Work Text:
David Brittlesbee used to believe in soulmates.
That was until his alleged soulmate kinda ruined their 10th wedding anniversary dinner by breaking up with him.
She told him this in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence that always happens after they order food. David asked for spaghetti Aglio e olio and she asked for a Ceasar salad and a divorce.
“A divorce?” David asked, though, in a way that saddens him in the future, he wasn't surprised.
“Yes,” she said, tone flat and eyes on the table.
“Huh,” was all he could reply with.
The week after the trial, his ex-wife decided to move to another state. This means leaving the suburban house they bought together for the kids they never had to be David’s. He doesn't have the heart to sell it so he decides to live in it alone.
After a month, he's trying not to go insane.
He loves his house, he really does, it's just that sometimes it feels too big for one person. There are two unfurnished bedrooms next to his. He has a six-seater dinner table that’s almost never used because he always opts for eating his microwaved leftovers, watching a show he couldn't care less about, on the couch rather than on the table.
One Friday night, he comes home to complete silence to the point that his ears are ringing. Instead of ordering takeout as he planned, he drags his feet up the stairs and into his bedroom, collapses on the right side of the queen-sized bed, and sleeps in until noon.
(He always takes the right side. There's no logical reason behind it. In fact, it’s just a harsher reminder that he's on a bed meant for two people, in a house meant for something he thought he’d already have when he was 30.)
That's when he decided to host Friday movie nights.
Idea: Everyone from Ian to the testers would come over to his house and watch a movie together as they bond and become closer as a family.
Reality: No one likes David enough to hang out with him outside work. So he’s stuck with Brad Bakshi.
Scene: The living room is, for the first time in months, free from David’s used clothes and blankets. The wooden floor was swept, throw pillows were put on the couch. The linens have gotten out of the linen closet. There are actual pictures and paintings hanging on the beige walls. This was only possible because David finally got a reason (and therefore motivation) to clean up. Being lazy and unhygienic was acceptable to him and only him.
However, this effort is rendered as, well, wasted. There are only two people in the house right now. Two men well into their 40s. One is engrossed on his phone on the couch while the other is watching the bag of popcorn pop in the microwave, holding a bowl in hand like the good host that he is.
It's not that he hates Brad. (Because he really can't hate anybody. Anger makes his chest hurt and his voice loud and he realized a few years ago that letting it go made it easier to breathe.) It's just that Brad’s far from being the perfect party guest. Not that this was a party or even had the potential to be. Even if it was just a meeting, Brad would be the second to the last person David would’ve wanted to show up. The last one being a tie between Ian and Poppy.
But he still invited them, because he was nice and didn't like leaving people out of things. Now, he has to endure a whole night with the head of monetization alone. This is where kindness gets you.
The microwave beeps and David almost jumps at the sound. He hears Brad laughing in the living room as he pours the snack into the bowl. Half of the bag hasn't even popped yet, despite what the recommended minutes the back of the bag said.
He’s sure Brad didn't come to bond nor watch movies. He’s pretty sure Brad accepted the invite because a) he wants to see David’s plan fail horribly and laugh at him and b) he wants to torture David to his breaking point and, well, also laugh at him.
David tells him this theory after he shoves the bowl of popcorn into Brad’s lap and sits beside him on his old and worn-out leather couch.
Brad shrugs, picking at the fraying leather of his seat, and says, “That's essentially accurate,”
“I don't get why no one would come,” he says under his breath, searching for his remote under the pillows.
Brad, with a mouth full of popcorn, replies with, “well, as much as you don't act like it, you are still technically their boss.”
And that makes a bit of sense actually.
He finds the remote behind a blue, polka-dotted throw pillow.
“So, what’re we watching?” Brad asks, “And, follow up question, are we really gonna watch a movie on your tiny TV?”
“It's a 50-inch flat-screen,” David says.
“That's tiny,”
“And I didn't really plan what movie. You pick. Since you're the guest or whatever.”
