Larry smut/fluff

Stranger talk

stranger talk
honeytemptress

Summary:

2 A.M diner rendezvous between two strangers. One has a broken heart, the other wants to fix it.
Work Text:
"Ah, you again," the blue-eyed stranger said to the tall, lanky man as he took a seat next to him on a stool at the counter. This was the fourth time that they have "coincidentally" met at the diner. Deep down it was obvious that the two men came at such a strange hour in the morning just to see each other. Two in the morning to be precise.

The first time they ever met was two weeks ago. Both men work a really early day shift, so they come to the diner to have their breakfast. To be fairly honest, it's not because they don't have the energy to make their own breakfast at two in the morning, but rather they just suck at cooking. They bonded over such a strange thing too: pancakes with french fries.

It was a usual order for the both of them. The blue-eyed man likes chocolate chip pancakes while the green-eyed man likes blueberry pancakes. It was very surprising on their first ever encounter with each other when they both were handed a plate of pancakes with french fries. Because really, who the hell does that? As early as it was in the morning, they both got into deep conversation about their strange food choices and why they are both up before the asscrack of dawn.

Now it has become a routine for them. An unspoken routine to come here every Tuesday and Thursday at two in the morning, sit at the counter, order their food, and talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Yet it's strange, they still don't know each other's names. The unknown identities kind of make the whole thing more fun. It's almost as if they have no room to judge because of how little they know of one another. They never speak about their personal lives, only work and food. But secretly they both enjoy it because they'd rather not talk about their own lives since they're both equally as shitty. They're practically each other's therapists without actually talking about their issues.

Isn't it odd how a stranger can figure you out like an open book but not throw it in your face like your own friends and family?

However, this meeting feels different. The air feels more tense, more depressed. The blue-eyed man spins around in his seat to face the other man. His smile drops when he sees the emotionless expression on his nameless friend's face. The man has never looked like this before. On their four other previous meetings he was always sunshines and rainbows at such an ungodly hour. Now though, he looks like he's got a storm cloud over his head and the weatherman predicts that it won't end for another week.

He can't help but notice how the other man is dressed. He has on a silk dress shirt that is barely even buttoned up and black dress pants that end just right above where his silver dress boots come up over his ankles. It's not the first time that he had this thought, but today he just looks extra hot. The fuck-able kind of hot. But this is certainly not the time to be thinking like that when the tall man looks like the definition of clinical depression. His mood is such a contrast from his outfit. What the fuck happened?

"Hey, you all right there, mate?," he asks with deep concern. He may have not known him long enough, but he honestly can't stand the sight of the rather beautiful man next to him looking so distraught. Slowly, the tall man turns on his stool to face the blue-eyed man, knees touching. They both couldn't help but feel a little spark with the contact. He takes a big sigh and starts, "No my," he clears his throat making it sound like he was holding back a sob, "My boyfriend broke up with me. Well, more like cheated on me." And oh. That was not what he was expecting. They've never opened up about their personal lives. He had no idea the other man had a boyfriend. And he had no idea so much rage could build in his body. Rage that someone would cheat on such a beautiful fucking human.