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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.

Chapter Text

Hell.  That, Todd decides, is what this night holds for him.

It’s evident in the palpable sort of tension that sits thick in the air of the theater that the nerves of everyone, cast, crew, directors, will be clashing for the eight hours they’ll be stuck here.  Usually, Todd found the building to be a quiet reprieve from his responsibilities, but tonight, he almost wishes he were home editing his term paper instead of choking on this terrible anxious anticipation.

“Fuck, I’m already nervous,” Todd mumbles to Meeks as they meander in.

“Don’t stress.  Well, stress a little bit,” Meeks starts, and Todd lets out a breathy laugh, “but nothing will ever be worse than Mamma Mia ’s double run, so at least we have that under our belts.”  Todd visibly cringes at the memory of that production's double run.  

With Charlie out for the season on account of his father’s stay in the hospital, and Pitts out sick with strep for the week leading up to opening night, the booth had been Meeks and Todd’s own personal hell.  The stress nightmares sustained from that experience alone lasted weeks.  Todd shoves the memory down.

“Yeah, okay, nothing could ever top that.”  Meeks laughs weakly, takes his time stuffing his bag and coat away and getting settled in a chair beside Todd.  His hands flutter over the sound board, evidently trying to decide if he should preemptively adjust things, or just leave them and hope for the best.

“This is going to be great,” Todd mumbles under his breath with fake cheer.  He swallows down the addition of I hope , reminding himself that the only way to get through the dreaded hours ahead of him was by staying positive.  And by drinking a lot of Red Bull.  And eating a lot of Reese’s Pieces when Jason’s back was turned.

With exaggerated secrecy, Todd nudges Meeks once they’ve gotten settled in the booth, opens his bag to reveal a king size bag of his favorite sweets, alongside a king size bag of Skittles, Meeks’s go to candy.  Meeks looks up at him over the rims of his glasses, grinning conspiratorially.  “What a rule breaker you are, Anderson,” he chides, jokingly, though everyone in the crew was guilty of eating backstage, or onstage, or in any general area Jason wasn’t present in.

“We eat as a group, as a family,” their director had insisted, and it did make sense.  Meals brought people together.  But if Todd didn’t have his fix of sugar, he worried their “theatre family” would drive him absolutely insane.

“What Jason doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”  Todd replies, zipping his bag shut, the goodies safely stashed for later.  “Where’s Pitts at?”  He hadn’t clocked the tall man’s absence when he’d met Meeks on the way in, and wasn’t sure how it slipped past him.

Meeks isn’t looking at him though, adjusting something on the sound board with a light frown.  “He dropped me off at the front, he’s just parking ‘round back.”

Appearing from nowhere, half in costume and without a trace of makeup, Charlie pouts, “are mom and dad fighting again?”  Todd spins around and Meeks rolls his eyes.

“Butt out Charlie,” he turns to regard him, “me and Ger know how to communicate, unlike some people I know.”  He delivers a pointed look to Charlie, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

“I’m an excellent communicator, thank you very much,” Charlie scoffs, dropping into Pitts’s empty chair beside the redhead.  Meeks shifts his eyes to meet Todd’s, and they share a definitive look.

“Just not the best at committing,” Meeks mumbles, turning around, and Charlie mean-mugs the back of his head.

“I didn’t know it was ‘attack your favorite actor hour,’” he huffs, crossing his arms childishly.  Todd laughs and shakes his head.

“I didn’t know it was ‘ignore Chris in the makeup room’ hour either.  I know your call time was ages ago, and here you are, all fresh faced,” Todd adds.

“You people.”  Charlie’s trying to be angry and failing miserably, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips.

“C’mon Char, you’ve got thirty minutes before mic checks, and I don’t want to feel the wrath of Chris tonight,” Todd encourages, knowing damn well that nothing could move Charlie from his spot.  Charlie had a sort of regimen when it came to these things: wander in at his call time, stop outside for a cigarette, stop backstage for a chat with Cam, head up to the booth to swindle Todd out of a handful of candy that he would eventually abandon (eating before a performance made him nauseous, but he insisted on being a pest anyway).

Charlie was quite aware that the show couldn’t go on without him, and it was common knowledge that no one could convince him to put on his costume or get his makeup done before the absolute last second.  It was an odd but routine sort of procrastination.  Charlie insisted he worked better under pressure, but Todd just figured he found some joy in being a nuisance and getting to do what he wanted in his own time.  His days were strict, everyone knew, and they allowed him a little grace for this reason.  Everyone needed a place to let loose, after all.

Still, Todd felt slightly responsible for moving the storm along, it was always his goal to get Charlie to at least consider stopping by the costume shop.

Charlie is examining his black polished fingernails now, ignoring Todd’s not-so-subtle suggestion.  Todd sighs.

“You know Charlie, I’d just love to share my Reese’s Pieces with you.  As an apology for Meeks’ and I’s rudeness,” he says with mock sweetness, and Charlie perks up.

Cupping his hands in front of him, an excellent picture of a toddler waiting for a treat, he chirps out a thanks.

“I’m not apologizing,” Meeks clarifies, and Charlie laughs as he exits, right on cue.

“Please talk to Chris and pretend like you’ll think about getting your face done sooner rather than later!”  Meeks calls after him, and Charlie waves a lazy hand in the air.

“I will, I will,” and with a patented grin, he scurries away.  Directly contrary to his promise, Todd distinctly hears Charlie ask a member of the running crew where he might find Cameron, and he rolls his eyes.  What else should he expect?

“That man.”  Meeks sighs, then grumbles, “I swear to God, if he’s late to mic checks.”  And Todd laughs, because of course he’ll be late.

The next thirty minutes pass in a flurry of activity, Pitts rushing in just as actors begin milling about the booth, ready to be miked, Todd double-, then triple-checking the lighting cues for the first few scenes of the show.  He figured ensuring that it wouldn’t all go to hell right off the bat was a smart move.

Todd largely ignores the group of dramatics crowding around the sound booth, clamoring for more mic tape and asking for Chris’s help with hiding wires and things beneath hair.  Makeup and costumes coordinators help Meeks and Pitts place things in the right spots, declaring things “good enough for now” as they turn actors loose towards the stage.

Todd huddles with Jason for the better part of fifteen minutes, clarifying last minute things about the spotlight hues.  In a feat that Todd finds both miraculous and extremely annoying, his director changes his mind nearly seven times over the course of their conversation.  Todd drops in a comment about a pinker tinted light, something about it complimenting Charlie’s complexion nicely, but Jason shakes his head, settles on a stark white, and shoos Todd off.

“Sounds like a plan!”  He exclaims, rushing up to let the kids handling the spotlights know they could ditch the rose tints.

“He wants Emcee looking extra pale, I dunno,” he explains quickly, earning shrugs from the kids, who were taking the change of plans in stride.

“We got it Todd.  Blame us when things go wrong!”  One of them shouts as Todd makes his way down to the booth, and Todd lets out a bright laugh.

Scrambling back to his home base behind the lights panel, he notes that Charlie has finally graced them with an appearance.  As Meeks calls for Sally Bowles, played by New York’s one and only Ginny Danbury, to recite a few lines, Charlie chatters on with Pitts, who’s busy securing a microphone to his cheek.

“I was running lines with Ginny this morning,” Todd catches Charlie saying, “she was all like ‘I’m so terrible, I’m going to forget everything,’ but I’m telling you, that girl is a star.”  Pitts fusses over the mic for another moment, then pats Charlie on the back with a grin.

“You’re gonna be a star too, go break a leg.”  Charlie beams and has the good nature to laugh sheepishly.

“Thanks Pittsie,” he says through his smile, before dashing away to run through his last minute mic check.

Meeks stands by with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as Pitts adjusts the volume on Charlie’s mic.

“You’d think he’d learn,” he says, and Todd laughs.

“Charlie is Charlie is Charlie, ” Todd says with a shrug.  A small smile creeping across Meeks’ face betrays the fact that he isn’t so angry about that after all.

Now just waiting on Jason’s cue to get everything started, the three men relax for the first time in however many minutes.  Todd hears Pitts mumble, “it’s fine, it’s just another run through,” as Meeks assumes an equally stressed stance, rubbing his temples with his glasses perched atop his head.

Todd finds his mind wandering, knowing that his anxiety would soon catch up to him, but relishing in this brief moment of calm anyway.  He thinks, through the sleep-heavy memory of last night, of the friend Charlie had spoken about at the diner.  He hums, wonders if Charlie’s enthusiasm is similar to that which he feels for Charlie.  The talents of Todd’s friends never ceased to amaze him.

