Chapter Text
Colin personally sees to the eviction of Daisy Rose from the studio after her guest segment and discovers that he can barely maintain a polite air as he urges her into a taxi to the airport.
“Will you give this to Michael?” she says, shoving a slip of pink note paper into his hands, “Tell him it’s from Daisy – he’ll know what I mean.”
Colin glances at the paper, upon which a phone number is scrawled. “Yeah,” he says, resisting the sudden urge to throw it in the street and tell her to fuck off. “Alright, Daisy. You better catch your flight.” He ushers her back into the taxi and quickly slams the door close. “JFK International,” he tells the cab driver through the open window.
“It leaves at midnight!” Daisy shouts as the taxi pulls away. “I won’t be waiting if he runs after me – tell him that!”
Colin just forces his smile a little more and waves, kind of hoping oncoming traffic will decapitate Daisy who has yet to stick her head back into the car. No, Colin, he admonishes himself immediately. Bad. She’s a nice girl, just delusional. That’s no reason to resent her. But, he admits as he turns to head back into the building, he does resent Daisy Rose and her delusions, even if he’s not exactly sure why.
Oh, forget it, he thinks. He supposes there’s no point on dwelling too long on such a little thing. He's allowed to find people irrationally irritating, isn't he? Daisy was just that – irrationally irritating.
When he steps out of the elevator at the office floor, a number of the crew from SNL appear to be on their way out for the night.
“Hey, Colin,” Aidy says. “We’re going down to SPICY for our own after party.”
“Spicy?” Colin frowns.
“No, SPICY ,” Bobby chimes in. “My drunk uncle’s friend recommended it to him and he said it’s an example of why people burn flags, so we think it should be pretty fun.”
The rest of the group, already piling into the elevator, make various noises of agreement.
“Alright, uh, I’ll… catch up with you guys later, maybe,” Colin says. “I’ve still got some things to do.”
“Bring Che!” Jay shouts out as the doors close.
Che doesn’t appear to be in his office when Colin stops by, but it turns out that’s only because he’s sequestered himself in Colin’s office instead, lounging across the blue sofa Che, Pete, and Leslie have decided is the best place for a nap in the office. Colin gave up trying to kick them out a long time ago and currently Che is sitting with his flashy white and red sneakers (Colin knows they’ve got some kind of name, and that Che would probably lose his mind if Colin admitted he doesn’t know what it is) propped up on one end of the couch.
“Daisy Rose wanted me to give you her number,” Colin says, strolling over to his desk. He drops the pink slip of paper over Che’s head as he passes by, and the man finally looks up from his iPhone, bemused.
“The rom-com expert?” he says, snorting. “Yeah, right. We’re never bringing her back here again. Man, we really need to pick actual experts to bring on, but…”
“No budget,” Colin finishes with him. He looks around his office, to where his laptop is open on his desk, screen black but waiting to be turned on, waiting for him to check emails, make sure everything’s set for the weekend – et cetera. “Don’t you have stuff to do?” he asks Che, who’s back to texting or playing Solitaire or whatever it is that Che does on his phone.
“We’re off ‘till Monday, Jost,” Che says, rolling his eyes. “I was waiting around for you, anyway,” he says, swinging his feet around down to the floor and standing up.
“Oh. Are you going to SPICY later?”
“What?” Che makes a face. “Don’t say that again. No, I need to talk to my landlord about this month’s rent and he’s passively racist so I need a white friend to go with me and smooth things over.”
“What?”
“Yeah, usually I make Beck come with me, y’know, ‘cause he lives close by anyway, and he has that just-right Good Samaritan look without making you feel insecure about yourself, but he’s taking Kyle to some – well, thing , I guess.” He pauses, frowns, and then shrugs. “I dunno. So, let’s go.”
“Uh,” Colin looks back at his laptop one more time. “Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.
