Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I still think this is a fucking shit idea,” Greg says as he stumbles out of the train. The weather in Scotland is as usual equally shit, even in mid-summer. Grey clouds hang over the entire city and naturally it starts to drizzle when Greg is making his ways over to the taxi stands. He could be in Spain now. Bright sun and an ocean to swim in. Instead, he is stuck in this shithole.

On the other end of the line his agent, Roisin, sighs. “Yes, as you have said many times before. But it will be good for your publicity. And you’ll get to help out some up-and-coming talents,” she rattles off her usual arguments, that they both know had no weight whatsoever in his decision to agree. You really need this, she doesn’t say. But it’s implied somewhere in the warning underdone between her friendly words.

Greg thought that he was done with this. Going to Edinburgh. Doing a festival show. That’s stuff the new and struggling artists have to do. Not him. He wrote several well received comedy shows for television! He doesn’t need to sleep in a crappy bed and breakfast and do depressing stand-up sets in front of twenty people! Well, that’s what he thought anyway. Apparently, his number of bookings and ticket sales don’t want to agree with him.

And now here he is in this city full of young people with potential and zest for action. An old, pathetic man, who’s left the prime of his life long behind him. Having to play the fucking clown for some idiotic circus event.

“Don’t fuck this up, Greg. Honestly. You said, you’d do it.” For once Roisin sounds terrifyingly candid. “And if you disappoint Alex, I think I’ll have to murder you with my bare hands.” He doesn’t doubt she could. Even through the phone.

He grumbles something unintelligibly. He can’t even remember why he said yes in the first place. It’s not his type of comedy. Some panel like show where people have to do silly games. Taskman or Taskmaster or something equally stupid it is called. Roisin probably tricked him into it by getting him drunk. He should fire her, he keeps thinking. He’s never gone through with it so far.

“Don’t be like that. Alex is nice. You’ll like him,” Roisin chides him.

He very much doubts it. Nice. That’s usually a word people use when they can’t find anything else decent to say about a person. Friendly is another one of them.

He pushes himself through the crowd, his suitcase hobbling depressingly behind him. The silhouette of the city looms before him, partly obscured by the low hanging clouds. Some might call it beautiful. It’s the sort of thing people would print on a postcard. But Greg isn’t one of those brainless tourists. He’s been here enough times to know it’s just as shitty as any other city. Perhaps even more so. The weather definitely is.

“Mr. Davies!” Someone shouts just behind him. From the corner of his eye Greg can make out a flash of pink. He turns and sees a man in a hideous jumper hurrying towards him. Probably a fan. Jesus, Greg needs to get out of here. He’s not in the mood to give autographs and answer stupid questions.

“Where is this guy supposed to meet me anyway?” He asks, trying to force down his irritation as the weird man calls out to him again. Can’t he see that Greg is phoning someone?

“Alex? He said he’d meet you at the station,” Rosin explains.

“Yeah, well he can hurry the fuck up then. I don’t want to-” He puts the phone down with a harried huff, as the idiot in a jumper pulls up beside him, a little out of breath. “Mr. Davies,” he repeats, as if Greg would need his name explained to him.

He’s an unremarkable bloke with greying hair and beard. The only thing far from unremarkable about him is the jumper Greg already got an eyeful of earlier. Up close the shade of pink is even more gruesome. And is that a singing carrot on it? They should make certain things illegal to wear.

“Sorry mate, but I really don’t have time now. I’m meeting someone,” Greg says in a way that is still somewhat polite but also definitely shows that he’s pissed off.

“Oh- oh- no,” the man shakes his head, then seems to change his mind and nods instead. The simple gesture alone makes Greg unreasonably angry. “You’re meeting with me. I think?” He grins nervously.

Greg gives him an unimpressed stare. “You think?” he echoes.

“Ah- no? I mean- I know? I’m Alex,” he nods again, obviously satisfied with his explanation. He extends his hand for Greg to shake, giving Greg a wonky smile. It shows off some quite impressive gaps in his teeth.

Greg has to suppress a groan. Of fucking course. He laughs. Fucking Roisin. Nice. More like bubbly idiot. He ignores Alex’s hand, instead deciding to readjust the straps of his backpack. “Charmed,” he says cooly. “Now where do we need to go then, Alex?” The name rolls off his tongue just like an insult would.

To his credit Alex takes his coldness like a professional. He frowns shortly but then quickly turns around. “Hm, yes right of course. This way.” He leads them out of the station, always stalking a few steps ahead. Greg gets the feeling that these are going to be very long 24 hours.

They hail a cab, because Greg refuses to get onto the overcrowded public transport. Naturally their cab gets stuck in traffic too. Bloody Scotland and their inability to build tunnels. The car smells like shit, the air is bad, and he is really starting to get a headache.

Over the whole ride, Alex tries to make small talk with him about some obscure shows playing at the festival. Greg only grunts in response. He’s not planning to go to any gigs. He doesn’t need to see edgy twenty somethings butcher the art of comedy. And he doesn’t want to sit through the better ones either just so he can be painfully reminded of his spectacular failure as a professional. If he can have it his way, he’s going to do this stupid taskhero show and be on the earliest train home. Hopefully he’ll be back on his sofa in time to watch the evening news.

Alex on the other hand seems to have half the bloody programme on his list. He talks enthusiastically about some young comic from Christchurch, who does a slapstick show about British history. Greg chooses to ignore him and stares out gloomily into the rainy streets. At least the weather mirrors his mood. After a while even Alex seems to understand that he doesn’t want to talk, and they spend the rest of the ride in silence.

“I think Roisin put you up in an Airbnb,” Alex says as he heaves Greg’s suitcase from the boot of the car. “Venue is a ten-minute walk that way,” he points down the street. “If you need help finding it, me and my mates from the-”

“Yeah, yeah I think I know how to work google maps,” Greg interrupts him curtly. He grabs the suitcase from Alex’s hands. He really wants a shower and some fresh clothes. And some fucking quiet.

Alex shuffles nervously on his feet. His hands are clasped in front of his body. He looks like an anxious meercat. “We’re going to the pub this evening, if you want to grab something to eat with us,” he offers sheepishly.

Honestly, Greg couldn’t imagine anything more horrible. A whole evening hanging out with Alex’s friends. Probably all weird artsy types just like him, if his clothing is anything to go by. Talking his ear off about some extravagant “comedy” he really ought to see.

He isn’t sure why Alex offered in the first place. Probably out of some weird sense of politeness. Greg can’t imagine he actually wants to have him there. Or maybe Roisin put him up to him. She’s always on about how Greg needs to get his arse outside. The idea alone makes him angry.

He doesn’t grace the question with an answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex,” he says brusquely, turns around and leaves.

When he enters his flat a few minutes later he immediately feels a little lighter. It’s a nice place. Bright and quiet. He sighs and plops himself down on the sofa. He’ll get through this somehow. After all it’s only one day. How hard can it be?

Chapter Text

In the morning Greg is rudely awoken by the old-fashioned radio alarm clock next to his bed. It’s a horrible piece with clunky design, painted a disgusting shade of grey, that might have been fashionable forty years ago. Really, the only reason Greg set it in the first place was, that his phone ran out of battery yesterday evening. Now he’s paying the price for his oversight as his senses are assaulted by an awful song about… a satsuma in a curry? Who even writes this shit? He groans, rolling over in a bed which is as usual way too short for his size.

He gets up unsteadily and collects his things for the bath. On the radio, the song ends blessedly but is replaced by the mindless prattle of the two hosts. It’s the 21^st of August they announce cheerily. Greg doesn’t feel cheery at all. It might just be the worst day of his life. They seem to be talking about food afterwards, one of them describing their perfect starter, main course and side dish combination. Is food the only thing they do radio about here?

When he steps under the shower, Greg unfortunately discovers that the water is ice cold. He screams a little, tries to get the water to warm up, but it refuses. He gets out only a few minutes later, dripping and miserable, to write a message to the Airbnb host, that something must be wrong with the boiler. God, he better get some money back for this bullshit.

He makes himself a coffee in the kitchen, still listening to the radio hosts going on about the best desserts. It’s fucking annoying but it’s better than having his breakfast in silence. The coffee is some cheap powder stuff. It tastes disgusting, but he needs it to stay at least half awake. It’s way too early for his taste. He wonders who came up with the glorious idea of setting shows so early in the day. It’s probably some insane weirdos. He immediately has to think of Alex, which only serves to make him irritated again. He’ll have to hang around that god awful man the entire day!

When he leaves the house later, he promptly collides with a young woman. She passes the door just as he steps outside, and their shoulders brush. They both wobble and Greg automatically reaches out to steady her. He knows that he’s made a mistake as soon as he comes back up to see her face. She looks starstruck.

“You’re Greg Davies!” She says and grins. Oh, Jesus, here we go. Greg mentally prepares for the onslaught of bullshit about to follow. “I really loved your standup when I was younger! My dad used to take me to your shows.” She smiles and there is some faraway look in her eyes, like she is remembering something. Greg is way too tired for some sentimental family bollox.

“I heard you were doing a show this year, but unfortunately I didn’t manage to get tickets,” she witters on. “My dad always-”

Greg gives her a harried smile. “Excuse me, but I do really need to go. I’m in a hurry,” he says and slides her to the side by her shoulders. She looks dumbfounded for a second. He’s already halfway down the street when she recovers. “It was nice to meet you!” she calls after him. Greg only rolls his eyes.

As it turns out he might have been a little too confident in his google maps skills, Greg has to admit, when he makes the wrong turn for the third time in his allegedly ten-minute walk. Some part of his brain might have been amused about that once, made it into a joke of some form, but now he’s mostly just pissed off about it. Probably because he doesn’t want to give the satisfaction to Alex. Well, he doesn’t know if Alex is the kind of person to make fun of other people for stuff like this. But in his head, he is anyway.

Greg is so focused on his phone that he notices too late the person who has appeared in front of him. “I don’t fucking believe it! Gregory Daniel Davies in the flesh!” A familiar voice says.

Greg closes his eyes and prays to every god available that this is a nightmare, which he is going to wake up from very soon. Unfortunately, when he hesitantly peels open one eye, it is indeed Rhod Gilbert, who is standing in front of him.

“As I live and breathe. We all thought you were dead, mate,” Rhod says and chuckles good naturedly. He slaps Greg on the back. Greg flinches.

Greg forces his lips into something similar to a grin. It looks more like a grimace. “Rhodri,” he says and thinks about how he can best instantly excuse himself from this conversation. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing? Mate, you ignore me for six months and now you ask me how I am doing?” Rhod shakes his head. “You ignored all my calls, my dinner invitations, you even forgot Sian’s fucking birthday!”

Greg flinches again. “Well, I was very busy-” he tries, but quickly cowers under Rhods murderous gaze. He’s not sure what else to say though. While lying might not be the best idea, telling the truth feels even worse. What is Greg supposed to say? That all he’s been doing is lying around on the sofa, agonizing about new material? That he barely wrote anything in the last six months? That his career is going downhill after television shows stopped calling? That he’s just hanging around and feeling sorry for himself? That he feels like he hit rock bottom, being forced to come back here?

He should be at the hight of his fuckin career! He doesn’t want Rhod and Sian fuzzing over him like they always do when he comes crawling as soon as something goes horseshit. He doesn’t want the pity in their eyes and their encouraging but patronizing words. He doesn’t want to ‘laugh it off’. He wants his fucking life back!

“Well, you’ve got some nerve coming here and acting like-” Rhod continues, now properly agitated.  Greg takes some hesitant steps back and slowly eases around a corner. “You could have texted, you know. Just texted or-”

“Sorry, Rhodri! I really need to get going!” Greg calls, then turns around and flees down the street, away from the angry shouts Rhod sends after him. He promptly steps into a big stinking puddle. The water seeps into his socks. He curses, but at least the move seems to have put Rhod off his back. Greg supposes that he should talk to him again. Apologize. But that’s a problem for another day. Just as it has been for half a year now.

