Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain hadn't stopped since Henry left the studio. He looked up at the dark sky overhead as he sprinted to the bus stop, eager to get out of the torrent even if only momentarily. Usually he enjoyed the short walk; it's not like he did much walking while he worked like a dog at his desk.

But the thunderstorm overhead was a bit much to deem ‘enjoyable’, even with his low standards. 

As soon as he made it to the awning that covered the bus stop he threw himself on the bench, sighing with relief now that he was out of the rain. He looked down at his outfit and sighed, realizing that the coat he usually wore was now soaked all the way through. He took it off, intending to place it next to him on the bench, when he noticed the man sitting to his right.

If the tied-up blonde hair and rounded glasses didn't give it away, then the icy glare that was underneath them certainly revealed the man's identity.

“Ah, hello, Mr. Lawrence,” Henry smiled somewhat awkwardly, shifting in his seat. The aforementioned Sammy Lawrence continued looking at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally responded cooly.

“Mr. Stein,” he raised an eyebrow, looking unamused, his expression not wavering in the slightest.

Henry gave a small, uncertain wave, before lowering his hand and looking back at the rain pounding on the road in front of him. Though he felt the composer's eyes burning into the side of his head for a moment even after he had looked away. 

Truthfully, he had always been somewhat intimidated by the man seated next to him, and typically steered clear of the music department for that reason. Sammy had an exterior of ice, and his sharp angles and scathing tongue didn't do anything to help amend that. He was a handsome man, but Henry knew that he could be ruthless when he wanted to.

He was known around the studio as someone to not be messed with—hell, he didn't even know if he had any friends around. Other than his lyricist, Jack Fain, who he was able to tolerate enough to collaborate with on creating the music that helped keep the cartoons running. Though Henry chalked that up to Jack being just that hard to hate.

Usually Henry himself was never one to try and judge people, but he had never properly spoken with the man outside of work. He couldn't say he was very keen on whatever verbal berating he was likely to get by talking with him.

Yet as the rain fell, the sound ratting on the awning above, Henry couldn't help but want to fill the silence. Though he was never good at talking with people he was unfamiliar with, the silence between the two was almost more uncomfortable than the idea of getting scolded for something or other.

So the artist decided to swallow his pride, and glance towards the composer. Who was… still looking at him, his expression hidden behind his spectacles.

“I've.. never seen you at this stop before, Mr. Lawrence,” Henry stated, forcing his voice to remain confident, gesturing at the bus stop around them, “May I ask why you're here today?”

“Sammy is fine,” Sammy said curtly, finally looking away long enough to glance at his watch and scowl. His bus must have been running late because of the rain, Henry guessed.

“And no, typically I don't take the bus,” he confessed, shaking his head in frustration, “But my car's in the shop, and I live too far away to walk. I am surprised that you're here, however. I figured that Joey would have you locked to your desk by a ball and chain at this point.”

Henry laughed at that, looking somewhat embarrassed at the bold claim. Though he couldn't necessarily deny that what the musician was saying was scarily accurate.

“I'm sure he's considered it,” he shook his head, a small smile on his face. As much as he cared dearly about Joey, and still considered him a good friend, he could be a bit intense with his work ethic. “But I made sure to wrap up all my stills on time, so I'd be home at a decent hour. Even he can't always stop me from getting a warm shower, and sleeping in a place that's a little more comfortable than my desk every once in awhile.”

“Well it seems like you've already gotten a bit of a shower, haven't you?” Sammy snorted, looking at the artist's soaked coat and damp hair, “Though I can't say it's particularly warm.”

“No, it's really not,” Henry chuckled, running a hand through his hair, trying to stop his bangs from sticking to his forehead. “Though I can't say I hate the rain, you know? Good reminder that despite Joey's adversity to letting us out of the studio, the world keeps turning.”

“I suppose you're right,” Sammy agreed, his eyes softening an almost unnoticeable amount for the first time in their little conversation. Though they quickly hardened again when without warning, a loud clap of thunder roared above, startling both men.

Although Sammy had clearly been affected more by the sound than Henry. He visibly stiffened, flinching somewhat as a brief flash of unease went through his eyes. And although he attempted to relax as quickly as possible before it could be noticed, Henry couldn't help but be amused by the brief display. 