He also thinks of the man he’d seen in the theater that night, and that memory is crystal clear, almost sparkling.  In such a bustling city, Todd had found very few reasons to slow down lately, but this person made him pause.  Maybe it was silly, (okay, it certainly was silly), but, God, he just seemed to have such joy to simply be alive.  It was a kind of joy that seemed rare in a place like this, a place that could make you forget that art and beauty and romance were what made life worth living, not money and pay raises and too-expensive apartments.  Todd was compelled to let himself have this.  This little reason to slow down and remember why he was here, why he loved being here, as childish as it was.  And he certainly didn’t mind remembering the blushing smile of the handsome stranger, as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise.

He shakes his head at himself, internally chastising his silly schoolboy behavior.  Get a grip, Toddster, he thinks, Charlie’s horrendous nickname for him now apparently a way in which he was addressing himself.  He almost laughs at the influence he didn’t realize Charlie had over him and his vocabulary.

Todd’s thoughts are interrupted suddenly by Jason striking everything up, the worry beginning to creep in as he lowers the house lights to half, and then drops the auditorium into darkness.  The knot of anxiety in his gut constricts, tightening, tightening, as the orchestra tunes and sweeps off into the first notes of the opening number.

The first spotlight casts Charlie in a pale glow, and Todd watches him shed his own personality as he begins softly singing.  He leaves himself behind, embodying the Emcee completely, glowing white under the harsh light.  When Todd successfully lights the stage in its first look- an ominous pinkish red- the knot in his gut loosens.  You’re going to be fine, he reminds himself, and if not, that’s what rehearsals are for.

Charlie dazzles, just the first song leaving Todd stunned and amazed.  Ginny, who entered near the end of the number, is as fabulous as ever.  Todd makes a mental note to ask Char if they can invite her to a breakfast one of these days.

As Charlie closes out the number, he blows a kiss to the sound booth, waving and beaming as the stage goes dark around him.  Todd, completely entranced by the performance, as he’d always had an admiration for those who could throw themselves so completely into their work, almost misses the cue for the beginning of the next scene.  He pushes the lights up, and Meeks and Pitts burst into hushed laughter before he’s even looked back up.

Meeks whistles lowly, “isn’t that your man, Toddster?” and Todd snaps his head up, transfixed by the man onstage playing Clifford Bradshaw.  It’s like he’s leapt from Todd’s memory, and if it weren’t for Pitts and Meeks, he’d be severely worried that he was just making the whole thing up.

Todd blinks harshly, a choked laugh leaving his mouth.  When he opens his eyes, Clifford remains, Todd’s mysterious, eye-catching crush from the night before lit up in full color.

And Todd is in awe, remembering how he’d imagined that a man like that wouldn’t even need to be spotlit to light up a stage.  Because, Jesus H. Christ, he had been right.

Nervous and gentle, the man onstage could very well be Clifford Bradshaw himself.  Todd knows nothing else of the man, and is almost compelled to believe this is true, before he recalls that the name of this game was indeed “acting”.  Still, Todd doesn’t understand why his heart is beating rabbit-quick in his chest.  It was childish and laughable and completely opposite of how he should be acting now that he was a responsible adult.  That wasn’t to say that adults couldn’t have crushes or, perhaps, more adultish admirations (now was that more acceptable or even gayer than saying he had a crush?  Todd isn’t sure).

His earlier rationalizations made sense when he hadn’t thought he’d be stuck in a theatre with his awkward infatuation for the next however many rehearsals and performances.

“You gonna survive until dinner there, Toddy?”  Meeks asks, grinning.  Todd doesn’t dignify him with a response.

It’s half past six when they wrap their first run, and if Jason’s facial expressions are anything to go by, it was not as spectacular as anyone had hoped.  With an exaggerated groan, their director releases the cast and crew to dinner, promising that his willingness to postpone giving notes did not mean that there were none to give.

Todd, who really hadn’t felt terrible about the whole thing, finds himself cringing.

“Was it really that bad?”  He murmurs to Meeks, who shakes his head deftly.

“Just let Jason eat some food, when he isn’t so hangry he’ll be more forgiving.”  Pitts snorts at this.

“Ditto,” he grins, “what’re we doing for dinner anyway?”

“I heard it was pasta,” Meeks replies, rubbing his hands together.  “Been looking forward to it all night.”  Todd watches Pitts sling an arm around Meeks’ shoulders, setting off for the lobby.  He smiles at their retreating backs, picks up his worn copy of Leaves of Grass, just to have something to do if conversation at dinner becomes bleak, and walks off after the pair.

As it was for every double-run, the lobby had been set up into a cafeteria, folding tables full of steaming food lining the walls and making the air smell perfectly delicious.  The double-run potlucks might have been a large factor keeping Todd at this theater, but he’d never admit that.  There was just something nice about knowing that everyone had come together to make something everyone could enjoy.  Of course, that’s what they’d been doing all along with rehearsals and theatre and art, but the culinary arts were different, they touched Todd in a different sort of way.  And it certainly helped that the food was always fucking fantastic.

Todd ditches his things at a table and scurries to get in line behind Charlie.  Back in his street clothes, he’s chatting with Chris and Ginny, the latter of which is insisting that Jason will have notes on her singing tonight.

“I’m getting over this terrible cough, and my congestion really fucked up my voice,” she sighs, and Charlie rolls his eyes.

“Ginny, you were perfect.  Todd, tell Ginny that she was perfect.”  He raises his eyebrows at Todd, daring him to say otherwise.  Not that he would, Ginny was often quite perfect at whatever she put her mind to.

“You were perfect, Gin,” Todd smiles, “Genuinely.”  Though she doesn’t accept the praise, she doesn’t reject it either, and Todd takes this as a small victory.

Conversation shifts, food is acquired, and Todd makes his way back to the table he’d claimed, Charlie in tow.  Meeks and Pitts are already seated, hotly debating whether or not spaghetti is better than lasagna.

“Lasagna has mushrooms.  And ricotta.”  Pitts states, as if this were all the proof needed.

“And I love ricotta, I do!  But like, spaghetti noodles, you know what I’m saying?”  Meeks counters weakly, but his point is still valid.

“Lasagna is one hundred times better than spaghetti,” Charlie declares, sitting down next to Pitts.

“Well that settles it.”  Pitts grins and Meeks sticks his tongue out at him.

“Just enjoy your food, you children.”  Todd scolds playfully, and Meeks points his fork at him, rather menacingly.

“You’re calling us children?  What about that little kiddie crush of yours?”  He smirks and Todd gapes.

“Oh my god.”  Todd had been desperately trying to avoid the subject, thinking he’d be better off if he just left it alone, moved past it.  He had also certainly not been scanning the room while standing in line, while grabbing a plate, while moving to sit down, in hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of Clifford Bradshaw (Todd really needed to get his hands on a program and figure out what this guy’s name was).  And now he was blushing furiously, bowing his head to look at his plate and nothing else.

“So what?”  Todd manages, finally, a flimsy defense aimed more at the garlic bread on his plate than at Meeks’s smug smile.  Charlie snorts.

“He’s here?  Shut up, you’ve got better luck than I thought.”  Glancing up, Charlie spots someone, waves them over.  Todd continues hiding his face, trying to strategically plan the best moment to excuse himself and flee to the bathroom.

“I asked Neil to sit with us, if that’s cool,” Charlie says, and Pitts opens his mouth to ask who that is, evidently, but is cut off by Charlie talking up at the approaching man.

“Hey Neil,” Charlie starts brightly, “we were just teasing Toddy here for his little crush,” Charlie elbows Todd in the ribs, and Todd rouses himself, straightens his spine from it’s hunch over his plate.  He’s just preparing to laugh at himself in front of this stranger, maybe tease Charlie in return, when he locks eyes with the man sitting down across from him.

The world stops spinning.  Todd thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe.

Oh shit.

“Oh, Neil is that fantastic old friend of mine that I told you about last night,” Charlie explains finally, and Pitts nods.  Todd barely hears Charlie speak, which is quite a feat considering his usual volume, as he introduces everyone to Neil.  Pitts and Meeks look at each other, then at Todd, then at Charlie.  It would have been laughable if Todd wasn’t busy acting like such a third grader, his heart pounding in his ears.

He shakes his head deftly, willing himself to be a cool, casual adult.  He refrains from extending his hand across the table, worrying about sweaty palms and awkward eye contact.

“You were good.”  Todd mumbles mediocrely, sounding strangled, and Neil (his name was Neil, what a fantastic name) flashes him a grin.  It’s crooked and warm, and Todd wonders if his heart will ever beat normally again.  What a fool he is.

“You were really good.  Fabulous, amazing, perfect!”  Charlie leans across the table to muss with Neil’s hair.  Todd glares daggers at Meeks and Pitts, who are whispering and giggling to each other as they look from Todd to Neil, acting just as much like schoolgirls as Todd.

“Charlie, you are ever the flatterer.”  Neil beams, and Charlie looks over at Pitts, who is aggressively motioning for him to check his phone.

A look of understanding dawns on Charlie as he looks up from his phone, then at Todd, then at Neil.  Todd is quickly getting sick of looked at tonight.  There’s a reason he isn’t one of the ones on stage.

