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Chapter Text

“Todd, can we hit that a little softer?  And give me some more light in the back, I don’t want to lose him to the shadow during this one.”  Todd adjusts the controls before him, feeling very collected, very in his element.  He felt a sort of confidence in this little booth, surrounded by familiar knobs and levers and buttons.  Here and now, it was easy for him to pretend that it was just him and the empty stage, so long as the kids on spot hit their cues.  These tech rehearsals always felt like the calm before the storm for Todd.  This meant that, in the back of his mind, Todd knew that the ease he felt now was only temporary.  Soon, this calm would be replaced with the chaos that ensued at each double run through.

But right now, he reminded himself gently, all you can do is hit your cues.  Tomorrow could wait until tomorrow.  The show was chaotic as it was, and his focus really needed to be on the panel in front of him, on the lighting cues he was supposed to be programming to the board so that tomorrow night could have a higher chance of running smoothly.

His focus certainly did not need to be on the boy sitting near the front of the theatre, chatting idly with the director, Jason, between his calls for scene changes and various other hollered suggestions to the crews.  

Todd hadn’t been expecting any audience for this run, and the thought of someone watching him mess up his cues made his face heat up with a sort of boyish embarrassment he hadn’t felt since high school.

Fixing his eyes on the back wall of the stage, a sure, immovable point, he tried to reconnect with the focus he’d felt a couple moments ago.  He scoffed at himself, smiling slightly as he adjusted the lights for the next scene with practiced skill.  He was fine.  His eyes skimmed over a note Pitts had stuck above the light board when he was still new to the whole “art of the stage,” as Meeks described it (apparently all theatre kids had a certain flair for dramatics, whether they were stationed onstage or off).

Embarrassment is the cost of entry, Pitts had scrawled, if you are not willing to look like a foolish beginner, you'll never become a graceful master.  Todd reads it softly to himself, glancing up to watch the stage crew set the scene, quick as can be.

Meeks looks up from the soundboard, flashing Todd a grin.  “Throwback, huh,” he muses, nodding to the sticky note.  Todd smiles back at him, nods, feels more grounded remembering that he’s surrounded by friends and old, comforting memories in this dark theater.

“It's a nice thing to remember,” he mumbles as Pitts elbows Meeks to get his attention back to the task at hand.

“You've become a graceful master, Todd, don’t you worry,” Meeks assures him, already distracted by the soundboard.  Todd’s smile grows as he thinks, I guess I kind of have.  Then he shakes his head, etch-a-sketch style, to clear his mind and bring his focus back to lighting.

Pulse now under control, once more in the headspace to feel sure of himself, Todd lets his eyes skim over the man at the front of the theater.  The dim house lights bathe his features gently, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and bright smile when he turns to speak to Jason, sitting beside him.  Todd hums, thinking, very privately, that the man had a nice profile, handsome and strong.  His smile seems self assured and warm, cutting through the darkness blanketing the theater and making Todd pause for an embarrassingly long moment.

He wouldn’t even need me if he were on stage, he thought, he would light up all on his own.

“Todd!”  He’s snapped suddenly from his thoughts, and briefly thinks that perhaps that’s for the best, as his director continues, “scene change was called!”  He’s fumbling to dim the lights before Jason even finishes, a furious blush burning across his cheeks.  He notes, miserably, the two pairs of eyes on him: the director and the infuriatingly distracting stranger, the latter of which sporting a sort of smirk that Todd absolutely did not have time to think about.

“Ooh, you’ve gotta get your head in the game, Todd,” Pitts offers, unhelpfully.  To Todd’s dismay, this leads to Meeks singing, and to both of the men stifling laughs as the ginger wiggles around in his chair, dancing as he hums.

“‘You gotta getcha getcha getcha head in the game,’” he sings, somehow offbeat, and Todd has to physically keep himself from laughing.  He can feel the exhaustion, multiplied by his embarrassment, creeping into his bones, making this effort particularly difficult.

