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Greg huffed a sigh as he settled down at the table in the lobby of their hotel. Alex barely glanced up at him, bent over a slip of paper, a tiny pencil in hand, and Greg scowled, unused to being ignored. “What’s that?” he asked grumpily.
“What is—?” Alex started, glancing up again before following Greg’s glare down to the paper he was scribbling on. “Oh, my omelette order.”
Greg’s brow furrowed and he reached out to snag the slip of paper, ignoring Alex’s half-hearted attempt to stop him. “Your what?” he said, scowling down at it.
Alex sighed and gestured towards the extensive breakfast buffet. “They’ve got an omelette station,” he explained. “You know, you put down what fillings you’d like and then they make it for you.”
Greg glanced from the paper to Alex, amused. “Because I'm so thick as to never had heard of an omelette station," he said, before adding, even more amused, "And you appear to have selected everything."
Alex grinned, his eyes sparkling with his usual mischief. “Mm, yes please.”
“Including, Christ, five different types of cheese,” Greg said with a giggle, handing the paper back to him.
“I love America,” Alex said, his grin widening. “I may never leave.”
Greg just shook his head. “You’re an insane person,” he informed Alex dryly before standing.
Alex looked up at him. “Where are you going?”
“To get myself one.”
“Oh!” Alex looked surprised, as if he was oblivious to the fact that he alone ever seemed to be the one able to talk Greg into doing something. “You don’t have to. The queue is– it’s quite long, and I know you’re—”
Greg just arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve got me wanting an omelette, so I’m going to get an omelette,” he said sternly. “Is there something you know about the damned omelettes that I don’t?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed as if he was contemplating giving Greg cheek that early in the morning. But he settled for shaking his head and telling Greg solemnly, “No, Greg.”
“Good,” Greg said, a little gruffly, and picked up Alex’s omelette order to drop off on his way to fill out his own.
When he returned to the table, it was with fresh cups of coffee for both of them. “So what’s on the schedule for today?” he asked, sitting down and sliding one cup across the table.
Alex gave him a brief smile in thanks, cradling the cup between his hands as he glanced down at his phone. “Not much for today,” he reported. “We’ve a few promo things we’re scheduled to take from the Avalon offices tomorrow morning, and I’ve got some licensing meetings that—” He caught sight of the look on Greg’s face and hastened to add, “Well, you don’t need to worry about those.” He looked down at his phone again. “Premiere is tonight. I think the goal is to get there half past five or so?” Shrugging, he took a sip of coffee before finishing, “But other than that, we’re mostly on our own.”
“Right,” Greg said with a nod, sitting back in his seat and watching the other hotel guests at breakfast. His mouth watered as he watched someone carrying a frosted pastry the size of a dinner plate past them. “Christ, that looks good.”
“Then get yourself one,” Alex said mildly, typing something on his phone.
Greg huffed another sigh and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No, I’m waiting on a fucking omelette, remember?”
Now Alex glanced up, his brow furrowed. “You can have both.”
Greg sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “No, I really shouldn’t,” he muttered, even as he glanced longingly at another pastry someone else carried past.
Alex frowned. “Are you dieting again?”
Greg’s eyes snapped to his. “What do you mean, again?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
But Alex didn’t flinch under his glare. “I mean,” he said, a little pointedly, “once a year, more or less, you get it in your head that you’re going to lose some weight or what have you so you cut back on eating all the things you enjoy and then you’re cranky for about four weeks until you give it up.”
He shrugged as if it was obvious, but Greg huffed something like a laugh, because he didn’t think he’d ever admitted that he did that to anyone. “Am I really that predictable?”
Alex smiled slightly and shrugged. “Maybe only to me.”
“Hmmph,” Greg grumbled wordlessly, taking another sip of coffee.
“So are you getting yourself a pastry?” Alex asked, looking down at his phone again.
Greg considered it before sighing again and shaking his head. “No.” he said reluctantly, “I’ll wait for the fucking omelette.”
Alex shook his head. “Suit yourself.”
Ten minutes later, Greg was about ready to eat every single pastry left on the buffet. “Fuck me, how long is this going to take?” he groaned.