The gleam in Brad’s eyes is so happy, the dropping feeling in David's stomach is instantly marked as regret. Brad never smiled with his eyes, so David just assumed the worst.
He picks the worst movie. It's called The Room and at first, David asks if it's the one with Brie Larson in it.
Brad laughs and says, “No, this is way better.”
It is not. The movie doesn't make much sense. David guesses Brad picked this to annoy him and it does until they get into a rhythm of pointing out its absurdity and strange energy and it becomes a whole lot more enjoyable. Brad gives good commentary, David gives loud laughs.
And, despite what was expected of the evening, they actually have a good time.
#
David learns that Brad has an encyclopedic knowledge about something called ‘so bad it's good’ types of films. David learns this because, after the first Friday movie night, they have a second, then a third, then it becomes a weekly thing. Brad will come over to David’s with a DVD of something like Sharknado . They’d get popcorn and drink whatever David has in his liquor cabinet.
He pulls David to the side one day and tells him not to tell anyone else they're meeting up, like it's some dirty secret.
David says, “You care too much about your reputation,”
Brad replies, “What, and you don't?”
“Not really. Once you cry in front of your whole staff, you kinda stop thinking about it.”
It feels very 20s, like they're both still in college. It's not a complaint, not really, but it's something David notices. It's fun and breezy and being with Brad reminds him of when things used to be easier.
And he acts different outside the office. You know how Brad usually is—snarky, insensitive, a smug smile always there even when the whole office is in chaos. And it's not like he's an angel when they watch movies, it's more like, David can't put his finger on it. It's like he's not as guarded as he usually is.
He’s shooting popcorn into Brad’s mouth when he makes a joke. It's poorly set up and isn't even that funny, but Brad still laughs anyways.
Brad’s laughs have a build-up. First, it's a snort and then a chuckle and then he's clutching his stomach because he can't stop. It's infectious. It's rare and genuine. It's infectious because it's rare and genuine.
David likes hearing it, so, in a meeting the following week, he whispers the joke into Brad’s ear as Ian and Poppy are fighting. Brad tries (and fails) to hide his laugh.
David notices the whole room’s attention shifting to them. They don't get it. He doesn't care.
#
David is easily warm. It's great in winter, when the heater doesn't have to be that high and his outfits are a few layers less than everyone else. Not so much right now, with the temperature creeping up by the second.
His AC gets busted after overuse.
Brad doesn't like the heat either.
“Holy shit, are we in a sauna?” He says as he enters.
“I know it's bad,” David says. He closes the door behind him. “It won't be fixed until Wednesday. If you can't stand the heat, we can move Movie Night next week?”
In all honesty, he doesn't really want to cancel. Canceling would mean being home alone again, with deafening silence now coupled with uncomfortable heat. And, he doesn't know when he started to, but he likes being with Brad.
Brad, who seems to be thinking his offer over, starts opening the door again. David doesn't think much about how fast his heart drops.
But then he says, “Then let's go to my house.”
#
Brad’s house is more of a mansion. It has wall-sized windows and marble flooring. The first thing you notice is a giant chandelier hanging over a spiral staircase. Brad tells David to take his shoes off at the entrance. Even through his socks, the welcome rug feels expensive.
He gives him a tour. It takes more than 5 minutes. He has a movie theater (to which David finally understands why a 50-inch flat-screen would be small), a private gym, an art gallery, and finally—
“The infamous money bin,” David says as he enters.
It's in another room entirely, locked away in a bank-sized safe. The walls look golden. There are only a few square meters of floor you can actually stand on, the rest of the room being the bin itself. It looks like the most expensive infinity pool ever, filled to the brim with bills from different countries. At the end of it, across where they were currently standing, was a ceiling-high window that overlooked the city. It's breathtaking.
