to a new, green roommate.
“I’m going to kill that,” he stabs his fork into the general direction of the offending plant life.
Alejandro shrugs, “Do you treat your students the same?”
“That’s different, they’re children. That’s not a child.”
“Consider it one, then. I expect that to still be alive on the weekend when I pick you up for decluttering storage.”
“I’m not doing more hours at the theatre, Ale.”
“Oah! Rudy! Hermano!” Soap waves excitedly with a lit cigarette, “Thought yer said ye didnae wannae help!”
Rodolfo quietly mouths along the thick scottish accent behind his facemask.
“I don't, I'm being coerced.”
“Not true, he’s here on his own accord,” Alejandro interjects, pulling his torn cigarette pack from a breast pocket.
Soap nods, “Was there omelette?”
“How do you know?”
“Am so jealous, mate.”
“Take him, then, you can have him. I don’t want him.”
Lies, Rudy thinks, as he watches Alejandro lean uncaringly and unnecessarily close to Soap’s face to light his cigarette on the Scot’s.
Soap bats him away, “Bugger off, yer too close. Bloody hell, could count yer lashes.”
They’re nice lashes, Rudy thinks. Sighs. Decides to hide away inside, if he’s early he might as well clean up the bar and get ready for his shift.
The bar’s open to the public on nights when there’s no plays. The theatre, ancient as it is, beautiful as it is - an early 1900s build - is not doing well enough to live off its stage performances alone. They haven’t been the city’s main cultural venue in almost a decade, victim to both, economy and dwindling interest.
Rudy nods to the man sitting on one of the stools, as he passes around the polished, ageing Mexican teak. He doesn’t expect to know many people anymore, ever since he finished university and started teaching in earnest, and the man looks as foreign as he could, a big fucking heap of a man - white, with longer hair and a thick, golden chain glimmering in the open folds of his shirt.
He throws his stuff in the back and gets to work, under the watchful eye of the stranger. It’s a good thing he teaches fucking teenagers and is used to the scrutiny - so he puts it out of his mind with practised ease, starting with dusting and wiping of bottles, before he empties the dishwasher, to throw in anything he’ll need later.
It’s when he pays special attention to wiping with the wood’s grain, that the stranger leans back and clicks his tongue. He makes deadpan, incredulous eye contact with him, finding a kind of wary derision that has him bristle immediately.
“Your bar?” the stranger asks, bold and heavy accent simultaneously stretching the pronoun and clipping it short.
It’s a rare one and enough to give Rudy pause.
“It is. Well,” he shrugs, giving the surface one last wipe, before he drops the rag into his used bin, “might as well be. Why?”
“What does one have to do for’a drink?”
“Pay.”
“Well, then pay I will. How much for a good cup of tea?”
Some fucking peace and quiet, Rudy groans, but names his price superciliously. The man’s a whole lot of hours early for service, but might just be a … new addition. While Rudy’s only here a couple of hours a week, he’s not going to make enemies of people who only stay a production or two.
Vaguely remembering Russians to take their tea sweet and possibly spiked, he slides the cup and saucer over with a bowl of sugar, before proffering a bottle of dark rum.
The man laughs, a hearty laugh that resonates in Rudy’s chest, vibrating in his sternum and - he’s not. He’s not into older men, but.
“Good man,” the stranger laughs, “Knows me so well, already.”
Dutifully Rudy adds a hefty slug of rum, before turning away - or attempting to, the stranger catching him by the sleeve.
“Honey, please - ”
“Sure,” Rudy says, faintly, suddenly gripped by the urgent need to please this man, caught in milky brown eyes and a lopsided smirk that should be - that is - sleazy, gold chain, open shirt, chest hair and all, but is infuriatingly enarmouring all the same.
He needs a moment to recover after sliding over the jar of local honey and lemon slices, the Russian liberating the fruit from him with frightening ease. What’s he gonna make him do next? Sit on his knee and ask for a Werther’s?