“I told you,” Alex said, “there’s a bit of a queue—”
“A bit?” Greg snapped. “I could go find a fucking chicken and make this omelette faster myself at this rate.”
Alex’s lips twitched. “I’d actually enjoy seeing that.”
Somehow, that took all the wind out of Greg’s sails. Probably because, as always, Alex made him want to laugh, and it was hard to stay angry in the face of that. “Fuck off,” he grumbled, but without any heat, groaning as his stomach gurgled. “Christ, I’m starving.”
“Then eat something else,” Alex said, with the patience of a saint.
Greg glared at him. “I told you, I can’t—” Wordlessly, Alex stood, and Greg watched him go up to the buffet and return with a pastry which he set down in front of Greg before sitting down again. “You’re a horrible influence,” Greg sighed, even as he ripped off a bit of pastry and bit into it.
Alex just hummed agreeably. “And you’re much nicer when you’ve got something in your belly.”
“Prick,” Greg grumbled, but there was a reluctant gratitude in the words. He spent the next few minutes in relative silence as he gobbled half the damn pastry in one go. It was only when he paused to breathe that he noticed how much time had passed. “You do realise this is the longest anyone’s ever waited for a fucking omelette.”
“Ever?” Alex repeated, amused.
Greg didn’t take the bait. “I mean, yeah, at this fucking rate,” he said, giving Alex a look. “And it better be fucking worth it.”
Alex just shook his head before muttering, “For your sake and mine.”
“What was that?” Greg asked sourly, picking up the other half of the pastry.
Alex’s lips twitched. “Nothing, Greg.”
Greg just glowered at him, doing his best to hide his own smile as he waited for his omelette to finally be ready.
Later that evening, neither Alex nor Greg were smiling downstairs as they waited to go out for the Q&A after the premiere. Greg squared his shoulders as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before glancing at Alex, whose brow was furrowed. “You ready?”
Alex jerked a nod but didn’t smile. “Yeah,” he said, tugging at the collar of his shirt before adding, “I just—”
He broke off almost as soon as he started speaking, and Greg frowned at him. “What?”
“I feel awful,” Alex said quietly, and Greg could see the worry that seemed etched in every line of his forehead. “All those people who couldn’t get in—”
“It’s not your fault,” Greg reminded him, his frown deepening. “You didn’t plan it.”
But Alex didn’t look remotely convinced. “No, but—”
“And we took as much time as we could saying hello and taking selfies and what not,” Greg said, gentler than he might otherwise be inclined towards, if only because Alex still looked worried.
“I know that,” Alex said, “but—”
“But it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty,” Greg finished for him.
Alex shook his head. “No.”
Greg sighed. “Come here,” he said, pulling Alex to him and hugging him tightly until he felt Alex sigh and relax, just a tiny bit. It was only then that he pressed a kiss to his forehead before letting him go. “Let’s give these people what they came for, yeah?”
Alex nodded and managed a smaller than usual, but no less genuine, smile. “Yes Greg.”
“Thanks so much for your time,” the interviewer said the following morning, and Greg forced an automatic smile, even if he couldn’t even remember which outlet this one had been for.
“Thanks for having us,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
The interviewer nodded. “I’m looking forward to seeing the show.”
Greg glanced automatically at Alex, who blinked and forced a smile of his own. “Thanks,” he said, almost rotely. “I think it’s a good group.”
Thankfully, the interviewer just laughed. “I bet you say that every time. Have a good rest of your day.”
“Thanks, you as well,” Greg said, as Alex pushed the button to end the Zoom call. Greg leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes before glancing at Alex. “That went well.”
Alex nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Greg frowned. “You all right?” he asked. “You look tired. And I didn’t see you at breakfast.”
His lips twitched as he thought of all the omelette jokes he had planned and didn’t get to use, but Alex just shrugged, not smiling. “Didn’t sleep well.”
“Could’ve come to mine,” Greg said mildly.
Alex just pulled a face. “And kept you up all night as well?”
“I’d’ve found a way to distract you.”