After a moment of processing the reality of the money bin, he looks over at Brad, who's looking a bit...bashful, in a sense. It’s an expression David’s never seen on him before. Brad doesn’t look at him and just stares at his shoes, his fingers running through his hair.
“Have you never shown this to anyone before?” David asks.
“Nope,”
A beat.
“Then let's dive in,”
As they swim through the pool, David takes a look around and notices the thing he’s been thinking about throughout the entire house tour. “Why don’t you have any pictures?”
“Hm?” Brad hums, swimming to him from the other side.
“There are no pictures in any of your rooms. Are they kept in, like, a photo gallery room or something?”
“No, I just don’t have any pictures.”
“That’s sad,” David says, because it is. Then, he asks, “Do you have a printer?”
A cheap and horribly printed photo of the poster of The Room taped on the golden walls of a room that probably costs millions does not match Brad’s aesthetic at all, and that’s exactly why David’s laughing uncontrollably.
“This is so stupid,” he hears Brad say under his breath but makes no attempt to pull it down.
“Yeah, it is.”
The next time he goes to Brad’s, which is two weeks after the first time, he sees new but equally horribly printed posters of movies he both watched and hasn’t taped on the walls of different rooms.
When he goes home for the night, there's a soft, settling feeling in his stomach, like a dam about to burst.
#
This meeting is going horribly.
Well, all of their meetings go horribly. It's kind of a talent this office has, how easily they can derail the topic at hand into something else entirely. It's like they have a list of priorities and pick what to focus on with post-its and a dartboard.
David’s voice has always been quieter than most, so he's really straining it in a chance to compete with both Ian and Poppy as they have a shouting match. He can't even remember what the meeting was originally about, but right now, it’s about who has to clean the breakroom after the spaghetti fiasco.
(Context is irrelevant and way too long. Only important thing was that someone's spaghetti exploded in the refrigerator.)
“My ice cream sandwiches were ruined!” Poppy’s saying. She has scissors in hand and David doesn't know where the fuck she got them. She points the tip to Jo, who was pretending to write notes when playing Solitaire. “Did you do it? If you did, I’ll slit your throat and bathe in your blood.”
Jo just raises her hands in defense, trying not to show she's turned on.
“Guys,” David says, but his voice squeaks at the volume. He clears his throat. “Guys!”
No effect. He’s trying not to groan in frustration, to not let this pull him into a spiral of self-doubt.
Brad, who's been watching the whole meeting as an outsider, meets David’s eyes. Totally accidental, but David takes this as an opportunity to ask for help. He mouths some words and Brad rolls his eyes but gives a nod. It's small and barely noticeable, but David starts beaming anyway.
Brad leans back on his chair and raises his hand, his elbow resting on the table. The chaos doesn't stop until his palm hits the table with a—
Smack!
Silence.
David's spine shivers in awe.
“Poptarts, Eyeball. Can you two stop the fighting gimmick?” Brad deadpans, “it’s getting more annoying by the second.”
Poppy stares at him. “What do you want, Brad?”
He points a finger to David and says, “For you to listen.”
After a moment, the pair slowly face David again.
And that settling feeling’s back.
#
David doesn't like horror movies. Or—the jump scares in horror movies. He never expects it even if he should. And Brad’s horror movie choices were not only terrible but also full of them.
As the season slowly slid into autumn and autumn into Halloween, which coincidentally falls on a Friday, Brad thought it’d be fitting to watch Killer Klowns from Outer Space and the plot is pretty much the title.
“It doesn't even have that many jumpscares,” Brad says after David yells at a clown stabbing.
“I know,” Then, “I don't know, it's still scary to me.”
They're seated on David’s (new, yay!) couch, sharing a knitted blanket. It's not that big so they're closer to each other than most nights. Brad's arm is around his shoulder so they’ll be more comfortable. That's the only reason.
“Maybe you're just scared of clowns,” he says.
Then David jumps again, and his hand flies to grab Brad’s and they just hold on. David doesn't even realize it until hours later and he only does because he realizes he has to let it go since someone rang the doorbell.