Che stops in by at his office to grab his things and then they head out. The office is fairly vacant, since it’s a little past midnight, and as they step into the elevators, Colin notices that Che has a familiar pink slip of paper in his hand and is scrutinizing it.
“What, are you actually going to call her?” he says, incredulous.
“No,” Che says at once, then scowls. “It doesn’t matter. She’s going outta town,”
“She was weird , Che,” Colin reminds him, though he’s not sure where the sudden heat in his tone is coming from.
“Yeah, man,” Che says, “I’m not saying she wasn’t, but – you gotta admit. It was kinda cute.”
Colin opens his mouth to respond, to say no, it was not cute, not one bit, but then he’s knocked to the side as the elevator drops unsteadily before stopping altogether with a thunderous SCHOOM.
The lights flicker off and are replaced with a red emergency light and for a moment, neither Che nor Colin move, their breaths harsh in the silence.
“Colin, you can let go of my arm now, man,” Che says eventually.
Colin looks over, and finds that he’s got one hand fisting Che’s coat sleeve like wrinkling the fabric will somehow save his life. “Oh. Sorry.”
They both straighten up, looking around the red-lit room.
“Well, to state the obvious: it looks like we broke down,” Colin says. He goes over the panel of button in the elevator and pokes at the EMERGENCY button. Nothing really seems to happen.
“Yeah, great.” Che grumbles, and when Colin turns around again, Che’s sitting on the floor.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m not standing while we wait,” Che says. “Who knows how long it’s gonna be?” And then he takes out his phone.
“Who’re you calling?”
“No one. No reception in the elevators,” Che grumbles, already tucking the phone back into his pocket. He sighs heavily and glances up to where Colin’s still sort of hovering in the middle of the elevator floor. He raises an eyebrow. “Gonna stand there like a dork or sit down, Jost?”
For lack of any better response, Colin stomps over, sliding down along the wall into the spot next to Che. “How long do you think we’re going to be in here?”
Che snorts. “What, d’you think I’ve been stuck in an elevator before? Someone’s gonna notice the elevators aren’t moving, and then we’ll get out.”
Colin groans, knocking his head back on the wall panel behind them. “That could be hours, Che.”
“Kyle said he an’ Beck got stuck in an elevator for seven hours once,” Che muses.
“Seven ?”
“I’m joking, man. Jeez, are you claustrophobic or something?” Che says. “You seriously need to calm down.”
Colin scrubs a hand over his face, groaning again. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I know. God!” Would it be helpful to say he's being weirdly on edge because of Daisy Rose’s visit? Or will Che find that even stranger?
They're silent a moment and from his side, Che says, “‘Least we probably won't have to go to SPICY.”
A small laugh bubbles up from within Colin, unwarranted, and drops his hand away from his face to look Che in the eye and say, “Do me a favor and never say that again,”
Che grins, the mischievous look entering his eyes apparent even in the dim lighting – or maybe because Colin just knows that look so well. “SPICY,” Che says. “ SPIIICY.”
“Now, I'm sure that's a different club entirely.” Colin quips.
“SPICY,” Che repeats, throwing his hands up as if to say What can I do?
Colin just shakes his head, looking forward again. His gaze catches on Daisy Rose’s phone number, where the pink slip had fallen from Che’s grasp when the elevator lurched to a halt. He thinks that Che probably spots the paper around the same time, but neither of them comment on it, or move to pick it up.
“So me an’ Jay an’ Cecily started a pool – I've got a hundred bucks in that Beck an’ Kyle start fucking by Christmas.” Che says.
Colin chokes a little, but then recovers. Kyle and Beck? “They'll never get together by Christmas, Che,” he protests. “They've known each other for – who knows? At least fifteen years. They'll need another fifteen before anything happens.”
“Nah, man, this is the year,” Che says. “The tension is reaching critical levels.”
Colin rubs at his eyes. “Well then I hope you win the pool, but count me out. It's too tough to say,” he determines.