But instead of making him finally smile, Greg’s somewhat teasing flirting just caused Alex’s frown to deepen. “How, by bringing up the fu– the stupid omelette again?”
“Oi,” Greg said sharply. “You must really be tired if you’re fucking swearing at me.”
“I didn’t,” Alex said, with just a hint of petulance.
Greg scowled. “Barely.”
Alex sighed. “Sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I’m just– I dunno. Not in the mood for it.”
He sounded miserable enough that Greg just asked softly, “For what?”
“To be Little Alex Horne.”
There was something bitter in the way he said it, something that made Greg’s chest clench. “Is that what you think that was?”
Alex shrugged again. “I don’t know what else it would’ve been,” he said, scowling as he added, “I don’t see why you can’t let the omelette thing go.”
Greg sat back, crossing his arms in front of his chest and frowning imperiously at him. “What could you have done differently last night?”
“Sorry?” Alex said, blinking.
“At the premiere,” Greg said, still stern. “With it being outrageously overbooked. What could you have done?”
Alex glanced at him and away again. “I—”
But he couldn’t seem to find anything to say, and Greg let him flounder for a moment before prompting impatiently, “Well?”
The tips of Alex’s ears flared red. “We, er, promoted it quite a bit on social media,” he muttered.
Greg just gave him a look. “Mate, I know you don’t run the Taskmaster social media, so that wasn’t you.”
“I think I retweeted it,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose as he corrected, “Re-posted it. Whatever it’s called now.”
“And that’s what put it over the edge, was it?” Greg said dryly.
Alex pursed his lips, just slightly. “It still could’ve been better planned.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and when did you find out about it?”
“Same as you, I’d guess,” Alex said. “Maybe a few hours earlier.”
“And did you have any say over the plans when you were told?” Greg prompted.
Alex frowned. “No, but—”
“But what?”
Alex just sighed again, his expression tight. “But I hate disappointing them,” he admitted quietly. “All the fans that turned out.”
Greg sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “And if they’re really fans, they know that, too.”
Though Alex nodded, he didn’t look convinced, and after a long moment, he glanced up at Greg, his brow furrowed again. “I don’t see what this has to do with the omelette.”
Greg gave him a pointed look. “Of all the things that went wrong yesterday, what was the one thing you had any control over?”
Alex pulled a face. “Choosing to order the omelette?” he guessed dryly.
“Exactly,” Greg said with a nod before nudging Alex gently. “So if you’re going to insist on beating yourself up over something, I’m going to make sure it’s something that has to do with you.”
“What makes you think I’m beating myself up?” Alex asked, though he barked a short, sharp laugh when he saw the look on Greg’s face. “Stupid question. Am I really that predictable?”
Greg grinned, remembering Alex’s response to the same question the previous day. “Maybe only to me.” He pulled Alex to him, turning his head to kiss his temple before murmuring, low in his ear, “You let it go, I let it go.”
Alex just let out a little hum, not lifting his head from Greg’s chest. “It’s not that easy.”
“Never is.” Greg kissed his temple once more before standing and tugging Alex to his feet. “Now come on.”
“Where are we going?” Alex asked, scrambling to grab his laptop as Greg pulled him towards the door.
“Back to the hotel,” Greg said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “You need a nap before the Seth Meyers taping.”
Alex made no move to protest, though he did ask, “What about you?”
Greg just shrugged. “I’m an old man, I could also do with a nap.” He glanced sideways at Alex, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Besides, there’s nothing I love more than watching you drooling on your pillow.”
Alex wrinkled his nose, but he was smiling, just a little. “No thank you.”
“Too bad,” Greg said cheerfully. He slung an arm around Alex’s shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here before someone tries to pull you into another meeting.” He paused, searching Alex’s expression for a moment before leaning in and kissing his forehead. “Let it go, love.”
“I’ll try,” Alex promised.
Greg nodded. “Good,” he said firmly. “Because until you do…”
He trailed off threateningly, and Alex rolled his eyes, though his smile widened, just slightly. “I know.” He looked up at Greg. “Thank you.”
Greg pulled him close and squeezed him before letting go. “Anytime,” he promised