Chapter Text
Okay, this will be easy. All Alexander has to do is go up to Thomas, and ask him if he wants to come over to the apartment so their cats can meet each other, because he wants Philip to get used to being around other cats before he gets old and angry. Totally not because he wants to spend more time around Thomas, or see how he is around cats, or to see if he comes with those thick, rectangular glasses he once wore to work (apparently it was because he dropped his contacts in his sink). Definitely not. If he ends up being rejected, and thus looking stupid, then he could just turn to Plan B: come out with a smart remark, make his way back here to the bathroom, maybe wallow a bit, start a Twitter war with Thomas after work, and spend the rest of the night eating ice cream and watching The Real O’neals until he falls asleep. Perfect plan. Full proof. All he has to do is get the fuck out of this damn bathroom and ask him. So, he pulls up his metaphorical big boy pants, takes a deep breath, and walks out, ignoring the voice in his head yelling for him to just get back to work and forget about this whole thing (it sounds oddly like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz movie).
Despite Thomas’ shitty opinions and sense of style, Alexander always feels flustered around him, which he successfully masks under a thick layer of sarcasm and insults. Hopefully his inability to act normally around the person he likes doesn’t get in the way of not having to turn to Plan B. Now that he thinks about it, maybe he should call it something else, because saying that reminds him of the reggaeton duo, Plan B. It’s actually kind of sad that they chose to call themselves that, because every time someone searches up their name, all they’ll get is birth control. It’s not their fault. He’s pretty sure they started making music before the birth control came out. It just turns out people have unprotected sex more than they listen to their music. Unless, of course, they have unprotected sex while listening to their music, but that’s a whole other kind of irony.
Alexander’s mind tends to wander when he’s nervous.
Seems like that nervousness has gotten the best of him, because he’s already standing next to Thomas, and now he’s staring at Alexander with a bored expression, and Alexander forgot how he was going to ask his stupid-ass question. Of course he did. He’s so stupid , Thomas wouldn’t say yes to him if someone paid him. God, this was such a bad idea, he’s so stupid, he should just run away and never come back, he’ll live as a dirty hobo in Chicago, and—
“Top of the mornin’ to ya’!”
“What?” Thomas says flatly, punctuated by the raise of an eyebrow.
“You heard me,” WHAT THE FUCK IS HE SAYING RIGHT NOW, HOLY FUCK. “That’s how the British say it.”
Alexander’s only wish right now is for God to smite him down in the fastest way He can.
“Isn’t it Irish people who say that?” Thomas asks.
What’s the point of waiting for God to do it? Alexander could just kill himself just as quickly.
“Oh, is it? Ah, well, who cares, we won the war.” Alexander attempts to wave a hand nonchalantly, but only manages to whack himself with the register. Good thing it’s been slow today. He cringes in pain and clutches his hand close to his chest before hissing out a quiet curse.
“I haven’t seen you act a fool like this in a while,” Thomas comments. He leans in closer to Alexander and says in a low voice, “Almost makes me think you’re in love with me.”
Alexander’s blood isn’t quite sure if it wants to go to his face or pants, but either way, he hopes it’s not evident.
He huffs out a breath. “You wish.”
“Not really.”
Okay, admittedly, that hurt. But, he keeps his face straight nonetheless. “Look, I know you got a cat, like, a month ago, and it hurts me more to ask you than it does for you to hear it, but could you come over some time so they can meet? Philip hasn’t met any other cats and I don’t want him to grow up to be one of those fat, angry cats with no friends and—”
He stops talking when Thomas holds up his hand. “Has your cat had his surgery yet?”
“Yes?”
“Was that a question or an answer?”
“An answer.”
He lowers his hand again. “Good, we’ll be there tonight about two hours after work.”
“Wait,” Alexander says, “you mean tonight?”
“Obviously.” Thomas says, using the hand he just had up to scratch at a spot on his head. Alexander gets distracted with staring at his hair, and wondering if those thousands of curls would be soft if he were to reach and touch them right now. Thomas clears his throat, and Alexander forces his eyes back to Thomas’, which are equally as distracting as his hair. But, more than that, sweet Mother of God, Thomas is smirking at him. “Does that work for you?”
“It’s fine but if you get there any later I’m not letting you in.” If looks could kill, Alexander would be melting right now. More than he already is, at least.
“Good,” Thomas says as a customer walks in. “Now, leave me alone. I actually have work to do.”
If Alexander is smiling like a maniac when he turns away, well, then that’s personal.