He gets off the couch and flexes his hand in secret, not really sure why Brad just let him do that without saying anything.
“Who is it?” Brad asks as David peeps from the window.
“Just trick or treaters,” he answers as he grabs the bowl of candy from the table, remembering not to get the bowl that holds both his and Brad’s keys.
Brad makes a disgusted sound as he opens the door and David laughs and says, “Oh, c’mon! Don't be mean!”
“What? I don't like children!”
There are three kids at the door. The middle one, who's dressed as a Disney princess in a movie David has no intention of watching, makes an offended noise. He says, “Don't worry, he doesn't mean it.”
When he gets back to the couch, he still snuggles next to Brad and, just because he can, also holds his hand as they finish the film.
#
David cancels movie night for the first time in months tonight. He’s near bedridden and has his blanket up to his chin on his couch, surrounded by tissues, one of which is stuffed up his nostril. He tells Brad this with heavy disappointment in his voice, like he's telling him he has 3 months to live. Brad’s voice on the other line sounds empty or not completely there, like he's hatching a plan David doesn't know about. It used to make him uneasy, now he just wishes he could hear it in real life.
“So, I can’t go to your place tonight,” he says, his phone nestled on his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I can't even watch a movie. It makes me dizzy.”
And so he spends the rest of the day napping. He has dreams, but he can't remember them once he wakes up.
He orders dinner because god forbid he tries to cook and burn the house down. When the doorbell rings, he shuffles out his living room after sneezing into a tissue. He swings open his front door.
It's Brad.
“Hey,” he says, and David's dizzy again for completely different reasons.
“Hi,” is all he manages to reply with.
Brad has takeout and cold medicine in his hands. He’s wearing a fur coat and is trying to hide that he’s shivering. “I brought dinner.”
“I can see that,” David says, “but I need to repeat that I can't watch movies right now.”
Brad shrugs, “Yeah, I know. That's not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
“To hang out.”
Having Brad here is pretty much just sleeping on the couch and waking up to chicken noodle soup and DuckTales playing on the TV. He realizes he fell asleep on Brad’s lap instead of his pillow, and he sits up.
He’s having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that Brad’s here just because . David can't really just hang out when his migraines and sneezes get in the way of thinking properly. He doesn't talk that much because his throat is itchy, so it's not like Brad can just have a normal conversation. So why is he here?
He said, “to hang out.” What does that mean?
Brad’s the type of person who likes trading things for something in return. Like he’ll make you believe in your writing again so you’ll write for him. He’ll bring you your crush back from unemployment so you’ll be indebted to him. He’s not someone who just drives from their office, picks up takeout from David’s favorite restaurant, gets medicine, and just “hang out” for free.
But there's this absurdly optimistic part in the back of David’s mind that's telling him that maybe— maybe —Brad’s taking care of him just because he can.
Just because he wants to.
David settles next to Brad, who's letting him hog the blanket despite being easily cold himself. He rests his head on his shoulder, trying to include him in his burrito blanket snuggle.
“Hey, Brad?” He looks up at him, their noses touching.
“Yeah?”
“Why did you come here?”
“Didn't I say? To hang out.”
“Yeah, but like, what does it mean?”
And as he says it, there's a thought that pops into his head. It's a thought that places everything from the settling feeling to now into perfectly fitted puzzle pieces. It's a weird thought, a weird feeling. And it leaves him a little terrified, but he pushes it down and stops thinking because Brad’s staring at him, and then his eyes flick down to his lips. And he’s leaning in when David whispers,
“I’m still sick,”
Brad whispers back. “And?”
“I don't want you to get sick,”
And there's that laugh again. But this time it's soft and steady and his breath hits David’s neck and David’s brain is going haywire. He puts his head on Brad’s shoulder again and closes his eyes, trying to push that absurd optimism down.