Fuck -
Walking into the backroom half blind, he almost knocks into Price - “Oh, Sir, sorry, Sir - whoa - “
Price lurches forward and clasps his hands over Rudy’s mouth.
“Shh! Is he still there?!”
Rudy blinks at his boss as he’s being pulled around the dark corner. He waits obediently, until Price takes his hands off his mouth, not without a warning finger to be quiet.
“Uh, who?” he whispers, watching Price’s blues flit anxiously to the bar.
“The Russian!”
What - “The Russian? I - Uh, yes?”
Price groans soundlessly, twisting back into the dark corner behind Rudy’s backpack.
“Sir?”
“No - just - “ Price rubs at his face, all but folding himself deeper into the dark - “ pretend - I’m - Just - No. No.”
Right.
“Sure,” Rudy replies, not at all freaked out by 5’ 8” of former military turned theatre director hiding away in the bar’s quick supply storage like a child.
“Do you - “ at Price’s panicked, wild eyes, Rudy checks his volume, “Sorry, do you - uh - do you want to go through the basement?”
“Yes! But I don’t have a key!”
Rudy frowns, “Why do you not have your - “
“Shh!”
“Right, of course,” Rudy sighs, pullilng out his key and opening the latch into the basement. It creaks audibly and they both freeze for a moment, watching the light falling through the doorway to the bar. When nothing happens, Price slips away.
As Rudy reemerges from the back, a bottle of blue curacao he didn’t need in his hands, the Russian is watching him. Just - smiling over the rim of his cup.
“Good tea. You enjoy this work?”
“Uh,” Rudy twists the bottle in his hands, before he realises he’s wringing it like a school girl wringing her hands - “,yes - “
“How long you been doing this?”
“Couple of years. Got me through college and uni.”
“University! And yet you’re a bar man?”
“I enjoy it.”
“You do, hm?”
There’s - something in that question - and those eyes - he’s not sure - it’s not derision, it’s inquisitive, an - an assessment of … fondness? Of the bar, of the - the theatre, maybe?
And Rudy is fond of it. Spent a lot of his childhood with Alejandro here, watch him progress from Tree No. 4 to gofer to a stint in carpentry and now a permanent fixture with a passion for constructing stages and creating creative solutions to logistical issues. Like bribing his best friend into free labour - sorry - voluntary service.
A nostalgic kind of protectiveness surges within him and Rodolfo regards the older man with growing, wary uncertainty. He is regarded in kind with a guarded, good-natured curiosity.
What is going on?
He’s not sure what to make of this man, his odd probing, and Price hiding in the back - the whole thing is more surreal than what he signed up for, when Alejandro bothered him out of his house.
In fact, this kind of surreal was usually reserved for Friday nights from 1 A.M. on, not a casual Tuesday half past six.
“It’s a good place,” the stranger continues, unbidden, “I like it. Big history.”
Well, Rudy wouldn’t - he wouldn’t quite go that far, but he guesses - kind of?
“It’s one of the oldest buildings in Las Almas,” he offers instead.
“I like it,” the man reiterates, downing the remnants of his tea worryingly quick, slamming the dainty cup onto the saucer with gusto, making Rudy wince.
“I like it. Nikolai, pleasure.”
“Ro - uh - Rodolfo?” as if he suddenly didn't know his own name anymore -
“Tell your boss. I will be back. He cannot hide.”
Rudy watches the man gather two slices of lemon and bite into one, as he saunters vaguely into the direction of the stairs to Kate and Price’s offices. He doesn’t even flinch, sinking his teeth into the sour flesh.
Ominous, much?
Deciding to leave that encounter in his past, Rudy turns to return the surplus bottle of curacao into the back. He really doesn’t need it.
“Uh, sorry?”
Rodolfo jumps and grips the doorframe, before whirling around to eye the next intruder.
