Chapter Text
„I need three Aperol Spritzes, five white wines, and a gun to my head“, Charlie complains while putting his tray full of dirty glasses on the bar.
Working in the service industry was never on his wish list, but he needed the part-time income and, while he would never admit it to himself outside of his therapist’s office, his work as a waiter and now as a shift manager did wonders to his self-esteem.
„Well, and I need a million and at least three weeks in the Maldives, but nobody‘s going to give them to me, so..“ Darcy jokes dryly, while getting to work on Charlies drink order.
He would describe Darcy as his work bestie.
They both started to work in this pub slash beergarden slash party location at the same time and bonded over being the newbies, not only to the service industry but both also new to London.
While Charlie quickly began to stand out with his unknown talent to be a waiter, which earned him the job as shift manager, Darcy was happy to work behind the bar and do a job without big responsibilities, except mixing drinks with a decent amount of alcohol in them.
„If they order another round of shots after I bring those over, I‘m gonna take a smoke break and hope Melissa takes over.“, Charlie threatens hopelessly.
Darcy only chuckles and puts the finished drink order on Charlies tray.
They both know Melissa will continue to stare at her phone, thinking nobody notices, while all of her tables are waiting for her to come by.
So the hopes of her taking over Charlies party of ten, who are hosting some kind of hen do, going by the particular loud blonde wearing a „bride to be“-sash, are smaller than the chances of Charlie going home on time today.
So Charlie does the only thing a responsible waiter can do and brings the drinks over.
„Three Aperol Spritzes and five white wines!“, he calls out in his best customer-friendly voice, hoping at least somebody will listen to him.
„Oh, Imogen, our drinks are here“, a slightly less drunk girl with braids finally notices after Charlie only had to repeat his sentence two times.
They all seem to be about his age, which doesn‘t make this whole ordeal any easier. He just wishes Melissa would be a more decent server and he didn‘t have to pick up all the bigger parties in their beer garden.
They always, always, always seem to be unable to order everything at once, so his whole shift he has to basically walk back and forth between this table and the bar, while somehow having to squeeze serving his other tables in between that.
„Sorry, can we get another round of shots? But make it ten this time! Our last guest should be coming soon!“, the bride-to-be giggles and Charlie just nods.
It‘s always the same, he thinks bitterly and starts walking back to the bar.
See, it’s not like Charlie hates his job.
It pays decently, the people are nice most of the time and his colleagues are mostly nice too. And don‘t even get started on the tips.
But some days it’s just draining all of Charlies non existing energy.
This week he had to finish two essays for his uni courses, then his mum called him three times to demand a visit, which led to an even more exhausting therapy session, in which Charlie had to discuss all his thoughts and feelings towards his mother and on top of that Paul, who was supposed to close this week, called in sick.
So it was safe to say that Charlie’s mood, who is currently working his third double shift in a row, is not in the best.
„That‘s it, I‘m taking a smoke break“, he says shortly, slamming down his tray and rushing out the back door, grabbing his cigarettes on the way out.
{…}
Nick is running late and he knows it.
He promised Imogen to come to her hen do in a beer garden after the girls did some kind of spa day, where men weren‘t allowed.
So technically Nick had all day to get ready and get there on time. Well, he wasn‘t, therefore he is now speed walking after exiting the tube.
Realistically, he knows Imogen won‘t be mad; she probably is already bordering the line on being drunk. Still, Nick is anxious and feeling bad about being late.
“Imogen, I am so incredibly sorry about-“, Nick tries to start his apology while running his hand through his already ruined hair.
“NICK! You‘re arriving right on time, we were just about to take shots, come here!“, Imogen interrupts him.
She is wearing a nice pink dress and a white “bride-to-be” sash, undoubtedly made by one of their artsy friends, Elle.
So Nick does as he‘s told and takes one of the bride pink shots from the tray held by a much less happy-looking waitress.
“Thank you“, he says politely anyway. „Can I please get an Aperol Spritz for myself, please?“, he asks the waitress, who seems not really listening to him.
She only nods and scurries away quickly. Well, you don’t need the best waitress to make this a good night, Nick thinks to himself.
A few glasses in and Nick already feels a lot better. It’s certainly nice to sit together with all of Imogen‘s friends, who are mostly also his friends.
He is currently talking to Elle, who indeed made the sash Imogen’s wearing.
“It’s so sad, you were late, Nick! Before this waitress started serving us, we were served by this cute guy. He is definitely and totally your type! Dark curls, blue eyes and dimples! We all know your weakness is dimples!“, Elle drunkly giggles while looking around for the server she’s describing, but he is nowhere to be found.
Nick looks around too, but only notices a blonde at the bar, who is currently staring, more or less obviously, at Tara.
“While I appreciate you trying to scout out boys for me, Elle, you know I’m not looking right now“, Nick sighs. It’s true; between juggling living on his own, playing rugby and studying, he doesn‘t have much time for a relationship. He also remembers the pain of breaking up with his ex-girlfriend too vivid to start anything new.
But Elle doesn‘t listen anymore; she and Imogen are drunkenly and not so silently discussing if Tara should approach the blonde behind the bar.
So Nick uses the lack of attention on him and opens his phone.
One new notification from Grindr.
While Nick isn‘t in the mood to date, he still is a twenty-three-year-old who needs to blow off some steam sometimes.
And Grindr is a great way to do the blowing part of that.
After checking that all the girls were either too drunk to notice or either deep in some other conversation, he opens the app.
While Imogen knows about him having some hook-ups here and there, he doesn‘t need everyone to know.
„Underworldspring looked at your profile.“
Intrigued by the nickname, Nick clicks on this guy‘s profile.
Staring back at him is a picture of a literal goddess.
A skinny, pale, dark, and curly-haired guy, wearing nothing but slim, white Calvin Klein boxers, kneeling in front of a mirror.
While his face is covered by his phone, Nick knows he must be beautiful.
He is truly captivated by this ethereal man.
Usually, he would ponder for at least half an hour if he should message the guy and, if yes, what to say.
But with the last sip of his third Aperol Spritz, he feels liberated enough to just start texting the guy.
„You don’t look like someone who belongs in the underworld,
but I’d still follow you there tbh.“ is what he types in a rush. Before hitting send, he stops for a second.
What if he comes off too eager? Or maybe his joke don‘t land? He really doesn‘t want to fuck this up.
„Do you want to order another drink?“, Nick‘s thoughts are interrupted by a waiter grabbing Nick‘s empty glass and looking at him expectantly. Nick panics and hits send on the message, before looking up.
Fuck, he thinks, as he looks into the most beautiful blue eyes he‘s ever seen.