“Please, this is why you’re in the booth and not on stage,” Todd comments, eyes locked to the back wall of the stage in an effort to focus solely on his task.  Nothing could distract him if he didn’t let it, he decided.

“Rude,” Meeks scoffs, to which Pitts adds, “But true.”  A scuffle to his left does not break Todd's attention, he refuses to let it.

“Ow, Pitts, elbow to the ribs,” Meeks huffs after a moment, and Todd lets out a delirious giggle before scolding them.
“Men,” he asserts firmly, more playfully than not, as he collects himself, “please can we just make it through this rehearsal.”  He knows that they’re barely hanging on by a thread (a thread made entirely of two hours of sleep and copious amounts of Red Bull, plus Charlie’s promise of a late-night breakfast at the conclusion of rehearsal), and all he wants to do is get out of here before making a fool of himself once more.

“Aye-aye, Captain Anderson.”  Pitts salutes sharply, and Meeks lets out a yelp of a laugh as he looks up at Pitts, who has jumped out of his chair to stand at attention.  Todd stifles a laugh of his own behind his hand, diverting his attention from the stage for just a moment.  Which, just his luck, happens to be the moment the stage manager calls something- he can’t hear it over the sound of his barely suppressed laughter- over the headsets.

“Boys?”  Jason calls up to the booth, standing now.  Heads swiveling in unison, the three men go utterly silent, eyes wide and guilty.

Mystery Man beside the director seems to be withholding laughter of his own, and Todd thinks vaguely that he looks almost angelic, backlit by the stage, laughter lines crumpling around his eyes.

The stage manager, Richard Cameron, (it’s important to note here that he’s been affectionately nicknamed “Dick” by much of the crew), grumbles something over the headset.  It sounds a lot like, “I don't get paid enough for this,” but Todd is too busy holding his breath to be sure.

For a moment, Todd thinks he might erupt into another fit of laughter, right in his director’s face.  There's a sort of absurdity in the dead silence of the building that is suddenly hilarious, and he actually fears he’ll be asked to leave if he starts another round of delirious giggling.

But before he even has the chance to make matters worse for himself, Mystery Man (he has got to think of a better name for this guy) lets out a peal of laughter, clamping his hand over his mouth and shaking as he turns back around to face the stage.  Todd watches Jason hesitantly, waiting for some kind of outburst, but his director shakes his head, sporting a well concealed smile.

The tension dissipates, and Todd, Meeks, and Pitts remember how to breathe again.

“I know it’s late, but let’s just get through this,” Jason calls easily, and the boys, grinning now in their lack of punishment, nod.

“That's exactly what I've been trying to say.”  Todd mumbles pointedly, but without any real heat.  The rest of the rehearsal drags by.

“Please be on time tomorrow!”  Cameron hollers as crew members amble for the doorways.  It was just after ten o’clock, and all Todd had been thinking about for the past half hour was the breakfast he’d be ordering at Tony’s later: two eggs over medium, side of hash browns (he liked those crispy, but not quite burnt), and, his personal favorite part, (because Todd was, well, Todd), white toast with butter.  Distractedly, he checks his bag and pulls on his coat.

“Are you driving or are we walking tonight, Pittsie?”  Todd asks, winding a scarf around his neck.  He's waiting on Pitts' response to decide whether or not gloves will be added to his ensemble as well.  He catches sight of Mystery Man (Handsome Stranger?  Hot Rando?  Was that rude of him to think?) standing to talk to Jason, and is once more distracted, but not by the thought of greasy eggs and white toast.  He wonders briefly if it would be weird to go introduce himself, to get a look at his smile up close, in brighter lighting.

Before his sleep- and food-deprived mind can make a stupid decision, Pitts’ response breaks him away from his thoughts.  Anyway, he thinks as his stomach growls loudly, this probably isn’t a great moment for him, in terms of making introductions.

“Shit, we’re walking, sorry,” he throws an apologetic look Meeks’s way when he groans.

“It's like two degrees,” he complains, childlike, as he stuffs his hair under a knit beanie, “I figured you’d bring the car for us poor, freezing boys,” Meeks continues to lament, quite dramatically.  Pitts rolls his eyes and wraps his own scarf around Meeks’ neck, patting him on the head when he’s done cozying the ginger up.