The venue is already bustling with activity when Greg makes it there. People are running around, carrying things and others, who Greg presumes are comics, are lounging around. Alex instantly spots him, grinning and waving his arm at Greg like an idiot. It seems Greg was right about him being a morning person. Where is he taking all this energy from?

“Good morning, Greg,” Alex says and gives him an infuriatingly happy smile. Today there is a dolphin on his jumper. Greg is beginning to suspect that his entire wardrobe is equally atrocious. “I hope you got here okay?” He looks at him expectantly, eyes all round and amenable.

Greg only huffs in irritation. They’re really going to have a problem if Alex keeps grating on his nerves like this. “Yeah, yeah everything was fine. What do you need me to do?” God, he really hopes he can just sit down and have another coffee.

“Oh, um nothing much? The show starts in an hour.” Alex produces a watch from under his sleeve. It’s just as horrifyingly colourful as the rest of him. It looks a bit like one of these cheap watches for children, made from smooth plastic and sold in packs of three. Greg wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was one of those. “We’re just getting the tasks ready. And really all you need to do is judge.” He nods.

“Great,” Greg says and once again regrets ever having hired Roisin. How does she repeatedly manage to talk him into this kind of bullshit?

The ‘tasks’ as it turns out are games more suitable for a children’s birthday party than for adults trying to gain a foothold in comedy. They have to paint pictures using brushes that are too long, put as many oranges as possible in their mouth, and eat as much watermelon as they can. It’s silly, stupid and pointless. Most of them are humiliating and filthy. Greg doesn’t understand why anyone would want to put themselves through this torture.

“Who even comes up with this? This is insane,” he mutters to one of the participating comics, (Jonah? Or Josh or something?) as they have to take another break so the stagehands can install a bathtub on stage. Whatever you would need a bloody bathtub for. The man turns to him. He’s young with curly hair. “They’re great, aren’t they? Alex comes up with all the stuff by himself!”

Of course, it would be Alex, Greg thinks sourly. It practically has Alex written all over it. There must be something deeply wrong with all the people participating, to actually enjoy it. Maybe all of them are insane. Maybe those are the ‘friends’ Alex had been talking about.

Greg at least is having a terrible time, and he lets it show through his scoring. He revels in calling all the paintings shit, giving no participant more than three points. He looks on sourly through most other attempts and keeps the interactions to a minimum. Fuck it, if it means the end of his career. He doesn’t think it can get any worse than this.

He’s packed his stuff and is ready to leave the venue not five minutes after the show ends. He’s just in the process of putting on his coat when Alex enters his dressing room. Greg has to hold back a groan. He really just wants to get out of here. If he’s lucky he’ll manage to catch the train in half an hour.

“Oh, Greg, you’re leaving?” Alex asks and pretends to look disappointed. If he were Alex, he would be fucking glad to have him out of his hair after that disaster of a show. “We were planning to go for celebratory drinks this evening after my-” He stops like he wants to say something else but clearly thinks better of it. “Um, you could come with us if you want?” There it is again, that fucking politeness. If one wasn’t looking closely enough, they could easily be fooled by Alex’s acting. Just like Roisin probably had. But Greg won’t be fooled!

“I have a train to catch,” he says curtly. He steps around Alex to get to the door. He doesn’t say goodbye. He does feel Alex’s eyes burning into his back though.

“What do you mean none of the trains are leaving?” he shouts an hour later into the face of a weary station manager. He’s sweating like a pig even in just his shirt, now that the sun has finally decided to show.

“I’m sorry, sir. But the tracks are blocked,” the woman repeats with the stoicism only years of work in customer service can teach. “We’re trying to solve the problem as soon as possible, but there is not a lot we can do from here.”

Greg sighs deeply and gives his best not to shout in her face again. “And are there any alternatives? A rental car maybe or a bus?” He feels desperate. The tiredness is beginning to get to him, and he just really wants to have a lie down and feel sorry for himself in peace.

“I’m sorry, sir. But due to the festival it’s very busy and all the other transportations are already booked.” Would it be embarrassing if he started crying now? It would certainly be memorable. “We do however have the possibility to pay you the night at a hotel. The issue will be resolved by tomorrow.”

Greg would rather do anything than spend another night in this nightmare of a city, but unfortunately there is not a lot he can do. So, he thanks the lady and manages to drag himself back to the Airbnb.

He sits alone in front of the tv for the rest of the night, downing three bottles of beer he bought at a shop on the way. The day still weighs heavily on his shoulders. He feels horrible and his ego is thoroughly bruised by his miserable performance. Mabe he should just quit comedy, he thinks. Get back into a stable job. Maybe he should have listened to his mother all those years ago. He sighs and presses his fingers to his temples. He should go to sleep before he can think himself into even gloomier territories.

And so, he does. He discards the half empty bottle somewhere in the kitchen. Still icky with sweat and a foul-smelling breath, he lies down on the unmade bed. At least he’ll be back in his own depressing flat tomorrow. He’s fast asleep a few minutes later.

Chapter Text

Greg wakes up the following morning to the alarm clock next to the bed going off. It’s playing the same awful song about a satsuma in a curry. Apparently, they don’t have any proper radio shows here and just reuse the same material over and over. Greg silences it immediately, rather coping with the quiet than any more of this horrible ‘music’. He thought he turned the damn thing off yesterday. He must have forgotten.

His mood is terrible. He feels tired and just wants to go home. He collects his things for the shower and is once again completely unprepared for the cold water hitting him square in the face. He screams and swears. He really ought to have a conversation with the people running this shithole. They assured him yesterday, that the plumbers would come over in the afternoon to fix the boiler. So much for that. Fucking useless. Maybe he can sue them for compensation. He could have had a heart attack, probably.

He makes himself a very strong coffee while hurrying around the flat to throw his stuff back into his suitcase. He shuts it forcefully. He skips breakfast, deciding to get something on the way instead. He just really wants to leave this god forsaken place behind.

When he stumbles out the door, cursing loudly about the broken wheel on his suitcase, he nearly crashes into the same woman, he met yesterday. He has to suppress an eyeroll. Of fucking course. Has she been lurking around his house the entire time?

“You’re Greg Davies!” She says and grins, because apparently that is all she can fucking say.

“Yes, I’m still Greg Davies,” Greg says, irritated.

“I really loved your standup when I was younger. My dad used to take me to your shows.” Great, so she is incapable of telling any other story at all.

Greg pushes past her, anger itching all over his skin. “That’s great. You’ll have to excuse me though. I have a train to catch.”

She seems confused. “Wait, isn’t your show playing today?” She calls after him. Greg just ignores her and strides on. He really hopes, she won’t follow him. Fucking weird, that one.

Apparently, the universe is playing a cruel joke on him, because he also runs into Rhod again, on the same crossroads as yesterday. Greg groans quietly. He really isn’t in the mood to get into another discussion. Especially not, after the way he treated Rhod yesterday.

“I don’t fucking believe it! Gregory Daniel Davies in the flesh!” Greg rolls his eyes. Trying to be annoying it is then, apparently.

“Yes, hello again, Rhod.”

“Again? What the fuck it that supposed to mean. We all thought you were dead, mate.”

Greg huffs. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. Yesterday in fact. And yes, I am still sorry for not calling you, but I also really need to go now. I’m in a hurry.” He tries to push past Rhod, but Rhod steps into his way.

“Well, that’s rich. Because as I remember we haven’t spoken to each other in six months.” Rhod says and crosses his arms angrily.

“What do you mean? Of course, we fucking talked. Right here. Yesterday,” Greg growls. He is getting really worked up now. He’s hungry and not in any state for Rhod to play some sick games with him.

“We didn’t fucking talk yesterday,” Rhod keeps insisting.

“Are you going fucking senile?” Greg snarls, poking a finger at Rhod’s chest. “Or are you just trying to make me angry?”

Rhod huffs. Musters him. Then shakes his head. “Maybe Sian was right. Maybe I should just let you go on with this stupid self-destruction bullshit. Maybe you deserve lying in a puddle somewhere.” He turns around, calmer now. “I for one am done getting screamed at by you.” He huffs again, then walks away, not sending another look in Greg’s direction.

Greg feels a little funny. He’s still angry but he’s also getting the distinct feeling that he’s taken it too far this time. “Yeah okay. Good fucking riddance,” he calls after Rhod anyway. Just because there is no going back, and he needs to feel like he still holds some kind of control. He’s already fucked it up. Might as well let all his anger out.

But the weird feeling stays. Something sits heavily inside his chest. Greg hesitates, but finally pulls his mobile from his pocket. He looks at the date and the sinking feeling intensifies. It’s still the 21^st of August. He groans. He was so sure that yesterday- It must have been a fucked-up dream then. A surprisingly accurate dream, considering what’s been happening so far. Or a very elaborate déjà-vu.

Then it hits him. The show. Taskman or -champion or whatever. He gives a frantic look at his watch. He’s already running late. God, Roisin is going to kill him. And she won’t take any of this madness as an excuse. He wheels his suitcase around and hurries down the street.

He arrives at the location as one of the last people, this time having found the way at first try. People give him a few weird looks over the suitcase. Alex gives him the same awfully annoying wave, which he already gave in Greg’s dream, before he prances over. God, Greg is going to have to go through another whole day of looking at his face. Dream version Alex was already bad enough as it is. “Good morning, Greg. I hope you found your way here okay,” he says with that same awful smile. Greg could strangle him. He’s tired and hungry.

“Yes, I did,” he growls. “Do you have anywhere I can put my suitcase. And do you have any food?”

Alex nods. “Oh yeah, you can put it backstage, and we also have a little snack area there. Wait, I can show you,” he moves around Greg and guides Greg to the same doors Greg remembers from his dream. “Are you planning to leave after the show then?” Alex says and nods at the suitcase. Of course, he would try to hold small talk when Greg is clearly not interested.

“Yeah, I’m planning to,” Greg says, thinking about how things worked out the last time. He really hopes that part of his dream at least will turn out to be wrong. He ignores the look Alex gives him. Is that disappointment? Surely not. Probably some other weird form of his politeness.

Greg hangs around, mostly doing nothing, while the crew sets up everything around them. It’s scary how everything feels so awfully familiar. Even the contestants are the same. How can his brain dream up people he’s never met before? But that’s just the way déjà-vus work, he reasons.

He stands next to one of them when they carry the canvases on stage. Something is his gut clenches. “Have you seen this before?” he asks the woman, and desperately hopes that the answer is yes. That the awful familiarity comes from seeing this stuff on tv at some point.

But the woman shakes her head. “Oh no, I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.” She grins. She has shoulder long dark hair and is wearing dungarees. Greg remembers her from his dream. She had been incredibly shit at all the tasks. Now she still looks genuinely excited. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? The whole idea?” She leans forward to whisper next to his ear, drawing up her eyebrows conspiratorially. “I heard there are some producers in today. Rumour is they’re thinking about putting it on television.”

“Reeeeaally,” Greg says flatly. He can’t believe anyone would genuinely like to see any more of this.

Greg had hoped that this weird déjà-vu feeling would leave during in the show. But it doesn’t. It’s the same stupid childish tasks that he had to endure in his dream or whatever horrible hallucination it had been. And it starts to genuinely creep him out. He goes through most of it in a daze, flinching whenever another memory turns to reality before his eyes.

He doesn’t even wait to say goodbye after the show. He sneaks out while everyone is still congratulating themselves on a job horribly done. He feels faint as his legs carry him across the city towards the station. The clouds hang heavily above him like something awful is lurking on the horizon.

He can’t find it in him to feel surprised, when the service employee tells him that the train tracks are blocked. To the contrary, it’s like something inside of him has set been right. His worst suspicions are confirmed. It’s relieving in a horrible sort of way. This time he doesn’t argue, just accepts readily when she offers him that they pay for another night. He stumbles back out of the building, feeling sick.

