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It’s cold and dry outside; where the fuck’s his jacket anyway? God. Shit. Julian leans against the side of the building, digs through his pockets with his entire hands, and then pulls out a half-crushed cigarette and the stupid mini-sized lighter he’d stolen from his ex-girlfriend but never used. He briefly wonders how it even got into his pocket, but decides not to think about it too hard.
He lights up the cigarette and then realizes everything inside of it had managed to fall out into his pocket, so he’s now got what’s practically lit paper between his fingers. He sighs and then giggles at himself. His stomach isn’t lurching like it had been inside, but he still feels vaguely queasy.
“Hey.” A familiar voice, Julian looks up in record speed. Who the fuck…
The empty cigarette’s cherry fucking flickers in his hand. Like it’s about to actually turn into a full-blown fire. Weird. The guy in front of him is looking at him with wide eyes like he’s seeing a fuckin ghost. “Do I know you?” He pauses when the haunted expression doesn’t leave and slurs, “Why’re you lookin at me like that?”
The man cracks a smile, and it’s kind of hard to read expressions when the only source of light is a busted streetlight a couple of steps away. Julian thinks he should be proud of being able to do it anyway. Talented at something, at last. Maybe he should call home.
“Uh, no. And I don’t know. Like what, man?” An airy bit of laughter follows, and Julian huffs out a laugh, too. For some reason.
“What?” It comes out lighter and happier than Julian intended, like the strange nervous feeling under his ribs couldn’t help but convert to giddiness on its way out.
The guy clears his throat. “You asked me why I was looking at you like 'that'...?”
Julian said that? Doesn’t sound like him. He drops the cigarette and watches its glow fade into the darkness that clings low on the street. He’s suddenly kind of annoyed now. He just wanted to have a smoke, and now there’s a strange guy. He smells good though, Julian dazedly notes.
“Thanks.” Oh, he noted it out loud, then. That’s fine, too.
They stand in silence for a bit then, Julian with closed eyes, leaned forward cause the wall was getting to be too cold, and the stranger doing god knows what— probably just fucking standing there like a freak. He could still hear his breathing. The whole thing was oddly peaceful, almost familiar.
He hears the hiss of a lighter and then the guy’s talking again, Julian tunes it out but still manages to catch the last sentence, “—want another cigarette?”
He whips his head up, coming out of the comfortable haze he’d slipped into at the mention of a cigarette that wouldn’t be just paper. Christ. Oh shit. The stranger gives him one strange look, not realizing what’s happening before it happens… all over his shoes. The street below him seems impossibly brighter now that his eyes have been closed for a beat, making the puddle disgustingly visible.
Julian takes a huge, audible gulp of air, and when he’s sure moving won’t immediately make him puke again, he takes a step back. The wall’s still there, of course, so he just achieves stumbling right into the wall and knocking the back of his skull into it. The man finally catches up, and he jumps back a step and lets out a half disgusted half shocked sound.
“M’sorry…” Julian doesn’t know why he repeats himself, but as the silence lingers, it just slips out, “…sorry.”
The poor guy just blinks at him and then looks down at his shoes and back up. “Okay.”
Julian doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t okay. He lets out a short laugh. Why isn’t he leaving? Julian would’ve left or maybe beat his teeth in by now if the roles were reversed.
After the laughter has subsided and he’s sure nothing but air will come out when he opens his mouth again, he decides he likes the look of this stranger and likes the way he’s somehow still here after he’s puked all over his nice shoes. He must be either stupid or really trying to get laid.
“What’s your name, then?” His voice comes out raspy and uneven and he winces a little. Fucking vomiting, man.
“Oh. Albert.”
Of course. Of course? It fits him. Julian clicks his tongue and then parrots him. “Albert. Al-berrt. Anybody call you Al?”
Albert itches the back of his head. “No, not really.” Julian waits for a but you can call me it, if you’d like, I don’t mind, but it never comes. “What’s yours?”
Julian blinks the world back into focus and tilts his head. The new angle sets him a bit off-balance. “Hm?”
“Your name.”
“Ah. Jules… Julian.”
Albert smiles at him, and for a split second it makes his heart hurt with something inexplicable and sharp.
“Which one, Jules or Julian?”