Guess this man isn't entirely made of steel, huh?

“What? Is the big, scary, music director afraid of a little thunder?” He teased light-heartedly, though he realized he probably shouldn't have been so quick to tease when he saw the ice cold look that Sammy was shooting at him.

“Not that there's anything wrong with that,” Henry quickly added, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck, having the sense to look somewhat guilty. He was very grateful when Sammy just sighed and shook his head, looking more curious than annoyed.

“You must have a lot of nerve saying that to me,” he narrowed his eyes, looking as though he was trying to get a better read on the sheepish artist, “Either that or you're a fool. Most people can hardly look me in the eye, let alone have the gall to make a jab at me.”

“They're probably just afraid that you'd throw them head-first out a window if they say anything to you,” Henry said, relaxing again as he realized that the composer likely wasn't going to do anything like that to him, for whatever reason.

“I can't say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind,” Sammy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he gave the animator another sharp look. 

He seemed to be studying him, as if burning a big enough hole in his head would reveal all his secrets.

“You're an interesting individual, Mr. Stein,” he said suddenly, almost as if it was a thought that just happened to slip out of his mouth. Henry chuckled at the comment nonetheless.

“So I've been told,” Henry sighed, not feeling too offended by Sammy's blaise words, “And you can call me Henry, by the way. After all, you're letting me call you Sammy. It's only fair that I return the favor.”

“You're right. I did tell you you could do that,” Sammy furrowed his brows, almost as if he himself was surprised that he had given Henry such permission. But he quickly shook his head, the fleeting moment of confusion fading quickly.

They sat for a moment together in a comfortable silence, listening to the rain fall around them in a familiar pattern. And if Sammy flinched at the rolling thunder, then Henry didn't comment on it.

Though soon enough, a bus finally turned up, pausing just far enough away to not splash them with the puddle that had formed on the side of the road. Henry stood, stretching his arms above his head with a grunt.

“Is this your bus?” He asked Sammy, curious if he lived anywhere close to the other man. However, the composer shook his head in response, an ever-present frown on his face.

“No. I'm still waiting on the next one,” he confirmed, though despite his words he stood from the bench as well.

“Then I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, Sammy,” Henry gave him a warm smile, turning towards the bus so he could get on and finally catch a ride home. Though when his foot hit the first step he turned back one more time.

“Have a good night, alright?”

It took Sammy a few seconds to respond, looking like he was taking a moment to internally argue with himself. Though eventually he seemed to settle, and allowed himself to give Henry a small smile back. It was the first genuine smile that Henry had seen him make.

“You too, Henry,” he murmured, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle. Though Henry just brushed it off as him being muffled by the rain.

Nodding, he turned away again for the last time, the bus door closing behind him. As he sat on the bus, he thought about his interaction with Sammy, and how much he surprisingly ended up enjoying it. He didn't know that the otherwise grumpy musician could have a sense of humor—even if it was mostly deadpan.

Maybe he didn't have to go out of his way to avoid the man anymore. 

He didn't even realize until he was halfway home that he had left his coat behind at the bus stop.

Chapter Text

When Henry woke up the following morning, looking out his window at the street below his small apartment, he was somewhat surprised that the rain hadn't stopped. Albeit it was a light drizzle rather than the downpour that ensued yesterday. Though it was still frustrating that he'd have to walk through it all again.

He shook his head, pushing his curtains open entirely so that light could enter the room, before getting ready to face the workday head on. Not only was that time used to get dressed or eat breakfast, but also to mentally prepare himself for the strain he was sure to face.

After all, though he had finished as much as he could the previous day, in Joey Drew Studios there was always more work to do. 

So after swiftly finishing his morning routine, he grabbed his umbrella, which was leaning idly against the door. He began reaching for his coat, when he paused, sighing as he remembered that he had forgotten it at the bus stop the previous day. He felt annoyed with himself that he had gotten so caught up in talking to Sammy of all people that he didn't even notice until it was far too late.

‘Sammy, huh?’ he thought, opening up the umbrella as he walked out the door, narrowly avoiding being soaked again, ‘Maybe I should pay him a visit today. It couldn't hurt, could it?’