“Now you’ll be just fine,” he hums, pulling on his coat.

Pitts was the only one of the three of them with a car.  Well, a car not on its last, dying leg.  Todd's 2000 Ford Focus was as close to death as a car could be, and no one trusted the rusted out truck Charlie insisted was “his baby.”  Not that Charlie’d offered anyone a ride tonight anyway.

Meeks continues his huffing and groaning, trying (though very obviously failing) to hide his smile at Pitts’ softness.

“What do you say we get out of here then, fellas?”  Todd asks, yanking his gloves on and making his way out of the booth.  His stomach, once more, growls loudly as he meanders towards the exit doors, Meeks and Pitts speaking in low voices behind him.  Daydreams of the meal to come propelling his tired body forward, Todd catches something that sounds like, “you cannot eat a double stack of chocolate chip pancakes for the fifth night in a row,” from behind him.

Throwing double doors open, pushing into the biting night air, Todd spins around to walk backwards.  Meeks and Pitts huddle close against the wind, and Todd wishes he had someone to crowd into as the chill stings his cheeks.  He thinks of sharp cheekbones in dim lighting, wishes he’d said something to the random boy he very well may never see again.  New York is a big city.

He lets out a cold puff of breath, watching the cloud fade and willing himself to let it go as his stomach growls again.

“Could you two hurry up?” he complains, whining exaggeratedly in a way that makes Meeks roll his eyes.

“The lad needs sustenance,” Pitts states matter-of-factly, and Todd nods affirmatively, stuffing his hands deeper in his pockets.  Meeks laughs, loud and quick into the cold, and the pair hustle up to meet Todd as he spins to face forward, the three of them venturing into the frozen night.

---

Tony's Diner is warm and cramped and suffocating in the best way.

Something about it holds comfort and releases tension.  It’s cozy in the way only a greasy twenty four hour diner can be.  It’s sweaty, it’s familiar, it’s wonderful.

Or it must be somewhat decent, at least, for this group to keep coming back.

Of course, tradition had only begun at Tony’s because of its relative distance to the small theatre Charlie and the rest of the boys spent their time at, and because of its round-the-clock availability.  In addition to its convenience, it seemed to quickly become a place of comfort for all the men.

Despite Todd's attitude towards loud, unfamiliar places in his younger years, he’d taken to Tony’s immediately.  No one gave a shit about who you were or where you’d come from, so long as you could pay the bill, and Charlie almost always covered that.

And the aforementioned tradition being, of course, midnight breakfasts.  Or one a.m. breakfasts, ten p.m. breakfasts, and occasionally breakfasts at breakfast times, eight or nine a.m., but only rarely.

It had started out as just Charlie and Todd; they’d met at some bar downtown, exchanged numbers in a drunken haze, and Charlie would not leave Todd alone after that.  Back in those days, Todd was mortified by the idea of people, would only socialize when the buzz of beer in his veins was louder than the anxious thoughts prowling around his mind.  So when Charlie proposed meeting up again, grabbing a bite to eat at a diner in some unknown borough of the city, Todd’s answer was an easy, though slightly guilty, no.

But Charlie didn’t let up, for some God forsaken reason.  He was more than willing to meet Todd’s every excuse.  When he claimed school kept him too busy to go out regularly, Charlie suggested they meet on a weekend.  When he stuttered about his work schedule, Charlie offered to compare his own with Todd's and find a time that would work.  With their clashing schedules, one of those times happened to be one a.m. on a blazing summer night.

literally lets just meet up at one

like in the morning?

yes, like in the morning

i know a spot, charlie had texted.

it’s right by the theater im at all the time, todd did recall charlie mentioning a theatre in passing during some other conversation, but couldn’t recall where it was.

open 24/7 and all that jazz

you seem like a cool guy :)

Todd’s anxiety, compounded by his move to New York, his new job, his going to school, kept him up nearly all night anyway.  He figured going out would be at least slightly less miserable than stewing around his dorm, alone and worried about nothing and everything all at once.  He also found himself intrigued by Charlie's interest in him, and now, years later, Charlie admitted that Todd had just seemed so lonely.

