It was worth it, in any case, even if Alphonse does spend the next hour occasionally glaring at Sam and saying he’s glad he’s alive. As the streaky dawn light brightens into a warm June morning, Sam thinks almost anything would be worth it for a few more minutes in bed with Jake. And he thinks, too, that today he could face any irate customer, any grim daily total, any stupid, poisonous review. The knowledge that Jake is upstairs, snoozing comfortably while Sam starts the day, is like a balm to all the petty wounds of working life.
As they get closer to opening, the rest of the morning shift shuffles in for their slightly later call times. Joey’s late, grinningand sheepish, waving Sam off again when he offers to let them just take the day. They need the money, apparently, to help defray the cost of some mysterious afternoon plans. This element of the unknown draws the attention of the rest of the staff, who, as they finish their opening tasks, all drift towards the front to observe or participate in the ongoing attempt to get them to divulge the details.
This is why, when Jake comes down five minutes before the deli opens, everyone on shift is loosely grouped in front of the stairwell. Even if it weren’t for the hour, or the loose, unkempt state of Jake’s hair, it’s obvious in a glance what’s happened between them: Jake is wearing one of Sam’s favorite T-shirts and a pair of his boxers, that latter of which fit him like regular shorts but very visibly are not.
Jake sees the assembled at the same moment they see him, when he’s about halfway down the stairs. He freezes, instantly turning the unhappy gray color of overcooked meat; the staff freezes, although some of them only after their mouths have dropped open; everyone stares, aghast, at everyone. Jake’s eyes meet Sam’s, panicked and too wide, and he squeaks, as though speaking only to Sam, “Oh, God. I…forgot.”
Sound erupts from the room, everyone seeming to decide to speak at once.
“I KNEW IT,” Joey shrieks, pumping their fist in the air. “Luce owes me twenty dollars; Iknewthe two of you would have to get over yourselves eventually and bone!”
“I should’veguessedthat’s why you were down late for the door this morning,” Alphonse says, grinning at Sam and shaking his head. “I bet even death wouldn’t have stopped you, you’d just have floated down and unlocked it as a ghost, but if it was him distracting you? Completely checks out.”
“How long has this been going on?” Eileen demands, and, fixing Sam with a gimlet eye, adds, “Joanie’s going to be verydispleased to be hearing about it fromme, you know.Verydispleased.”
“You don’t have to tell her,” Sam says to Eileen. He hasn’t glanced away from Jake, who is starting to look less panicked and more grimly resigned to his fate; there’s even a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Sam should quit smiling, probably. It’s just that he hasn’t been able to stop since he woke up this morning.
And then Jake’s smiling, too, and running an embarrassed hand over his face, and laughing the strained, slightly desperate laugh of those in situations where there’s nothing to dobutlaugh. After a beat Sam starts laughing, too, and then they’re all laughing, and shaking their heads, and getting back to work. Someone calls out, “About time, you crazy kids!” While Sam knows logically that itmusthave been Eileen, he can’t quite convince himself that’s possible.
Jake, with a look at Sam that says quite clearly,I am playing it cool but have died ten thousand deaths inside, turns around and proceeds back upstairs at a rather quicker pace than he descended. He’s gone for a few minutes and then, seemingly having decided he has no choice but to brazen it out, re-emerges wearing the same stolen T-shirt, but also a stolen pair of Sam’s sweatpants.
“I don’t remember saying you could borrow my clothes,” Sam teases, not meaning it at all, when Jake joins him at the far counter. If anything, he finds Jake’s casual appropriation of his wardrobe a promising sign, not to mention upsettingly sexy.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t say I could announce that we hooked up last night to the entire staff in the most personally embarrassing way possible, and I did that anyway, so.” Jake shrugs, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Might be best to assume I’m a bit of a wild card.”
Mindful of the fact that they have an audience, however occupied everyone might seem, Sam bumps his shoulder against Jake’s. “You’re not really worried about that, are you? Because I promise you, it’s fine. They like you! Nobody’s going to be weird about it.”
Again, Jake’s smile looks slightly hollow; he never did, Sam remembers, like to be seen by a group with anything else than perfect control of himself. “Thanks, that…helps. Look, can we go to dinner tonight, maybe? Somewhere less, uh, here? Not that here isn’t great, it’s just attached to your apartment, and I want to actually talk to you, not, um.” He glances up at Sam, his cheeks flushing and his smile abruptly looking a lot more genuine, and finishes, “Not get too distracted to talk to you.”
Sam beams at him, delighted by this idea. “Absolutely. Johnny’s? After close? They’re just around the corner, and the food’s great.”
“Great,” Jake echoes. He glances around, looking hunted, before confiding in low tones, “I feel like a zoo animal. I’m going to go to work now, where no one’s ever seen me in my underwearoryours.”
“Do you not count those leotards you used to wear as underwear?” Sam smirks when Jake blushes. “Wait, do youstillwear them? Because if so, I’d like to see?—”
“Bye, Sam!” Jake says with finality. But he pauses, blush deepening, and then leans in and quickly kisses Sam before hurrying off.
They don’t end up making it to Johnny’s. Around 3 p.m., Jake walks back into the diner with his hair askew and his eyes wild. The wild eyes aren’t surprising—Jake looks like that a few times a day, most days, and often over such minor horrors as “Someone on television used an idiom wrong,” or, “The burritos at a nearby restaurant are slightly different than they werefifteen years ago.” But the hair is downright alarming, from Jake.
“Uh,” Sam says. “You good?”
“Not really,” Jake admits. “I’m kind of in a bit of a…situation.” He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it straight up as he does so, which at least answers the question of how he came to look like he’s about to be struck by lightning. “Weird question, but how much do you know about, like, catering?”
Sam gives him a flat look, not sure if this is a joke or not. When Jake just stares imposingly back at him, he gestures at the deli around them, and then at the delivery van visible through the open window.
Jake’s face collapses into a comical little scrunch of regret, and then he says, “God, right, sorry, I’m an idiot, terrible phrasing, of course you know about catering, sorry, I wasn’t like?—”
Sam, abruptly remembering he can, steps into Jake’s space, kisses him silent, and then runs a hand through his wild hair a few times, taming it back down. Jake seems to deflate slightly, sagging forward to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder. So quietly Sam can’t be entirely sure he heard it right, Jake murmurs, “Christ. I’d forgotten how nice it is when you do that.” Then he straightens up, and offers Sam a rueful smile, and says: “Hi, first of all, should have started there, and sorry again, and: I meant, like, the legal side? Of catering? Contracts or whatever?”
“Oh, sure,” Sam says. “I know a little. Why?”
“Well, you know the recital coming up? On Friday?”
Jake looks very relieved when Sam nods, as though he was expecting Sam to have forgotten the assorted conversations they’ve had about it over the last several weeks. “Yeah, of course. You’re afraid Jared S. is going to break his ankle and ruin your fledgling reputation as an instructor.”
“Jared S. is the least of my worries!” A long, involved tale follows this, although Jake insists Sam not interrupt his work and so trails Sam around the restaurant to tell it. When he steps into the kitchen he reaches into the bin of hairnets by the door and puts one on, undoing Sam’s work to smooth his flyaways down, without even breaking flow. There are a lot of personal grudges at play between people Jake only half-knows, so Sam doesn’t quite follow all of it. The gist seems to be: The event’s long-time caterer has pulled out at the last minute, and claims that the studio owes them not only the money they would have paid for the meal, but also a cancellation fee.