A tall, fucking tall, lanky white guy with a - with a very impressive - moustache?
Moustachio gives him an apologetic fingerwave, “Sorry, sorry - I, uh - I didn’t mean to startle you - “
“You didn’t?”
“No! I didn’t! I’m just - you looked deep in thought?”
“Well, I wasn’t,” Rudy hisses.
“Oh.”
Moustachio looks a little forlorn. Seconds tick away, awkwardly, until Rudy absolutely cannot take it anymore.
“Did you need anything?”
“Oh!” Moustachio visibly brightens up, the rare occurrence of a thought lighting his blue eyes inside out, “I was looking for the bathroom?”
“Right side of the bar, Gents is on the left.”
“Cool! Thanks!”
Rodolfo watches Moustachio turn to the left and yank open the fire door on the right.
“That’s not - “
The door slams shut behind the idiot.
“Okay,” Rudy says to no one in particular, “not my problem.”
“Oh. What happened to him?” Rudy gestures to Alejandro, lying on the ground, another stranger fanning him some air with a clipboard.
Lots of new faces …and he’s not necessarily a fan of meeting too many new people at once.
But reconsiders, when the stranger unfolds to full height, offering a blinding, sharp toothed grin and warm brown eyes.
Pretty. That he can live with.
“Valeria met him.”
“Valeria?”
Another new name.
The handsome, mysterious stranger shrugs, a languid, liquid movement - dancer? - and shoves his hands into his hoodie’s pocket.
“Yeah - she's uh - she can be a handful.”
“The love,” Alejandro interjects meekly, “the love, Rudy, the love of my life - “
The stranger turns bemused eyes down to Alejandro, then back up at Rudy, the vast, good natured humour hooking into his chest and pulling, pulling out the floor from under his feet and - pulling at the corners of his mouth, involuntarily falling into an easy smile. Easy, it feels so easy -
“You reckon he's good?” The stranger inquires and Rudy blinks.
“I'm good?”
Handsome stranger snorts an aborted laugh, quickly turning into his hood, half-hiding, hiding - what? That smile? Don't look away now -
“Don't look away?” Rudy hears himself ask, to his absolute sheer terror and the stranger laughs in earnest, at his expanse and maybe at Alejandro's, but surely at his, though he can forgive him, because it's a wonderful sound, full of warmth and mirth and he has scars on his left cheek that stretch and crinkle with his smile -
“Actors to the stage, please! Stage Crew over there.”
“Whoops! Gotta go!”
“No?” Rudy murmurs, frowning deeply at Alejandro, faintly wondering if stupid was contagious and he finally caught it and the stranger laughs again, shaking his head.
Rodolfo watches helplessly as the stranger hops up the stage with grace and ease, then offers his hand to a smaller, dark haired woman, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Alejandro perks up and they watch the two hook arms and circle up with the other actors, some familiar and some unfamiliar faces.
In fact - they might have - there’s a lot of actors he doesn’t know.
Rudy drops to a squat, next to Alejandro's head and groans.
“Isn’t she just gorgeous?” Alejandro sighs.
“Uh, Kate?” Rudy inquires intelligibly.
Ale finally pulls himself up into a seating position and points to the small, dark haired woman.
They watch her settle on her back foot and look down her nose at Kate - of all people - in a barely veiled challenge. Kate meets the crossed arms with impassive disinterest, holding the woman’s eye, until the handsome stranger from earlier pats her on the arm. Both women turn on him, but he takes the heavy attention in stride.
“His taste in women’s truly deteriorating, isn’t it?”
Rudy flinches, grabbing blindly at Alejandro’s arm, as if his friend, distracted as he was, could save him from the impending heart attack that is Farah fucking Karim appearing out of fucking nowhere as she fucking does.
“I’ve fucking told you to stop scaring me!” he hisses as the carpenter plopps down next to them.
Farah snickers, “I will stop scaring you, when you stop getting distracted. What was that? ‘Don’t go?’”