Charlie’s grin is truly cheshire as he taps out a response to Pitts’s text, and Todd decides that there could be no better time to leave the table.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, and Charlie grabs his hand as he pushes his chair back in.

“We’ll be right back,” he adds cheerily.  Todd snatches his hand back, stalks away towards the bathroom with Charlie, unfortunately, in tow.

“Ohh my god.”  Charlie laughs as the bathroom door swings shut behind them.  Todd runs cold water over his hands, peers at Charlie through the mirror.

“Yeah,” he laughs a little himself, “I didn’t know he was your childhood best friend.  I didn’t know he was even- whatever.”  He laughs breathily, shaking his head.

“So here’s what you’re gonna do-” Charlie starts, but Pitts and Meeks’ sudden arrival cuts him off.  “You two in here to fuck or what?” Charlie asks, and Meeks makes a face.

“Just wanted to see how Todd’s freak out was going.”  Pitts says, not unkindly, brushing off Charlie’s crudeness.

“It’s not a freak out!”  Todd insists, turning away from the sink to lean back against the counter.  They really were like little grade schoolers, Todd muses, convening in the bathroom to gossip.

“I’m completely calm,” he continues, lying through his teeth, “just can’t believe Charlie’s best friend is the hottest guy on the planet.”  He covers his face with his hands, peeks out from between his fingers to add, though muffled, “You could’ve disclosed that bit of information, Charlie.”  The boys laugh, and Charlie pauses to single out Meeks and Pitts.

“So you two just abandoned the poor boy at the table?”  They shake their heads in unison, a thing that would’ve seemed eerie to Todd if he wasn’t so used to their dynamic.  They were always somehow so perfectly in tune with each other.

“Nah, he went out for a smoke so we scurried over,” Meeks says, and Charlie positively glows.

“Todd, don’t you-”

“No.”

“Todd-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Charlie.”  But Charlie is shoving him out of the bathroom, steering him through the lobby, towards the broken emergency exit that leads out to the back alley, the unofficial smoker’s lounge.  

“Nonononono,” Todd is stammering, shaking his head vehemently, but Charlie is shoving him outside, whispering good luck before slamming the door, leaving Todd out in the blustering cold.  Todd stares helplessly at the closed door, rubbing his hands together idly.

“Jesus,” someone laughs, and Todd’s brain helpfully supplies the name: Neil.  Todd wraps his arms around his torso, tries to still his cartwheeling stomach.  “Charlie is a trip, isn’t he?”  This is said as more of a statement than a question, but Todd nods anyway, laughs a little just to watch his breath cloud out in front of him.

“You’re the unassuming lights guy, aren’t you?”  Neil asks, nonchalantly.  Cigarette smoke curls its way into Todd’s vision and he turns to face Neil fully, laughing softly to himself as he repeats, “unassuming lights guy,” with another chuckle.

“Well, yes, I suppose I am.”  He rubs the back of his neck, raises his eyes to meet Neil’s own.  “I’m also known as Todd Anderson.”  Todd adds, extending a hand into the biting night air.

“Neil Perry.”  He grins, boyish and bright, and shakes clumsily with one hand, holding his cigarette aloft with the other.

Todd watches, as if bewitched, as the smoldering end of the cigarette travels up near Neil’s mouth, becomes obscured in a cloudy puff of smoke.  He buries his hands in his sweater, searches hastily for some way to fill the cold silence.

“Can get kind of suffocating in there, huh?”  He asks casually, and Neil nods.

“It’s kind of funny, for how big the place is, it can start to feel real small real quick.”  Todd watches Neil raise the cigarette to his lips again, tears his gaze away.  It’s not like you haven’t seen a man smoke before, he scolds himself, gazing at the drab brick wall across the alley, ignoring the dumpster off to his right.

“So how’d you meet Charlie?”  He asks finally, trying to fend off his usual awkwardness.  Neil laughs.

“A lot like this, actually.”  He offers Todd a cigarette, who refuses with a shake of his head.

“I really shouldn’t,” he laughs.  Neil gives him a curious look, mouth quirked up in a half smile, and Todd worries that he looks like a fool, standing out here in the chill just for kicks, no intention of smoking.  The things he let Charlie drag him into.

“Neither should I,” Neil reflects, regarding his cigarette with a pensive look before shrugging and taking another drag.  “But we smoked a lot together in grade school.  Went to this prep academy, and he always had smokes, but he liked to steal them from me anyway.”  He’s smiling off into the darkness, reminiscing with glittering eyes.  Todd notices that he’s still wearing eyeliner, and that it suits him well.  It also severely impedes Todd’s ability to look away, which becomes slightly awkward when Neil’s focus comes back to the present, eyes sliding back towards Todd, who’s taken up leaning on the wall next to him.  Todd snaps his eyes away.

“That sounds very Charlie.”  Neil flashes another grin, and Todd tells himself that the wind chapping his cheeks is what’s forcing his face to flush a furious crimson, not the quiet man with the nice eyes standing beside him.

Despite his embarrassment, there’s something comfortable in this moment.  It’s a soft sort of respite from the rest of life, a quiet corner not quite filled with casual conversation, leaving space that Todd feels he can be still in.  He should smoke here more often.

“We met at a gay bar.”  Todd blurts into the quiet, surprising even himself, and Neil chokes on his laughter.

“You and Charlie?”  He asks, as if Todd could’ve been talking about anyone else.

“Me and Charlie.”  Todd confirms, staring at the wall in front of him.

“You and Charlie?”  Neil sounds incredulous, and, almost without thinking, he offers the cigarette, dying between his fingertips, to Todd.  Almost as an afterthought, Todd takes it.

“Yes, the timid lights guy does have a life, contrary to popular belief,” Todd smiles through his words, looks down and fully realizes the cigarette he is now holding.  Fully realizes the pair of lips that have been on the same cigarette, pushes away the realization that, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind it if Neil put his lips on his.  (If this was how he was going to act around someone he found attractive, Todd decided he’d have to start wearing a blindfold to rehearsal, because Jesus).

“The timid lights guy,” Neil repeats, laughing, “I knew you had a life!  I’m just surprised I haven’t, y’know, seen you around before,” he adds, almost bashfully.  Something explodes behind Todd’s ribs.

“Oh yeah?”  Todd can be calm, and cool, and casual about this.  Whatever this was.  Whatever that was.  What was that?

“Maybe, yeah,” Neil is smiling and the wind, the wind, is absolutely the cause of the subtle rosiness in his cheeks.  Todd takes a drag from the cigarette, holds the smoke in his lungs until all he can think about is the cloudy haze swirling there, in his chest, cradling his heart.  Then he exhales, passes the cigarette back to Neil with all of the nonchalance he can muster.

“Charlie was right by the way, you were fantastic.  My compliment earlier was lame.”  Todd laughs lightly at himself, and wind rushing through the alley throws Neil’s exhale of smoke into his face.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Neil laughs, but Todd doesn’t really mind.  He thinks he could live in this little cloud of secondhand smoke awhile longer, if it meant getting to learn more about someone new, someone so brimming with life and artistry.  Maybe Neil could teach him a thing or two.

“Thank you though.  The stage is my passion.”  He says this like it’s an admittance of something embarrassing, a sheepish grin overtaking his face.

“I can tell.”  Todd says, and Neil pauses.

“I like that.”  And Todd knows exactly what he means; it’s nice to be recognized for what you love.

And Todd’s feeling sort of bold and sort of tired and sort of like he might as well make the most of Charlie’s meddling, so before he can psych himself out and whisk himself back inside, he says the first thing that leaps to mind:

“What?  Me?”  And, still feeling rather brave, he nabs the cigarette from Neil to take the last drag.  Neil gapes at him and all his smugness, pulls the almost-full pack from his coat pocket to light up another.  He’s grinning as he flicks open his lighter, and Todd doesn’t mind taking that as an answer to his question.  Not a yes, but not a no, was something he could reckon with.

“You like being in the booth?”  Neil asks after a moment, and Todd nods as he stamps at the ashes the first cigarette had been reduced to, grateful for the subject change.

“It’s cool to help you guys be seen, you know?”  Todd stuffs his hands into his armpits, feels the chill of the brick wall at his back.  “Besides, I could never be on stage.”  He scoffs.

“Maybe you should try it.  You might surprise yourself,” Neil exhales smokily, “the lighting was great though, I think it really helps convey the story in a way that’s more complex than you might think at first, you know?  There’s symbolism everywhere, I love that,”  He’s talking with his hands, eyes twinkling in the dim, and Todd is trying to focus on continuing the conversation, but is finding the task very difficult.

“I dunno,” he says, a beat late, “I feel like it’s missing something.”

“Well I think it’s perfect.”  Neil shrugs, looks over at Todd, who swears his heart has stopped beating.  “You getting a little cold over there?”  Neil asks after a moment, and Todd, feeling things he thought he’d left, abandoned in Vermont back in his high school days, nods.

