Chapter Text
Gale has been watching the man on the CCTV screen trying to shove an Atlas down his trousers for the last five minutes. Really, he should step in – put both the man and the book out of their conjoined misery. But there’s no one else in the shop at the moment, and the day’s been dreadfully dull up until this point.
He almost rejoices as the man finally wrangles his jumper over the blocky mound. He wears a fuzzy self-satisfied smile through the screen. Gale will be sure to wipe it clean once he comes back round to the front.
The bell over the door rings suddenly, and Gale, for all his composure, jumps at it, looking up to see the newest customer as he enters. The man is tall, slender and sleek, dressed in a leather jacket with dark shades to boot. It’s a rather pretentious gesture, Gale must admit – it’s raining outside for heaven’s sake.
Gale clears his throat. “Afternoon,” he says, which earns him a disinterest hum. The man glides rather than walks, drifting between the shelves. “Can I help you with anything today?”
The man looks at him over his sunglasses, squinting slightly. “No thank you.”
Right. “Well, let me know if that changes.”
The man returns to his browsing, and Gale returns to watching his thief through the CCTV. He’s going for another atlas and seems to be having equal trouble with this one, too. “Good heavens,” Gale mutters at the screen. “Steal a smaller book, you idiot.”
“Ah, the over confidence of a rookie.” Gale turns quickly in his chair to see the other customer. He places a book down on the desk between them. “Is paying necessary in this store, or should I also be shoving this down my trousers? You seem to be taking a rather lack lustre approach to the whole thing after all.”
Gale rises from his chair, stumbling slightly forward. He lets out a sudden, almost nervous laugh, and taps his finger down on the man’s book. “Ah, a great choice! Yes, paying is preferable. I’m playing the long con with this particular brigand, is all.”
“Oh?” The man leans forward, getting a better look at the CCTV screen. “God, he looks positively deadly, doesn’t he? Tell me, what is your master plan?”
“Well.” He starts and then stops. “When he comes back through, I shall ask him to remove the books from his trousers.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Well. I suppose that I’ll ask again. Firmer this time.”
“Well,” says the man, raising one silver brow, “let’s hope for his sake he complies. It could get positively nasty.”
Gale laughs, punching the price of the book into the till. “Four-fifty, please.”
The man goes into his coat to retrieve his wallet, and as he does, their little thief comes back through, offering a simple nod Gale’s way. Then his eyes catch on Gale’s customer and go wide. His customer looks up as the thief approaches and curses quietly under his breath.
“Sorry,” says the thief, fumbling in his pockets to pull out a receipt. Gale is glad to see that the man is, at least, historically capable of paying for things. “Can I have your autograph? Please.”
The customer takes the receipt, grimacing ever so slightly. Gale, out of reflex, holds out a pen, which the customer takes. “And who am I addressing it to?”
“Frank, please, Mr Ancunin.”
Gale’s eyes go wide at the name. Oh, heaven’s – he’s an idiot. Astarion Ancunin is in his shop. The Astarion Ancunin. Astarion seems to register Gale’s sudden recognition, and gives him a tight smile as he finishes up the flourish of his autograph. He hands it back to the man who takes it like communion.
He looks down at it. “Uh. What does it say?”
“Well,” says Astarion, “this collection of letters here spell Frank. F-R-A-N-K, yes. Ringing a bell? And these ones down here spell my name, of course. And this little cluster here say to take those books out of your trousers, you little rat. Oh, and this mark down here is a kiss.”
Frank’s eyes go wide. He looks between the two men, and then, slowly, and quite reluctantly, he lifts his jumper and tugs out the tightly packed atlas. He places it down on the desk.
“The one tucked down the back, too, please,” says Gale. Frank sighs and complies.
“Consider yourself lucky, darling,” says Astarion. “This man here was quite set on using a firm voice on you. I’d say you’ve come out of this scenario relatively unscathed, considering.”
“Are you gonna call the police?” Frank asks Gale. Gale just shakes his head. This seems to bolster Frank, somewhat. He looks back to Astarion. “Thank you for the autograph. It was lovely meeting you.”
With that, he turns and makes a beeline for the door.
“God, I never understand why people say that,” says Astarion with a sigh. “What about that was lovely?”