Heat climbs up Rodolfo’s neck, his vision somewhat tunneling - “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
“Well, he is pretty and probably a better choice than - well,” Farah throws Alejandro a brief glance, “others.”
It’s a good thing his friend’s so distracted, resting his chin on a fist, watching the actors discuss something with fervour.
“I am sure I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Rudy knows exactly what Farah is talking about, “And I’m not sleeping with members of the troupe. Or crew.”
“Right,” Farah sighs, “anyway, I think she’s with the Mafia, Ale.”
“Hm?” Alejandro vaguely cocks his head into their direction, not paying attention at all.
“She’s Mafia,” Farah repeats, vague amusement tugging at her lips.
“I’d go to prison for her,” Alejandro sighs and Rudy and Farah share a worried glance.
“Sure, Ale,” Rudy pats him and scoots up closer to Farah, about to inquire about the whole - the - the mafia thing, vaguely thinking of gold chains and lemon slices - when Kate suddenly calls out:
“Karim?”
A sudden hush befalls the auditorium. Kate parts the circle of actors around her, looking about with annoyance twisting her features, looking over the small cluster of stage crew plus Rudy and Farah.
“Karim - what are you - why are you over there?”
Farah twirls a boot lace around a finger, “I’m, uh, I’m good over here? It’s a bit crowded …”
She expertly avoids Rudy’s incredulous eye and - is that - is she - blushing?
“Come here, love, nobody’s gonna bite you.”
“Not without consent, at least,” the handsome stranger quips, loud in the silence. He slaps his hand over his mouth, aghast, as his dark haired friend punches him in the shoulder, barking a laugh and dissolving in giggles that make something blissful and daft bloom across Alejandro’s face.
“That’s it,” Kate frowns, “Kyle over here, Valeria over there.”
“Sorry, Ma’am, we’ll be quiet,” Kyle attempts, but is quickly shushed.
“No. I’m separating you - I want you over here with your Janet, anyway. Come on, Farah.”
Janet? Rudy mouths at Farah, who, keeping her gaze averted, gives a sheepish, small shrug and reluctantly lets Kate pull her up on stage.
She’s not - she’s not looking the part, dark tanktop, roughed up jeans and combat boots. Rudy hadn’t even known she could sing?!
“Wonderful, now then - Keller?”
“He went to take a piss,” Valeria provides, “maybe he fell in and drowned.”
“In his piss, you reckon?” Kyle whispers across the stage and Kate turns to look at him - the man’s face quickly schooling into obedient nothingness, shrinking away behind Farah, whereas Valeria giggles.
“Thank you, Valeria,” Kate deadpans, “why don’t you go and get him?”
“What’s he look like?” Rudy queries, the same moment Valeria gasps: “Why me?!”
Rudy continues, undeterred, “I saw some poor sod walk out the fire door by the bar earlier.”
“The fire door?” Kate rubs at her face, “That - I don’t - how did he - “
“Tall, white, blue eyes, moustache?”
Kate groans, “Yep, that’s - that’s him. Valeria.”
“Why me? I don’t even know where the fire door is!”
“I can help!” Alejandro jumps to his feet, eager, and Valeria regards him like he’s something wet and muddy.
“I think I remember where the door is, now,” she grumbles, getting up from where she’d lounged on the floor.
“Take him anyway,” Kate orders, something odd, borderline mischievous, glinting in her dark blue eyes, “I can’t lose both, my Magenta and my Rocky before we even started.”
“No, really,” Valeria argues, “I know where I have to go, it’s fine - “
“Alejandro. Don’t take your eyes off her.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Somehow Rudy doubts that’ll be a problem.
He watches, as Kyle leans against Farah, his mouth barely moving as he murmurs something that has their carpenter-gone-actress snort and burying an aborted laugh in her elbow. Kyle catches Rudy’s eye and winks.