“Hey, if you're gonna sleep,” he hears Brad say, “you should do it in bed.”
David says, “Too tired to go up.”
He replies, “Then, I’ll carry you.”
When they get to David’s room, he forgets that he didn’t clean it, so Brad opens the door and instantly says, “Woah,”
“Sorry, it’s a mess.”
“S’ok.”
He lays David down softly and puts his blanket over him. That settling feeling’s back in full force, coupled with David’s brain replaying the fact that Brad almost kissed him over and over and over again. And he gets this stupid idea because Brad looks like he’s about to leave so David says, “Don’t go,”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Just—please?”
Brad walks over and sits on the mattress. He seems out of his element. David grins at him. “Can you sleep over tonight?” It’s half-joking and half-pleading, but the want is there.
He expects Brad to deny but he just keeps surprising him tonight. He answers by making David scoot over to the left side of the bed and lying beside him. David offers him a part of his blanket. Their shoulders are touching as they look up at David’s ceiling, staring at the chipping white paint and not talking.
“I’ve never done this before,” Brad says.
“What, sleep over?”
“No, share a bed.”
And Brad tells him about his childhood. He tells him how his room was in the attic, the size of a loft in the city. He tells him about his race car twin bed, the DuckTales figurines, how he lived with his dad but never met him. He tells him about high school, then college, and how sad he was when his mom gave away his Scrooge McDuck doll without telling him, and he spent weeks looking for it. David listens to the stories with soft eyes and laughter.
He hopes it’s dark enough that Brad doesn’t notice he’s been staring at his lips for a while now.
Brad falls asleep before him, maybe because he hasn’t been napping on his couch all day. David puts his head on his arm, just staring at Brad for a while. He didn’t tell him that he loves it when he learns about his past. He didn’t tell him he loves it when he’s close.
He didn’t tell him that he didn’t let them kiss because he knows for a fact that he’ll kiss back.
And that’s scary in ways he can’t fathom.
He turns away from him and closes his eyes but holds his breath as he feels the fabric pull and Brad's arms start holding him close. His hand is on his chest, his fingers long and nimble. His heart is murmuring, but his head has gone quiet.
He just appreciates the silence of this.
He doesn't realize he fell asleep until he wakes up, still in Brad’s hold.
And he smiles.
#
David’s in a supermarket where everything is way overpriced. It’s the Brad Bakshi of supermarkets. Maybe that’s why he’s getting meat there right now.
Before Brad left David’s house the next morning, he stood in the doorway for a minute as David stared at him in a gray robe with his favorite coffee mug (it’s blue and has Ms. Pac-Man printed on it.) in hand. He has his keys in hand and he glances over at his car before glancing back to David.
“You owe me,” he said with a cheeky grin.
So that’s why David’s currently putting Oreos and microwavable popcorn into a pushcart driven by Brad himself a few weeks later.
“Thanks,” he says, and he slips his hand into David’s.
They’ve been doing that more often, the holding hands, not that he’s complaining. Brad’s hands are soft and not calloused like his. He asked him about it one time. Turns out he uses lotion.
They walk around the grocery with Brad holding his list with one hand and David getting the things from the shelves. He tries not to look at the prices so much or he’ll go insane.
“You know, this is really good,” David says, showing Brad a pack of Super Choco cookies, also known as—
“Your reward cookies?” Brad scoffs, “Yeah, you’re not fooling me that easily.”
But when David gives him an exaggerated sad face, he rolls his eyes and puts it in the cart.
The lines are long since it’s a Saturday, so he and Brad are huddled behind the cart as they wait for the register, still holding hands.
“Oh, yeah, definitely. He has like, an infinite amount of money, right?” Brad is telling him when asked if he’ll reincarnate into Tommy Wiseau.
“Yeah but he’s so weird, though?”
“Yeah but he’s crazy rich so it doesn’t matter,”
There’s a tap on David’s shoulder. When he turns around, he does a double-take.