He spends the evening just as he did yesterday, miserable on the sofa. But this time his thoughts won’t stop running in spirals. He knows that something is wrong. He just can’t tell what it is. And why it is happening. In the end he just decides to go to bed. Maybe some sleep will help him fix this. Maybe the world will make a little more sense tomorrow.

Before he lies down, he takes a pencil from his backpack and breaks it in two. He places both halves on the alarm clock. It feels a little silly. But he reasons that it’s just in case.

Chapter Text

The next morning Greg’s hands instantly scramble for the pencil he put onto the alarm clock. He searches with increasing desperation but comes back empty-handed. For a minute he stares at the ceiling and listens to the radio playing the by now familiar song about a satsuma. Just like yesterday. Or well today, apparently. The hosts announce it’s the 21^st of August. Again.

He picks up his phone, still lying down, and calls the first number he can think of.

“I think I’m stuck in a time loop,” he says, before Roisin can even get one word in.

“What?” Rosin asks. “If this is supposed to be about the show this afternoon, you better come up with a better excuse.”

“I think I’m stuck in a time loop, Rois,” Greg repeats, moving his free hand to massage at his throbbing temples. “I was at the show two days ago. And then I woke up yesterday and it was two days ago again. And then I broke this pencil, but it’s not broken today.”

Roisin sighs. “Greg, you can’t talk yourself out of this, not even by making up utter bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious, Rois. Please, you need to believe me,” Greg says and sits up in bed. The sheets stick awkwardly to his naked torso. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

“Greg, honestly, I’m a little tired of this conversation. You said you would do the show, so you’re going to do the show. They’ve all put so much work into it. And Alex was so nice and understanding about your honestly unprofessional indecisiveness. I think you owe it to him.” Greg scoffs. There it is again. Nice. A fucking pain in his ass is what Alex is. “And don’t be like that. You’re going to do the show. Period. You can go to the doctor’s afterwards if you’re so keen on pleading insanity.”

“But Rois-” Greg tries again, although he’s pretty sure he’s already lost this argument.

“I’ll hear you later, Greg. After the show,” she says pointedly and disconnects the call.

Greg stares at his phone for a while afterwards. The show, always the fucking show! Who even cares about stupid taskbusters? It’s never going to be a success. And saying that he’s insane, when clearly, she’s the one not making any bloody sense! He stops. Something else Roisin said rings around his head. Going to the doctor? That’s always a good idea, right? When something is wrong with you, and you don’t know what it is? - Leave it up to someone smarter to solve the riddle!

He gets up and dresses in a daze. He avoids using the shower this time. He also peers through the door slit before stepping out of the house, to avoid another encounter with the crazy fan. This mess might at least improve some parts of the no-good horrible day. Safely outside, he makes his way to where, his phone claims, the nearest doctor’s office is. He steers clear off the area he met Rhod in the last two days.

He only realises, that it’s probably not a good idea to barge into the whole time loop story head on, when he’s sitting on the examination table. The surface is too low, his feet dragging over the ground. The plastic creaks uncomfortably under his arse. Not that he’s seriously concerned about getting send to the loony bin, seeing as he’ll probably find himself right back in his bed by tomorrow, or well today. But he’s also pretty sure it won’t get him the examinations he’s looking for.

He makes up some shitty story about having hallucinations, which he supposes could still be true. The doctor watches him warily as he makes up some nonsense about flying pigs. That’s the sort of thing people hallucinate about, right?

The doctor checks his head, bending it a few awkward angles and asking if it hurts. It doesn’t but it feels fucking stupid. They decide to give him an MRI which means he gets to lie in a tube, which tries to imitate the noises of a whole ass rave party and barely fits his massive body, for a whole hour.

Afterwards they examine the important looking pictures and for a moment Greg is honestly concerned it might turn out that he has a brain tumour. But then they tell him that everything’s fine, which is somehow just equally as concerning, because it leaves him right where he was before.

He goes to another doctor afterwards, with much the same results. They do an x-ray of his head though, which is cool. Greg’s getting more action in the medical sector today, than he’s had in his whole sorry life so far. After some bargaining with his self-esteem, he even brings himself to see a therapist. It feels good to talk about it, even if her nodding along looks increasingly worried as the story goes on. She tells him afterwards to come back tomorrow, which doesn’t help Greg at all.

The day only manages to leave him exhausted and confused. He’s not sure what the fuck is going on and even less about what to do with it. He decides the best thing to do, as usual, is to get absolutely shitfaced. Maybe the alcohol will pull him back to reality somehow. What does he know? He’s not a time loop expert! And otherwise, he’ll at least get to forget about everything for a while.

He sits down in some shady bar. The only other patrons are two older men, which should be a little concerning with the city practically bursting with visitors for the festival. It’s no wonder though with the thick curtain of smoke hanging in the room. The beer tastes awful too. But he doesn’t really mind it after a few glasses.

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” he says later to one of the guys, Gerry maybe? He has yellow teeth and a breath that smells like rotten meat. Greg has to giggle with the absurdity of the situation.

“Time loop, ey?” the other guy says. He’s small and doesn’t have a lot of hair. His eyes stick out of his skull, like they do with fish. Greg can’t remember his name, but he decides to call him fishface. “So, the same day repeating?”

“Yeah,” Greg says and takes another swig from his beer. “Been living today for the third time now.”

“If I was stuck in a time loop,” Gerry or Gerald or whatever says and hiccups slightly. He’s way past the point of tipsy and sways a little, even seated. “I would piss on the feet of some royal bastard.” He nods, satisfied with his explanation. He nearly misses his glass when he tries to take another sip.

“Yeah!” Fishface roars in agreement. “Some rich prick with a big car.”

They go on about what kind of rich prick specifically they would like to piss on. Greg gets the distinct feeling, that Gerry in particular is holding some grudges against the royal family. Or maybe that’s just a Scottish thing? But something about the idea does sit with Greg. He hadn’t let himself think about the implications so far, too concerned with the idea of getting out of this mess. But it’s true, isn’t it? He can do whatever the hell he likes. There won’t be any consequences.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol, perhaps it’s his own stupid mind always deciding to do the worst possible thing in any given situation, but a plan begins to form in his head. It’s so insane and ridiculous that even Greg needs to pause for a moment. But the idea has taken root. More and more plans plop into his head. A giggle escapes his lips.

Greg stands, a little unsteadily. “Let’s go,” he tells the other two and throws 200 pounds onto the counter. They’ve all had their fair share, but it’s still a lot more than they actually need to pay. Greg doesn’t give a crap though. It’s not like he’ll need the money tomorrow.

“Where are we going?” Fishface asks, also standing and nearly toppling over in the process.

“You’ll see,” Greg says and smiles.

They go to the castle, the courtyard weirdly devoid of tourists by night. The building towers before them, majestically. Even more so with the light illuminating it. With his height it’s easy for Greg to step over the guidance system constructed before the entrance. He then crawls over the turnstiles, getting his pants caught in one of them and nearly falling flat onto his face. He snickers.

“What are you doing?” One of the assholes asks behind him. When Greg turns around, he finds them still on the other side. Fishface laughs nervously and scans the area for any people watching them.

“Having a bit of fun,” Greg says with a smirk, before struggling on. He has to readjust his pants after the whole turnstile debacle. “Are you coming or what?” He calls back to them.

They do follow him after a while, if a little more hesitantly. Together they creep along the winding road up to the castle. They have to stop a few times to evade the guards swarming the territory. Greg has to suppress the giddy laugh that wants to escape him every time. It feels so good. Excitement and adrenaline pump through him.

After a while they’ve made it to the top. It’s beautiful. The court, which overlooks the city, lies empty before them. The rooftops shine below them in the darkness. The moon hangs high in the sky. Greg can barely make out the sea somewhere in the distance. He stands at the edge for a moment and just enjoys the evening breeze on his sweaty skin. His lower half leans against the castle wall, which is still warm from the summer day. It’s quiet up here, except for the frantic whispering of the idiots next to him.

Greg climbs up onto one of the battlements, accompanied by the increasingly worried hissing of his two companions. A hissing which stops abruptly when Greg opens his zipper. The wind whips through his pants.

“Fuck you, Edinbugger!” Greg screams from the top of his lungs. Then he lets loose. He only gets to enjoy the glorious sensation of his piss falling down the abyss before him for a second, before he is tackled to the ground by a guard.

He laughs as they slap cuffs onto his wrists, his trousers still undone. He’s still laughing when they drag him towards a police car a while later. A small crowd has gathered to enjoy the spectacle. Behind him Gerry and Fishface are struggling against the officers holding them. One of them screams something about Greg being a lunatic.

Greg only recognises Alex because of the horrible shirt he’s wearing. He’s standing in the front row of the crowd, right next to the police officer keeping them at a safe distance. Unlike everyone else he is neither filming nor murmuring nor laughing. Instead, he stares right at Greg, his eyes big as saucers. He looks horrified. Greg cranes his neck to get a better look, but he’s shoved into the car before he can. The door closes after him with a thud.

Chapter Text

The next morning Greg laughs in relief and disbelieve when he finds himself back in the too small bed of his Airbnb. It feels like they were forcing him into a police car not five minutes ago. He can still feel their hands all over him. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

He gets up feeling lighter and more energetic than he has in months. This morning, he takes the time to properly clean himself up. Instead of the shower he uses water from the sink, which he boils to just the right temperature. He sings along to the satsuma song and even laughs at some of the food jokes the radio hosts make. Then he goes to make himself a coffee but decides midway through that the day feels far too nice to settle for the disgusting powder mix. And maybe he can also have a proper breakfast while he’s at it. After all he has all the time in the world. Where would he need to be? Certainly not the show. Fucking taskpeople won’t be graced by his presence today! Or ever again for that matter!

He collects the keys from the table and walks outside, spring in his step.

He finds a cute little café a few streets down, quite close to the venue in fact. The waiter greets him and takes Greg’s coffee order. Greg then studies the menu for a while, hovering over a few different options and not really being able to decide. That is until he remembers that none of this will matter by tomorrow. With a childlike gleefulness he ends up ordering everything. The waiter looks at him as if he’s lost his mind, but obviously he can’t complain when Greg is willing to make such heavy investments into their business.

Soon after the space before Greg is filled with all sorts of delicious breakfast varieties. From eggs and sausages to pastries and fruit salad, there is a bit of everything. They have to bring him two additional tables to be able to fit everything. The food smells amazing, honestly. Even if Greg is pretty sure he won’t be able to eat half of it. He’s already feeling pretty sick after he’s made it through the first three plates. But he decides that he doesn’t really care if he’ll puke it all back up onto the table. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? He’ll feel fine tomorrow either way.

He cuts off another chunk from a sausage, dripping with fat, and hums obscenely as the heavenly flavours unfold on his tongue. Really, he should have done this before. Maybe he should do this every day from now on.

He’s just about to take another bite when he makes eye contact with the person currently hurrying past the window. For a moment they both stop in their tracks, Greg with a fork hovering only a few centimetres in front of his face. Greg groans. God, this is the last thing he needs right now.

The doorbell jingles. Greg hears hasty steps as someone approaches his table. Then Alex is standing in front of him, still in that awful dolphin jumper. Greg thinks about ripping the jumper off and setting fire to it. Might be a thing to do in a later loop. Now he doesn’t want to get kicked out of the café and spoil his perfect breakfast. Not more than it already is anyway.

“Greg! We have been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been?” Alex asks.

Greg only shrugs and stuffs some mashed potato into his mouth. “I mean it’s pretty obvious where I’ve been, right?” he says sweetly and enjoys the way Alex frowns.

“You’ve eaten all of this?” Alex asks and stares unbelievingly at the mess of plates on the table. It’s a bit disgusting, even Greg has to admit. The sauces smeared all over the table. The half-eaten leftovers. The cooling drops of grease everywhere. Every doctor would instantly put him on heart medication. Or into a mental asylum.

“The sausages are great. You need to try them!” Greg says instead of an answer. He champs happily around the mush in his mouth.

