Chapter Text
Another day. The same as the other days. Shane woke up to the piercing sound of his alarm exactly at 7:07. He always set his alarms with uneven numbers. Though if someone asked him to explain why, he wouldn’t have the words to explain it. It just felt right.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up. He sat on the edge of the mattress for a moment, rubbing his palms against his face, the cool morning air biting at his bare feet.
Routine was his anchor. Without it, the day tended to blur into an overwhelming fog. His feet guided him into the cramped bathroom. It was a mechanical sequence there: the toilet flushing, jolt of freezing water splashing onto his face and then came the minty scrape of his toothbrush.
The kitchen was really just a single counter and a fridge shoved into the corner of the living room, he pulled out a tub of plain yogurt. He ate slowly, spoon scraping quietly against the ceramic bowl. The apartment was small, the wallpaper was peeling and the walls were so thin he could hear the neighbor’s TV humming through it.
It wasn’t luxury or nice. The building sat on a gray, neglected street where the sirens wailed too often at night. But it was a roof over his head.
The rent was climbing and the bills sat on his small table like ticking time bombs.
After breakfast and washing the dishes, he went back to his bedroom to get ready for work. His uniform consisted of black slacks and black shirt with short sleeves. Just looking at it made his skin prickle. The black shirt was made of a cheap synthetic blend that didn’t breathe. As he pulled it over his head, the fabric scraped against his neck. Shane swallowed hard, tugging at the collar. On bad days, the shirt felt less like clothing and more like a trap, making him feel like he wanted to literally crawl out of his own skin. He shoved his legs into the matching, equally stiff black slacks.
He stood before the mirror, styling his black hair a little. Finally, he picked up a bottle of drugstore cologne, spraying a single burst onto his wrists.
By the sixth hour of his shift, the ambient noise of clinking silverware, low chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine was starting to feel like a physical weight pressing against his temples. He was masking it well, smiling politely at families and clearing plates automatically, but inside, he was just counting down the minutes until he could strip out of the uniform.
At least he had a shift with Hayden.
Hayden was currently across the restaurant, effortlessly balancing a tray of drinks while laughing at a regular’s joke. When Shane had first started working here, Hayden had immediately stepped in. He hadn't judged Shane for how he sometimes stared blankly when given too many instructions at once.
Instead, Hayden had adapted. He instinctively lowered his voice when speaking to Shane, kept his questions direct and gave Shane the quiet space he needed to process things sometimes.
Through Hayden, Shane had met Jackie. They were freshly married and Jackie was the kind of person who seemed to radiate warmth. The couple had essentially adopted Shane into their lives. Shane was struggling with many things and he couldn’t be more grateful for having Hayden with Jackie in his life. They were the only people in his life.
“Hey, Shane,” Hayden’s voice was low as he stepped up beside Shane, nodding his head toward a booth tucked away in the far corner, “Can you take that table for me?”
“Sure, Hayd,” Shane nodded as he took the menus and made his way to the said table. He took a breath to prepare his customer service persona. But as he drew closer, his pace slowed.
At the table sat two men. Even sitting down, it was obvious they were broad and athletic. As Shane stopped at the edge of their table, he realized they were also handsome, especially the one sitting on the right.
“Hello, my name is Shane and I’m your server for today. Can I get you guys something to drink?” Shane recited, the practiced words slipping out smoothly as he placed the menus in front of them.
“I’ll have a beer,” said the man on the left. He had sharp features, dark stubble shadowing a strong jawline and pitch-black hair neatly styled
Shane nodded and wrote down his order. Then he looked at the second man and the air in his lungs suddenly felt very tight.
The man was beautiful. A halo of light brown curls framed a face defined by a clean-shaven jaw, thick eyebrows and impossibly plush lips. But it was his eyes that locked Shane in place, a piercing, icy blue. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric stretching against his shoulders and the thick muscles of his arms.
“I’ll have a coke, please” said the man. His voice was deep and Shane could not miss the accent. He had to bite the inside of his cheek. He nodded again as he forced his eyes down to his notepad and wrote the man’s order as well.