It’s his ex-wife. “Wendy, hey.”
She dyed her hair blond, has it up in a bun, but her roots are slowly peeking out. She’s wearing a beige coat over an all-black turtleneck dress with boots. She’s smiling at him, but it’s small, and her arms are wide open. He steps forward and hugs her, letting go of Brad’s hand in the process.
“Hi, David,” she says, “How are you?”
“I’m good, actually,” he says, and he really is. He’s never been happier than he is these past few months.
She looks over his shoulder and waves a hand. “Hi, Brad,”
But Brad only nods with a tight-lipped smile and pushes his cart forward, away from David.
“He seems peachy,” she says sarcastically.
David tries not to take offense. “He’s just tired. Anyways, hey! Why are you here? What happened in New York?”
“Oh! My cousin is actually getting married this weekend! I’m trying to find a place to rent for the week.”
“Well, you’re lucky you bumped into me, then!”
“What do you mean?”
“You can stay at my place,”
It’s her turn to do a double-take. “For real?”
“For real,” he offers, beaming.
That’s when Brad calls him from the counter.
He looks back and sees him start to unload the cart onto the conveyor belt.
“Ah, I have to get back. I’ll text you my address. It was nice seeing you, Wen.”
“You too, David.” She says, then, “You and Brad look cute together.”
But he’s already hopping away before he can correct her.
#
On Monday, Wendy drags her carry-ons into their old house, eyebrows shot up, and says, “Can't believe you didn't sell this.”
“What? I like our house.”
“Mhm.”
There's only one bathroom, and she's been impatient even before their marriage, so they brush their teeth at the same time.
When she spits toothpaste out, she says something he doesn't catch.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said,” she says after gargling, “whose toothbrush is this?” And she gestures to the electric, gold-infused toothbrush in the cup in front of the mirror.
“Oh, that's Brad’s,” he says, remembering the time he made fun of him when he brought it for the first time. It was a week after Brad stayed in for the first time, and they started sleeping over all the time. It was just reasonable, especially since David really hates his morning breath.
“Are you sure he's okay with me staying over?”
“Yeah, why wouldn't he be?”
“I don't know?” But she says it like she does know. “I’m your ex-wife and he's your boyfriend.”
“Woah,” he says, stepping back. “We—Brad and I are not together,”
She looks at him with that face she gets when she's not convinced but she’ll let it go for his sake. “Okay,”
He puts a finger up, “No, not—” he does air quotes, “okay. ”
He continues, “We’re not together,”
But she still says, “Okay, David.”
#
(What she doesn't know is that David sometimes stays up, staring at the ceiling, on the left side of his bed. He’s on the other side for completely different reasons this time.)
#
Come Friday, David and Brad are watching Who Killed Captain Alex? when Wendy comes down and sees them cuddling on the couch.
“Hey, Brad,” she says as she walks to her kitchen, her hair up in a towel. “Didn't know you were here.”
He lifts his hand in a lazy wave as a reply.
David raises the popcorn bowl between them into her view. “Do you want some?”
“No, I’m good,”
“Your loss.”
And they continue watching the movie.
She’s still there when Brad says, “By the way, I can't stay tonight.”
David frowns at him. “Aw, what? Why not?”
“I got a date,”
And it's like you can hear David's heart drop from his chest to the floor. “Oh.” Then, realizing how sad his voice sounded, says, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Brad visibly cringes after he hears it, like that's not what he wanted to hear. “Just some guy at the bar.”
He leaves early, but, like that morning after that night, he stands still outside the door frame, looking at David looking at him. The only light is on his porch and it takes a moment for his vision to adjust. They're closer now, just a foot apart. No one’s moving. This moment feels like a lead-up, but David's too scared to think ahead.
“Have fun with your date,” he says, though even before it gets out it sounds like a lie.
“Maybe,” Brad says, which is a weird reply, to say the least, but David sees him drive away before he can ask. And by then, he realizes that he's crying.