He decides they should move away from the puddle of sick on the ground because it’s making his stomach turn again. He stumbles a bit when trying to smoothly sidestep, and Albert tilts his head at him and stifles a laugh but still follows him so they can keep on standing face to face. “Well,“ he drags out the L until it feels weird on his tongue, “nobody calls me Julian. Or I guess my uh— doctor… does. But, no.”
“Alright then, Jules.” The pain is there again, but this time accompanied with a flutter in his stomach. Unrelated to the general nausea.
A group of people stumble out of the bar, and it momentarily grabs both of their attention, pulling him far away from his train of thought. Julian misses his friends and his bed. “I wanna go home.”
When he turns back to Albert, he looks almost disappointed. Maybe he was just looking for a lay, then. “Want me to get you a cab?”
He studies the other man for a moment, as best as he can in the shitty lighting and with his vision slightly hazy. He doesn’t look like someone looking to fuck, so that isn’t adding up. He doesn't seem particularly threatening either (though it wouldn’t be the first time he’s misjudged someone in that department), and Julian feels like shit. So. Maybe he’ll make one last stupid decision for the night. “Where are you heading?”
He shrugs. “Home too, I guess.”
Julian nods, and for a moment he thinks his head might drop all the way to the ground with how heavy it feels, but he manages to pull it back up. “I’ll come with ya.”
Albert’s thick eyebrows furrow and he rocks back on his heels a bit. “I barely know you, man.” It’s followed by a breathy half-laugh, like it feels stupid to say. Julian gets that, because he almost wants to laugh too.
He jams a finger in his direction, not touching his chest but almost. “I'm the one taking a risk here, not you.”
Now Albert's expression turns truly serious. He seems to think it over for a bit, and a tense silence fills the cold air for a moment. Finally, he sighs. “Alright, alright. But no funny business.”
Julian walks closer to him, leaning into his side like they’ve known each other forever, mumbling “funny business’s my middle name” in his ear as they begin walking down the street. Albert does that small laugh again, and Julian decides he could get used to it.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence and Julian trying not to fall flat on his face because oh my god why does he still drink it’s not even fun anymore after four drinks and he just can’t fucking be upright, Albert clears his throat and speaks again. “Uh, I hope walking is fine.”
Just as the words have left his mouth Julian almost trips on the flat pavement, stabilizing himself with a hand on Albert’s arm. Despite this embarrassing moment, he quietly replies, “S’fine.”
-
Albert lives across from the stupid fucking modeling agency. Like, literally right in front of it, just across the street. What the fuck?
They pause outside for a bit, mainly to make sure Julian won’t puke again (is that it? Neither of them have said), and he’s got an arm around Albert’s shoulders for support. He doesn’t really mean to say anything at all, but the words tumble out in a whisper against his will, almost too raspy and quiet to hear. “It’s strange we’ve never met before.”
Albert glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “How come?”
“I used to work right across the street.”
Albert turns and squints, so Julian swivels his head, too fast, everything spins, and points with his free arm. “Uhh, just over there.”
“The modeling place?”
Julian sighs, exhausted just thinking about the place. “Mm-hm.”
Albert shrugs and doesn’t look at him. “Well.. New York's big.”
That doesn’t make any fucking sense to Julian, because this street is quite small, and he’s pretty sure he’s walked past this apartment complex plenty of times. And he would’ve definitely noticed those curls and that stupid tie.
Albert’s walking inside now, and he’s a bit blurry at the edges from this far away, so Julian walks on after him. He’s not stumbling too much anymore, but he still feels very, very heavy, like someone has hidden lead in his bones. They go up two flights of stairs, and then Albert stops and unlocks a door. Julian blinks and they’re inside.
As he starts fumbling to get his shoes off, Albert walks into the kitchen/livingroom and turns on the ceiling light. Fuck. Julian doubles over and closes his eyes, deciding he can sleep on the floor of this stranger’s apartment because that’d be nicer than having to face the brightness. He hears footsteps and laughter. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Julian groans. “Turn it oooooff.”
“No, come on, stand up.”
Julian feels a hand on his upper arm, not grabbing, just softly resting there, and so he reluctantly stands and squints. He scowls at Albert, who just huffs and smiles at him, easy and bright as if it’s the thousandth time he’s done so and not maybe the fourth.
There’s an awkward pause, like they both think they’re supposed to be doing or saying something, but they’ve both forgotten what. Julian misses leaning on him, and the nausea is flaring up again.
“Do I— uh, have we… I feel like I know you.” The last three words blur together and fade off as Julian starts becoming unsure. He’s not used to being nervous when intoxicated, and he doesn’t like it.