“You wanna head in?”  He asks Neil, who pauses.

“No.”  He says, grinning.  Still, he stamps out his cigarette, and holds the door open for Todd, who slides back into the theater with only a little reluctance.

Chapter Text

So maybe double run wasn’t as terrible as Todd had initially expected.

When the men emerge into the gentle warmth of the theater, the lobby is notably empty.  Todd, finally able to feel his ears again, urges Neil back to costuming to get ready for the second run through.  Neil dashes away at Todd’s prompting, throws a grin over his shoulder as he disappears through a set of double doors.  Todd, heart stuttering and stumbling, practically floats back to the booth, grateful that Charlie is nowhere to be seen, as he surely would’ve subjected Todd to an onslaught of teasing (which, in his current state, Todd thinks he'd be defenseless against).

“So…” Meeks prompts as Todd drops down into his chair behind the light board.  Todd only grins in response.  Jason, sitting front and center in the house, claps his hands as actors saunter onstage, and Pitts looks at Todd with meaning.

“We’ll talk later.”  He promises, father-like, and Todd barks out a laugh, half nervous, as Jason starts giving notes.  As predicted, Ginny’s name is mentioned only once, the director having wanted to praise her for her “impressive vocal talent”.  Todd watches Charlie elbow her in the ribs at this, grinning like a madman.

Then, house lights are called down, and they’re off to the races.  They do their best to perfect what they’d been lacking the run before, and laugh at themselves when they make silly, inevitable mistakes.

And, somehow, Todd lives to see the end of rehearsal, despite his heart’s best efforts at leaping out of his chest each time Neil graces the stage.

Meeks regards the booth as they pack up their things, managing to sound both tired beyond belief and excited about everything they’d just accomplished.  “So which run did we feel better about?”

Todd contemplates quietly.  “I think the first one, honestly.  I got cocky after that and messed up easy things during the second run,” he admits sheepishly.  Pitts shakes his head as Todd slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Nah, the first run was total shit, I think– how many times did Charlie’s mic go out?”

Meeks sucks his teeth, replies, “four times?”

“Might’ve been five, even.  Anyway, second run was pretty down pat, sound-wise.”  Pitts concludes.  Todd hums, mind wandering sleepily as he tightens his scarf around his neck and tucks his hands into his pockets.  From across the city, from a tiny fridge in a coincidentally tiny apartment, a half-empty takeaway box of leftover pad thai was calling Todd's name.  Pad thai was a fantastic post-rehearsal midnight snack, Todd had found.

“How long do you think Charlie will take?”  Todd asks, mind still snagged on food.  Pitts groans.

“If he thinks he’s getting a ride, he better be out here in ten or less.”  At this, Todd laughs.

“With Charlie?  Impossible.”  But as soon as the words leave his mouth, there he is, bounding towards them.

“Let’s go for drinks.”  He suggests, eyes bright and sparkling.  Todd can’t help but grin.

“Great job tonight!”  He beams, clapping Charlie on the back when he’s near enough.  Charlie slings an arm over Todd’s shoulders, kisses him theatrically on the cheek.

“This is gonna be so great.  I can feel it,” Charlie shuffles his feet, a childishly endearing attempt at a happy dance, and grins broadly, still clutching Todd close.  “I have, like, this post-rehearsal high.  Am I glowing?  I feel like I'm glowing.  It’s all just coming together so well.”

His excitement rolls off of him in waves, infecting Todd, even through his jacket and sweater and turtleneck, and jumpstarting his heart.

“You’re glowing,” he confirms, and Charlie cheers, steering Todd towards the exit, Meeks and Pitts giggling behind them.

And, God, there was something intoxicating about it all.  Knowing what they’d already accomplished and being able to see so clearly how close to the finish line they were.  Overcome with a similar post-rehearsal giddiness, Todd slings an arm around Charlie’s shoulders as well.  Charlie’s breath huffs out in front of him in small clouds as he breaks into a rousing rendition of “Don’t Tell Mama”.

“Charlie–” Pitts exclaims through laughter, “Charlie, the car’s the other way,” he laughs, and Charlie falters.

“Let’s drop in somewhere close– who needs a car?  Oh!  I’m gonna call Knox, hang on.”  He unwinds himself from Todd, slips his phone out of his pocket.  As Charlie falls back a few steps, phone ringing, Todd falls in step beside Meeks and Pitts.

It’s comfortable and quiet, the cold biting at the men, but barely slicing through the warmth in their moods.

“How ‘bout that little dive?”  Meeks points across the street, tosses his head over his shoulder to shout the question at Charlie, still a pace behind.

He’s mumbling into the phone, eyes cast downward.  “Yep.  Yeah.  Okay, sure, see you…yeah, see you soon.”  He holds the phone for a moment, silent, face unreadable, before shoving it back in his pocket.  Then his face flickers, smile pasted back on as he looks up.  “Looks fine to me!”  He jogs to catch up, missing, or maybe ignoring, the looks Meeks and Todd trade.

Inside the bar, Todd's heart feels about ready to pound out of his chest.  His nerves aren't as overwhelming as they used to be in situations like this, he certainly would be able to settle them after a few drinks, but the crush of people around him still set his heart racing.  In this, though, there was an inexplicable sort of comfort.  The warm bodies were a reminder that he was here too, flesh and bone and alive.  Something about it grounded him, brought him back to remember how fragile it all was, this life, how sacred.

Music seems to crowd around him, rattling his ribs and thrumming in his head.  Charlie takes up a spot at the bar, waves Todd to a seat beside him.  As Todd shrugs off his coat, Charlie opens his mouth, as if to say something, but stops short, eyes lighting up as he spies something over Todd's shoulder.

He waves someone over, giddy in such a way that makes Todd believe it must be Knox who’s entered the building.  He moves to hop off his barstool so the seat will be empty beside Charlie, but Charlie ushers him back down.  Confused, Todd glances over his shoulder.

And meets Neil’s eyes, somehow sparkling in the dim light of the bar.  Todd wonders how Neil seems so suited for all lighting, always managing to bring a sort of brightness with him.

“Come sit!”  Charlie half shouts, and Neil points to the stool next to Todd, brows raised.  Todd nods up at him, unable to find words at the current moment.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Neil grins, leaning in close to Todd’s ear to be heard.  Todd lets out a nervous yelp of a laugh, drums his fingers against the counter.  He shoots a look at Charlie, who shrugs, but doesn’t drop his mischievous grin.  Todd rolls his eyes, hastily orders a beer.

He takes a deep breath before regarding Neil, trying to calm his tendency to stutter and trip over his words.

“H-hi again.”  Damn it.

But Neil just grins at him, shouts, “I’ve never been here before!” to which Todd replies that he hasn’t either.  They sip their drinks thoughtfully, listening to Charlie chatter with Meeks and Pitts, reveling in the electricity still crackling in the air from their successful rehearsal.

“So how do you feel?”  Todd asks, and Neil sways closer, eyebrows raised.  Todd pretends his sudden heart palpitations are caused by the alcohol swimming in his veins.  “How do you feel?  About rehearsal?”  Todd repeats, choked, returning quickly to his beer once he's finished talking.

“Pretty great!  It’s all really coming together now, it’s almost, like, magical.”  He flashes an easy smile, and though Todd agrees with what Neil is saying, he thinks he may have found something that contains even more magic.

“You’re kind of magical onstage.”  He only realizes he’s said it aloud when Neil knocks a shoulder against his, laughing softly.  Todd frowns at himself, blushing furiously, praying Neil can’t see him too clearly in the dim lighting.  He wasn't usually such a lightweight, but he also wasn't often accompanied at the bar by someone with such gorgeous eyes.  Todd decides to give himself some grace for that.

“Just doing my job,” Neil replies, ever humble.  And Charlie, anything but modest, leans over and crows out: “How was I, Toddster?  Amazing?  Fantastic?”

Todd rolls his eyes.  “Didn’t I already tell you that you were fantastic?”

“You said I was glowing,” he beams, drunk on liquor or excitement, Todd can’t tell.  Charlie hums, props his chin up in his hand and cranes his neck to look around the crowded bar.  “This is boring,” he declares, hopping up, “come on.”  He extends a hand to Meeks, who rolls his eyes and accepts it, lets Charlie pull him off his stool.

“I'm stealing your man, Pitts,” Charlie sings over his shoulder, spinning Meeks and trying to convince the ginger that he would be able to dip him without dropping him to the ground.  Pitts laughs and ambles over, yanking Meeks from Charlie to dip him himself.

“Now that’s how you treat a lady,” Todd hears Charlie exclaim, and he laughs to himself.  He watches, still perched on his seat, with amusement as his friends make awkward, drunken fools of themselves.  He clutches his beer to his chest, leans back against the counter, startling slightly when an elbow prods him in the ribs.

