Hey Sunshine

Good Thing It's Only the Rehearsal

NATURALLY HE GOT HOPELESSLY LOST within the next five minutes and finally called it to an end when he reached a room filled with mannequins with wigs on them holding (real? fake?) guns in their hands.

"The mafia is strange," Wylan muttered under his breath as he saw the open door. Quickly stepping forward, he swung the door closed before he could see anything else he didn't want to see and turned around, glaring at the dark walls and long halls in front of him. He had no idea where to go.

"You!"

Wylan quickly turned his head to see Vasily come from another hall (where did Vasily even come from? On that issue, where did the hall come from???). "Hey," he said weakly half worried that the mannequin room was actually the place where they kept their guns and strange Russian music videos. "I got lost."

Vasily nodded impatiently. "I understand that. Now for the love of God, come with me."

"But you don't even know where I'm going-" Wylan started weakly before resigning himself to being dragged around uselessly by Vasily once again.

Several minutes later he found himself standing in front of the doors to the kitchen with Vasily walking off once more. "Wait," Wylan called after his fading figure. "How did you even know where I was going... nevermind." Vasily was already gone.

Shaking his head to ward off any creepy thoughts about mafia mind readers, he swung open the doors and stepped inside.

To an empty kitchen. A low constant hum filled the room, the kind that only came in important places that were usually filled by many people working on many big things. The counters were an expensive marble and filled to the top with bowls holding different substances. The walls had a bright lighting and the entire thing reminded him creepily of a ghost kitchen, filled with things that needed to have people working on them. There were half finished bowls everywhere and briefly Wylan wondered whether when the baker taking care of his sick child was actually a euphemism for twenty bakers taking care of an army. There were big black fridges on the sides, and he stepped inside and began looking around. Walking to a bowl, he looked at it and twisted it from side to side. It looked like a lemony mixture.

But then again, he had only baked like, twice in his life.

And he had gone through a good twenty-one years of life.

"Hello!"
"Holy fuck!" Wylan screamed, jumping a good three feet in the air. Grabbing his hair at the roots and giving them a good tug, he spun around to see another man that looked like... Sergie.

"Wylan!"

The man pulled Wylan into one of the tightest hugs he had ever been in and then pushed him back, as if examining how much he had changed since the few weeks that had passed. "Hey," Wylan said sheepishly to Sergie.

"You look so grown up!" Sergie blustered to him cheerfully. Wylan avoided raising an eyebrow, but he was pretty sure his expression was confused.

"You have longer hair, you have nice shoes, oh you look so mature!" Sergie exclaimed, pulling on a strand of Wylan's hair teasingly. "How is that boy that came to get you from us? Jesper right? I hear you're dating!"
"What?" Wylan asked, trying to get a word in. "We went on a date, it went great," - Sergie's eyes sparkled mischievously at that and Wylan suddenly had a feeling that the local mafia ran Flute and Ink - "but we're not dating. He's here at the wedding. He's my uh, Plus one." If possible, Sergie smiled even larger at that. He laughed nervously. "Sergie, it hasn't been that long."

The larger man clapped his hands together loudly. "It's been forever, Wylan. You're like, my best friend. For ever."

Fucking mafia.