“Aw ,” Che knocks his shoulder against Colin's. “And here I was lookin’ forward to taking your money, Jost.”
Colin shoves Che back and there's a minor and perhaps juvenile back and forth of elbowing and shoving that ends with Che attempting to actually murder Colin via smothering.
“You're crushing me,” Colin wheezes, and it really doesn't help that he can't stop laughing.
“Nerd,” Che says, but he lets Colin up and they slump back against the wall again, each panting a little.
In the dim lighting of the elevator room, Colin suddenly feels weary. He stifles a yawn. “So, what about… What about your landlord?”
“I'll take care of it later, I guess,” Che says.
“Hm.” Colin's eyelids droop, vision blurring. “You know, Daisy Rose really was sort of awful,” he finds himself mumbling.
Che laughs, body shaking against Colin's side.
“M’serious, Michael. Don't call her. She's crazy or something…”
“Got it,” Che says, still sounding amused.
“Good.” And that's about the last thing Colin remembers before a mechanical voice says “Lobby,” and he startles awake.
Steve Higgins peers down at Colin with a single eyebrow raised in both question and judgment because apparently the elevator has magically started working again, and they’ve arrived at the ground floor.
Colin straightens up, checks that he hasn’t drooled on Che’s shoulder or anything, and then nudges him in the ribs. “Che, the elevator’s open.”
“Thank God.”
They scramble to their feet and out the elevator as if the room might change its mind and close them in again.
Colin turns to Higgins, about to explain, to say something but Higgins just shakes his head, chuckling. “I'd rather not know, boys,” he says.
After the doors close, Colin turns to Che with a sheepish smile and they head out toward the front doors. The clock in the lobby reads six-fifty in the morning and it’s a Sunday, so the lobby is pretty much deserted at a time when it’s usually filled with early arrivers to work during the week.
Outside, Colin and Che stop, nodding groggily at each other.
“See ya tomorrow, Colin,” Che says.
“Yeah. Good luck with the landlord.” Colin doesn’t make a move in any direction, just sort of sways in front of Che, feeling both wide awake from the chilly morning air of the late October day, and kind of dazed from sleeping sat (mostly) upright in an elevator. “Well, okay,” Colin says.
“‘Kay,” Che laughs and reaches out to clap a hand on Colin’s shoulder.“Later, man.” He turns away, and Colin guesses he’s still a little sleep-addled, because he just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, and wonders if he should have asked Che if he wanted to go get a cup of coffee.
Wait. Too early?
#
The first time it happened, Colin had just finished his first year behind the Update desk with Cecily, and Che was still a staff writer for the sketches.
They'd met at an open mic night at a local pub, and before Che moved to a new flat out of Colin's route, they'd made an unspoken ritual of meeting on the subway and picking up cheap coffee at a café five minutes walk from 30 Rockefeller.
There came a day that Che was running late, and Colin emerged from the subway with a simple text message to ‘get my usual’.
“Hi, can I get a medium caffe mocha and… a medium cappuccino?” Colin told the usual barista, whose nametag read Maggie, and it probably should have told him something that she paused in the midst of ringing up his order to look over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone else. Che, Colin realized – of course Maggie would recognize regulars like himself and Che by now.
She entered Che’s cappuccino with Colin’s caffe mocha and he felt obliged to explain, “He’s running a little late today.”
“‘Course,” she said, grinning. “Bound to happen, though honestly, we all thought you guys lived together. Five-ninety.”
Colin gave a small laugh, handing over the cash. “We?”
She shrugged. “Let us speculate, okay? It’s all we have. You guys are cute together,” she added, offering him another kind smile before nodding to the end of the counter, “Order’ll be out in a about a minute.”
“Thanks,” Colin said, and he’d already moved on before her words really sunk in, and then he turned to stare at Maggie, already taking a new order, with wide eyes. He made a note to mention it to Che later and shook his head in disbelief.