Neil, eyebrows raised, nods to the makeshift dance floor when Todd catches his eye.  Todd shakes his head, shouts, exaggeratedly, “this music is terrible!” as his excuse to stay put.  Neil gasps, face contorted in mock horror.

“You’re kidding, right?  This is Bowie!  The David Bowie!”  He looks seriously at Todd before breaking into a smile, humming along to Let’s Dance as it pounds over the speakers.  Todd only grimaces in apology, raises his beer to his lips.

“Well, as payment for your heinous crimes against music, you’ve gotta dance with me,” he shrugs as if he is helpless in the matter.

Todd laughs, incredulous, and shakes his head furiously.  He starts to say “I hardly even know you,” but the words stick in his traitorous throat.  Neil stands up, offers a hand, and Pitts, from somewhere behind Neil’s shoulder, throws Todd a thumbs up.  Todd swallows, slaps his free hand into Neil’s, allows Neil to take his beer and discard the nearly-empty bottle on the counter.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he mutters, self-consciously, thinking back to all the parties and nights out he’d skipped in high school.  He figured rhythm was something you were either born with or you weren’t, and it wasn’t a talent he’d been stuck with in the slightest.

“No one knows how to dance,” Neil laughs, still hanging on to Todd’s hand, beaming down at him while Todd watches through an alcohol-induced haze.  Relatively, Neil’s mouth was very, very close to his own.  It takes a lot of mental power to shove that thought out of his head.

He lets Neil spin him lazily, watches Neil make a fool of himself, but still lets Neil grab his hand to rope him back in when he tries to slink away.

The song fades out, is replaced with the strumming of a guitar that sets Neil absolutely alight .  Todd stores the image of his face, practically glowing, in his subconscious, to reference at a later date.

“I fucking love this song,” he grins, pulling Todd closer, “oh-oh-oh, you’re a rock ‘n’ roll suicide,” he sings, impressively on-key, considering the hour and how much he’d strained his voice at rehearsal, just hours earlier.

Todd feels his face flush, lets Neil set his hands on his hips as he croons.  He laughs, sets his hands on Neil’s chest as if to push him away.  Not that he would.  Not that he will.

“So I take it you’re a Bowie fan.”

Neil rolls his eyes.  “Duh.”  He laughs.  He dramatically lip-syncs along with the last few lines of the song, and Todd flashes between hoping no one recognizes him, standing here, drunk, tangled up with a stranger, and hoping that he’ll never have to leave this moment.

Here he was, embarrassed but laughing .  Here he was, with someone new, just letting himself live for once.  It wasn’t as terrible, nor as terrifying, as it often seemed from afar.

The song ends, melts into something slower, softer, decidedly not sung by David Bowie.

Neil’s hands are still set on Todd’s hips, his eyes still unbelievably wide and earnest, his smile a drunken, haphazard, beautiful thing.

“You know,” he pauses, sways closer, which sets Todd’s heart up to rapid speed, “you’re pretty cool.”  Todd laughs at the earnestness in which Neil says this and shakes his head.

“You’re– you’re too kind.”  Neil scoffs, opens his mouth to say something more, eyes shining.  Todd leans in slightly, blames it on the booze, but knows that really, he’s intent to hang onto Neil’s every word, sober, drunk, or otherwise.

“Pitts has been threatening to leave us here for the past fifteen minutes, so I think it’s time to head out,” Charlie announces, coming up behind Todd and prompting him to spring away from Neil in a panic, “if you want a ride, that is.”

Todd checks his watch, face flaming, feigning nonchalance about the sudden interruption.  “I– I guess it is pretty late,” he sighs, stuffing his disappointment far down, to a place he refuses to touch or acknowledge.

“Be outside in ten,” Charlie says, clapping Todd on the shoulder as he moves past him, towards the door.  Todd nods, crosses his arms, suddenly unsure of what to do.

Neil looks at him, hands stuck in his pockets, a goofy grin splashed across his face.  Todd needs him to stop doing that immediately, or he might never be able to tear himself away.

“Can I get your number?”  Neil asks, half shrugging, still, still , looking at Todd.  Todd forgets how to speak.

“Oh, uhm, yeah sure, if you want it,” he breathes after a moment that he lets go on too long.

“Believe it or not, that is why I asked.”  Neil grins, and they shuffle to pull their phones from their pockets.  Todd, somewhat incredulous at the fact that Neil wanted his phone number, thinks he might be going slightly insane.

They swap, tapping in numbers and contact names.  Todd, thinking of himself as quite the comedian, adds himself as “unassuming lights guy” and chuckles as they pass the phones back to their rightful owners.

Todd grins down at Neil’s name in his contacts, something fluttering in his chest, his sides still warm where Neil’s hands had been, though that had happened minutes earlier, lifetimes ago.  A lifetime in which he didn't have the phone number of an actor glowing up at him from his contacts list.  Someone behind him giggles, and Meeks’s voice calls out, “we’re waiting in the cold Todd!” before the door to the bar slams shut.

“Well.”  Todd mumbles, brushing hair from his eyes.  “You– I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Neil grins as Todd backsteps towards the door.  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

Todd wakes with a jolt, head pounding and mouth dry.  Moments from the night before slink back into his mind, slowly, as if through a fog.

He sits up, head in his hands, and glances at his alarm clock.  7:13 blinks back at him, nearly two hours before his alarm is set to go off.  He slumps back down, reaches for his phone, maybe to get on a call and yell at Charlie for letting him drink so much on a weeknight, maybe to email his professor and let him know he’ll be too sick to make it to his morning class.

He hasn’t yet made up his mind when he notices a message that must’ve come through after he’d gotten into bed last night.  His heart kicks into gear, flashes of the previous evening seeping in through the cracks of his memory, film reel style: Neil showing up at the bar, Charlie smiling conspiratorially, yet swearing he hadn’t been the one to tip Neil off, saying later that maybe it had just been fate.  Pitts shooting Todd an encouraging thumbs up, Meeks giggling as he and Neil swapped phones.

He scooches once more into an upright position, ignoring the thundering behind his temples.  Kicking the covers away, he sits cross legged, staring dumbly at the message on his phone screen.

It’s really quite simple, just a, heyy, it’s neil :), but todd is trying to remember if two y’s constitute something more than casual.  Although, timestamped at nearly three a.m., it was very possible that the text had been sent in a drunken, tired haze, and meant nothing at all.

Charlie would know, he thinks, then says aloud, “absolutely do not ask Charlie how many y’s is a slutty amount,” with a manic little giggle.

He rubs his eyes, drags a hand down his face, and scrambles out of bed, leaving his phone in the tangled sheets left in his wake.

Unnecessarily stressed out, he opts to begin his morning routine, though hours early, to avoid having to respond.  He drafts up texts in his mind as he brushes his teeth, rolls his eyes at himself in the mirror when he recognizes that his stressing is really rather silly.

“Pull it together.”  He mumbles around his toothbrush, fixing himself with a steely stare.

Finished brushing and flossing, he musses with his hair, lets out a sharp breath, and retrieves his phone from its duvet-and-top-sheet prison.

He taps out, hi!  todd here, then chucks his phone back onto his pillows as if it’s burned him.

There was a certain anxiety that clung to Todd, in general, yes, though he’d been working on that, but especially when it came to small things like this.  Seemingly inconsequential things.  Little moments always felt so much bigger to Todd than other people made them out to be.

Todd sighs, looks around his shoebox apartment.  The silence of it echoes back at him, seems to stare him down.  There was usually a sort of comfort in having his own space, (finally, he'd told Charlie when he'd moved out of the dorms his sophomore year at college, no roommate, no parties next door, just peace and quiet.  Charlie had given him a look, one of those that he usually doesn't let slip, but something flashed behind his eyes, certainly, something that looked dangerously close to sadness), but today, the quiet, the emptiness, seemed to rattle around in his ribs.  The feeling filled him up, hollowed him out, all the breath leaving his lungs involuntarily.

With a start, Todd moves towards the window between his bedroom and kitchen, a gaping hole that drops off onto a rickety fire escape.  There was something Todd needed to escape, after all.  He sits on the sill of the window, legs dangling off into the cool morning air.  He shivers in his pajamas, not having thought of the chill before ducking out here.  The cold grounds him though, fills his chest up with something other than emptiness, and his gaze skims over the small portion of the city that he can see from up here; it was a piece that always felt like it belonged just to him, despite the millions of people that probably had just about the same view every day and night.

But it was nice to have something of his own, something that felt like his own, in this city where so much was fleeting.

Speaking of fleeting, he thinks, mind finding every excuse to slip back into thinking about Neil.  He grabs the pack of cigarettes he keeps near the window, flicks open the lighter he hadn't remembered tucking in the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

Really, he thinks, lighting a cigarette now, how badly could he fuck up one text conversation?  They’d already shared a smoke before.  Not that that meant anything– though he’d also flirted with the guy before, for God’s sake.  If he was going to scare him off, it would’ve happened already.