Alex only watches him with something between fascination and disgust. “But the show starts soon! We need you on stage!” he insists.

Greg rolls his eyes. He puts his cutlery down beside the plate just so he can lean closer to Alex on his elbows. “Alex, let me say this once and for all: I don’t want to do your freaky little show.” He accentuates his annoyance with a wiggly hand motion. “I’m sure you can find someone else to do it.” He smiles condescendingly. “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to finish my breakfast.”

Alex looks dumbfounded, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “But…the show!” he stammers.

“The show, the show,” Greg says, imitating Alex’s whiney tone. Greg sighs and interrupts his eating to send Alex an annoyed look. “Alex.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I don’t fucking care.”

Alex’s face transforms then. His eyebrows draw together and his eyes narrow. It takes Greg a while to understand that Alex is cross. Oh, but how glorious it feels! To finally get to glimpse behind the perfectly nice façade. “I think now you’re being unfair, Greg. There are so many people who put so much effort into this. So many people who could benefit from it. You can’t just let them down!”

Greg waves dismissively, biting into a cucumber sandwich next. “They’ll be fine without me.”

Alex shakes his head. He looks disappointed now. It stirs some feeling deep inside of Greg, that he quickly presses back down. Today is his day. No time to feel sorry for someone else. “I don’t know why you’re being like this, Greg. I wanted you on the show, because I thought we -” Alex cuts himself of. “Because I thought you would make it come to life.” He looks crestfallen. “But apparently, I was wrong.”

That makes Greg falter at least. He frowns. “Wait, what? You requested me?” He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Probably angry, he decides, because it means Alex is responsible for getting him stuck here in the first place.

“Yes! But I’m really starting to regret it!” Greg can see how genuinely worked up Alex is by the redness that has creeped into his face. Even though his shouting sounds more like a pathetic horse neighing. It feels brilliant though. Finally, being the one with the upper hand, emotionally speaking.

“Well then, have fun regretting it,” Greg says and shrugs. “You can have some of the cinnamon buns if you want. They are amazing.” He nods at the half full plate on the table.

“You know, Greg, it wouldn’t hurt to be just a little nicer to people sometimes,” Alex presses out. Greg only rolls his eyes at Alex’s patronizing tone. “But fine. Have it your way.” Alex turns around, obviously fuming, and nearly collides with the waiter. He mumbles some sort of apology and stumbles towards the door. His ears have turned an incriminating shade of red.

Greg grins, delighted. He really ought to have thought of this earlier! It’s like going to therapy! But better! He’s cutting all the toxic annoying things from his life. From now on only good vibes! Maybe he should actually fire Roisin next. “Bye Alex!” He shouts after the other, as the bell rings to signal the door opening.

He rides his high the entire afternoon. He goes to an arcade, spending more money than his bank account holds on crappy video games. He hasn’t been in an arcade for years. He sticks out like a sore thumb between all the kids and teenagers. It’s great fun though, even if he’s too tall for a lot of the machines.

He eats three steaks for dinner, not starter, no sides. Just the meat. The planet won’t mind. It will still torment him tomorrow. He also thinks about finding Rhod and telling him what he really thinks, after that freeing conversation he had with Alex earlier. He hums happily as he strolls through town back to his flat.

Chapter Text

Greg starts keeping a list of all the things he wants to do after a couple of days. Well, he tries to, anyway. Mostly he desperately tries to remember any of it, due to the unfortunate circumstances of not being able to write anything down permanently. His memory is like a sieve on the best of days. But he tries to make it stick by thinking about and writing it down whenever he can. It feels good to cross things off, even if he is doing it more in a symbolic way.

It’s a variety of things. Simple stuff first. Things he had always wanted to do but that somehow never fit into his busy schedule. Food he always wanted to try, movies he always wanted to see, museums he always wanted to go to. It feels quite a bit like a holiday. With the added bonus of not having to think about work in the foreseeable future either.

It’s other stuff afterwards: Things he would never have the courage to do if the consequences were real. He steals some money from a stranger. He calls his ex and tells her how much he hates her. He buys a car worth all the money in his bank account. He goes to the most expensive hotel in town and throws a tv out the window. That kind of stuff.

He really enjoys it. It feels liberating. Not having to stick to societal rules for once. He feels powerful.

There is one point on the list he struggles with though. He thinks long and hard about actually writing it down whenever he is remaking his list. He feels a little embarrassed about it, if he’s being honest.

It’s the same this time. He’s sitting at the kitchen table in his Airbnb, staring at the paper in front of him. The radio is on in the background. They are talking about ice cream again. He twirls the pen between his fingers, brings it to his mouth to chew on it. In the end he decides to write it down after all. He does it quickly though, so he can’t back out. He looks around, as if somebody might be watching him. Of course, nobody is.

• Get laid

He stares at the words for some time. Turns them round in his head. Really, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. If this were any normal day, he wouldn’t think twice about hooking up with someone. But somehow the idea of being stuck with the person in the same loop for God knows how long weirds him out. Normally the appeal of a one-night stand to him is to never have to see the person again. Just a bit of casual fun. But is there any way he can call this casual when the person doesn’t even understand the situation Greg is in?

He huffs and throws the pencil down. Fuck his overthinking. He’s going to do it. After all, he was planning to enjoy himself.

The plan is perfect. If he wants to pull, he’ll have to use everything he’s got. He’s a little rusty but he’s pretty sure he remembers the basics. Some people might call it immoral to use his fame to his advantage. But they don’t understand the things Greg had to endure because of it. He feels his fame owes him the favour after all the shit it put him through.

He makes it to the venue for once perfectly prepared. His beard is freshly trimmed. He’s wearing his best, tight-fitted shirt and skinny jeans. He’s dusted with just the right amount of aftershave. Even he had to admit that he looks nice, when he examined himself in the mirror earlier.

Of course, the first person Greg walks into has to be Alex. The city is bursting with people but somehow Greg keeps running into the one man he wants to avoid. “Oh, Greg,” Alex says, and his eyes fly over Greg’s outfit. His face goes through some interesting gymnastics, that immediately sour Greg’s newfound self-confidence. He settles on a that annoying twitchy smile of his. “You’re…here.”

Greg rolls his eyes. He’s not going to let Alex ruin his amazing day. He shouldn’t care about Alex’s opinion anyway. He can think about Greg’s looks whatever he wants. “Yes, Alex, I am indeed here,” he says a little exasperated. God, he really hopes that he can make it through working with Alex for an entire day, without strangling the man. That would mean he’d have to do the whole thing all over again! “And I’m ready to work.”

“Oh, um that’s good? We’re still setting up the set, so,” Alex looks at his horrible plastic watch.

“Yeah, don’t mind me. I’ll go backstage and prepare,” Greg says and gives Alex a patronizing clap on the back. He thoroughly enjoys the way Alex jumps at the contact. He then turns around and strolls towards the backstage.

“Um, okay? Do you know where to go?” Alex calls after him. “Greg?” He calls again then a second later, but Greg ignores him, while ducking through the backstage door.

Picking out a target is hard. Greg had thought about it in length earlier, while getting ready. The thought of hitting on a man had somehow popped into his head and been rolling around in it ever since. He doesn’t really know why. It’s been a while since he’s had anything with a man. Not because he didn’t want to, particularly. It was more, because his last relationships all had been with women. But there is something exciting about trying, he thinks. Even if it makes it harder for him, because he needs to find someone who’s into men as well. But then again, it’s the comedy scene so it can’t be that hard. And besides, Greg’s always liked a challenge.

He settles on Josh. Bubbly guy with curly hair, who’s at least twenty years younger than he is. They talked on Greg’s first day here, Greg remembers. He didn’t pay him a lot of attention then. But Greg recognized the gleam in Josh’s eyes when they first talked to each other that day. The gleam that tells Greg that Josh knows and enjoys his work. It’s manipulative, yes. But Greg reasons, that Josh will have the opportunity to say no at any point. And it’s not like he’ll remember any of this anyway.

They talk and joke a lot before the show. Flirting is easier Greg finds, when he remembers a few things from previous loops. He might not be into football, but he’s an actor after all. He can pretend to like football if needs must. Generally, he is putting it on thick. Leaning closer whenever the opportunity arises. Resting his arm on the sofa only a few centimetres away from the other man’s shoulders. Greg can tell that Josh is enjoying the attention though. It’s the way he blushes and giggles shyly. It feels incredibly good to still be able to have that effect on people, Greg has to admit.

They do the show and Greg is giving it his all. He’s cheeky and charismatic. He pulls the best jokes and flirts shamelessly with all the contestants. The audience absolutely eats it up. And Greg has to admit that it is kind of fun when he’s emerging himself in the role.

Josh comes to find him in his dressing room afterwards. Greg doesn’t even need to put in the effort. He just needs to open the door. Josh makes up some stupid excuse about wanting to talk to him about another project. It’s a poor excuse and they both now it. It doesn’t take long and they’re snogging. Greg is crowding Josh against the wall, leg pushing between the other man’s thighs. And it’s nice. No, it’s electrifying. Right up until the moment that the door is opened.

“Greg! I have amazing news! I just spoke to someone from Avalon, and they said- oh.” Alex is standing in the door, staring wide eyed at the scene unfolding before him.

Greg and Josh are still pressed up against each other, both panting and probably red in the face.

Alex’s face goes through several different emotions: Shock, embarrassment, confusion, disgust? Then it settles on a disturbingly emotionless mask. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says and closes the door again.

Josh immediately dives back at him, but Greg is frozen in staring at the door. Something inside him has shifted.

“Don’t worry about Alex,” Josh says, apparently picking up on Greg’s sudden change in mood. He’s still breathing heavily somewhere next to Greg’s neck. “He’ll understand. He’s bisexual too, I think.”

To be honest, Greg’s not really concerned with what Alex fucking Horne might think about his sexual preferences. Well, maybe he is a bit. He wouldn’t have put it past the guy to be homophobic on top of everything else. Or maybe that’s unfair considering the friends Alex surrounds himself with. That dolphin jumper might as well have ‘queer’ written all over it. Honestly, Greg’s panicking a little. A dark pit has opened in his stomach.

He imagines how the situation must have looked to Alex. Greg, towering at least three heads above Josh, kissing him in the backstage of the show that Greg just judged and bullied him on. The power imbalance is so big he might as well have forced Josh into it. And Josh did win, didn’t he? Was that just coincidence or Greg playing a long game of seduction? He might have offered more points in return for sexual favours. It’s fucked up, isn’t it?

Greg stumbles back, Josh looking at him in confusion. Disgust is curling around Greg’s insides. God, he’s an idiot. Who does he think he is for taking advantage of someone like that? What was he planning to do? Have a shot at all the contestants in a row? See how he can manipulate them best into having sex with him?

“I- I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough as he stares into Josh’s face. He looks so young and innocent. Greg storms out of the room, before he can throw up. He does though, in some grimy back alley, his hand pressed to the cobbled wall.

Afterwards he carries himself home somehow, the taste of bile still in his throat and the feeling of someone else’s lips on his. He also thinks he can feel Alex’s accusing eyes all over his skin. He sees Alex’s disgusted look whenever he closes his eyes.

Greg lies down on the bed, still smelling of sweat and puke. He cries for some time, wishing to be able to forget, just like all the others can. At some point, he must have fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

When the alarm chimes the same morning, Greg doesn’t move to turn it off. Instead, he lays on his back and stares at the ceiling, listening to the weird ramblings of the two radio guys, he by now knows every word off. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t have the energy. He doesn't know what he would stand up to do anyway.

He’s done all the things on his list. Well, most of them. But he can’t go back to the remaining ones with a good conscious. Not after what happened. Even if no one will remember it tomorrow. Or today. He will. And that kind of takes most of the fun out of the other stuff as well. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. God, he’s a horrible human being. Waste of breath.