Then he hears, “You stupid, stupid man.”
He turns and sees Wendy with her hair pushed away with a bunny headband and she has a Korean face mask on. She's wearing an oversized shirt he hasn't seen before.
He wipes his tears with his sleeves and says, “What?”
“Just tell him you like him, it's obvious he's into you.”
“ What? ”
Here's a quick story of David and Wendy’s marriage. They met at college through a mutual friend.
Their first kiss was at a party. She pulled him by his dress shirt’s collar and kissed him in the bathroom with Dynamite playing in the background.
She proposed to him on their two year anniversary, just before the biggest job interview of her life, and married him in Vegas two months after.
She constantly worked as a journalist. He’d come home and kiss her cheek and go with his evening routine and by the time it was midnight, she was downing her 4th cup of coffee for the night. She traveled a lot, to countries he can't follow. They’d FaceTime but they both knew it wasn't enough. Their marriage was full of compromise, meeting in the middle but no one is fully happy.
They’re seated on the new couch when Wendy asks, “Do you know why we broke up?”
David shrugs.
She sighs, “ We were both unhappy. I was never home but you always were. I kept working and you wanted a family.”
He looks at her, “What are you ramping up to?”
“Let me finish,”
“Okay,”
“I was the one who broke it off, yes. But I know you're not stupid enough to not realize it wasn't working anymore.” She shifts in her seat to look at him. He can't really take her seriously with the facemask on so he giggles a bit.
“I’m sorry,” he says after.
“It's fine,” she waves her hand dismissively and says, “What I’m trying to tell you is—You have a hard time letting things change. That's why you didn't break it off. That's why you kept the house. You’ve never been good with, ah, expressing your emotions, you know?”
“I don't know what you're talking about, I cry, like, all the time.”
“I meant the complicated ones. The betrayal. The anger.” A pause. “The love.”
He stares at the blank TV instead of her. He lets his mind mull over her words for a minute. She never pulled any punches with him, that's what made him fall in love with her in the first place, but now he's just glad she can still see through his bullshit, even when he can't.
He says, quietly, “Are you telling me you're in love with me?”
She actually punches his arm this time as he laughs. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“Well, I don't know what you want me to say, Wen. He’s off marrying some, probably super rich and handsome, guy from the bar.”
“Okay, now it's my time to woah,” she says and places her hands on his shoulders to make him look at her. “You're thinking too far ahead. It's probably just a first date. He’s into you, you know?”
“Obviously not, he just went out with some guy!”
“‘Cause he thinks you're no longer an option.”
"Why would he think that?"
"Because you invited your ex-wife to stay over for a week."
“Oh,”
“Yeah,”
David rests his head on the couch and closes his eyes. Suddenly everything feels calm but also chaotic, like the waves crashing on land as the sun rises slow and steady. It's not like he never tried to sort out his feelings, but it just felt too messy to organize. It's like when you enter your room and there are piles of whatever in every corner, but you still get your tape dispenser in less than 10 seconds because you know it's near that empty cup noodles. If you clean your room, you might never find the tape dispenser again.
“Hey, David?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you crying again?”
He didn't even realize. His sleeves are already wet so he doesn't wipe his cheeks. “I don't know,” but he does and that's the problem, “I think I’m scared of messing things up.”
He looks at her kindly. She stares back at him. “Like how I did we us,”
She shakes her head. “You didn't mess us up, and you won't with Brad,”
“How do you know?”
She puts her head in his lap. It's not romantic in any way, but it's intimate in a way he appreciates. “Because he’s not me, and I’m not him,”
He hums. “Thank you,” and kisses her forehead.
#
The ‘sorting out your feelings’ part is the easiest, David realizes. Because after you get clarity, the next step is saying it, and he's not good at picking the right moments.
On Monday, he tries to say it after he sits down with Brad during their lunch break. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is: “How was your date?”