Another moment from the night before flits into Todd’s mind as he watches the city begin to glow under the rising sun: Neil’s hand in his as he’d dragged him away from his barstool, grinning as he spun Todd around.  His face flushes, despite the cold, and he closes his eyes, recalling easily the feeling of it, more than anything else.

The feeling of someone wanting him somewhere; of someone, although practically a stranger, wanting him near, not letting go of his hand even as he swayed awkwardly, laughing at his own incompetence.

“Nobody knows how to dance,” he remembers Neil laughing, and he repeats it in his head like a mantra.  It was everyone’s first time on earth, after all.

With a small, private smile, Todd opens his eyes and turns back through the window, drops his feet into his apartment.  The emptiness of the kitchen still startles him, but not enough to steal his breath away.  He had people he could call to fill up his living space, to turn it into the bustling heart of a home.  And he had a person to add to the list of invites.  Someone new that turned the empty churning of his stomach into something pleasant, something new and exciting.

He takes one last drag, leans half out the window to exhale a smoky breath into the crisp morning air.

He stamps the ashes out into a tray on the sill, shuts himself back into the warmth of his apartment as he presses the window firmly closed.  He finds that he doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

Chapter Text

Todd rushes into rehearsal, nearly bowls Cameron over as he flies through the lobby.

“You’re late, Todd,” Cameron notes wearily.

“I know, I know,” Todd mumbles, dashing around him to get to where he should’ve been forty-five minutes ago.  Class had run long, the subway had run late, and Todd hadn't properly accounted for any of it.

When Todd enters the booth, Pitts yanks himself away from where he’s been huddled beside Meeks and cuts Todd off mid apology.

“I’ll accept your apology in the form of you going to wrangle Charlie from the green room.”  Pitts flashes a huge, cheesy smile at Todd.  Todd shuts his mouth and contemplates pouting.

“Yeah– okay, fine.”  He huffs, choosing the more professional route, quietly grateful that Pitts isn’t angrier (though he still stomps his feet more than strictly necessary as he races away).  The sound of Pitts’ laughter is lost behind him as he embarks on his quest.

The green room is, unsurprisingly, Charlie-free when Todd enters.  With a sigh, he wanders away, through the back halls of the old theater.  Charlie could be anywhere, Todd figures, he practically haunted the whole place.

Just as he’s getting ready to abandon his search, report back to Pitts that they should check the bar and make sure they didn’t leave him there last night, he hears hushed voices spilling from a dressing room into the corridor.

“You're living with someone?”

“Charlie–”  Neil's voice is unmistakable, and Todd pauses at the sound of it.

“Living with someone?”  Charlie repeats, exasperated and growing in volume.  Todd's heart stutters to a halt and he stands stock-still in the hall, listening.

“It's not a big deal!”

“Not a big– not a big deal?  You should’ve at least told me.” 

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I'm allowed to worry about you, Neil.  I'm your best friend.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest.”

“Why the hell do you think–”  Todd steels himself, takes a deep breath, knocks on the half-open dressing room door.

“Charlie, Pitts needs you!” he hollers, eyes squeezed shut, arms crossed over his chest and bracing for impact as the door swings open.  Charlie smiles thinly at Todd, who prays silently that his guilt isn’t on obvious display as he stands awkwardly in the hallway.

“Thanks pal.  Be a dear and let him know I'll be right out.”  Todd nods sharply, takes a step back as the door clicks shut before him.

Todd hears Charlie take a deep breath behind the door, steadying himself.  “I just want you to be honest,” he repeats firmly.  Guilt clawing at him, Todd rushes down the hallway before he can hear whether Neil decides to tell Charlie the truth or not.

Todd moves through rehearsal in a haze, mind absently flitting back to the pieces of conversation he’d stolen, back to the astonishment in Charlie's voice.  There wasn’t a way for him to casually ask about what he’d overheard– that’d be plain rude, afterall.

Something in him longed to know, longed to understand everything about Neil's life.  It was silly, really.  But he knew that getting to know someone couldn’t happen from behind closed doors.

There were some things he was meant to know, and some things he had to leave be, no matter his curiosity.  This, he had to leave be.  Curiosity killed the cat, anyway.

And, right now, Todd had enough to keep his mind on.

“C’mon Todd, just another half hour.”  Meeks bumps Todd's shoulder and Todd grins back at him absently, grateful for the knock back to reality.

He revels in the feeling he gets up in the booth, commanding the lights, allowing the audience to see just the right thing at just the right time.  His role was important, necessary.  He was helping others see without having to be seen himself, and he liked it that way.  Sort of anonymous, hidden, but undeniably there.

He’s humming by the time they’ve made it to bows, eyes glazing over and stomach growling.  What had he had for lunch again?

His eyes find Neil's when he emerges from the depth of the wings, and he forgets completely about his rumbling stomach.  He swears Neil holds his gaze as he bows and smiles, bright and quick as lightning, to Todd and Todd alone.

But then Neil's eyes are drifting, the thumping of Todd's heart abating.  The curtains close and actors burst out, drunk on post-rehearsal glee.  Neil is clinging to Ginny, whooping and cheering, and she turns, presses a kiss to his cheek.

Something in Todd's chest stills, a chill pressing in where he’d been warm moments before.  He shakes it off, memory blinking back to Charlie, the night before, pressing a kiss to his own cheek.  That’s just what actors did– they were theatrical, very open with praise and their love for one another.

Todd lets out a breath.  “Jesus.  Fuck.”  He mutters, and Meeks raises an eyebrow at his dazed expression.  “Opening night is in two days.  That was our last rehearsal.”  Todd's thousand-yard stare must be alarming because Pitts waves a hand in front of his face with a laugh.

“And everyone killed it.  It looked fantastic, really.”  Todd smiles quickly, appreciative of the reassurance.

“You know how I get.”  Pitts claps him on the back, turns and pulls Meeks into a tight hug.  Not wanting to intrude, Todd's eyes dart away, his nervous hands clumsily tossing things into his bag.

Book, water bottle, chapstick, keys, he stops his internal list, patting his pockets and double checking his bag.  Keys?

He looks up, frowning, and catches sight of Neil, looking disheveled and properly gorgeous, Ginny hanging off of his arm as they make their way outside.  Ginny dangles a set of keys in front of his face, they rattle and jingle, the sound flooding Todd's senses.  Neil grabs the keys from Ginny and laughs, bright, quick.

Todd's brain kicks into gear, whirring and chewing, slotting puzzle pieces together.  An overheard conversation, a kiss, sharing keys– the gears in Todd's mind are really working overtime for this one.  He sighs deeply, coming to a conclusion that he wants, selfishly, to reject.

But– hadn’t they talked about–?  Didn’t Neil mention something about a gay bar?  Hadn’t he swayed precariously close last night, nearly crossed some sort of line Todd had written in the sand?  Hadn’t they exchanged numbers, hadn’t Neil lit up something in Todd's heart that he didn’t think could be warmed again?

He’d imagined kissing him, for Christ's sake.  Had he made up gay subtext in an entire conversation, underlying entire interactions, just to appease his psyche?  Lord, maybe Todd needed to be psychoanalyzed or something.

Here, Todd thought he was breaking down walls, letting himself live a little more, worry a little less, and now he guessed he’d just been…mixing up signals.

Todd’s itching for a cigarette, for an excuse to slip away, his embarrassment over his guilty habit nothing more than an afterthought in the wake of a different sort of embarrassment.  It was the sort of feeling that he wished would just get it over with and swallow him up.

This is why you built those walls, so you wouldn’t get so pressed over some dumb boy.  He shakes his head, banishes the thought of a cigarette and the thought of Neil in one fell swoop.  Bad habits.

Dejected and still key-less, Todd scrambles to comb through his pockets again, wanting more than anything for his apartment to be closer, the warmth and the cramped-ness of it calling to him comfortingly.

“Hey Todd–” he cuts Charlie off when he flips around, looking frenzied.  Or at least he must have some kind of look on his face, because Charlie raises his hands to show his harmlessness, as he would if he were talking to a frightened animal.  “You okay dude?”  He asks, eyes wide and brows raised.

Todd's mind scrambles for purchase, roving through words at a million miles a minute.  “Keys.”  He settles on, feeling breathless for no good reason.

Charlie nods, hands down now, but still looking at Todd like he’s a fragile thing.  Todd sniffs.  He was grown, no longer a small thing with downy feathers.

He collects himself with a hasty breath.  “Sorry, I just– I just lost them.  I think.”

“It's been a long week.”  Charlie huffs, hands on his hips now as his eyes cast over the booth, scanning for Todd's lost things.  “In a minute we’ll both be laughing because you’ll have found them in your back pocket or something.  Don’t worry.”  Charlie shoots him a smile-slash-smirk that does a decent job of helping his heart rate drop back to normal.