Of course, he forgot all about it later when Che showed up at the office shortly after him, looking harried and cursing loudly about an ailing alarm clock and arctic shower waters as he accepted his cappuccino.
The thing is, Colin doesn’t especially mind being mistaken for being anyone’s boyfriend. It’s not exactly an insult, and after eight years with SNL , Colin knows that pretty much anyone who even gets lunch together a couple times too often will probably be the subject of office gossip and teasing for at least a week. He’s been casually mistaken as the boyfriend of most of his current cast co-workers more times than he can remember, and while catching slack from a couple of baristas at his coffee shop is one thing, it was more awkward when, shortly after Che was officially hired as a staff writer, Seth pulled Colin aside to ramble vague assurances about intact integrity and dating in the workplace. It wasn’t until Seth started going on about Che of all people, that Colin realized what Seth was even saying.
“Jesus, Meyers, I’m not dating Michael ,” Colin said, once he’d stopped laughing long enough to catch his breath.
Seth gaped, blinking rapidly, “Oh. Oh – oh, Colin, I am – I am so. Sorry.”
So if Colin has to be specific, he thinks over the years, he’s been taken for dating Che maybe six times, mostly by random strangers with good intentions. Four of those times, though, have been in the last two months, since the start of Che’s time as co-anchor on Weekend Update .
Colin wonders if it’s because people recognize their faces vaguely enough to recognize them together, but not know why. In any case, every mistaken encounter has taken place out of Che’s sight and hearing.
Until now;
It’s a Tuesday, which means a writing day, and Colin and Che are scheduled back from lunch for a meeting with some of the staff writers in half an hour. Colin’s probably going to return with bruised shins, because Che is a cruel, cruel man-child who enjoys kicking him under the table and generally assaulting Colin with his feet. As it is, Colin has gained the upper ground, literally triumphing by tucking his legs up in front of him.
“Don't look now,” Che says around the straw of his drink, “But there are definitely, like, two old ladies just staring at you. Dude, I said don’t look.”
Colin had ventured to put his feet down again in order to turn and look. He waves at the women, smiling widely because it amuses him to put people on the spot, and because Che is snickering over his shoulder despite his protests, no doubt waving as well.
One of the women in question reaches across the table to smack her companion on the arm and hiss something, but with a look of determination, her companion climbs to her feet and begins to make her way over.
“Uh oh,” Che mutters, but Colin just watches the second woman approach, his curiosity piqued.
“Excuse me,” she says, “My name is Margot – I don’t mean to interrupt your meal, it’s just that –just that, why, you’re a spitting image of my brother when he was young.” She smiles at Colin, who returns the expression. “He was like you, “ she continues, and glances from Colin to Che behind him. “I’m sorry,” she adds, beginning to look a little teary-eyed. “He passed twenty years ago, I guest – you look so much like him, and I’m – I’m glad you can be happy.”
By now, Margot’s companion has swooped in, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. She puts a gentle hand on Margot’s arm. “Come back to the table, Margot, it’s alright.”
Margot nods and looks back at Colin. “I’m sorry for imposing on you…”
“No, no. It’s alright,” Colin says. “It was nice to meet you, Margot.”
She’s led away carefully by her friend, who glances back and gives Colin a quick nod.
Colin turns back to Che slowly, and finds that he’s got a tiny frown on his face and that he’s staring pensively at the leftover ice cubes in his glass.
“Well, that was intense,” Colin declares.
Che blinks, expression neutralizing before he smirks. “What, don’t you get mistaken for grandsons every other week? Brother’s a step up, isn’t it?”
“It’s true,” Colin says seriously, “Grandmothers love me.”
Che steps on Colin’s foot and cackles at the hissing noise it produces.
It’s not until they’re headed back up to the office that Che says suddenly, “That old lady Margot thought you were gay, didn’t she?”
Colin shrugs, presses the elevator button for the seventeenth floor, and says, “I just have that look,” he says.