He was surprised at how appealing the idea of striking conversation with the irritable music director really was to him. It felt bizarre to him that in just one interaction, he had felt more comfortable talking to one of the most intimidating and snide members of the studio than he had his own supposed best friend in weeks.

Not bothering to think about it too deeply—as he knew that thinking about his discomfort with Joey always led to trouble—he quickened his pace to the bus stop near his apartment. He spared a glance at the sky above, noting how there seemed to be no sign of clear skies in sight.

He sighed. If this harsh rain was going to be long term, then he'd really need to somehow find his coat.

.

“Oi, Mister Stein!”

Henry, who after getting to work and settling into his normal routine of overworking himself, was quickly startled out of his thoughts by a familiar voice. Reluctantly he turned his head away from the frame of Bendy he was working on, but smiled when he realized who it was.

“Ah, Wally,” the artist sat up, stretching his arms over his head as his back cracked. He turned his attention to the janitor, eyes focused on him curiously.Though he already guessed the reason for the visit. “What can I do for you? Did you lose your keys again?”

Wally rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, stammering an excuse-filled response out before sighing. Henry chuckled—despite being one of the youngest people on staff, Wallace Franks had been working at the studio for a long time. Henry had become somewhat fond of the kid and his antics, though he knew that some people were aggravated by his incompetence with his work. But he tried not to judge too much; after all, Wally reminded him a lot of a younger version of himself.

“Well.. yes, truthfully. I was trying to keep an eye on em’, I promise!” The janitor clasped his hands together, giving Henry a desperate look, “But they ain't anywhere in sight! And the last place I saw em’ was in your office. So..”

“So you want me to help you find them, don't you?” Henry finished for him, raising an amused eyebrow at the janitor’s troubles. He seemed to have this issue every week—he’d clean somewhere, lose his keys, and if he couldn't find them he'd come and ask Henry for help.

At first Henry was somewhat annoyed by it—after all, it did interrupt his work, usually leading to him having to do more work later—but overtime it became so normal that he'd find it weird if Wally somehow didn't need his help looking. 

"I suppose if you really need me—"

“Thanks, Henry,” Wally smiled, his eyes almost shining with gratitude as they did every time, “You're a real pal, you know that?”

“It's no problem, really,” Henry brushed off his thanks, standing from his desk and patting him on the shoulder. He stretched his back again, surprising a groan. “I'm just happy to help.”

Damn, I'm not even old and yet my joints already ache. Maybe I've been sitting at a desk too long these past years. I feel like helping this kid find his keys is the only exercise I ever get anymore.

Wally laughed and opened his mouth, seemingly going to say something else, when he was quickly cut off by the sound of footsteps. Both of them turned to the door, having starkly different reactions to the man standing by it.

“Henry? Do you have a moment?” Sammy said, knocking gently on the already opened door with his free hand. The other was hidden behind his back, clearly holding something out of sight. And although when he originally knocked he came off as relaxed, he visibly grimaced when he noticed that Wally was in the room with them. “Or are you.. busy?”

“No, not at all, Sammy,” Henry responded casually. He didn't notice Wally vigorously shaking his head while making an ‘x’ motion with his hands, or the sigh of disappointment when Henry allowed the other man in. “I’m not doing anything worthwhile. Well, other than helping Wally look for his keys.”

“I see,” Sammy rolled his eyes, seemingly unsurprised by the janitor's lack of an ability to keep up with his things, “And how's that working out for you, Wallace?”

“It was going great until you showed up..” Wally muttered, despite the fact that they hadn't even begun looking. Henry frowned, and opened his mouth to say something that could ease the tension, but Sammy cut him off.

“Oh, really? Because I'm pretty sure that you haven't looked everywhere,” the musician sneered, his gaze flashing with contempt, “I don't think you've checked up your ass yet. Or have you?” 

“That's enough, Sammy,” Henry stepped between the two, giving Sammy a scolding look and Wally a pitying one. Those two in the same room together were always bound for disaster—for whatever reason, the young janitor always ended up getting the brunt of Sammy's sharp tongue. Typically Henry didn't get involved, but the last thing he wanted was an argument escalating in his office.

He had enough of those whenever Joey came to check on him, anyway.

“Now, Sammy,” he smiled again, but gave the musician a look that plainly said 'don't start anything’. “Do you need anything? Typically you don't tend to hang around the art wing.”