When Charlie holds the keys up triumphantly, having retrieved them from deep beneath some cabinets shoved up in the corner of the booth, Meeks and Pitts stand up from where they’ve been leaning against the outside of the booth, grins on their faces.

“Y’know what makes everything better?”  Pitts beams, and Meeks punches him in the arm.

“If you say food, I’ll kill you.”  He threatens, rather non-threateningly.

Pitts laughs, and Charlie scoots over to punch him on the opposite shoulder.  “I was going to say breakfast , but wow, okay, if you guys aren’t hungry, that’s cool too.”

“I guess I could eat…” Charlie sighs, sounding forlorn, eyes tracking on the floor.  Pitts trades a look with Todd, they roll their eyes.  Then Charlie peeks up at them, a grin taking over his face.  “I’m paying aren’t I?  Let’s go.”

Todd is trying not to be a cliche mess at the diner table, really, he’s trying.  If Charlie could deal with breaking up and getting back together and breaking up and getting back together with Knox, like, four times a week, Todd could handle learning that a cute guy was taken.

Sure, it would’ve helped if Charlie had mentioned it, but it seemed like he didn’t have much of a clue, if the pieces of conversation Todd had stolen were anything to go by.  So what, a hot guy was bisexual?  Todd didn’t stand for bisexual erasure, after all.

“So is…” Meeks starts, talking over a basket of fries, eyebrows raised in Charlie's direction.  Todd snaps out of his stupor, steals a fry even as Meeks tries to bat his hand away.

“Is what?  Is Knox coming?  Speak up Meeks, I can't hear you.”  Charlie deadpans, the look on his face lethal.

“Well,” Meeks shouts, petulantly, “is he?”  From behind the counter, Nancy lays an inquisitive eye on the boys in the booth, but knows them well enough by now not to ask.

Charlie huffs, rests his elbow on the table and drops his chin into his hand.  He gives Meeks a look, one that says don’t ask, please, because I’ll either start crying or screaming in the middle of this diner, and then says, aloud this time, "I need a cigarette,” in a truly terrible french accent.

He yanks his bag off the floor, snapping open a few pockets and producing, instead of a light and a pack, a French beret.  He puts it on and wiggles his eyebrows at the table, whose occupants have begun laughing uncontrollably.

“Charlie.  Charlie!"  Meeks crows between giggles.  “You aren’t getting out of this that easily.”  Charlie faux-pouts and sighs.

“It's just a tiff.  We’re always having a tiff, what’s new?”  And Todd is still recovering, giggling with a slight deliriousness, but he notes the edge in Charlie's voice.  It warns him not to ask further, it warns him that this was probably more serious than just a petty argument between Charlie and Knox.

And it informs him that Charlie cares.  Cares more about Knox than he tries to let on, cares enough to think of Knox as more than just an on-again off-again boyfriend.

With Charlie, everything was casual.  A kiss on the cheek, a ride to your house, a warm dinner paid for after a long day.  This quality was one Todd appreciated, from a friend’s perspective, maybe because of his own distinct lack of casual-ness.

And he hadn’t thought too long about it, so maybe it was that Charlie was scared of anything otherwise, of anything seemingly permanent or solid.  Or maybe it was just of his nature.  But he tended to cringe away when Meeks joked, saying Charlie would never settle down; when, before rehearsal, Cameron suggested relationships were just another thing Charlie couldn’t take seriously.

Cameron was perceptive, Todd would give him that, but he thought he saw something else here.

“Maybe you should call him.”  Todd offers, sipping water from a sweat-beaded cup.  Charlie shrugs.

“Already tried that.  Anyway, my love life is boring–” Meeks scoffs and Charlie shoots him a withering look before continuing, “isn’t anyone else having boy trouble?  You two hardly ever regale us with tales of romance.”

Meeks scoffs.  “There's hardly anything to regale you with.  He drives me home every night and we watch urban explorer and Veritasium videos into the wee hours of the night.”

“We're happy.”  Pitts concludes, grinning sappily as he nudges Meeks with his elbow.  Meeks nudges back, then promptly steals a fry right out of Pitts's hand.  Charlie's eyes have slipped shut through the whole ordeal, and he pretend-snores as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.

“Bo-ring!”  he declares.  Todd hears Meeks and Pitts scoff, unsurprisingly in unison, and practically feels all of the eyes at the table turn to him.

“What?”  he exclaims, a wry smile staking claim to his face, “okay, what if we talked about anything else?”

“Didn't I say we were going to talk about it?  About him?”  Pitts pushes, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.  Todd's eyes dart to Charlie, who is looking at him curiously, then back to Pitts, who has entered full interrogation mode.

“Yes, dad, you did say we’d talk about him.  If I promise to use protection, will you leave me alone?”  Meeks lets out a startlingly loud burst of laughter and Pitts has to physically restrain himself from cackling along with him.

“My son will not be having any unsavory relations, damn it!”  He whisper-shouts, smacking his hand on the table.  The boys are thrown into another delirious fit of laughter, their joy echoing around the empty diner.

It’s infectious, it’s nice.  Comfortable.  Despite the sleep that tugs lazily at his eyelids, Todd’s glad he didn’t go home.

“Anyway,” Todd starts, once they’ve begun to wind down, “he just gave me his number.”  An ache tugs at his chest, like he’s lost something he knows was never really his.  Just something he so badly wanted for, now out of reach.  “It probably means nothing.  Actors, you know?”  He looks at Charlie, who smiles fondly at Todd.

“Nothing with Neil ‘means nothing’.  Meaningless is a lie of a word anyway.  Everything can mean something.”  He murmurs sagely, leaving Todd to stew with the words as Nancy reaches their table with a stack of plates in each arm.  He pretends like the words haven’t burned into his mind as he eats.  He pretends he isn’t silently hoping that that means he might have a chance with the glowing actor and his kind brown eyes.

“That’s why I’ve elected myself to be your father,” Pitts is saying, some time later in the evening, “your parents fucking suck.  Excuse my language.”  He says as Nancy scoots over to offer the men more coffee.

With a shake of her head, she laughs brightly.  “No worries, boys.  Loving the look, by the way, sugar,” she motions to Charlie, who bows his head with a grin.

“I'm a trendsetter, what can I say?”

Meeks shakes his head.  “I'll stick with my beanie though, thanks Charlie.  Oh– none for me, thank you.”

Todd accepts a mugful of coffee against his better judgement and thanks Nancy himself before she’s gone again.  He takes two little buckets of creamer off of the tower Pitts has constructed in front of himself and apologizes profusely for his ruining of the architecture.

“I feel like we’ve been living in this place lately.”  Pitts observes, head swinging about to take in the cracked red vinyl booth seats and grease shined tables surrounding them.

“That's just how hell week goes.”  Charlie murmurs, playing with a discarded straw wrapper.  The dark makeup still clinging to his under eyes makes him look even more tired than he sounds.

“Would you rather go home and eat cup noodles instead?  Box mac n’ cheese?”  Meeks teases, and Pitts shakes his head.

“Nah.  I think I'm okay here.  With you guys.”  His smile is genuine, and it stretches into a yawn.  Todd clutches his coffee mug, warmth seeping into his palms.

“I don't want to go to work tomorrow.”  Charlie groans, dropping his head to the table with a bang .

“Y’know, it’s funny,” Todd starts, "I really can’t even see you at a desk job.  What do you do again?”

“I'm a bank accountant.”  Charlie's words are muffled, his face still pressed into the table.  Todd giggles.

“So you sing about Nazi scum six nights a week then wake up the next morning and just…sit behind a desk all day?  Like I seriously can’t picture it,” Todd laughs.  And it was true, Todd couldn’t imagine the Charlie Dalton, confined to the three walls of a cubicle, donning a drab grey suit.

“You should start doing up your makeup for work.  There are some great drag looks I think you could pull off.”  Meeks suggests, and Charlie laughs.

“If my father didn’t own the place, I would.”  He’s lifted his head now, voice ringing clear when he does an impression of his father, “‘the workplace is a a space for professionalism, Charlie, not your artsy games.’”

“Well what’s he gonna do, fire you?”  Pitts asks, and Charlie scoffs.

“Hell yes he would, and then, no more breakfasts for you lot.”  Charlie points at each of them in turn, and pits gasps, faking horror.

“Parents suck,” Pitts sighs, and Meeks frowns.

“Hey!  I like my mom.”

“Your mom’s a saint, Meeksie.”  Charlie confirms.

She'd sent Meeks enough homemade cookies for an army last Christmas, and Todd had been secretly hoping she’d send more for this year’s holidays.  Her snickerdoodles were some of the most amazing things Todd had ever tasted, even after being in the post for days.

“Well it’s not like we all don’t know the real reason Charlie doesn’t want to go into work tomorrow.”  Pitts is instigating, and he knows it, his eyebrows raised and a smirk playing on his lips.  He’s looking to get a reaction out of Charlie, and is doing a pretty fine job because he scowls and launches into defending himself.