He supposed he was right.

Todd also found that the constant flurry of activity the city provided calmed when the sun dipped down beneath the skyline.  Certain blocks were still centers of activity, always moving, moving, moving, but other pockets of the city became sleepy little havens after nightfall.  Todd found that there were theaters that shut off their lights between nine p.m. and seven a.m., there were homes with youngins that became dark and quiet as ever under the pale moon.  He found that he enjoyed this softer, quiet side of humanity.  Emerging into the dark calm didn’t bother him as much as he’d expected.

And Charlie, who initially seemed to be made for the red-hot hustle and bustle, was also well matched for the still, nighttime din.  His personality contained surprising reservation in the early morning hours, and his personality met Todd's halfway at Tony's Diner.  His still-bright energy matched Todd's weary gentleness comfortably, two halves meeting in whole under the muted stars.

So, the breakfasts quickly became regular.  Charlie's rehearsal, work, and school schedule kept him busier than Todd during the day, so nights continued to be the perfect time for them to meet.  Upon learning about Todd's two jobs, absent family, and school tuition, Charlie footed the bill most nights, and Todd swiftly learned not to decline.

And, of course, right when Todd was getting comfortable with their little routine, Charlie asked if he could invite some more people along.

“You’d be surprised,” he’d said, around a mouthful of syrup-soaked french toast, “at how convenient nights are for most people.”  Todd supposed he could see why that was so.

It started with Charlie’s, just inviting a guy i know from elementary school if that’s cool :)

Which then became, and his friend from the theater

And then, and a guy i hooked up with last weekend?

he doubles as a friend from the bank

well not really friend

you know what i mean.

Which made Todd uneasy at first, his anxieties easing only slightly when he remembered that it was Charlie paying for the meal.  And so, one stress inducing factor (money) was traded for another (people).

It was then that he met Meeks and Pitts, a not-sold-separately set of lanky men, both heads of sound crew at the theater Charlie, as Todd learned, frequently performed at.  It ended up being the two of them who convinced (i.e., did everything possible except physically maim) Todd to join the theater’s lackluster lights crew.

“You know boys, Todd has been looking for a new job,” Charlie had prompted innocently, one early morning.

“We do need people to work the lights and stuff,” Meeks had mused, eyes twinkling as he looked over at Pitts, a look of understanding dawning on the other man’s face.  Todd was perfect, they said, and they had him effectively trapped, somehow coming up with a solution to every offered excuse.

Todd decided, in the end, that truly nothing could be worse than the dishwashing job he had down in Little Italy (slimy pasta in cloudy, stagnant dishwater still haunts his dreams; a true sensory nightmare).

Along with the pair that hustled Todd into the whole theatre business, there was also Knox Overstreet, who dropped by every once in a while.  Knox had slyly been introduced to the group as “a friend of a friend,” accompanied with Charlie’s sharkish grin.  Todd could read between the lines (not that he had to, considering the texts Charlie’d sent).

Sometimes weeks would go by without a word from Knox, a clear indication of some dispute between him and Char.  So when he did join the group for a meal, Todd was sure to tease him and Charlie as loudly and as often as the two could stand, which eased the tension that arose, invisibly, between Knox’s visits.

Tonight, Knox is already seated at their corner booth when Pitts, Meeks, and Todd tumble through the front door, a tinny bell above it announcing their arrival.  Overstreet practically jumps away from Charlie, whom he had been huddled up next to, and smiles briskly up at the trio.  Charlie's smile is wide and unabashed as he scooches up against Knox once more, offering the empty bench up to the three newcomers.

Meeks and Pitts slide into the seat, letting Todd have his favorite space at the end.  He was grown up now, but a familiar suffocating feeling still trailed him sometimes, in particular social situations.  He liked to have a clear way out if things got overwhelming, (and sometimes sitting at a table with Charlie got overwhelming).