“Well,” says Gale, “Lovely it may not have been – I do appreciate it. I’ll admit it’s been sometime since I’ve had to crack out the old – aha - stern voice act. Your collaboration does not go unrecognised. Please,” and he holds out Astarion’s book, already wrapped in a carrier bag, “on the house. As a token of my thanks.”
Astarion looks down at the book, and then gently prompts it back down to the desk. He places a five pound note atop of it. “Keep the change, darling.” He slides his book out and tucks it under his arm. “Turrah, now.”
The bell sings out his exit, and Gale hits the desk with a thud. He groans loudly into the wood, cursing every microsecond of their interaction. Bloody Astarion Ancunin. The bloody Astarion Ancunin! Why, Gale must have half of that man’s filmography on his shelf. He should’ve told the man about his cat.
What? No, no – that would have been a terrible idea. At least, he now comforts himself, he didn’t tell the poor actor about his cat. Beloved as she may be.
The bell goes again, and who enters is neither thief nor celebrity, but his assistant, Zel. She glares at him, but this means nothing except that she is conscious.
“You won’t believe who was just in here,” he says, not quite believing it himself.
She grunts. “Was it Astarion Ancunin?”
“What? Yes – yes, actually. How did you – how did you know that?”
“I passed him on the street,” she says simply. “The silver screen does much to hide his flaws. He is an incredibly pallid man in real life.”
Gale blinks. “Did you really think so? Why, I thought he seemed quite lovely.”
“Mmh. Yes, but you often go for the anaemic ones.”
Gale ignores this comment. “We had a budding thief, too, actually.” He taps the two books, and then grimaces as he remembers where they had been stashed. “Very exciting day for us.”
“Where is this thief?” she says. “I will ensure he does not try his luck again.”
“He is off home, I’m sure. Rest assured, Zel” He chuckles. “I think he learnt his lesson.”
Her expression flattens. “You let him off the hook.”
Gale shrinks slightly. “Yes, but I was very firm about it.”
“Gah!” she snaps. “You are too pathetic for your own good sometimes.”
“I often wonder what I get out of this work place relationship of ours,” muses Gale. “I now see it is to keep my humble ego in check. Before you start on deliveries, can you double check the books, please? They seem to be implying a rather significant amount of debt, and I’d quite like a second opinion before I begin my wallowing.”
“As if you need prompting,” she mutters, sliding behind the desk and nudging him out the way. “Go get yourself a coffee or something. I cannot focus with your hovering. On second thought,” she says, flicking through the accounts log, “perhaps you should get yourself something less costly. I suggest tap water.”
He grabs his coat. “God, what a treat.”
*
Gale steps out of the café, holding a cup of burnt filter coffee. He smacks his teeth together as he sips, grimacing at the bitterness. The rain has let up at least, which he is grateful for – he isn’t sure his coffee could survive being any more watered down. However, as he turns the corner back onto the street where his shop is, he is met by a very solid and very fast moving wall, which shouts out “you idiot!”
Gale stumbles backwards, flicking the burning spilt coffee off of his hand with a yelp. Then he looks up and swears, loudly. Astarion Ancunin is standing before him once again, though this time there is no conspiratorial charm between them, but anger. And a substantial coffee stain.
“Oh, God,” says Gale. “God, I am so sorry. Here.” He rushes forward with a napkin. “Ah, fuck! God, that’s not helping one jot. Oh, great heavens, I’m just smearing it. I’m smearing it. Bugger.”
“Will you – ” Gale is pushed back “ – leave off! God! This is never going to come out. Are you an idiot?”
Gale balks for a moment, and then quickly shakes his head, rushing back into himself. “What? No, no. I didn’t mean to. God, I really am very sorry.” Then, almost sheepishly, “they charge you extra for a lid now.”
Astarion despairs down at himself. “Yes, well your frugality has cost me a rather expensive shirt.”
“Oh, come on now,” says Gale, gesturing towards the actor. “A bit of soap. Bit of hot water. Good as new.”
“Darling, it’s silk.”
“Nothing’s too good for a washing machine, I say.” He pauses for a moment, worrying his lip. “Look, my flat is just across the street. Allow me to make it up to you.”
“What – by abducting me?”
“You can clean yourself up in my bathroom. I can give you a change of clothes and money for the dry cleaners.”