Someone in the back of the elevator snorts loudly, and Che coughs to cover a snort.
“Yeah, yeah,” Colin says loudly, swiveling around the elevator to look around at everyone the best he can, “Laugh it up, I know, I’m aware – I’ve been told.”
Che claps a hand over his mouth, but not before a loud bark of laughter escapes from him.
#
In mid-November, Vanessa takes it upon herself to intervene in Colin’s very sad, very pathetic love life, and pesters him until he agrees to be set up on a blind date.
“It’ll be fantastic, Colin,” Vanessa says, clapping her hands together. “I’ll text you an address for tonight, alright?”
“Whoa, tonight?”
She blinks, large eyes totally innocent and dimples on full display when she smiles and wonders, “Is that a problem?”
Colin deflates a little. “No.”
She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have fun, don’t worry.”
He just nods and trails back over to the Update offices.
Jay emerges from Che and Pete’s shared office and gives Colin and cheerful look that somehow comes off as looking suspect, like he’s up to no good. “Have a nice night, Jost,” Jay calls over his shoulder. “I’m out for the night!”
“Jay’s not planning any pranks, is he?” Colin asks Che when he steps into the office instead. “He looks like he has something going on.”
Che and Pete’s office is smaller than Colin’s though it looks cozier for it; the decor includes a mix of sports paraphernalia and photographs of various entertainers, as well as mementos from past shows. Everything is on display haphazardly, propped up or tacked to the walls in an unplanned manner. The overhead lights are always turned off in the room, which is instead lit by a string of Christmas lights running behind Pete’s desk and also various and tacky lamps.
Michael looks up from where he’s tapping out something on his laptop. “You know Pharoah always looks like he has something going on,” he says. “But if he’s pranking anybody right now, I’m not in on it.”
“Huh, well,” Colin sticks his hands in his sweater pockets. “I’m…” He blinks. “I was just stopping by. Checking the alive/dead status of my colleagues – you know.” He makes for the door again.
“Jost, you stayin’ late?” Che calls.
“Uh, no,” he says, pausing in the doorway and giving a tiny, self-conscious laugh. “Not today. Vanessa – well. Yeah.” It occurs to him that Che’s probably the type to find blind dates extremely odd, and possibly something only white people do. Maybe it is. Colin does find the concept slightly ludicrous, too, and also kind of sad. He’s over thirty and he wonders: is it too early or too late to be agreeing to a blind date? But he trusts Vanessa’s judgement enough, so hopefully it won’t be a total bust. And besides – why not? It’ll be funny later if it doesn’t work out.
He’s not home for an hour that evening when Vanessa texts him an address that turns out to be a pub a little uptown, and a meet-up time for eight-thirty, along with an instruction to be his ‘best casual sexy ;)’ .
He takes the bus up half the way and then takes the underground, rising from the subway at eight-thirty exactly.
The pub is better than the cheap dives Colin usually goes to with his friends, and one scan of the place makes Colin realize he has no idea what he’s looking for. Shit.
He slinks over to the bar anyway, sliding onto a stool and checking around for someone else who seems like they’re looking around.
“Yo, Colin?” A voice says, and Che’s approaching the bar, a surprised but pleased expression on his face.
Colin blinks. “Che ?”
“This place is a little outta your way, isn’t it?” Che says.
“Yeah, I guess,” Colin shrugs. “But I’m waiting for someone. D’you come here often?”
Che smirks and bats his eyelashes dramatically. “Why, are you coming on to me, you Wonder Bread slice, you?”
Colin snorts. “Wonder bread?”
“You vanilla cupcake, you?” Che tries. “You fresh glass of milk, you? You clean linens scented candle, you?” He laughs, unable to help himself, and drops into the seat beside Colin. “I’m meeting Jay here. Guy’s runnin’ late, though…” He looks over his shoulder, as if to check that Jay hasn't walked in while his back was turned. When he turns back to Colin, his eyes narrow a little and he leans back, looking Colin up and down. “You're waiting for a date,” he realizes, a sly smile spreading across his lips.