“Ugh, why would I? Do I look like someone who wants to stand around and be covered in ink all day?” He snorted in response, looking almost amused by Henry's correct assumption. But the look quickly changed as he proceeded the question, his expression becoming more guarded as if he was trying to hide his embarrassment behind his glasses and hair.

After glancing behind him, he finally held out the hand he'd been hiding behind his back, revealing a familiar item.

“Ah, well.. I noticed that you had forgotten your coat while waiting for the bus yesterday,” he held out the coat to the other man, which was nearly folded in his hand, “And with the weather not holding up, I.. figured that you would need it.”

He was clearly trying to downplay the considerate action, looking towards the side with a deep frown on his lips. Nonetheless, Henry's eyes shone with gratitude, and he took the coat out of Sammy's hands carefully. He held it close to him, feeling touched by the gesture. Again, he was ignoring Wally's reaction—being frozen in shock.

“Well thank you very much, Sammy,” Henry smiled, still somewhat trying to process the surprisingly kind act, “I was worried when I got back to the bus stop this morning and it wasn't there. I would never have guessed that you were the one who took it.”

“Just don't forget it next time,” Sammy crossed his arms, leaning back as though he was still attempting to come across as ice-cold; although Henry could sense a trace of softness in his expression. “It's a nice coat. It would be a shame if someone were to have stolen it. Or if it had gotten ruined in the rain.”

“I'll be sure to remember,” Henry assured him, chuckling at the indirect compliment to his coat. Which to an extent, he doubted the validity of—it was old and wrinkled, covered in ink stains and grime. But he appreciated the words nonetheless. 

“Then I'll see you around, Henry,” Sammy nodded, affirming that he had done what he came here to do, and stalked off without another word. He gave no other farewell, or even an insult to Wally. Just silence as Henry watched him go out of sight in the darkness of the studio.

Huh, so Sammy does have some capacity for kindness. You learn something new every day.

“Mister Stein, did you see that?!” Wally shook his shoulder, pointing to the door that Sammy had just exited from. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, a look of shock left plastered on his face. “No way that Mister Lawrence was that nice to you! Hell, I've never seen him act that way to anyone before! If I saw him do something like that for me, I'd assume he'd lost his mind. Then I'd be outta here!”

“Woah, Wally, calm down a bit,” Henry laughed, amused at the kid’s over the top reaction. “All he did was give me back my coat. I mean, I would do the same for him after all if he forgot his.”

“Yeah, but would you clean it too?” Wally asked, still looking disbelieving. 

He held out the coat in question, finally getting a good look at it for the first time since he'd lost it, when his eyes widened in realization. His coat, which he had known to be ink-covered and wrinkled, was completely cleaned. It still had a few stains that were particularly old, but even they had faded to an extent. Henry had always considered cleaning it himself, but figured it just wasn't worth the time. This cleaning job clearly had care put into it.

“Do you think he's lost his mind?” Wally asked, managing to break the artist out of his thoughts.

“No, Wally, Sammy hasn't lost his mind,” Henry reassured him, carefully setting his coat down on his chair. He was suddenly very conscious about not setting it where any ink was—a stark contrast to his uncaring behavior towards it before. “Like I said, it was probably just a gesture of good will. An unexpected one, sure, but it was likely just done on a whim.”

“I don't think he has good will towards anyone. But whatever you say, Mister Stein,” Wally shrugged, deciding to let go of the subject, though he still didn't look convinced. He crossed his arms, giving Henry a stubborn grin. “Though just cause he decided to be all nicey-nicey with you doesn't mean I have to like the guy. He's still a massive jerk, I tell ya that.”

“I won't disagree with you there. He can be a jerk when he wants,” Henry laughed, knowing he had first hand proof of that based on the musician's earlier interaction with Wally alone. Shaking his head he glanced back at his coat, doing one last check to be sure that it was out of harm's way. Once he was sure, he turned back to Wally, finally deciding to hold true on his words from earlier.

“Alright, kid. I think he stalled us long enough,” he chuckled, playfully ruffling Wally's hat atop his hair. The janitor laughed, his grievances towards Sammy all but forgotten as he stared up at Henry with a look of admiration.

“Let's find your keys, shall we?”