Albert smiles stiffly and doesn’t look him in the eye, fidgeting like he just wants to leave. Which is silly, because this is his apartment. The thought makes Julian giggle, and it morphs into full-on laughter, which seems to somehow transfer to Albert, too, and soon he’s forgotten what they’re even laughing about.
When Albert finally stops laughing, his smile reaches his eyes again, all of the stiffness gone. He motions for Julian to calm down, which furthers his hysterics for a second. “Fuck you, man. I can laugh however… however I want! Alright!?”
Now that Julian’s serious, Albert’s the one breaking into wheezing laughter. Julian straightens up. “Shut up! Hey!”
He just keeps on laughing, so Julian decides more serious measures need to be taken. He bridges the gap between them with a single step, grabbing Albert’s shoulders and shaking him slightly. The sentiment weakens as he himself starts laughing again, croaking out, “What’re you laughing about, huh?”
Albert finally straightens and meets his eyes, and it’s like fireworks going off in the back of his head, every bit of Julian’s thoughts drifting into a steady hum of right, right, right, and love, love, love. He blinks, and Albert shakes his head. They both just breathe, staring at each other like idiots. Why had he grabbed his shoulders again? Oh, right. The laughter. They both seem to remember at the same time. Julian’s just about to hurl out another why the fuckin laughter, maaannnn? But Albert beats him to it. “It’s just… you’re so…”
Julian frowns at him. “So what? Beautiful?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Gorgeous? Sexy?”
Albert sighs and laughs a little again. “No, I can’t explain it, man. I think— we might have known each other, I don’t know. It’s stupid.” He shakes his head.
Julian thinks so, too. Been thinking it since… since whenever they met, probably. He’s grown too tired to think properly now, laughter and walking wearing him out and making the room spin again. His hands slide down Albert’s shoulders, down his arms, and then off him completely. “I wanna sleep.”
Albert nods. “Alright, uh. Sit down if you want; I’ll get you a pillow and stuff. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
He scurries off to what Julian assumes is the bedroom, and he himself tries his best not to stumble on anything on his way to the couch. By the time he reaches it, he’s got other ideas, though, because there’s a record player with a stack of records beside it by the window. He stands still and breathes for a second, stabling himself and easing the spinning, and then he goes over and tilts his head down to look at the first one in the stack.
“The beach boys?” Julian speaks quietly to himself. Alright, that’s definitely a choice. He just smiles at the next one in the small stack, Sandbox by Guided By Voices.
He hears Albert walk into the room and turns slightly. “Where’s the rest?”
The footsteps stop somewhere by the couch. “The rest of what?”
“Your records.”
Julian turns around and watches as Albert starts rearranging the couch for sleeping. “What if I don’t have any more?” There’s an easy smile on his lips.
Surely someone who had Guided By Voices records, not CDs at that, didn’t just listen to five albums. Julian made a vague noise of disagreement.
Albert laughs and sits down on the armrest of the couch. “Under the TV.”
Sure enough, there were more lined up in the TV console-turned-record shelf. “I like you, man. You understand the music. The tuuunes...”
“Alright, tune-man. Get over here."
He walks over without a second thought, swaying on the spot in front of Albert, who currently looked absolutely gorgeous, lit only by the slice of light gleaming in through the window. He couldn’t help matching his smile. “Try not to puke in my living room?”
Julian laughs, flushing in embarrassment. He also realizes Albert must’ve taken his shoes off when he wasn’t looking, because his feet are sock-covered and very much vomit-free. “I’ll try, promise.”
Albert nods and stands, leaving very little breathing room for either of them. “Good night, Jules.”
“G’night, Al.”
He clears his throat and then wanders off to what’s probably his bedroom. Julian watches him leave with big eyes and wonders for a moment why he suddenly feels so hollow. He tries to ignore it and collapses onto the couch, which smells like leather and smoke and something else— almost homey but not quite warm enough to get there. He can vaguely hear a car honk in the distance and the soft noises of Albert getting ready for bed over in the other room.
He falls asleep in about ten seconds and sleeps straight through the entire night, something he hasn’t done in months. His dreams are a blur of shattered beer bottles, blinding lights and guitar-rough fingers. He won’t remember anything besides Albert’s smile whited out by the flash of a camera when he wakes up hungover and sweaty the next morning.