Alejandro and Valeria returned, a mildly miserable looking Alex in tow, some twenty minutes later.
Apparently someone had let the fire door slam shut behind them.
Alejandro hadn’t looked apologetic at all.
“Why am I here,” Rudy laments.
“Because you can’t say ‘no’ to anything,” Farah supplies, looking equally knackered.
“Actually,” tearing his eyes off the theatre’s side entrance, Rudy turns to Farah, “Actually, why’re you here?
“Because I can’t say ‘no’ to anything?” Farah supplies in dismay, nestling deeper into her scarf.
“Don’t you have your fitting later?”
Farah vanishes in her scarf, “No, I don’t.”
“Why did you audition for Jane? I didn’t know you had any interest in acting at all.”
“I didn’t audition!” the carpenter stomps her foot in frustration.
“Then how’d you end up here?!”
“Kate caught Soap and me singing ‘Thank you, next’ when we were putting the flats into the basement after ‘The Crucible’ in early August.”
“Thank you, next?!”
“It’s a good song!” Soap exclaims, waving a tray of coffee, “Thank you~, next! Thank you~! Next! Fuck me, now I got it back in me heid …”
“And you!” Rudy wrestles a paper cup free of the tray, “Eddie?”
“What, should he’ve done Brad instead?” Farah inquires over her steaming cup.
“Ah could’ve! If not for that bonnie lad.”
“Hmm, I was rather thinking Frank-N-Furter, actually,” Rudy suggests.
“Awa' an' bile yer heid!”
Rudy lowers his cup to level Soap with a stern glare, “No sé lo que eso significa, pero por favor detengo.”
Farah sighs, “Boys, play nice - Oh! Fuck, Rudy, Rudy!” she punches him in the shoulder, the arm, anywhere she can get, hammering away on his forearm and spilling his coffee.
“Fuck - Fuck me, Farah, what - what!”
“Look, look, look!”
Both, Rodolfo and Soap, turn to follow her line of sight and - it’s Alejandro.
Alejandro, and Valeria.
“Good morning!” Kyle pops out from behind them, big grin and shiny, pointy eyeteeth, giving Rudy half a heart attack - half, because his heart is also immediately hammering in his chest.
“Get your man!” Valeria cries, grabbing Alejandro and trying to push him into Rudy’s direction, but Alejandro uses his sizable height to his advantage and leans into her shoving arms - not moving a centimetre.
“My - My man?!”
“He jumped me at the station!”
Kyle shakes his head, smirking, “Not true. He just saw us and asked if we should walk together. It’s called being amiable, Val, you could try it some time.”
“Fuck - no, god, move, you oaf!”
Valeria is putting her entire weight into pushing against Alejandro’s back with her shoulder, to move him, but Ale only laughs and leans further against her, bracing his feet against the concrete.
After a moment of Valeria struggling, he abruptly twists aside and Valeria, suddenly pushing into nothing, stumbles and falls forward - of course, only to be caught by Alejandro who swiftly slung an arm around her waist, pulling her upright and against him.
“Falling for me already?” Alejandro inquires sweetly and Rudy gags - as do Farah and Kyle, the three of them catching each other’s eyes and pressing their lips together to not burst out laughing.
“Unhand me, pinche pendejo, o te voy a madrear!”
“So,” Farah interjects, “what are you guys doing here? I thought the fitting’s at ten?”
Kyle shrugs, burying his hands in his jacket’s pockets, “Alejandro mentioned Los Vaqueros would go through storage and everything - oh, is there more coffee?”
“Sorry,” Soap grimaces.
“It’s okay. I was going to get some, but didn’t want to be cooped up in a coffee shop with these two. Anyway - right, we heard you were going to look through it all and are nothing if not nosy. Who’s Vaqueros?”
“Alejandro’s stage clowns,” Rudy coughs, having taken a too quick, too deep, seething gulp of his black coffee.