He doesn’t move for several hours. Instead, he lies in only his pants on top of a heap of unmade sheets. Like a pathetic king on his equally pathetic throne. A spider crawls along the ceiling. He wonders how long he’ll have to keep doing this. The same thing over and over. If he’s run out of things to do already then eternity will be hell, torture even. Maybe this is his punishment for not getting his life together. He groans and closes his eyes, turns around and stares at the clock. The day has barely even started.

He gets shaken out of his gloomy thought spiral by a knock at the door. He frowns, looks over at the clock and then his phone. He’s not expecting any visitors. In fact, he hasn’t had visitors in any of the other loops. But then again, he’s never stayed at the apartment for the whole day. Maybe it’s somebody coming to fix the water boiler. He has just chosen to ignore it and go back to his self-loathing, when the knocking starts up again. He sighs. He can’t even brood properly!

Putting an old t-shirt over his head, he stumbles towards the door, managing to knock over several things in the progress. Unfortunately, the door doesn’t have a peephole. Greg hesitates. Another knock sounds. More persistently.

Carefully, Greg opens the door. To his great annoyance he finds himself face to face with Alex, who has his fist raised to knock another time. They stare at each other stupidly.

Alex is the first to recover. He quickly puts down his hand. “Greg! I was looking for you!” he says in that irritating, accusatory tone of his. Greg really doesn’t have the emotional stability to deal with this bullshit today. He is already expecting Alex’s usual lecture on ‘responsibility and punctuality’ and is about to throw the door closed in the other’s face, when Alex surprises him by frowning. “Are you okay, Greg?”

Greg looks down at his worn-out boxers and dirty shirt. He hasn’t showered so he must smell awful as well. His face is unshaved. It’s probably a sight to see.

“Are you sick?” Alex asks. Greg doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. He really must look horrible then. He certainly feels horrible.

Alex continues to fuzz over him. “Why didn’t you say? I was worried something had happened, because you didn’t show up at the venue.” He produces his phone from his pocket and starts feverishly typing something. “I need to tell Andy to hold off until I’m back. Do you think you’re still feeling up to going on stage?” He frowns down at the display, biting his lip in concentration. It seems he’s gone into full admin mode. “We might need to find a replacement otherwise.”

Greg is too stunned to react to any of Alex’s ramblings. He’s never seen this version of Alex before. He’s only every been cross whenever Greg didn’t show up to the taskhero show. Even though Greg has to admit that his deliberate provocations might have played a non-negligible part in that. He doesn’t know how to react when Alex is not screaming, or well trying to scream, at him.

Greg clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he says, suddenly embarrassed. For some weird reason he feels the need to make it up to Alex. Maybe it’s the puppy eyes the other is sending him. What a manipulative arsehole. “I must have slept over my alarm. But I can be ready in five minutes-”

Alex looks Greg up and down with judging eyes. He shakes his head. “We should get you back to bed. You look awful,” he says and steers Greg back inside by the shoulder.

“It’s fine. - I’m fine. I can come with you,” Greg stutters. Alex’s hand feels warm even through the fabric of his shirt. Alex ignores him, only pushing him further into the apartment. He’s still mostly focused on typing something into his phone. Greg moves with him like in trance. He feels empty. He doesn’t know what to think. Alex sits him down on the bed and disappears somewhere to the kitchen. He returns later with a glass of water.

“But what about the show?” Greg asks and is reminded of Alex in an earlier loop. He doesn’t know why he keeps insisting. He doesn’t even want to do the stupid taskwhatever show. Why is he suddenly feeling so guilty for not attending? Maybe this is some kind of Stockholm syndrome?

Alex shakes his head and pats him on the shoulder. “Getting you back to health is more important than the show,” he says firmly. Greg feels something heavy twisting inside his chest. He wants to object but he doesn’t know what to say. He feels like it won’t make much difference either way. He wants to be angry at Alex’s patronizing tone but ultimately is just too tired to care.

Alex putters around a bit more, getting Greg another blanket and some pain medication. Greg watches him awkwardly from his position in the bed. He’s confused mostly. By the situation and by the feelings suddenly running wild inside him.

Alex is…nice. It’s hard to admit after everything that’s happened. After the countless loops Greg spend torturing and being mean to him. He’s just… nice. Or at least seems to be. Sure, he’s a little weird. But what other reason would he have to be here, at Greg’s flat, checking in on him. Willing to put the show, the thing they allegedly all worked so hard for, second. Just because Greg isn’t feeling well.

In some way, Greg is glad, when Alex finally leaves him to stew in his soup of emotions, to get back to the others. Not without promising to check in on Greg later though. It gives Greg time to finally take a deep breath and get a grip on himself. He keeps lying in bed, staring at the spider now eating some stray flies. Nothing makes sense anymore.

He imagines what might be going on at the show right now. Who did they replace him with? Are they doing a better job at it than Greg has? Does Alex laugh about their jokes? That thought rewards him with a weird stabbing pain in the chest. Greg puffs. Some weirdo might be mucking up his role right now. Alex wanted him to play the part. He’s-

Greg tries not to think about it anymore afterwards. It makes him feel funny.

Four hours later, he gets a text from Alex telling him that the show has been a success. The feeling he has been trying so hard to supress makes an unwelcome return. Then comes another message asking how he is. A different kind of feeling blooms in Greg’s chest at that. It’s warm and kind of tingly.

Greg stares at the screen for a long time, thinking about typing a reply. He doesn’t have much to lose, considering that the day is almost over, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to. What would he write anyway? The reasonable thing would be to congratulate Alex on a job well done. But should he really when he was so close to ruining everything today? And what if Alex thought that the show was amazing only because Greg wasn’t – Greg shakes his head. Why would he care, what Alex Horne thinks about him? So what if he thought the show was better with someone else taking the lead? Greg doesn’t care about the show. Or Alex for that matter.

And then there is the second message. It’s just a normal message, really. No big deal. The answer should be obvious. I’m fine. Thanks for your help. But for some reason Greg’s heart starts racing every time his fingers hover over the keys. He keeps staring into the middle distance until the letters on the display dissolve.

A few minutes later the screen lights up with another message.

I think it would have been even more amazing with you. I hope we can make up for it in the future.

Greg quickly puts the phone down then. He can’t look at the messages any longer. Somehow it feels hard to breathe. His insides feel funny, like they’re under electricity. He might really be coming down with something. He ignores the texts and nuzzles his nose a little deeper into the comforter Alex brought him. He falls asleep still wrapped around it, breathing in a foreign and yet familiar smell.

Chapter Text

The next day Greg is out the door barely five minutes after the alarm started blaring. He is buzzing with the need to speak to Alex. He doesn’t want to think too closely about why. He reasons it’s because Alex has been one of the few people Greg hasn’t regularly interacted with in other loops. And he really feels like there is something there. He just can’t put his finger on what it is exactly. They keep running into each other after all. Surely that must mean something.

The venue is still relatively empty when he gets there. Only a few workers are setting up the stage. Greg makes it over to Alex, who is in conversation with one of the other producers (Probably an Andy. They’re somehow all called Andy), in a few big strides.

“Greg, I didn’t expect you here this early,” Alex says and frowns. As is to be expected by now, he looks down at his horrible plastic watch.

“Alex, I really need to speak to you,” Greg says unceremoniously and hopes his voice properly conveys his desperation. He must certainly look desperate, as he got dressed so quickly this morning. He takes in the other people eying them warily. “Privately.”

“Um, okay?” Alex leads him off somewhere to a space which is probably part of the backstage. All sorts of boxes and probs are scattered around them. They pass a few diligently working people on the way, all of which Alex greets with a smile. Greg is too worked up to pay them any mind. He nervously bounces on his feet.

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” Greg blurts immediately, when the door falls shut behind them.

Alex blinks. Opens his mouth. Blinks again.

“God, that sounds insane,” Greg says and pulls a hand through his already tousled hair. “Why didn’t I think about how insane that sounds?” He begins pacing. “I’ve been stuck reliving the same fucking day over and over for what feels like eternity now. And I’m going insane, Alex. Insane.”

Alex frowns. The same frown he wore yesterday, when he was concerned for Greg’s wellbeing. Greg really doesn’t want to revisit that particular memory right now. It makes him feel funny again. “A time loop?”

“Yes, a fucking time loop!” Greg throws his arms into the air. “I don’t know how to prove it to you. But I can’t escape it. The same day over and over.”

Alex hums. “I think it’s pretty easy to prove.” He cocks his head to the side. “For example, what’s the name of my grandmother?”

Greg sighs. He’s already regretting trying to have this conversation. Of course, Alex would be calm, collected and utterly unhelpful while Greg is losing his god damn mind. And of course, he would then pretend like Greg it’s fault for not keeping up with his insanity. “Why would I know the name of your fucking grandmother?” Greg snaps.

“Well, if you were stuck in a time loop, we probably would have had this conversation before. And since I’m pretty sure you didn’t know my grandmother’s name yesterday it would prove to me that we had this conversation before. Thus, meaning that we’re- or that you are in a time loop.” He nods importantly. Greg can tell he’s holding back a smug smirk. Maybe this was a mistake. It’s getting increasingly difficult not to strangle him.

Greg stares at him. “But why would I ask you your grandmother’s name?”

“I’m pretty sure I would have suggested it.” Alex raises a challenging eyebrow.

Greg sighs. He’s suddenly blatantly aware of how little he knows about Alex in general. He’s mostly avoided him in the loops where he didn’t take the piss out of him. It probably says a lot about Greg that he knows exactly the ways in which to wind Alex up the best, but never even asked about his family. He feels ashamed and tired. Also irritated again.

“I don’t know your grandmothers name, Alex.” He sits himself down on a chair, putting his head into his hands.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping to gain from this. Comfort perhaps. The same kind of weird comfort he felt last time, when Alex was so nice to him. That’s pretty fucked up, isn’t it? Expecting comfort from someone who you’ve verbally abused over several time loops and who doesn’t properly know you in this one.

Suddenly there is a hand on his arm and Greg looks up to find Alex crouching in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, just leaves his hand there. It feels reassuring. The weight. The warmth. Greg takes a deep breath.

“What would you do, if you were trapped in a time loop?” Greg asks and his voice sounds only a little rough.

Alex hums, seemingly thinking about it. “I think I would use it to watch all the shows at the festival. There are so many I’d like to see, but don’t have the time for.” He wraps his mouth around the ‘all’ exaggeratedly, really drawing it out. He grins, his eyes sparking mischievously.

Greg sniffles. He too has to smile a little. He can’t believe that Alex’s pathetic methods of cheering up are working on him. “All, huh? Any recommendations?”

“Um,” Alex’s eyes fall to the ground, as does his hand. Greg instantly misses its warmth. Alex wrings his hands a little. “Well, me and my band are playing a show this evening? If you’d like to come?” He looks up at Greg, eyes round and hopeful.

“You’re a comedian? I thought you were a producer,” Greg asks, honestly surprised.

Alex blushes a little at that. “Well, yes. I produce, because it pays. We play shows with the band but so far…,” he struggles to find a word. “Let’s just say we’ve not had our breakthrough yet.” He casts down his eyes, nervously fiddling with his sleeve. “They only let me have the taskmaster show, because I told them-” He blushes a little. “Well, because I told them you were…attached.”

Greg doesn’t know what to think. Honestly, he’d assumed Alex was the kind of guy who flourished in admin. Boring numbers and excel sheets. Annoying the shit out of hard-working comedians, but never understanding the effort it takes. And then there’s the thing with the show. Should he feel flattered? Exploited? He decides it’s best not to think about it at all.

His first reaction is to say no. He nearly spits it out on instinct. Why would he go to Alex’s stupid show? From what Greg has seen of the man and his production, they clearly share no interests in comedy. And Greg has better things to do than to sit through two hours of second-hand embarrassment.

He stops himself at that. Does he though? Lately he’s had a lot of time on his hands. And really, what is there to lose? He can just leave if he doesn’t like it. It’s not like he’ll have to have an awkward conversation about it the next day. He takes a deep breath. “Okay yeah, I’ll come,” he says. Alex smile is so bright that it might just be worth sitting through two hours of horrible comedy for. That were if Greg cared about Alex’s smile at all.