“Uhm, I would need to check your ID,” Shane said to the black-haired man, even though he seemed to be in his late twenties. It was kind of stupid to ask that, but the rules were rules. Shane suddenly felt a weird feeling, almost like he was a little disappointed that the curly man had not ordered a beer or another alcoholic drink, so he could check his ID as well. He was dying to know what the man’s name was or how old he was. Even though he looked like he wouldn’t be much younger than the black-haired man.
“Alright, I will be back with your drinks right away,” he murmured, handing the ID back to the first man after a quick glance. He gathered himself, offering them a small smile that felt too shy for a waiter.
As he turned on his heel, he could feel it, the icy blue eyes following him. Shane practically fled to the terminal to put in the drink orders, fingers trembling as they tapped the touchscreen. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to force his heart rate back down to a normal rhythm. The weight of that man’s gaze had thrown him completely off balance.
After grabbing the coke and the beer, he walked back over, carefully setting the glasses down. The two men were still scanning the menus. Shane stepped back, letting them have their space while he quickly busied himself by wiping down another table.
Once he finished, he stepped back into their space, his notepad ready, “Are you guys ready to order?”
“Two linguine with salmon,” the man with the accent said. It sounded more like a command than a request. Maybe his voice and accent made that sound even more like that. It sent a tingle straight up Shane’s spine. Shane looked up and his breath hitched. The man was looking right at him, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Those blue eyes hadn’t left Shane for a second, completely pinning him to the spot.
“A-alright,” Shane stammered, voice betraying him, “It will be right out,” he offered another terribly shy smile and spun on his heel, going to the kitchen as fast as he could.
He leaned against the silver prep table, trying to get his breathing back in order, but he wasn’t really successful. His mind was suddenly full of the curly-haired man. That was odd. He had never felt something like this before. He was never interested in people like that. and he definitely had never checked someone out before, like he did with this man.
He knew he was not into women at all, he had discovered and accepted that back in his teenage years. But he had never, ever, reacted to a man like this before. Frowning, he nervously scratched at his forearm, nails digging into his skin as a wave of anxiety washed over him.
“Hey, is everything alright?” Hayden’s voice interrupted his train of thoughts. Shane’s head snapped up. He blinked slowly at Hayden, processing what he was asking him.
“Huh? Yeah, everything’s okay,” he mumbled. Hayden inspected him with careful eyes and Shane made himself smile slightly. Hayden narrowed his eyes but after a moment he nodded and left to take care of his tables.
The rest of the evening went kind of smoothly. Shane kept working as he always did, running plates and refilling glasses. But no matter where he stood, he could feel those icy blue eyes tracking his every move.
When the two men finally got up and left, Shane let out a breath and went to clean the table. As his brown eyes landed on the check books, he froze.
Resting right on top of the bill the curly-haired man had paid, was a crisp, neatly folded $100 bill. Shane’s heart gave a thud against his ribs. The total hadn’t been anywhere near that. It had to be a mistake. Maybe he’d pulled out the wrong bill by accident. Panic flared in his throat, he couldn’t just keep someone’s misplaced money. Shane grabbed the cash and ran through the restaurant to the front doors, bursting through them into the cool night air.
He frantically looked left, then right, scanning the dimly lit sidewalk. But the streets were quiet and the two men were completely gone.
Shane exhaled, the night air chilling the sweat on the back of his neck. He carefully folded the bill and slipped it deep into his pocket.
Later that night, the apartment was dead silent. Shane lay in his bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin, his skin finally free of the scratchy uniform after a long, hot shower. But sleep wouldn’t come.
His mind kept looping back to the restaurant. He stared at the ceiling, visualizing the man’s massive shoulders, the way the black fabric of his t-shirt strained against his muscles. And that accent…Shane closed his eyes, letting the sound of it echo in his memory. It was definitely Slavic. Russian, maybe?
He thought about those huge arms and a sudden thought drifted through his mind. An image of being easily lifted by those arms, trapped against a broad chest, maybe even tossed around just a little.
As his eyelids finally grew heavy, his very last thought was a quiet, desperate hope that the man would come back to the restaurant.