“Clowns?” Kyle waits patiently until Rodolfo can breathe again.
“Well, the stage crew and everyone,” Farah jumps in, “they’re very passionate about it all.”
“I see. Oh!”
Valeria wraps her arms around Kyle’s waist, resting her head against his shoulder.
“I can’t believe you let me fight off that punk on my own! Some friend you are!”
Kyle laughs, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. It’s an infectious sound, pleasant and mirthful.
“Well, it looked like you had it under control.”
“I can’t believe you abandoned me in my moment of need!”
“So dramatic,” Kyle snickers, but catches Rudy’s eye, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like ‘She likes him’ to him and Farah.
“Wait, there’s coffee?!” Valeria turns on Soap, who takes a brave half-step backwards.
“Uh, this one’s me ‘n that’s, uh, for Ale, technically -”
“Oh, coffee?” Ale perks up, but Valeria proves wily and quick, snatching the cup from Soap, “Hey!”
She jumps out of Alejandro’s reach, taking a hasty gulp, “I licked it, it’s mine!”
“I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long morning.” Farah sighs.
Unsurprisingly it gets real quiet when the actors have to abandon their curious picking about the basement, boxes and trunks to get fitted for their costumes’ toiles - and Alejandro becvomes much more focused, once Valeria and him aren’t bickering anymore.
They end up making good headway, finding a myriad of props and interesting flats they’ll be able to reuse or change and recycle. They even got most off the costume department’s list.
Rodolfo almost jumps out of his own skin, when out of nowhere a hand appears on his arm - and then Kyle looks around the library-style-flat he had just moved.
“Hi! Sorry, didn’t mean to jumpscare you like that, but you didn’t hear me.”
“No, I - it’s - “
It’s - very warm and dark in the basement and Kyle’s hand is hot where it rests on his forearm. Rudy takes a deep, fortifying breath.
“It’s - Fine. It’s fine, I - I get distracted. Farah scares me all the time.”
“Rude,” Kyle smirks.
“No, that’s just - that’s just how she is.”
“Small blessing, then, that her and Valeria haven’t stopped arguing long enough to realise they’d make a terrific pair.”
“I guess.”
They stand in the darkness, Kyle’s hand on Rudy’s arm, Rodolfo decidedly not looking at the contrast of their skin on skin.
“Did I need something?”
“You?” Kyle asks, blinking in mild confusion.
“What did I say?”
The other man laughs, his beautiful face lighting up, “You asked me if you needed something?”
Rudy groans. Fucking hell.
“I meant - did you - I meant - if you needed something from me. Sorry. Talking. Hard.”
“I get that, that’s fine. It was just funny. Yeah, Price ordered a ton of pizza. Do you want some?”
“Yeah, I’ll - Yeah, I’ll be thank you. Right there.” Rodolfo stops, blinking at Kyle, “Wait, what?”
Kyle pulls his hand away, expression quickly flitting between concern and confused amusement, before he all but doubles over in laughter.
“What?!”
“I don’t - Oh god, what did I just say-”
“Mate, are you having a stroke? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Hot blood rushes to Rudy’s face and he thumps his head against the flat.
“No - just - leave me to die here, please. Thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Kyle inquires between gasps.
“Yes. I’ll - I’ll be right there, thank you.”
“Okay, okay.” wiping tears from his eyes, Kyle turns away, but Rodolfo can hear him burst into occasional small giggles until he’s up the stairs and out of earshot.
In all the chaos that is an entire cast of starved artists plus a just as starved stage crew, as well as Rudy trying to somewhat keep close to Alejandro, he ends up sitting next to Kyle.
Because of course he does.
They sit in relative, awkward quiet - at least on Rodolfo’s part - as Kyle seems to get on with just about anyone. Just by listening, Rudy finds out he used to be a gymnast - trading sport injury stories with Alex - , is British - if the accent wasn’t a dead give away - a Vegetarian and has two moms and two younger siblings - a sister called Erin and a sibling who goes by June, currently (They’re still trying out names).