“No. What? So?” Colin says at once, his voice soaring two octaves. He coughs and clears his throat.
“Definitely a first date,” Che says, slinging an arm around Colin’s shoulders. “ Damn, Jost – nice . Who is it? Do I know ‘em?”
Cornered, Colin admits, “Look, Vanessa set me up with a friend. We’ve never met, okay? We were supposed to me here—” He checks his wristwatch “—Almost ten minutes ago, but Vanessa forgot to—”
“Oh,” Che says, “Aha, I see.” And then he gets up, kneeling on his stool and hollers, “Ay! Anyone here for a blind date with a well-groomed, thirty year-old white dude?”
There’s a smattering a snickers and catcalls from some of the patrons, but no one responds seriously. Che sits back down. “Sorry, man. Looks like no one’s here yet.”
“Yeah, well,” Colin nudges Che in the side. “Looks like Jay’s stood you up, too.”
Che rolls his eyes. “Jay ain’t late for another ten minutes, man. Then he’s ditched my ass. C’mon, I’ll wait with you.”
“Will you buy me a drink?” Colin asks, smiling hopefully.
“Hell no, Jost,” Che says. “Maybe later, if we’re still sittin’ here, I’m drunk enough, an’ I feel sorry enough for you.”
“Well, fingers crossed, then,” Colin says, and leans across the bar to wave over the bartender.
The fact is, Colin thinks absently, he’s definitely been stood up. Che’s right. Che’s so smart, he thinks. Real funny, right from the moment Colin heard him doing stand-up. He was – he was bright. Like a bright light…
“ Bright ? I’m black , you – whipped cream… you… I’m drunk.” Che sighs,
“You can read my mind,” Colin squints at Che, and what is supposed to be a question makes it out as a statement instead.
“You’re literally narrating every thought that goes through your head, man.”
Colin frowns. That could definitely backfire.
“We should prob’ly go home,” Che says. “Think they’re gonna – gonna kick us out soon, anyway.”
Colin looks around, still squinting, because he thinks it makes things look a little clearer. Shit, is he wearing his contacts or not? Eh. Pub’s kind of deserted. No date. No Jay, either. “Your place or mine?” he quips, chortling, but Che pulls him to his feet and says, “Mine . Mine, mine, mine. S’Closer, man. You prob’ly shouldn’t go all the way to your place. You’re smacked.”
“S’your fault,” Colin grumbles, allowing Che to tug him for the door, “You… you dared me to take those – hic – shit – those shots. Hic! Fuck!”
“Didn’t think you’d actually do it, man,”
They stumble outside into the night, where the cool air is like a sobering splash of ice water on Colin’s face. He shudders, and leans against Che heavily. “Gravity – hic – is not my friend,” he confides, squeezing his eyes shut. He thinks the sidewalk wants him to kiss it or something. Dance, maybe? It keeps spinning.
Che is shaking – laughing – and after a while, Colin just lets himself get pulled along the way. He thinks maybe he has lost his contacts during the night, somehow, and it’s kind of dark anyway.
Colin kind of just zones out for a while and lets his feet do the walking because that’s what feet do – walk – and after, well, some vague amount of time, and a couple of flights of stairs, Che stops and Colin giggles at him for five minutes straight while the guy attempts to first find his apartment keys, and then fit them into the door.
Che’s apartment is lit by an extremely yellow light and doesn’t look at all like his old apartment a couple of blocks down from Colin’s. It’s bigger here, and the walls aren’t cracked. The furniture matches and looks used, but not worn out.
Colin trips over to the sofa in Che’s living room and flops onto it, content to stare up at the off-white ceiling until Che comes in and shoves Colin over. “Drink some water, man,” Che says, settling onto the cushion next to him.