Greg goes through the taskmaster show in a trance like state. He misses his cue a couple of times, too stuck in his own head. He knows what’s going to happen of course. But for the first time he tries to keep an open mind about it. He tries to force his annoyance down, whenever something ridiculous happens. He tries to imagine the show through the lens of Alex the comedian. It’s…different to the things he’s used to. But when looking closely he can see Alex’s humour scattered throughout the whole production.

He hangs around awkwardly in the backstage afterwards. People are mingling and laughing. There is a crowd forming around Alex. He smiles brightly and shakes hands. Laughs whenever someone says something funny to him. Greg can’t believe that someone could be so friendly with everyone. It makes him kind of jealous and sulky. People used to tell him that he’s the charming and charismatic one. Maybe he hasn’t been trying hard enough lately.

A few people talk to him as well. They give him half-hearted compliments. Greg responds with a strained thank-you. They all know as well as he does that his performance was shit. His eyes stay fixed on Alex.

The crowd finally disperses after a while and Alex wanders over to him. He gives Greg a careful smile, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders drawn to his ears. He looks comfortable in his sweater. “Should we go?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Greg agrees.

They wander through the streets side by side. Night is falling and only the houses around them still radiate the summer heat. It’s surprisingly easy for Alex to keep up with his long strides. They’re silent, somewhere between awkward and comfortable.

“I was talking to the guy from Avalon,” Alex says after a while. “They were thinking about turning the production into a television show maybe.” He doesn’t look at Greg, only at his feet on the cobbled stones.

“Oh yeah?” Greg says as if he’s never heard about it before.

“Yeah. They said they ‘would consider it’.” He shrugs, nonchalantly, but Greg can tell he’s disappointed. For the first time he realises what the show must mean to Alex. If he is struggling to find traction with his comedy work, a show on television could be a real dealbreaker for him.

“That’s something,” Greg says and smiles carefully. Alex smiles back at him. They both know what industry people mean when they say that ‘they’ll consider it’. In a way, Greg feels responsible for not giving his best today, when there is so much depending on it for Alex. He knows it’s stupid. It won’t make any difference tomorrow.

The venue is small but crowded. It’s mostly friends and family, or hardcore fans, Greg thinks, because Alex greets all of them with welcoming smiles and hugs. Greg feels a little out of place among them. He hangs back and finally sits alone back at the bar, when Alex makes his way backstage.

The show is weird. Greg’s first instinct is to roll his eyes in annoyance. A few loops ago he probably would have. But now he finds that he can’t, because of the genuine excitement radiating off Alex. Alex smiles and grins the whole time as he stumbles through bad pun after bad pun with some concerningly endearing awkwardness. It’s fascinating. And after a while even Greg has to suppress laughter a couple of times.

They do a segment later on where they want to ask an audience member on stage to play a song with them. Despite Alex’s increasingly imaginative pleading none of the audience members relents. But Alex manages to turn around the lapse somehow. In the end he plays guitar himself, which he very obviously can’t, to compete in the silly game. The audience loves it. The way he makes a fool of himself, hamming up the awful playing even more.

Greg congratulates him after the show. They stand awkwardly in front of each other. If Alex and him were closer this is where Greg would have offered a hug. But they barely know each other so they just laugh nervously. Alex beams when receiving Greg’s compliment. It turns his ears red.

“The guys wanted to go and celebrate,” Alex offers and there is again the hopeful undertone in his words.

“Nah, I think I need to get some kip,” Greg says. He’s not sure he can make it through three more hours of this, with the emotions already stewing in his stomach. “Maybe another time.” They both smile at each other, tentatively.

“Thank you for coming then,” Alex says.

Greg nods and makes his way towards the door between the scattered chairs and tables.

“And Greg!” Alex calls when Greg’s hand is already on the doorhandle. “It’s Agatha.” Greg frowns and is just about to ask him what he’s talking about, when Alex beats him to it. “My grandmother’s name.” He grins, then turns back towards his friends.

Greg has to grin as well. He shakes his head and makes it out into the cool night air.

His steps echo along the empty streets. Above him the moon glows in the clear sky. He can even make out a few stars. It’s a beautiful night. It feels weird, everything being so silent after spending his entire day around the noise of people. Weirdly though, he feels lighter. Seeing Alex and his band perform, twisted something inside of him. Maybe it was the way Alex was genuinely passionate about his work. Enjoyed it so immensely.

It makes Greg want to perform again, to make Alex laugh with Greg’s own jokes. Greg is surprised to find that he misses going on stage. He hasn’t thought about it in a long time. But now that he is, his fingers itch with the need to write, to roll words and phrases around on his tongue. He remembers feeling the same, a very long time ago. When had comedy become just another job to him? Maybe, Alex was right. Maybe there is something else he’s been putting off for way too long.

Finally, having found a new purpose, Greg feels calmer. He walks back to his flat, daring to feel a little hopeful.

Chapter Text

Greg asks Alex the next morning, feeling a little sheepish after his previous dismissal. He doesn’t bring up the time loop again, instead making up some crap about wanting to make the best of the festival time he has. Alex seems genuinely surprised but of course is happy to help. His eyes gleam as he gives Greg a list of people, each with a little additional information and genuine praise. Greg gets the feeling he could talk about it the whole day. It should be annoying, but somehow it isn’t.

The first few shows are hard. Greg keeps wanting to scowl whenever he finds a joke doesn’t hit correctly, or whenever he thinks the writing is shit or the topics useless. But it gets easier with time, just accepting whatever the comedians have prepared. He lets himself be guided by them through their tales. And after a while he has to begrudgingly admit, that he enjoys it a lot. The way he huffs in shock whenever a joke manages to hit him completely unprepared. The way some sets will leave him genuinely baffled. It’s nice and exciting to swim outside his bubble of safe and boring old man comedy for a change.

Alex helps a lot. Mostly due to the fact that he’s very enthusiastic about everything. He laughs so much. Even at the silly jokes, that Greg would never admit to enjoying. Alex doesn’t seem to care. He’s also just so fucking friendly with everyone. He talks to most of the smaller comedians after their set. Greg can tell his compliments mean a lot to them. He’s not sure how Alex does it. He feels awkward just standing next to him while they’re talking. He tries to mirror Alex open posture and hands out a few reluctant compliments himself. Compared to Alex he feels like a stuttering prick.

It's usually Alex who offers when Greg asks him. He’ll list a few shows he wants to see and then after a while he’ll shyly inquire if Greg wants to go and see them together. It’s so fucking nice, Greg doesn’t really know what to do with it. His first instinct is always to be grumpy. But it gets harder over time, when Alex keeps being patient and friendly. At some point it becomes more of an act than anything else.

Greg also goes to a few shows on his own. He picks up a programme in one of the info centres, sits down and carefully marks all the performances he hasn’t seen yet. He tries to keep track of when and where they are. It’s mostly the ones Alex can’t make. The ones during his band’s performance. The one’s that are during the taskmaster show, although Greg has to admit that those make him feel kind of dirty for not showing. They are never as nice as when he’s with Alex anyway.

Some of the shows are bad. But after a while Greg finds he doesn’t mind as much. He can remember a time when he barely knew how to deliver a joke. When just thinking about standing in front of a crowd made him feel faint. It takes time and practise to be good at this game.

Other shows are surprisingly good. It’s mostly some comedians he’s never even heard the name of - young people who look like they’ve just stumbled out of high school with round faces and weird clothing. Greg will sigh and think he’ll have to sit through another hour of relationship jokes and then they’ll hit him around the head with the most devastating, snappy political comedy, he’s ever heard. Those are the best nights in his opinion. They make him feel like there is still hope. For what, he’s not sure.

He tries to go to the taskmaster show as much as he can. Mostly because he can’t bear the thought of Alex being disappointed, which is a weird and at the same time perfectly understandable thought to have. It’s a little awkward in the beginning, especially because he doesn’t like relying solely on his own performance. He’s usually at his best, when he gets to throw jokes back and forth with other people. His opinion on that point doesn’t change much, but it does get easier with every loop: Slipping into the role, finding just the right things to say. Sometimes he’ll come home from a comedy set he’s seen and be inspired to write something down that would fit one situation in the show just right. Those will usually get the biggest laughs from the audience. It’s an amazing feeling. He forgot how alive people’s laughter makes him feel.

It’s also so incredibly easy. He doesn’t have to agonize over every single line. Not like when he was trying to write his other material. The jokes just flow out of him.

From time to time, he also goes to see Alex’s show again. At first, he’s not sure why, but something keeps drawing him back. Maybe it’s the happy look on Alex’s face whenever he’s there. Maybe it’s to get to see the way Alex glows when he’s on stage. Maybe it’s because it makes his heart feel full.

He realises he might have somewhere along the way fallen in love with Alex Horne, when they’re at another show together. The lights are low, and Greg can only see Alex’s profile in the half dark. The comedian on stage is just performing some weird play about her cat being sentient and able to talk. Alex is laughing along with the crowd. It’s a breathless honking sound. He turns towards Greg, raising his eyebrows at him like they’re both in on a joke. His eyes sparkle and there is a blush spreading all over his cheeks. Greg’s stomach swoops. He smiles too. His chest feels heavy. He has to avert his eyes, before he can betray any of his emotions to Alex.

He agonizes about the new revelation for three days. It feels wrong somehow. Alex isn’t his type. He’s barely anything at all. They don’t really know each other and yet Greg knows him perfectly by now. The way the skin around his eyes crinkles whenever he smiles. The way he pronounces words all wrong just to get a rise out of somebody. The way he hams up his awkwardness to make everybody laugh. Greg groans. At the same time, it feels incredibly right. Of course, he would fall in love with sweet and kind Alex. Who wouldn’t when Alex looks at them like that?

Greg needs three more loops to gather the courage to ask Alex to come to a show with him. It’s one of the few shows Greg hasn’t gotten around to seeing yet. Weirdly, Alex never suggested it to him either. It feels like something Alex would like. Greg asks him after he’s finished his gig with the band, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Somehow it feels like the most difficult thing he’s ever done.

“Oh,” Alex says and looks genuinely surprised. He’s sweaty from standing in the stage light for so long. “I would love to, Greg!” He smiles softly.

The show is some young comedian doing a routine about queerness. It’s ironically fitting but wonderful. Especially so because Greg gets to watch the happy gleam in Alex’s eyes. Greg can recognize the exact moment Alex falls in love with the set and the humour. He stares wistfully and wishes he could see the look in Alex’s eyes directed at him. Something heavy sits in his stomach. He tries to shift his focus back to the stage.

They stroll through the streets afterwards and talk about random stuff. Alex tells him about the game his plays with two of his mates. Greg tells him about that time his granddad walked in on him having sex. His heart squeezes with every of Alex’s laugh. Alex follows him all the way home.

They linger a little awkwardly before the door, neither knowing how to say goodbye. Greg doesn’t want the evening to end.

“You could come upstairs, if you like,” he offers, hopefully. His heart stutters in his chest. His palms are sweaty. He feels a little like a teenager asking his crush out to prom.

Alex eyes fly back and forth. He smiles shyly. “I’d like that.”

And so, they go upstairs and sit on the sofa. They drink the beer Greg finds in the fridge. They laugh and talk. The flat is warm and light, while the night outside gets darker. Alex’s legs will brush against his from time to time and it will feel electrifying. Alex will laugh and time will stop. He’s so beautiful. Greg wants to lean in and kiss him.

Chapter Text

Greg sobs when he wakes the next morning to a song about satsumas in curry. His chest hurts like someone stabbed it repeatedly. Like someone cut out one of his vital organs. He curls in on himself and heaves great painful breaths.