“So how was the tech run?” Charlie purrs, still crowding into Knox's personal space, slinging an arm over his shoulder to draw him closer.  Todd pretends not to notice Knox's embarrassment, and makes a pointed choice not to ask about what is going on between the two of them.  It always seemed to be something.  A long, drawn out something that he was too weary for tonight.

“Good, good,” Meeks mumbles distractedly, craning his neck, searching for the waitress.

“Hang on Char, I'm going to be totally incoherent until I eat something,” Pitts says, and Todd nods along.

“It's been like six hours since I've eaten literally anything,” Todd realizes out loud, visibly sighing with relief when the waitress, Nancy, wanders over to their table.

“If it isn’t my favorite group of troublemakers,” she chirps, despite the hour, “The usual?”  The boys nod eagerly, to which Nancy snaps her gum.

“Just what I thought.  Comin’ right up sugarplums.”  Moments later, a basket of fries containing alarmingly high amounts of sodium appears on the table.  Todd wastes no time digging in, hollering a thanks at the waitstaff behind the counter.

Pitts and Meeks tussle playfully over the ketchup, Charlie and Knox speak lowly at each other, and Todd feels his chest fill with something light and feathery.  Cotton candy sugar pillows his heart, sweet and weightless.  A soft sort of joy comes to him as he realizes with a sudden certainty that he is in exactly the right place.  He has found himself a safe corner of the world, full of comfort and friendship and tired laughter.  The words to fully describe the warmth this moment wraps him in elude him, and all he can do is smile at the image set before him.

He licks fry salt off of his fingertips.  He is exactly where he belongs.

So he lets his worries dissolve, allows his shoulders to relax, laughs at Meeks and Pitts and their antics.  Reaching for another fry, he remembers Charlie's earlier question.

“I think the rehearsal went really well,” he says, over the scuffle to his right and the noise of the kitchen behind him.

Charlie looks up, grin morphing from flirtatious, as it was when it was aimed at Knox, to genuinely joyful as he takes in what Todd has said.

“That's great.  No egregious mix ups from those in the booth with you?”  He looks pointedly at Pitts, who throws his head back with a groan.

“One time!  It was one time.  I will seriously never let anything like it happen again.”

Meeks snorts. "It would sure be difficult to have Hit Me With Your Best Shot play instead of an actual gunshot sound effect again.  If that happened twice, I'd be seriously concerned, Pittsie.”  Meeks punctuates his sentence with a chomp of a fry.

“The sounds were programmed with really similar names okay?  Anyone would've made the same mistake- Please stop reminding me of my one downfall,” Pitts groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“So no mess ups of that scale then?”  Knox asks through a chuckle, and Meeks heckles Pitts about other downfalls of his, Charlie backing him up with well recalled examples.

“Not of that scale, no,” Todd replies, grinning easily.  “There was a bit of a mix up, but you know.  I think we were just tired.”

“And distracted.”  Meeks says, he and Pitts suddenly peering expectantly at Todd.

“What?”  He asks, furrowing his brows at the two.

“You know, that guy.  Up front with Jason.  Seemed to have you distracted.”  Pitts wiggles his eyebrows and Charlie wolf whistles, eyes wide and sparkling mischievously in a way that makes Todd nervous.

Charlie opens his mouth to inquire further, and is promptly cut off by Nancy's return.  “Here you go fellas.”  Plates are passed around, true thank yous beamed up at Nancy, before the food is torn into.

“You'd think someone starved you,” Knox laughs, primly eating a piece of toast.

“We starved ourselves.  Because we’re dumb.  I dunno,” Meeks shakes his head at his BLT, “I dunno what the hell I’m saying, give me a second to nourish myself, okay.”  At this, Charlie barks out a laugh.

“Since Meeks is out of order, I think you have some questions to answer, Toddy.”  Todd doesn’t cringe at the awful nickname anymore, which he thinks might genuinely be a feat.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave well enough alone,” at this, Charlie smiles proudly.  “It was just a guy.  An attractive guy, in the theater, right in my line of sight.  Nothing all that interesting.  New York City does not have a deficit of attractive men, afterall,” Todd adds.  Knox nudges Charlie in the ribs, childishly cute.