“Oh, darling, please you couldn’t even afford a lid - I am absolutely not taking your money.” He looks away, and seems to be resolving himself. He looks back with a small nod. “But, well, a bathroom would be appreciated.”
“Excellent. If you’ll follow me …”
*
Gale is very aware as the two step into his flat, that it is in some state. A state not helped by his roommate – a very sweet, but ultimately dim-witted man by the name of Minsc. Minsc had not always been his roommate – his old roommate had actually been his wife. And she had, well – she had quite simply left. Both him and the flat.
Minsc is a poor replacement for his ex-wife in terms of intellectual prowess, but Gale can admit that he is substantially more affectionate. Which Gale appreciates more often than he did not.
Gale clears his throat in the hallway, and slyly toes the empty boxes out of eyeline. “Well,” he says, looking back to Astarion, “welcome in. The, uh – the bathroom is just up the stairs on your left. Straight along. Feel free to use the, uh – well, the water, I suppose.”
Astarion gave him a sly smile. “How generous.”
Gale steps aside to make space for Astarion to slide past him through the hallway. Gale follows slowly behind, trailing off towards the kitchen as Astarion goes to clean himself up. God. This is certainly not how he’d expected today to have gone. Astarion Ancunin in his house. That’ll be something to tell the – hm, actually who would he tell? Who would believe him?
Up the stairs, he can hear the tap running. God, he hopes Astarion doesn’t judge his meagre assortment of toiletries. Or his Head and Shoulders. He doesn’t even have dandruff, he just likes Claudia Winkleman. He stands in the kitchen, hands on his hips, feeling entirely unsure of what to do with himself. When the bathroom door opens, he jumps towards the fridge and opens it, looking up at Astarion like he was surprised to see him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Dryer, at least,” he says. He’s removed his shirt, and his leather jacket is zipped up to the neck. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable.
“Are you wanting a spare shirt?”
Astarion shakes his head. “I’m heading back to my hotel anyway. But thank you. I suppose. Are you particularly warm?”
“Huh?”
“You’re basically standing in the fridge.”
“What? Ah, yes. Yes – I was just looking for something to eat. Yes, what shall I have?” He pretends to scour the shelves. “It’s a pretty wide selection, I’ll be honest. Swarmed for choice, really. Olives or some mustard? Tricky one, this.”
“Well,” says Astarion, “I’ll leave you to decide.”
“I can’t get you anything?”
“Anything being an olive or some mustard? No, I think I’m quite alright.”
“I’ve got tea,” he says. “Coffee? Whey protein, courtesy of my roommate?”
“Mmh, I’m alright.”
“It’s banana flavoured. If that sweetens the, ah, proverbial pot.”
“It most certainly does not.”
“Right, well.” He swings the fridge door shut, leaning forward onto it. “I’ll, uh, see you out then. Hm.” He walks Astarion to the door, twisting his fingers nervously between each other. “This was fun.”
Astarion hums, sounding faintly bemused. “Quite. Thank you for the, uh – the water.”
“You are most welcome. Sorry again about,” he trails off, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry, right! You’re in a rush no doubt.” He clicks open the latch of his door and opens it. “This has frankly been rather surreal, but nice.”
Astarion takes the opening, stepping out onto the street. He gives Gale a small wave and nothing else, and then the door is closing and Gale is dropping his forehead against the wood and cursing himself once more. He doesn’t have long to wallow, however, for the buzzer goes and he jumps, throwing the door back open.
“Sorry to bother you again,” says Astarion, “but I think I may have left my book in your bathroom.”
“Your book? Yes, right! Right, I shall just grab that for you now.” He lets Astarion in, and then bolts quickly up the stairs, two at a time, and returns, panting ever so slightly, book in hand. “Aha, there you go. Really is a great read – ”
He is cut off suddenly by the most surprising of things. He is cut off by a kiss. Astarion has one hand against his cheek, the other wrapped around his waist, and he is kissing him. Gale, short circuiting, can only stand there and hope his lips are pulling more weight than his thoughts. Eventually, Astarion pulls back, taking the book from Gale’s hands.
“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t actually know your name.”
“Gale,” says Gale, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Um, Gale Dekarios.”
“Well,” says Astarion, “it is good to meet you, Gale.”
And then, just like that, he leaves again.