It’s not fair, he thinks, that he’ll never get Alex to feel the same way. That he’ll aways get to look at Alex’s smile but that it will never be just for Greg. That he won’t ever be able to tell Alex how he feels without sounding desperately needy and mentally unstable. From Alex’s point of view, they barely know each other. Alex would think him insane. Greg will never get to hold his hand, pulls him into his side, kiss those stupid lips of his. It hurts so fucking much. It’s hard to breathe around the pain. The tears won’t stop coming.

He feels hopeless. A few loops ago he thought that something might change for him. Like he might find a new sense in everything. Like he had changed and become a better version of himself. But still time continues to torture him. Apparently, his efforts weren’t good enough for the universe. As if that isn’t some great fucking metaphor for his life. What else does the universe want him to do? What has he done to deserve all of this in the first place? What if he never gets out of here? He hugs the pillow a little tighter to his chest and wishes someone would hug him.

It takes him a few more hours of sobbing, self-loathing and spiralling until he’s become desperate enough to throw himself off a bridge. Not that he’s usually known for flirting with thoughts about offing himself. But maybe the shock of dying will finally send him out of this tortuous loop. He certainly never tried before, for obvious reasons. But at this point he feels like the alternative, staying dead, is not so bad either. At least he’ll never have to look at Alex’s stupid face again.

He tumbles out of bed, sheets tangling awkwardly between his feet. He doesn’t even put on any clothes before he stumbles out of the door. He’s still crying and can barely think. So, it’s no wonder when he barrels straight into something, no someone. There is confused screaming as they fall. Probably the other person wasn’t planning on colliding with a half-naked, gigantic, crying mess of a man today. Limbs get tangled until both of them are half splayed on the ground.

Greg gets up with a groan and realises it’s the girl, his fan, he’s collided with. She too is sitting up from the street, rubbing the back of her head. She seems fine otherwise, thankfully.

“Are you okay? I mean-oh” she stops as she takes in his face, then his appearance. She goes a very deep shade of red. “Um, hello,” she says dumbly. Then she frowns, apparently noticing his puffy face. “Everything okay?”

Greg is embarrassed to admit that he immediately starts sobbing again. And it’s the kind of loud, angry sobs, that ring down the entire street.

“Oh, um,” the girl says and stands awkwardly beside him. Her hands twitch, like she wants to pat him in some form of comfort. She looks around, probably considering if it’s better to get him inside, so nobody can witness his pathetic breakdown.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She offers uncertainly, and it sounds so much like a line from a self-help book that Greg actually has to bite down a laugh in between his crying.

He tries to collect himself then. Even if the consequences might not matter the situation makes him uncomfortable just having to life through it this one time. He rubs at his eyes angrily. “Sorry, it’s just- I- I’ve lost someone-” he says and laughs sadly. He doesn’t know how else to explain it, without sounding any more insane.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the girl says. She wrestles with herself for a while but finally decides to perch next to him on the front steps. She does leave a careful distance between them, however. “That really sucks.”

“Yeaah,” Greg says, his cheeks still wet with tears. He feels a little saner though. He wraps his arms around himself to shield at least a bit of his naked torso from sight.

She shuffles her feet nervously. Her fingers pick at the skin around her nails. “I lost my dad a couple of months ago.” She shrugs. “Cancer.” She fights with her next words. “I still miss him.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg says and feels stupid. He’s never been good at this kind of conversations. It’s probably because he’s a self-centred, ignorant prick. He remembers her saying something about her father in the first loop. He didn’t pay it any mind then. And he’s never spoken with her since. He was too caught up in his own problems.

She smiles sadly. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. He can feel that she wants to, though. She fiddles nervously with the pendant on her necklace. “He really loved your show, you know,” she says, staring off somewhere into the distance. “He would always take me with him.” Her eyes flicker with the memories playing behind them. “It was really lovely.”

Greg doesn’t interrupt her this time. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

“It’s why I’m here,” she says with a sigh. “Because whenever I’m here, I feel like I’m closer to him. Surrounded by the thing he loved.” She pulls herself back together, shaking her head and the memory off. She turns back to him. “Who did you lose, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Greg shrugs. His voice is hoarse when he starts talking. “A friend. Well, it’s complicated. He means- meant a lot to me.”

She just nods and for a moment Greg feels like she understands perfectly, even though they live in completely different realities. They sit in silence, the city slowly waking around them.

They are interrupted when Alex walks around the corner, like he usually does around this time, to check on Greg. His sight drives a dagger into Greg’s heart. Despite the pain, his lips slip into a smile.

“Greg! I- oh”, Alex stops when he takes in the scene before him. His eyes fly over Greg’s mostly naked body and his ears turn an adorable shade of red. Then he takes in the tear strains on Greg’s face and the worried frown creeps back onto his face. God, Greg loves him so fucking much. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, mate, everything’s good,” Greg says and pushes himself to his feet with a groan. The girl quickly follows suit.

Alex immediately falls into his worried rambling. It’s so familiar by now. Greg could trace all the worry lines on Alex’s face. “We were looking for you at the show, but if something happened, we can-”

Greg only shakes his head. “It’s fine. Sorry. I forgot the time. I’m coming now,” he says with a nod that tells Alex not to argue. Alex frowns, unconvinced, but doesn’t say anything.

Greg turns around to the girl and gives her a nod too. “Thanks for your help,” he says.

The girl smiles tentatively. “No worries.” She looks over at Alex. For a moment there is a flicker in her eyes, as if she’s just figured out a puzzle. Her smile broadens. “And have fun with the show.” Then she turns around and disappears down the street.

Her words still ring around Greg’s brain when he follows Alex to the venue after hastily getting dressed. He’s tired and worn out from crying. He still feels a little unstable. His heart squeezes every time he catches Alex’s worried look. But there is something else too. A plan begins to take shape in his head. He’s not sure about all the details yet. But he’ll get there. For now, he’s doing something that Alex loves. And that might just be enough.

Chapter Text

Greg wakes up on the same day and for once knows exactly what to do. It’s the 21^st of August. He’s been preparing for this for months. Or maybe years. He lost track after a while.

He swings his legs out of bed, humming along to the satsuma song, while collecting his stuff for the bathroom. He washes, with warm water, like he’s learned to do. He brews himself a coffee while listening to the idiots on the radio go on about their food. It still tastes awful, but there are more important things to worry about.

He leaves the flat at exactly the right time to bump into the fan downstairs. This time none of them ends on the floor, thankfully.

“Oh hello,” he says and smiles kindly.

“You’re Greg Davies!” She says and grins.

Greg nods importantly. “Indeed I am.”

“I really loved your standup when I was younger. My dad used to take me to your shows.” This time Greg catches on to the wistful tone in her voice. The way her eyes glaze over as she remembers. “I heard you were doing a show this year, but unfortunately I didn’t manage to get tickets.” She shrugs.

Greg lets her finish before springing his offer on her. “Tell you what,” he says and bends down towards her with a conspiratorial smile. “If you’re still free you can swing by the show today. I’ll put you on the guest list.”

“Oh,” she seems surprised. “I couldn’t- I mean- Thank you. That’s really kind.”

Greg waves dismissively. “It’s really no problem.” Then more carefully. “Your dad seems to be a man of great taste.”

She smiles, sadly. “Yeah, he was.”

She thanks him again before they part ways. The smile on her face makes Greg feel like he did the right thing for once. It’s a good feeling.

His next stop is the little café he discovered in his earlier loops. The one where he first had his argument with Alex. And while he finds no joy in revisiting that particular memory, he also remembers how amazing the food had been. He orders two coffees and two cinnamon buns. One black coffee for himself and the other with milk and sugar, just the way Alex likes it.

As expected, he bumps into Rhod two streets over. “Rhodri!” he calls, before Rhod can even hope to spot him. “So good to see you!”

Rhod turns around, angry frown on his face. “Gregory Daniel Davies. As I live and breathe.” He huffs. “What do mean good to see you? You’re the one who’s been ignoring my calls for the last six months!”

Greg sighs. “I’m sorry about that, Rhod,” he says. “It’s been a rough six months and honestly, I couldn’t handle you trying to build me back up. I just wanted to wallow in self-pity for a while. You know me. Sad old bastard.”

Rhod grumbles something in agreement. “I’m truly sorry,” Greg repeats. “But I’m feeling better now. A lot better actually.” He takes a deep breath, sucking in the fresh morning air. “And maybe we could still have that dinner?” he says, putting on his best impression of an apologetic grimace.

Rhod sighs too, deeper and maybe still a little pissed. “Fine.”

Greg grins. It’s the best thing about their friendship, he thinks, that no matter what happens, they can’t stay angry at each other for long. “Thanks, Rhodri,” he says and embraces the other man. Rhod grumbles somewhere near his armpit. “I have a show I need to go to. But I’ll call you,” Greg says. He hopes that some time he’ll be able to follow through on his promise.

He makes it to the venue at exactly the right time. Only a little earlier than they would expect him, but with just enough time to do what he needs to do. He knows where to find Alex. He’s in conversation with one of the set designers.

“Hey,” Greg says, hanging back carefully, giving them space.

“Oh, good morning, Greg,” Alex says. He does his usual look at his plastic watch. Frowns. Greg knows exactly how the wrinkles on his forehead will fall. “You’re a little early.”

“Yeah,” Greg says and finally moves forward. “I wanted to speak with you.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. I was stressed, and I was behaving like a complete dick. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “I- it’s fine.”

Greg shakes his head. “No, it really isn’t.” He extends the hand still holding the coffee. “But I thought I could make it up to you with a coffee?” He gives Alex a crooked smile.

“Oh,” Alex’s eyes flicker up to Greg’s. “T-thank you, Greg. That’s really nice,” he says and carefully plucks the coffee from Greg’s hands. He takes a sip and nods approvingly. Greg’s heart soars a little.

“Okay, I’ll go backstage to prepare. Tell me if I can give you a hand with anything,” Greg says, pointing his thumb somewhere behind him.

Alex nods. “Yes, Greg.”

Greg mostly does small talk with the contestants while they wait for the show to start. He listens to Katy go on about some pottery she did. He even talks to Josh for a while. It takes him a bit to get over the awful feeling in his stomach, but it’s fine. He’s a nice bloke. He also hands the aspirin he packed to one of the technicians having a migraine. He helps one of the women from costume get a large box down from a shelf. It’s the little things he picked up over the loops.

He finds himself next to Alex again, half an hour before the show starts. He can tell the nervous energy running through the other man. Alex is twitchy, checking a list on his clipboard every ten seconds. Greg wishes he could reach over and lay a calming hand over Alex’s. Instead, he coughs. “I was thinking about the scoring part in the show - about the role of the taskmaster. I feel like it’s… missing something.” He nervously fumbles with the golden pen in his hand. “But I had an idea. And- I- I was wondering if you’d like to…go on stage with me?” He takes a deep breath. “As the assistant so to speak,” he adds hastily.

Alex looks up at him, dumbfounded. “W-why are you asking?”

Greg is not a man who’s easily intimidated, but right now standing in the dark backstage, he feels hot. “I-I’ve seen some of your comedy stuff. And I thought the show could be improved if I had someone to play off of, you know?” It’s stupid that he’s so nervous about this. Despite the fact that he’ll have all the chances in the world to get it right.

Alex looks contemplatively. “And- and you’d like to do it w-with me?”

Greg nods, hoping against all odds he can convey his thousands of emotions in this one simple gesture. “Please?”

Something in Alex’s posture shifts. He nods slowly. “Okay.” He says. Then he repeats the movement a little more confidently. “Okay.”

Greg beams. Alex soon answers with a smile of his own.

The show is amazing. Greg can honestly say he’s never had so much fun in his entire life. It helps, of course, that he knows exactly what is going to happen. He’s had all the time in the world to perfect his lines. The surprising part is Alex, who despite never having been in this situation before, always knows exactly what to do and what to say. Greg loves it: Winding him up, teasing the funniest reactions out of him. It feels a bit like showing Alex off to the world. He hopes they understand the treasure they have in him.