“This is true, this is true,” Charlie says over Meeks and Pitts, who are now scrambling to join the conversation, “but someone catching the eye of Todd Anderson?  Our Todd Anderson?”

“Like it hasn’t happened before,” Todd scoffs into his eggs.

“What's his name?”  Knox asks innocently.

“He didn’t even speak to him!”  Meeks exclaims, and Charlie clamors to be heard over the ensuing laughter.

“I'm sorry, you see a hot, mysterious guy in a theater and you just let him walk away?  Into the night?  Never to be seen again?”

“How dramatic,” Pitts laughs at the same time Meeks agrees with a “that’s what I’m saying!”

“I never called him hot or mysterious!”  Todd yelps.  He’d never said any of it out loud at least, and that had to count for something.

Charlie hums.  “You’ll just have to hope you see him again at double run tomorrow.”

“Good luck buddy.”  Knox offers, his patented half smile dancing on his lips.

“Oh, Toddy here is gonna need it.”  Charlie laughs.

“You people,” Todd scoffs, but he’s laughing now too.

Conversation spins and time trickles away from the men.  The night might’ve grown darker if they were anywhere else, but in the city, the lights have only begun to dazzle as the conversation fizzles out around midnight.

“You know,” Charlie was saying, voice slurred with tiredness, “my friend is the real star of the show tomorrow.  He's like, up-and-coming.  He's fantastic.”

“If he's so fantastic, why is he only now getting into the whole acting thing?”  Pitts asks, not unkindly.

“Well his dad was this real hardass, hardly let him out of the house unsupervised when he was a kid.  We went to the same private school.  For junior high.”  He’s waving one free hand around as he speaks, his other elbow propped against Knox's shoulder.  “You'll know him when you see him, he just lights up the stage.  He’s a natural, I'm telling you,” Charlie insists.

“We believe you Char,” Meeks pipes up, stifling a yawn.

“Can’t wait to see you guys onstage tomorrow,” Todd chimes in, and Knox nods in excited agreement.

There had been a few nights where the crew and cast mingled, but mostly the rehearsals were kept separate.  Now though, hell week threw the two groups together, both seemingly set for a crash course, as double run through forced everyone to sit together in the dank theater for seven, sometimes even eight or nine hours.  It was fascinating to see just how quickly the walls of the grand theater began to feel tight and constricting.  All of the moving bodies, costumes, set pieces seemed to shrink the space, confining the bodies under the hot lights.

Cool night air never felt better after a long run through, and Todd envied the crew that took cigarette breaks behind the building between runs.  He had always been too embarrassed of his guilty habit to light up in front of others, and he was trying to cut back anyway.

It was always sort of magical though, despite the hiccups, to see months of work suddenly coming to fruition.  Costumes meticulously designed, set pieces handcrafted, lighting cues programmed for hours, it all came together beautifully with the talent and dedication of the actors.

And seeing Charlie onstage was always something of a treat.  As he was already obnoxiously outgoing without a spotlight, he managed to be worse beneath one.  Needless to say, he lit up onstage, his presence loud and playful and captivating, all at once.  Todd envied his confidence, though Charlie often confided that the only way he was able to do it was by detaching from himself and delving fully into his character.

“Onstage, there is no Charles Dalton, I'm serious.  It's all character work.  If I was up there as myself?  I'd be a blushing mess, and it’d really be awful, I'm telling you,” he’d scoffed over a cigarette, on one of the rare occasions when Todd joined him in the alley behind the theater.

All of this to say, of course, that seeing the production tomorrow would be well worth the stress and the wait.  Todd knew everyone around the table agreed with the sentiment.

The night dwindles on, and the men inevitably excuse themselves from the table, retiring to their own corners of the city.  Todd walks through the dark, cotton candy still twined softly around his heart, eagerly awaiting what the next night will hold.