Colin chugs the glass dutifully and then blinks, looking around groggily. “Nice place. It’s empty?” he says, even though he already knew that – he knew Che didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment.
“What?”
“What?”
“How do you know…? Nevermind..”
Colin shrugs and slumps back, letting the back of his head rest on the couch top. “Michael, I’ll tell you this right now: I’m definitely sleeping on this couch, and if you kick me out, you’re really mean and I’ll say so.”
“ Wow , that’s a real threat right there,” Che says.
“Be very scared,” Colin says, and now his eyelids are growing heavy again and oh right, that’s why he took his contacts out. He falls asleep everywhere, goddammit! It’s almost like a daily occurrence or something.
“Stop laughing at your own lame jokes,” Che mumbles.
Colin wakes up enough to try and shove Che, but once his hand finds purchase against Che’s shoulder, he just kind of pushes and – oh, looks like he’s just going down along with it. Colin rests his cheek against Che’s – whatever, he’s not really sure – side? – and incidentally, it’s a lot more comfortable than craning his neck to put his head back on the couch. Plus, Colin muses, he won’t wake up with a crook in his neck, now.
Che is a real friend, he thinks vaguely, and then sleep hits him light a freight train, and he’s out like a light.
An alarm clock is screaming somewhere, Colin's head feels like it's about to spontaneously combust, and his mouth feels kind of like he's swallowed a sock.
He makes a half groan, half whining sound and struggles out from under Che’s octopus-like hold, which in truth was probably the only thing keeping him from rolling right off the sofa in the night.
Che makes a noise, too, but it’s more whine than groan.
“Che ,” Colin hisses, “For God’s sake. We have work.” That seems to do the trick, as Che’s arms spring open and Colin tumbles onto the floor. He glares up at Che when the man peers over the edge of the couch.
“Aspirin’s behind the mirror in the bathroom,” Che offers. “Might have a spare toothbrush in the drawer.”
Colin perks up at the mention of aspirin and once he’s dragged himself down the hall, throwing back two pills and a glass of water, he monopolizes Che’s bathroom to freshen up the best he can. There’s a spare shirt in his office he can always change in to, though his hair will just have to be a mess throughout the day.
He emerges from the bathroom to the smell of coffee wafting down from the little kitchen, and while Che’s disappeared to get ready for the morning, Colin makes two mugs of coffee, dumping a good measure of sugar and creamer into Che’s because that’s how he always seems to make it at the office.
When Che returns, they drink coffee and eat Cheerios standing in the kitchen in the silence that usually accompanies a hangover. Colin sips at his coffee and contemplates whether getting drunkenly spooned by Che moves their friendship up a tier in whatever pyramid friendship gets measured with.
“You look like you had fun,” Vanessa says at work, when she finds him in the staff lounge near noon, his forehead pressed against the cool metal of the refrigerator door.
Colin turns around slowly, wishing he kept more aspirin in his desk, except that he’s never really been this hungover during the week, barring that time Fred, Bill, and Kristen – well, he tries to block it out of his memory, really.
“Actually, your friend didn’t show,” Colin tells Vanessa. “Che was there to meet Jay, but he didn’t show, so we just hung out, bonded by our feelings of abandonment.” He frowns. “I think he got me drunk on purpose.”
Vanessa stares at him with some kind of look that’s half bewildered, half are you serious?. Finally, she says, “Oh. Oh – oh, that’s too bad – I’m sorry, I thought – well, I guess I thought it would go a little differently.” She presses her lips together in a way that reminds Colin of her expression in sketches where she’s playing a character faced with an unbelievable situation, though he doesn’t really know why.
“Well,” Vanessa says. “Hope you’re feeling better by rehearsals this afternoon.”
“Mm-hm.”
She whirls around and walks off, saying something under breath that sounds a lot like, “This is so dumb.”
Colin decides not to think too hard about it.