Brad looks surprised. “It wasn't great,”
“That's good,” David replies and then backtracks, “I mean, that's sad,”
“Uh-huh,” he says, stuffing a leafy salad into his mouth.
On Tuesday, David opens his office to Rachel, of all people, standing near Brad’s desk, clearly waiting for him.
“You're not Brad,” she says as he enters, which is pretty rude and kind of hurtful but she clearly seems distressed so he lets this slide.
“No, I am not,” he says, putting his stuff on his desk, “What do you want with him?”
“Nothing, just,” she pauses, “help.”
“I would not recommend that,” David says, “He took care of me when I was sick and made me repay it by helping him burn a body.”
She looks at him.
"That was a joke,"
She nods.
“Maybe I can help?”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, “As executive producer, it's my duty to keep morale up with my employees and you are part of the staff. What do you need?”
“Okay,” she explains, “you know how Dana got a job offer in Seattle and everything?”
He nods.
“Well, I’m trying to get her to stay and I don't know how.”
“What? Isn't as your friend you're supposed to be happy she's advancing her career?”
She shakes her head and fidgets. “I know but I don't wanna be her friend," Then, quietly, "I wanna be something more than that.”
Silence. That's something she's never said out loud before.
David whistles. “I am way out of my field with this one,” and thinks a cookie might help.
But before he can get it, Brad opens the door with a, “Hey, D— Rachel, what are you doing here?”
#
From what David can get from fragments of Brad and Rachel’s conversations, not that he's trying to eavesdrop, they just speak in loud, hushed tones outside his office, Rachel and Dana have made a pact to choose whether she should go or not and reveal their choices by the end of the day. They did this because Dana’s not super-duper 100% sure of going, and this is a window for Rachel to try and persuade her.
That's why on Thursday, Brad is comforting her outside the elevator after work.
David stops at his tracks when he sees the scene and almost pinches himself. Brad is rubbing a hand on Rachel’s back as he hands her tissues while she cries her eyes out.
Brad mouths when he sees him, she told Dana to take the job.
David nods. He feels bad for feeling annoyed at not being able to confess tonight either. It never feels like the right time.
But on Friday afternoon, it does.
So, for context, to lift her spirits up, Brad and David invite Rachel and the rest of the office to drinks in the bar near MQ. Brad’s treat, surprisingly.
Brad and David are clinking drinks together at the bar and Rachel’s beside them, twirling the umbrella in her barely drunk margarita. She's been quiet all night and, to David's surprised, Brad looks worried. He's about to offer they leave until the bar door opens and—
Dana’s here. She's here, with her carry on and passport when she should very much be on a plane to Seattle.
David hears Rachel say, “Holy shit,”
And they kiss in the middle of the room. Brad and David slip out of the bar to give them space.
It's mid-February. The streets aren't that packed and the street lights seem dimmer. There are snowbanks on the sidewalk and steam comes out when they talk. They’re walking, holding hands, in comfortable silence when David looks over at him and realizes there is no perfect time.
Brad’s talking about seeing some guy from high school. David's laughing before he says,
“I’m in love with you,”
There's only a handful of things to make Brad Bakshi stop at his tracks. This was one of them.
He’s in front of him now, looking back as Brad stands there speechless, his hand still cupping his. He’s smiling so wide and so genuine, David’s heart is soaring at the sight of it. He says, “Say that again?”
“I'm in love with you.”
And, he didn't know it was possible but he's smiling even wider now.
Here's the thing about Brad Bakshi: he’s a 'show, don't tell' person. He’ll tell you he hates you by toying with you. He’ll tell you cares by buying you medicine you didn't ask for and staying the night.
He’ll tell you he's in love with you by cupping your cheeks and kissing you under the moonlight.
His kisses are like his laughs, slow to start but full of heart. He smells like printer ink and bills of money, but his lips taste like popcorn. As expected, David kisses him back.
And, there's no doubt in his mind. He's home.