“I should get the day off before a performance, is why,” but Pitts is talking over him, saying, “because you-know-who will be there,” in a sing-songy voice that sets Todd and Meeks giggling like grade schoolers.

Knox was the bank’s legal counsel, so to say that he and Charlie met through work would technically be accurate.  However, there was a funnier story there, one that involved a Grindr date and an awkward hallway run-in the next morning as Knox realized the reason Charlie had fled his apartment so early was to get to the workplace they both attended.

Telling that story was the first time Todd had seen Charlie embarrassed, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheekbones. 

“Leave me alone!” Charlie laughs, "I thought you guys were my friends!”  Todd finishes his coffee and grins across the table.

“We are.  That’s why we get to pester you.”  He leans up across the table to pull Charlie's beret over his eyes.

“Who turned out the lights?”  Charlie jokes, standing up and groping around for his coat.  “What do you say we get out of here, boys?”

“Oh let me help you out there Char– please, I insist,” Meeks pulls Charlie's hat off his eyes, sets it askew atop his head.

“A true fashion icon.”  Pitts grins, collecting his things.

As they burst out of Tony’s and into the night, Charlie lights a cigarette, offers one to Todd.  They smoke and murmur to each other when Pitts and Meeks make fun, calling their mutual habit gross and cancer-inducing.  It’s not that they were wrong, it’s just that Todd figured they all had their vices, and he was allowed his, as unhealthy as it were.

“Your secondhand smoke will kill us!”  Meeks exclaims, coughing dramatically.  Todd sticks out his tongue, but is careful to stay a step behind, making sure the wind isn’t blowing directly into one of his friend’s faces when he exhales.

The city was quiet as they bounded off, waving goodbye at the usual intersections and creeping back towards the warmth waiting for them behind front doors.

Halfway home and cold enough to pull a hat out from the depths of his bag and cram it on his head, Todd's phone rings.  He scrambles for it, gloved hands slipping.  He’s expecting Charlie, maybe he’d gotten lonely on the way home, or wanted to say goodnight, as he sometimes did, or maybe his brother.  Aside from sending each other the occasional meme, they hadn’t really spoken in ages, and Todd was hoping Jeff had been thinking about him, now that the holidays were looming.

The name flashing across his screen surprises him though, and he nearly misses hitting accept in his haste.

“Hey,” the voice crackles, easygoing and soft.  Neil.  Todd had been contemplating catching the subway, but can’t risk losing cell service in the belly of the city now.

“I– hi.  Good evening, or,” Todd pulls the phone away from his ear to check the time, “or, good morning, I guess.”

He can hear the smile in Neil's voice when he responds.  He tells his heart to stop fluttering, but it refuses stubbornly.  “Yeah, sorry, Charlie wasn’t picking up so I figured he was with you guys.”

“We just parted ways.  A bit ago, at least.  I actually thought you were him at first, calling me.”

“Well what are you up to then?”  Neil's question is punctuated with a yawn, and Todd smiles a little.

“Just walking home.”

“All alone?”

“Well I guess you’re keeping me company now,” Todd wonders if Neil can hear the smile creeping onto his face, “but yes, all alone.”  Todd swings his head back and forth, deeming an intersection clear enough before making a run for it.  No horns honk in his direction, and he marks this as a success.

Neil hums sleepily.  “It's late, you know.  Late to be walking home.”

Todd isn’t sure what the purpose of this conversation is, but it leaves his insides feeling bubbly, lighter than air.  He thinks back to his earlier revelation with a pang, and then finds himself remembering Charlie's words, which brings him right around to thinking of Charlie.  Right, Charlie, the reason Neil called in the first place.

“You could probably try calling Charlie again now,” Todd suggests, “or, uh, you should probably get some sleep.  You were fantastic today, but I can image it’s pretty tiring.”

“You’re the one–” Neil cuts himself off with a yawn, “–doing all the work, really.  You should go to bed too.”  Coffee is still flowing through Todd's veins, keeping him awake, alert.  He laughs and agrees anyway.

“I guess I probably should.  As soon as I get to my bed.”

“Oh, right.  Well I’ll keep you company until then.”

Todd laughs softly.  “If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Well alright.”  Todd walks along, breath puffing out in front of him, listening to Neil on the other end of the phone.  For a moment it’s quiet, and then Neil is rustling around, whispering into the speaker.

“Wait, listen to this.”  The swish of curtains parting, the squeal of a window opening, and then, nothing.  Todd strains to hear, pressing the phone closer to his ear.

“What?”  Todd breathes, and Neil laughs.

“Exactly.  It’s almost silent.  Isn’t that fantastic in a place like this?”  More rustling, the sound of the window sliding back shut, and Neil's breath in Todd's ear.  “I like it here, I really do, but isn’t it just so loud most of the time?  I mean, same,” Neil laughs, but it’s low and almost sad, “but sometimes it’s nice to just be quiet.”  Neil's voice is soft, as if he’s sharing some fragile truth he hasn’t let loose in a long time.

“Yeah,” Todd agrees, “it is.”  He spots his apartment building looming in the distance, lobby lights a beacon in the not-so-dark of the city.

“I’m just about home, by the way.”  He mumbles, pulling his keys from their secure place in his pocket.  They rattle and jingle, silly keychains dangling from his simple set of keys, and Neil yawns again.

“I'm imagining your apartment.”  He declares, and Todd laughs.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.  You've got a record player, probably, maybe a couple shelves of books,” Neil drawls sleepily, and Todd listens as he breezes through the lobby of his building and up the stairs, “do you have a typewriter?  Wait, yes, you do.  On a little desk, beside a stack of CDs.  I've decided you really like physical media, if you haven’t noticed.  And, wow, your taste in bedspreads is horrible.  Truly.”

“You're too kind.”  Todd mumbles, tucking the phone up against his ear with his shoulder so that he can use both hands to take off his gloves.  He unlocks his apartment door, opens it up and promptly puts Neil on speaker, setting his phone down on the coffee table in front of the door that he almost always trips on.

“But your kitchen is cute.  Impressive mug collection.  What's your favorite kind of tea?  D’you like chai?”  It takes Todd a second to process that he’s actually being asked a question, and he pauses in the doorway, coat halfway off his shoulders.

“Yes, actually.  Chai is good.  I’ll drink anything though, really.”  He sets himself back into motion, hangs his coat on a small corner rack and kicks off his shoes, scooping his phone up as he crosses to the kitchen.

“You should make some of that sleepytime tea.  You seem like the type to have some.”  Neil's observation is painfully accurate.  Todd sets his phone on the counter and opens a low cupboard, filled with various tea tins and a minimum of four boxes of herbal sleepytime tea.  The snoozing bear on the front of the box taunts Todd, who knows he should sleep but still finds his mind whirring a thousand miles a minute.

“Maybe you should make yourself some tea too, Neil.  Then hit the hay.  You were a great walking buddy.”  Todd stands up to lean back against the counter, talks down at his phone from where he rests.  “And it’s been a long day.”  He adds, after a moment of precarious silence.

Neil sighs, the sound crackling over Todd's phone and into the still air of his apartment.  “Yeah, you’re right.”  Neil pauses, before so, so softly saying, “thanks for picking up, Todd.”

Neil's voice has this sort of gentle, lullaby-ish affect, and Todd finds himself whispering, “of course, anytime,” in response to it, his own voice holding a raw sort of sincerity he hadn’t meant to betray.

And then his phone clicks off, screen going black.

He sighs and sets the kettle on, scrubbing at his eyes and muttering at himself for his own stupidity.

The kettle hollers at him and he silently apologizes to his neighbors as he snatches it off the stove.  He steeps a tea bag in his favorite mug, something he’d picked up from a thrift store ages ago, and cradles the mug in his hands once it’s cooled to a reasonable temperature.

Neil’s voice echoes in his head, gentle and kind and sort of sad in a way that makes Todd completely unsure of what to do next.

In a final act of what feels like brash stupidity, he snaps a picture of his steaming mug of tea sitting atop his writing desk, his typewriter displayed in all its glory beside his cup.  He hadn’t told anyone about his writing before, mostly because he’d seen it as nothing more than a pipe dream.  It was a hobby he’d picked up in junior high, along with a basic understanding of a light board, before his father had attempted to steer him in other directions.

Still, hearing Neil mention a typewriter was like hearing him say he’d stepped inside Todd's mind for a look around, and Todd felt strangely…calm about being read so easily.

This is a totally casual thing to do, Todd decides.  He was just making small talk, referencing a conversation they’d had earlier.  That was completely allowed, right?

Before he can overthink it to an excessive degree, he sends the picture to Neil, an accompanying message reading, your guess was pretty spot on.

Neil responds with a haha ♥️, and Todd goes to bed more confused than ever before, but with a smile on his face.