OTA

[kersen]

Kersen sometimes did this thing where when he was feeling his worst, he tried to look his best. Elaborate drag when he was the most down, for example. Like maybe he could force cheerfulness with sequins and lipstick.

This time, he couldn't seem to muster up the energy for drag, though. What "look" said 'I just found out a lover is a serial killer'? Particularly coupled with 'what does this say about my taste in men'? Finally, he'd just gone with the forced cheerfulness: dark purple leather pants and a shirt (gifted to him by an employee years ago) that read OF COURSE I'M PRO-GAY, DO YOU THINK I WORK THIS HARD TO BE AN AMATEUR GAY in bright rainbow colors.

... also he'd started smoking again. Which was a little ironic since he was pretty sure that any effect they had on him was purely psychosomatic.

However, at the moment he was having a smoke break outside his bar. It was fairly early yet, just past 9pm. The streets were still full, lively with people leaving restaurants and shops, heading into bars and theaters. He liked this time of night, where the world was still alive. Wished he could experience more of it.

Some asshole walking by threw a homophobic slur at him, and he was briefly, stupidly tempted to flash his fangs as a threat. Instead he said, "The most fabulous you'll ever see, honey," and flicked the cigarette to the ground. Luckily it was the cowardly sort of asshole, and he just stuck up his middle finger and kept walking.

Comments

[kersen]

Kersen smirked a little. "Thanks." And assuming he'd seen what had just happened, added, "I'm surprised you didn't deck the guy."

[trustearned]

"If you don't mind risking the coppers right outside your bar, I can still catch up with him," Michael offered evenly. "You were smoking."

It was not something he was used to Kersen doing.

[kersen]

"That's okay," Kersen said. He glanced down at the discarded cigarette. "Yes. The impulse comes and goes. I tend to do it when I'm stressed. Not that I think they actually do anything for me, I guess it's psychosomatic."

[trustearned]

"Addiction is in the mind as much as the body," Michael replied, hands in the pockets of his warm coat.

[kersen]

"Not sure I'd say it's an addiction," said Kersen. "But... yes. Sorry, I've been - " He rubbed the top of one of his arms with his other hand. "I'm not in a good headspace, still."

[trustearned]

"Do you want me to go?" Michael asked. He would do as Kersen wanted.

[kersen]

"No," said Kersen immediately, and grabbed one of Michael's hands. "Please don't. Did you come just to see me? I wasn't expecting you. It's a nice surprise."

[trustearned]

"I was nearby," Michael answered, letting Kersen have his forearm, if not his hand, both of which were warmly ensconced in his coat pockets. "Let's go inside."

If Kersen was done not being an addict for the moment; it was quite cold.

[kersen]

Michael's skin was always warmer than Kersen's, and so he liked the way it felt against his hand. "Yes, I imagine you're cold," he said with a little smile, and led him inside. "Do you want a drink? Or we could just go back to my office." He didn't know how Michael felt about being in the crowd.

[trustearned]

"You're not working?" Michael checked. Just because he'd been out for a cigarette didn't mean he wasn't needed in the bar.

[kersen]

"Not exactly," said Kersen with a shrug. "I tend to flit in and out. I have some bookkeeping to do but it's not urgent. I did promise I'd play a song or two... would you like to have a drink and spectate for a bit?"

[trustearned]

Michael nodded in agreement, opening his coat and following Kersen towards the bar.

[kersen]

By now Kersen's employees all recognized Michael (as did probably a fair number of the regulars), so no one really looked twice as they went inside. With anyone else Kersen might have brought Michael onto the piano bench with him while he played, but instead when they got to a table near the piano he said, "You sit right here. Get a drink if you like. Any requests?"

[trustearned]

"Not in particular," Michael answered. He had never been much of a jazz fan; he wasn't here for the music. He ordered a Scotch and put his coat on the back of his chair, his gaze on Kersen but his attention on the entire room.

[kersen]

Kersen hadn't really been expecting Michael to show any particular enthusiasm for his music, but well, he'd been going to play anyway.

He sat down at the piano, and played and sang. First "I've Got You Under My Skin" and then a jazz arrangement of "Ring of Fire."

When he was done, there was a smattering of applause and he went back over to Michael.

[trustearned]

Michael had applauded with the rest, and not just to blend in. He had actually enjoyed that last cover. When Kersen walked back over to him, he pushed the chair across from him slightly away from the table with one foot. An invitation, unless Kersen wanted to go into the back, or downstairs to his flat.

[kersen]

Kersen sat, crossing his legs and turning to Michael.

"I think I might have seen you smile a bit at that," he said with a little smile of his own.

[trustearned]

"I'll try not to do that again," Michael assured him. For all that his tone was as even as usual, this was his idea of a joke.

[kersen]

"But I like it when I make you smile, honey," Kersen said, and reached out and traced his fingertips lightly over the top of Michael's hand on the table.

[trustearned]

Michael tilted his head slightly, the long-suffering frown on his brow saying it all, but he left his hand under Kersen's. Honey.

[kersen]

Kersen's lips curled into a slow smile. "If you don't like that you should really provide me with some other suggestion for a verbal token of affection."

[trustearned]

"Calling me Michael would be the best way for you to show me your affection," Michael assured him dryly. It was completely true.

[kersen]

"Michael," said Kersen, precisely the same way he would say 'honey.' He curled his fingers through Michael's.

[trustearned]

"You're in a mood," Michael remarked, still not reacting to Kersen's hand, letting him do as he pleased with his fingers.

[kersen]

Kersen's face fell a bit, and he pulled his hand away, drawing his fingers through his hair.

"Sorry."