Him and Valeria met some years ago at a club - when “Some Guy” tried horrendous pick-up-lines on Kyle - “My friends call me Gaz, though” - and Valeria decided to brashly step in and give it her sleazy best to hit on the guy back.
Diego - who plays Riff Raff in their production - quickly and warily outs himself as the “Some Guy”. It seems they ended up becoming close friends over the whole ordeal and Diego swears his flirting’s gotten better.
“You know bad pick-up-lines?” Alejandro inquires from where he’s lounging at Valeria’s feet, basking in her proximity like a cat in the sun.
“Please, boy - I know the worst - “
“I think she gets them from her uncle,” Kyle stagewhispers to Rudy, with a wicked grin, “He’s Russian.”
“Russian? But isn’t she Mexican?”
Kyle shrugs, “She is, I try not to ask too many questions.”
“Why? Is he Cartel?” Farah inquires serenely, stealing a slice of jalapeno from Alex’s monstrosity of a pizza (pineapple, jalapeno, hot sauce and spinach).
“Funny you would say that, Karim, I don’t think I can answer that without getting into illegal problems.”
They turn as one to regard Valeria, resting the sole of her foot on Alejandro’s thigh, who’s grinning up at her madly -
“Are you NASA? Because you're out of this world!”
They also cringe as one.
Valeria gags, “Please, you call that sleazy? Try again!”
“No, I think it’s your turn now!”
“My turn?!”
Alejandro grabs her ankle and jiggles her foot, “Yeah, you’re the one bragging!”
“I’m not wasting my comedic genius on the likes of you - let go of my foot, you freak!”
“Come on - prove it!”
“Fine! Are you my appendix? Because this feeling in my stomach makes me want to take you out.”
There’s a beat of silence - spreading outwards like the ripples of stone hitting water.
Alejandro’s grin spells trouble.
“Okay, that was terrible.”
“Do better then!”
“Are you religious? ‘cause you’re the answer to all my prayers.”
“Ay Bendito - Did you sit in sugar? Your ass is pretty sweet.”
“You like my ass?”
“Not the point!”
“Fine - What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?”
“If that’s the best you can do, your mind is soft cotton at best.”
“Do worse, then!”
“Do you know how I like my eggs?”
Alejandro frowns at her - “Is that - that’s part of the line? I don’t know, scrambled?”
“Fertilised.”
“I need a drink.” Ghost - the guy who signed up for Dr Scott and The Narrator murmurs.
“Like, what? Tequila?” Soap suggests, “I’d take one, too. Or the whole bottle, actually.”
“I’d murder for a whiskey.”
“You mean scotch,” the offence is real and palpable in the Scot’s voice, but Ghost regards him superciliously.
“I drink Bourbon.”
Soap hacks a laugh, “Like a good ol’ boy.”
There’s a pause and Ghost’s eyes flit about for a moment - the only real sign the other is feeling - something - out of his depth, perhaps?
“I, uh. I love Kentucky.”
“You know!” Kyle turns to Rudy with a flourish, “You know, I was worried about how Valeria’d get on with the lot here! But everybody is so funny.”
“What do you mean?” Rudy attempts to unstick a piece of pizza, only to find this third’s not cut through entirely. He lifts the entire chunk and tears a piece off.
“Yeah, what do you mean, we’re normal,” Farah adds.
“Are you now?”
“Yup,” Farah snickers, “We’re just normal men.”
Alex gives a choking laugh, hacking and coughing around a piece of crust that went down the wrong path.
“You good?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great -” he hammers on his chest to try and dislodge the errant crust from his lungs. Eventually he heaves a deep, rattling breath and turns to Farah.
“What do you mean, normal men?”
