Work Text:
If Alex didn’t have the record deal, he would have never stepped foot in the US. That he knows for sure. He’d much prefer to be home hanging out with Julien and annoying his parents than be in the smog of LA with no one around that he knows.
However, he’s being paid like a gazillion dollars (or somewhere a little south of that) to sing and look like an idiot, he’s required to live in the same location as the people paying him, hence why when he opens and empties the last box before collapsing on his cheap ass sofa that he realises he hasn't eaten all day.
The feeling isn’t new; when he was first adjusting to his antidepressants, he lost his appetite frequently. He used to go a couple hours without eating and have that hollow, grumbly feeling in his stomach along with a throbbing headache that wouldn’t go away until he used his mouth for something other than talking or smoking weed.
It’s the same now and he groans while rubbing his sparking temples as he grabs his phone and checks his apps to see what’s nearby, putting in his new address and automatically saving it so he doesn’t have to next time. As he expected, there are about 300 different restaurants of varying distances, but all with high price points. Nearly half of them are ghost kitchens or experimental and an even smaller selection of them are even close to something he can afford, so soon enough, he’s left with only a couple options.
Eyes glazing over what’s left after the filters, nothing really seems appealing, and he feels like throwing in the towel and scouting out the nearest McDonald's to torture his body with until he gets paid in a few days, but then something catches his eye.
At the bottom of the list, in obnoxious red colouring with a 3 and a half star average, is a pizza restaurant about 10 blocks away called ‘Slice Is Right’. It’s clearly a Mom and Pop place, not a large chain and its menu is basic, but decent. It also helps that Alex finds himself totally okay with the 6 dollar price tag for a 16-inch pie, which is ludicrously cheap for that type of size, but then again, LA is weird like that. Could he get food poisoning? Yeah, sure, he could, given the rating isn’t promising - mostly people complaining of damaged or cold deliveries, along with the odd complaint about a delivery driver propositioning a customer.
However, the practicality outweighs the risk, as a pizza that size could last him until Monday, so before he knows it, he’s selected a Greek style pie and paid for it, GPS automatically giving him directions to the restaurant which stay on his phone until he uses his elevator to get down to the parking garage to his beat up Toyota Prius, the white paint scratched to high heavens as he peals out onto the street, attempting to navigate LA traffic.
It takes him a good couple of tries (plus a lot of honking) to get to the location, but when he does, he’s thankful to see a parking spot directly out front of the building, swiftly taking it and locking his door behind him as he looks up at the neon red signed buisness in front of him.
As he expected, the building is in a more run down part of the town, surrounded by businesses that Alex would rather not go into; it’s white interior standing out from the darker corners of the street as Alex pushewd open the glass front door, hearing a chime go off somewhere in the back. It’s also sparse, boasting a couple of tables, a tiled floor and a shitty counter with a display case featuring some slices for walk-ins to buy if wanted.
Standing behind the counter though is a dude so tall that Alex has to crane his neck to look up at him.
The guy clearly is only here because, like Alex, he’s being paid. Wearing a polo shirt the same colour as most of the branding, along with a cap pulled low over the top of his puff of golden curls, the guy suddenly catches Alex’s eye and slowly grins, teeth far too white and matching his work environment, as he lowers his black sunglasses to reveal bright blue eyes that look Alex up and down, mouth folding back into an interested smirk.
“Hey, what can I get chu, baby?”
Alex shivers at his voice. It’s deep and smooth, definitely not an LA accent and has some country-like twang in it that makes Alex’s neurons hum pleasantly, but before he can open his mouth to speak, the door behind him is wrenched open, practically rattling as Alex finds himself shoved against the nearest wall.
“You fucking piece of shit! I was waiting for that fucking spot!”
Alex has never seen this guy in his life, but he knows that clearly, their anger is directed solely at him. His face is practically purple, no doubt from yelling and screaming at his own windscreen and his hands are white knuckled from clutching Alex’s jacket so hard as he holds him against the drywall like he could throw him right through it.
“Are those glasses on your face for fucking decoration? Are you blind or something?” The guy brays practically into his face and Alex flinches, which is apparently the wrong move as the guy growls, winds up his fist and throws a punch, Alex quickly moving his head in time for him to hit the wall, dust flying everywhere and Alex’s ear ringing as it just misses.
Before he knows it, he’s slumped on the floor as the guy is practically spirited away, hyperventilating as he tries to get a grip on reality before looking up and seeing a scene he’d never expected in his whole life. Tall, Blonde and Deep has suddenly has migrated from behind the counter to in front of it Assassin's Creed style and is neck to neck with the guy that had Alex in his sights, hat missing, shift being pulled and beating the crap out of Alex’s assailant like he’s done stuff like this before, spitting abuse the entire time.
Eventually, it seems the other guy knows he’s about to lose and suddenly shoves Tall, Blonde and Deep back, covered in bruises and blood, looking like he’s about to fall over, before he flees, crashing into a table. Scrambling up on his feet, he takes off running out the door as Alex watches, open mouthed as Tall, Blonde and Deep dusts himself off and retrieves his hat from the ground with barely a scratch on him.
Honestly, if Alex wasn’t hungry earlier, he was absolutely starving now. Just not for the pizza anymore.
“Hey, are you okay, baby?” IIt’s like Alex blinks and suddenly, Tall, Blonde and Deep is in his face, looking at him worriedly, hand on his arm. Alex manages to shake his head, but then can’t help himself asks ‘Yeah, but are you ok, man?”
Tall, Blonde and Deep seems to reel back a little at Alex’s voice, but then he just smiles.
“Bitch-” He chuckles. “-this is Slice Is Right. We’re always hot and ready, baby.”
(and if Alex goes home with a pie, a new phone number in his phone and a 6 foot tall living golden retriever named Matt - formally Tall, Blonde and Deep - who he shares the pizza with? Maybe, just maybe, he might be okay in this new city of his.)