Chapter Text
Being a full-time nanny wasn't fun at all, and the twins were giving him a headache. They were loud and screaming their lungs out while Style tried to feed them. The food went flying everywhere except into their mouths, and the white kitchen counters weren't that white anymore as pieces of the mashed peas were scattered all over the marble surfaces.
He looked at the mess around him, knowing he had a lot of cleaning to do before his boss would get home.
It was his fourth job this month, and he had gotten it somewhat accidentally.
He had just seen a man struggling with his kids at the mall, and offered to help out of the kindness of his heart, not knowing it would end up solving most of his money problems.
The man, Boss, had offered him a job as a nanny, apparently not knowing how much nannies usually got paid, and Style had quickly accepted the job, thinking the man was actually a bit of an idiot.
It was hard work, though.
The house was too big, and too white, and the twins were too messy, making him feel dead tired most of the days.
He had reluctantly begun to realize money wasn't much of a motivator after all. It was nice to have it, but when he was hungry, and his back was aching after a long day of cleaning and making sure the twins stayed alive, it wasn't as satisfying as he had thought.
“Die, die!” the other twin yelled.
“Yes, I'm Style, I know,” he said, and scooped a spoon full of the green mash. “Open up, here comes the train.”
The train fell off its tracks as the twin smacked the spoon. The dollop fell on the counter, next to the others, where it got spread against the sleeve of the other twin.
He would have to do laundry as well, apparently.
Why were kids so messy?
The evening had already set when Style was hanging the twins washed clothes to dry. The house was mostly cleaned, but that didn't mean anything.
Tomorrow was another day, and another mess waiting for him.
The house phone went off, just as he got the last little sock placed next to the others on the drying rack.
It was a nasty sound, and he ran to the phone before it could wake up the twins, who were finally sleeping after the six books he had read to them.
“Hello,” he said once he got the speaker in his hand.
“Style, there's a little problem, and I need your help!” Boss said fast from the other end.
“Okay.”
“I need you to go to the Blue Ocean night club, and pick up a friend of mine. He's drunk, and probably in some bad company. Just bring him to my place, I'll pay you extra.”
“What about the twins?”
“I'm on my way home, you can leave right now,” he said, and surprisingly hung up.
Style stared at the phone in his hand, before slowly placing it back.
That was a little weird.
How was he supposed to know what the friend even looked like?
But there was a Bing sound coming from his pocket, and when he pulled his phone out, he saw Boss had sent him a text. It was a blurry picture of a dude, walking on the sidewalk of some rugged street, and it looked a lot like the picture was taken from quite far away.
It didn't really give him a clear idea what the guy looked like though, but text said “Hurry up”, so he did.
It wasn't like he hadn't run errands before, but he had hoped he'd be home by now, eating and finally sitting down.
With a long sigh, he pushed the security panel open, and locked the house.
The Blue Ocean night club was not familiar to him, and once he googled his way to its location, an irritated little huff escaped from his lips. The place was on the other side of the city, and he would even have to go past his house to get there.
He would have a long evening ahead of him, whether he liked it or not.
He parked his small car next to the night club, and walked in, only to be carded at the door. The bouncer was slow, taking his time studying him, and he was getting more and more anxious by the time wasted. Finally he handed him his ID back with a slick smile, but before he could say anything, Style pushed him aside and marched into the club.
A loud music hit his ears as soon as he walked to the bar.
Everything was ocean themed, right down to the tacky fishing net with plastic star fishes tangled in it, hanging behind the bar. The waiters were wearing striped blue shirts, buzzing around the floor as he looked around, trying to spot the guy from the picture.
It was a bit too dark, but there was only one table at the back of the room, with a dude close enough to the one in the picture, who was leaning his head against the armrest, not sober at all.
The people sitting around the table seemed to be quite interested in the drunk dude, and they were gathered around him like vultures.
Style made his way to the table with sharp steps.
He was hungry, and cranky, and he felt his patience level dropping when he saw the shining gold watches and other luxuries on the people around the table.
They were a bunch of rich kids, and apparently he was babysitting adults now too.
“Okay assholes, the party's over. He’s coming with me!” Style said loudly over the music, and pushed one of the guys to get to the drunken one.
“Who the fuck are you?” the guys asked.
Style was trying to get a hold of the nodding mess sitting on the chair, but paused to turn to look at the guy.
“You don't know me,” he said with his best “time to go for a nap”-voice that always worked with the twins.
The table fell silent, and all eyes turned to the man sitting across from them.
His smile had vanished as soon as Style turned to look at them all, and he studied Style with a cautious look in his eyes.
Irritated, Style huffed and grabbed the drunk man, swinging him over his shoulder in a fast move.
God, he was heavy.
“You'll be hearing about this,” Style said, warning, wanting them to just back off, so he could leave.
And it worked.
All of them stayed seated, a bit stunned as Style made his way to the door.
The bouncer was tapping his phone, not moving fast enough for Style's liking, and he swore to the man as well.
“Fucking do your job!”
Fast, he swung the door open for him, and Style hurried to his car, before his legs would give in.
“Who are you?” the drunken dude asked, when Style was trying to stuff him into his car.
He had opened his eyes, and once he looked around, he started fighting back.
“Look, I'm taking you away from your crappy friends, okay. You're drunk, and need to sober up. Choose your friend better next time,” he said, and pushed the guy more into the back seat.
“Who do you work for?” he asked, flopping his head down against the seat.
“The twins,” Style sighed, and closed the door after making sure the guy was fully in.
The drive back was a disaster.
The guy was awake, asking weird questions and trying to open the doors. Once he got the window rolled half way open, he tried to climb out.
Style was ready to dump his ass into the curb.
They were clearly not going to make it to the other side of the city, and with a quick change of plans, Style drove toward his flat.
The guy could just sober up there, and be on his merry way. It probably didn't matter where the guy would sleep it off.
“Okay, spider man, get the fuck in, I'm gonna open the door and we are going to go in,” he said, after parking the car next to his building.
The guy didn't move though.
“I got water and snacks inside,” he tried.
That didn't help either, and eventually Style just pushed his head inside the car, so he could open the door for him. The guy flopped back, mumbling something, but too tired to do anything else.
“Come on, let's get you into bed,” he said, and helped the guy out of the car.
“I don't think I can get it up,” the guy said, blinking fast and looking around.
“Good to know.”
Slowly, but surely they walked to the second floor, the guy leaning heavily on him with every step.
Inside, he seemed dead tired after the effort, and Style landed him down on the sofa, sighing with relief.
The guy was out cold, laying on his back, and Style pulled him on his side, so he wouldn't drown in his own spit.
He went to get a bucket, placing it on the floor next to the guy's head.
He hadn't bothered with the lights, and the room was dark, apart from the soft glow of the city's lights that hit the guy's face. His hair was a messy bundle, hanging on his forehead, and before he could stop himself, he had pushed it aside.
He had to admit that the guy was not bad to look at.
Not at all.