“We’re just - “ she pauses, sudden calculation in her hazel eyes, “We’re just … innocent ... men …”
The longer her and Alex hold incredulous contact, the tighter she presses her lips together, the tighter her eyebrows knit together, until eventually they both break, at the same time, dissolving into a puddle of uncontrollable, roaring laughter.
“Just normal men! Innocent!”
“We’re just innocent men!”
“Okay,” Gaz sighs, “I think we’ve lost them all, now.”
“I’m normal,” Rodolfo offers, but Kyle sends him a disbelieving look, like any they had had for Valeria and Alejandro or Farah and Alex or Soap and Ghost and - he knows they’re both thinking back to the basement.
“I just - I need to apologise. For being stupid on Tuesday and talking nonsense earlier,” Rudy presses the heel of his free hand into his eye sockets, “Sorry - I’m - I think I got a bit overexposed to Alejandro’s stupidity.”
“Geez, I hadn’t noticed it was contagious.”
“After twenty years, I’m only surprised it took this long.”
Kyle whistles, “You’ve known each other that long?”
“Nah, just - just Alejandro and I. Grew up together.”
“Ahh, I see.”
Kyle leans back onto his elbows, watching the madness that is their surprisingly quickly enmeshed friend- and coworker-group.
“Aaaand, I have to ask, sorry - but you ever … ?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t know, he’s handsome. I guess.”
Rudy attempts to follow their thread of conversation, but quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s too tired and generally not coherent enough around Kyle to do so.
So - “What?”
“You and Alejandro?”
Ah.
“Ah.”
“Uh,” Kyle grimaces, composing himself into a cross-legged position, “thought so. I’m sorry ‘bout that, mate.”
“It’s alright. It’s been a while. When we were kids. Not anymore though.”
One of the less helpful voices in Rudy’s head, the one that sounds most like Farah, tuts. Liar.
What? He asks in response, It’s not a lie.
And how do you get over that if you don’t … try?
Kyle brightens significantly, “Oh! So. Okay. That’s great!”
Rudy focuses on tearing apart another slice of cold pizza, “It is?”
“Yeah! ‘Cause, you know, asking you out for a drink would’ve been a tad mortifying if you got a ‘pining after straight best friend’ thing going on there.”
Rudy’s hands are suddenly clammy, cold, hot and moist, all at the same time, fingers digging into the soft cheese on his pizza slice.
“Uhh - “
“Hm?” Kyle leans in a little closer and Rudy thinks he can smell - something - sandalwood and - sweat. Kyle’s naked shoulders are glowing in the overhead lights, dark brown skin looking enticingly soft and smooth.
“You, ah -”, Rudy drops the mushy slice of pizza on the carton, “You - you want to - get a drink? Together?”
“Why! I’m glad you ask! I do, indeed.”
“I asked?” Rudy repeats, dumbfounded. He’s lost the plot. Maybe he is having a stroke.
Help.
“You just did, I think.”
“Oh.”
Finally it sinks in - Kyle’s crooked grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling, the slight flush to his cheekbones and - Rudy closes his eyes.
“You baited me,” he breathes.
“I did! It worked, didn’t it?”
“Did it?” Rodolfo inquires as he opens his eyes again, finding Kyle dangerously close, eyes flitting up from - where he’d been watching Rudy’s mouth.
“I’d hope so,” Kyle whispers, “in my defense, though!” he leans away again, taking a hearty bite out of his last slice of pizza margherita, “I was going to ask downstairs, but - well. You know.”
Rudy groans and buries his face in his hands, smearing remnants of cheese into his hair.
“Hey, it’s fine - if it helps: I think it’s endearing.”
“I’m so very glad you seem to think so.”
Looking at Valeria and Alejandro, who are still exchanging pick up lines, ranging from ‘Nice legs - what time do they open?’ to ‘You must be the wind because you've just swept me off my feet.’, Kyle snickers.
“Hey, Rudy?”
“Hm?
“What’s a perfect gentleman like myself doing without your phone number?”