They get a standing ovation when they finish, mixed with some whoops and cheers from the crowd. Greg spots the fan, who he invited, somewhere in the front row. She cheers loudly and gives him a thumbs up. Greg looks over at Alex when they all come back on stage to bow. Alex gleams with pride and happiness. Greg’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

This time Greg is alone in his dressing room, just in the process of buttoning up a fresh shirt, when Alex knocks to step in. “Greg! I have amazing news!” he says. He is practically buzzing with excitement. Greg wishes he could keep him this happy forever. “I just spoke to someone from Avalon, and they said they’re going to pick the show up for television!” His smile is brighter even than the stage lights.

Greg smiles too, softly. "That’s amazing, Alex. You really deserve it.”

“I think it was more of a joined effort, but oh-” Alex interrupts his flustered rambling, when Greg wraps him up into a hug. “I-um-thank you, Greg.” He’s gone very red in the face and twitches nervously, not knowing where to put his arms. Greg laughs. It’s perfect like this. He inhales Alex’s smell. Feels the soft jumper under his hands.

“I’m taking you out to celebrate after your show, mate,” Greg says after finally letting go. Alex looks a little rumpled but still grins happily.

“My show-? I- what? You-you’re coming to my show?”

Greg rolls his eyes, fondly. “Of course I am, Alex.” They stare at each other for a moment. Alex gazing up at Greg with those blue eyes of his. Slowly his face turns an even darker shade of red.

“Oh-o-okay. Then…see you later?” Alex squeaks.

Greg has to stop himself from grinning. “See you later, Alex,” he agrees.

Alex’s show is, as usual, amazing. Greg may be a little biased though. Maybe he is imagining it, but Alex seems even more pumped up and enthusiastic tonight. The crowd is loving it. Greg and Alex catch eyes a couple of times, Alex’s face automatically falling into a grin.

Greg sits with some of Alex’s mates he’s gotten to know relatively well over the last couple of loops. They’re weird, but that was to be expected, being friends with Alex and all. Greg clings to his cool glass of beer, nervous anticipation thrumming in his veins. Somehow, he’s more anxious about this then he’s ever been about any of his own gigs.

Finally, they get to the part where they ask an audience member to join the performance. As usual, the audience is reluctant to go through with it. On stage Alex is getting increasingly nervous. Before things can escalate any further, Greg intervenes. “I’ll do it,” he says and stands.

Alex’s eyes go very wide. Ever the professional, he quickly catches himself though. “Ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between, we have a volunteer! Greg, would you come up to the stage, please?”

Greg climbs the small stage to the clapping of the audience. He stands next to Alex. The faces of the audience members are barely visible through the stage lights.

“What instrument do you play then, Greg?” Alex asks him.

“I play a bit of drums,” Greg says and smirks.

He can see the way Alex mouths drums? to himself. He quickly nods afterwards. “Okay then, please Greg, would you move over to the drumkit?”

Greg does indeed move behind the drumkit. Alex explains the game in his usual silly manner and then they play. Honestly, it’s been a while since he’s sat behind a kit. But he has been practicing at lot lately. He’s had all the time in the world. And if it was mostly to impress Alex with his skills, well then that’s between him and this bloody time loop.

He manages to get through the whole song without fucking up. He even does a little fill at some point. Alex beams, whenever he turns around. The crowd also loves it, egging him on and one of them hooting occasionally. Probably Tim. It’s fun, really fun. Greg feels alive. He’s missed this.

“Greg, that was amazing, I didn’t know you played!” Alex says when he finds him after the show. He’s changed out of his jumper and is instead wearing a hideous t-shirt, which shows a duck with a party hat on its front. He looks exhausted and sweaty but also very happy.

“Well, an old man can surprise after all,” Greg says. His heart is beating loudly in his chest. His next words burn on his tongue. The room suddenly is very hot. He coughs. “So, about that celebration. Would you like to come with me? Have a beer maybe? See a show?” He’s rambling. It’s a bit embarrassing to be honest. What is it about Alex that makes him forget how to behave like a normal human being? He is also sweating all over. So much for the effort he put into changing after the show. “I mean you don’t have to, if you’d rather celebrate with your mates here…”

Alex smiles up at him. “I would love to, Greg,” he says, and Greg has never been so relieved about anything his entire life.

They go to see a show that Greg knows Alex loves, from the times they’ve been there before. It’s not really Greg’s humour, but he doesn't mind. He knows all the jokes and stories anyway. But this way, he’ll get to watch Alex watching the show for the first time again. The way he laughs. The way he tries to hide his giggles behind his fist.

“That was amazing. I really need to check out more of their work,” Alex says when they’re strolling home side by side. A couple walks a few steps ahead of them. Apart from them the street is empty. “I didn’t know you were into this sort of comedy.”

Greg shrugs. “It’s not my favourite, but I thought you might enjoy it.” In a previous loop he might have lied about it being his favourite to get Alex to like him more. Now he doesn’t feel like he needs to anymore. He is rewarded by a delicious flush creeping all over Alex’s face.

They talk some more. Alex tells him about some other comedy people he likes. Greg already knows most of them. In fact, he’s seen most of them perform after Alex’s recommendation. But he listens anyway. It’s worth to see the way Alex talks about it, to see the gleam in Alex’s eyes. It’s all so achingly familiar. Greg can’t remember a time before he was in love with Alex.

They walk in silence for a little while. Finally, Alex starts nervously shifting beside him. “Thank you, Greg. I think this has been the best day I’ve had in a really long time,” he says honestly.

Greg smiles. His chest feels heavy. The dim light of the moon reflects in Alex’s eyes. “I agree. This has been the best day today I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot of those lately.”

Alex frowns. “What do you mean?”

Greg sighs and stops walking so they can face each other. Alex mirrors him, looking slightly worried. Greg loves that about him. How he always worries about other people. “I’m stuck in a time loop, Alex. I’ve been reliving the same day, today, for God knows how long now.”

Alex blinks at him, just like he did the last time they talked about it. He opens his mouth to speak but Greg interrupts him.

“It’s Agatha.”

Now it’s Alex’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“The name of your grandmother.” Greg sighs. “I know what you were going to say, Alex. We’ve had this conversation before. You told me.”

“Oh,” Alex says stupidly. Greg really hopes he’s not driving him away with his insane talk.

“I’ve talked with you so many times. I screamed at you. I was a dick. You came to look after me when I was feeling horrible. We went to so many shows together. I’ve seen you laugh. I’ve seen you smile. I’ve seen the way you’re so genuinely proud of everything you do.” The words practically tumble out of Greg’s mouth. He can’t stop them. He needs Alex to hear them. His heart stutters in his chest. The wind carries the smell of ocean. “You’ve shown me that there are things in life still worth being excited about.” He wants to step forward and take Alex’s hands in his. But he doesn’t. “And I think somewhere along the way I fell a little in love with you, Alex.”

“Oh,” Alex says again. His Adam’s apple bobs, as he swallows.

Greg waits for him to say something. The anxiety is killing him. He’s afraid he’s messed it up big time. He doesn’t know why he said it in the first place. The words just needed to get out, otherwise he fears that he might have burst. “I’m sorry, Alex. I shouldn’t have put all of this on you I’m-” he takes a careful step back.

“I think I want to kiss you,” Alex interrupts his stupid rambling. His eyes are big and shiny.

Greg’s heart jumps. “You don’t have to, Alex, really. I- you won’t even remember this come tomorrow. I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do.”

Alex shakes his head. “No. I- I want to Greg,” he says. This time it’s him that takes a step forward, so that they’re facing each other. Greg’s breath gets caught somewhere in his throat as Alex gazes up at him. He licks his lips nervously.

“Okay go on then,” Greg breaths.

Alex closes the distance between them. He has to go on his tiptoes to reach Greg’s face. Greg grabs at his arm to stabilize him. Then their lips meet. Something warm and beautiful blooms in Greg’s chest. The kiss is short, but perfect. Alex tastes of something sweet, probably that awful thing he calls coffee. Their beards rub together awkwardly. They break apart, a little breathlessly, despite the short duration.

They smile at each other and don’t really need to say anything else.

Alex follows him all the way to his door, just like that fateful night a long time ago but also today. Greg tries not to think about that. About tomorrow. Again, they hover awkwardly. Alex has his hands shoved into his pockets. “How long do you have?” he asks. “Until the loop repeats, I mean.”

Greg shrugs. “Until midnight.”

Alex’s trainers trace patterns on the ground. “I could- I mean - I could come upstairs with you?”

Greg’s heart clenches. “Alex, I-”

“No funny business,” Alex adds hastily and immediately turns beet red. Greg would love to tease him about that. Maybe he will someday. “Just so you’re not alone.” His eyes are big and pleading. Greg doesn’t stand a chance.

They go upstairs to sit on the sofa. They laugh and this time Greg gets to pull Alex against his side. Alex tells him stories, some of which Greg is pretty sure are made up. The words get muffled against Greg’s t-shirt. Alex grins whenever he can make Greg laugh. It’s beautiful and perfect. It lets Greg forget about what is going to happen. For a moment, he can pretend that Alex is all there is. And maybe spending eternity like this isn’t so bad. If he gets to see Alex smiling at him every day. If they get to lie here together every evening. Greg might just be okay with that.

They fall asleep on the sofa, Alex wrapped around his torso, puffing air into Greg’s neck. Greg watches him for a while, the way sleep makes all the wrinkles on his face disappear. He tries to stay awake, tries to burn this look into his mind. But in the end even he must give in to exhaustion.

Chapter Text

Greg wakes with terrible backpain. His hand moves automatically to find the alarm clock next to him to silence the satsuma song before it can worm its way into his head again. He doesn’t find anything. Only air. Then he knocks over an open beer bottle. He is startled awake by the crash and promptly falls off the sofa.

Alex, who’s been lying on top of him falls down with him. “Fuck,” Greg says because he doesn’t know what else to say. Then he starts laughing hysterically.

“Greg,” Alex says. His face is still scrunched up from sleep. His hair sticks to his head in an awkward mess. Greg probably doesn’t look any better. “You’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” Greg confirms, not quite believing it himself. He pinches himself to check if he’s somehow dreamed all of this up. It hurts like hell. Alex is still half lying on his sofa. “I’m still here,” he repeats incredulously. He picks up his phone from the table next to them. The calendar tells him that it’s the 22nd of August. Greg never thought he would get to see these digits. He dives forward and presses his lips against Alex’s. Alex lets out a surprised noise but quickly moves to reciprocate. “I’m still here,” Greg says, beaming, when they break apart. He has a fistful of Alex’s t-shirt in his hand.

He just sits in the floor after that, staring off somewhere into the distance. He doesn’t really know how to feel. He’s relieved, yes. He’s happy. But he’s also anxious. He’s spent so much time planning for the same day over and over, that he forgot what it feels like to plan for the future.

As if hearing his inner struggles, Alex moves a soothing hand through his hair from behind. It’s a soft touch. Reassuring. “What do you want to do now?” he asks carefully. Greg’s not sure, but he thinks he also hears a little uncertainty there. Maybe Alex thinks Greg’s going to disappear on him, now that the world is his oyster again. As if Greg could do that to him.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I was planning on going back home and sulking on my sofa when all of this started.” He laughs. He can’t remember what being that Greg was like. “God, that feels so long ago now.”

Alex’s hand stops moving. “And do you still want that?” he asks carefully.

Greg shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.” He turns around and smiles at Alex, smoothing the frown on his face with a careful swipe of his thumb. “But I do happen to know a café that does amazing breakfast.”

That finally gets Alex to smile. “Really?”

Greg nods, grinning. “Yeah. And I also happen to know that there are a lot of shows on today, that I somehow never got around to watching.”

Alex cocks his head. “So, you want to stay here?”

“For a while maybe.” Greg smiles. “The city is kind of growing on me.” He leans forward to give Alex another kiss. The sun shines in through the dusty windows. Somewhere in the next room an old alarm clock is playing a love song.

Maybe the breakfast can wait, he thinks. They have all the time in the world, after all.