Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 3

"Hey, Taylor!" a deep voice shouted across the bar, stopping the blonde from pushing in the door with a piece of paper taped to it that read Employees Only Please! Roger closed his eyes and reluctantly turned his head over his shoulder, watching as the big, burly man barreled towards him. That big, burly man was his boss, Jay, and despite his appearance, he was one of the nicest people in New York City. "You forgot your paycheck," he announced, flashing Roger a crooked smile in the dim lights of the nightclub he worked at. There was something familiar about its atmosphere that drew the blonde in, something reminiscent about home; about a life he couldn't quite seem to shake.

Roger smirked and snatched the rectangular slip of paper from his boss. "Thanks, man." As he looked at the number in the small box, the smile on his face slowly faded. He scratched behind his head and, just before Jay could return to his place behind the bar, called out loud enough to be heard over the blaring music, "Hey, um, this is less than it was last week."

"Times are tough, man," Jay answered as sincerely as he could've, shrugging his shoulders and furthering the distance between them, "That's all I can give you, but next week it'll be better, I promise!" He spun around and left Roger to sigh in disappointment. Jay said the same thing last week, and the week before that. Each paycheck was getting smaller and smaller, and even though rent was much lower here than in England, it was difficult living on one consistent paycheck plus tips that varied from night to night.

Roger escaped to the back and gathered his things, passing by Geoff, a fellow bartender who reminded the blonde a lot of himself, struggling to light a joint with shaky hands. He smiled out of pity and gently pried the lighter from his coworker's hand, holding it for him steadily and igniting the end of the expertly rolled blunt. Geoff's cracked lips, coated in a thick, smeared layer of dark rouge, curled up into an appreciative grin.

"You've got a real gift there, Rog," the bartender purred, holding the stick out to Roger for reparation—his smile evolving into a smirk.

"And what gift is that?" the blonde decided to entertain the pre-departure conversation, snatching the cigarette from his coworker and stealing a drag from it. He coughed a few times, unaccustomed to the blunt's strength, and handed it back to its owner.

"The gift of always knowing just when I need you," he answered slyly, crossing his legs and exposing his thighs more—the leather pencil skirt he slipped into on his break inching up toward his waist.

Roger paid no attention to the showing skin and tipped his head down to take a humble bow. "Anytime, Geoff."

"So, when are you going to bring your pretty little boyfriend in?" his coworker wondered aloud, "We're all dying to meet him, you know."

The blonde's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but luckily the room's dim lighting disguised it. He uncomfortably folded his arms over his chest and shrugged his shoulders. "I-I don't know. He's really busy."

"It's New York City, hon—we're all busy. Tell him to get his ass down here one night and have a few drinks with us. I promise we won't kill him." Geoff stood up and offered Roger his joint, the blonde shaking his head in polite refusal. With a raised eyebrow, he asserted his adamancy about the blonde accepting his offer, and with a reluctant sigh, Roger took the rolled cigarette into his possession, watching the smile on Geoff's face grow. "There's my good boy." He pinched his cheek. "See the two of you tomorrow?"

The blonde chuckled as the bartender sauntered away, returning to his shift for the night. "Well, you'll see me."

"Oh, come on, Rog! Share the love!" he whined teasingly, disappearing into the lively nightclub and leaving Roger to slip out the back, shaking his head in disbelief and stealing a quick drag as he walked off.

The streets of New York at night were a lot different than they were in the mornings, and on the buzz that Roger got from Geoff's blunt, he glided through them with ease. With his hand shoved in one of his pockets and his jacket thrown over his shoulder, he blended into the night, passing by a line of taxi cars covered in colorful, explicit graffiti and paying no attention to the gangs lurking in the shadows. He learned very quickly that it was better to walk with your head down than to risk making eye contact with an invisible man who wouldn't hesitate to pull his gun on you just for looking in his direction.

About ten blocks away from the bar was Roger's apartment, which wasn't that much different from his flat in London. Situated on the fourth floor of a five-floor complex, the apartment consisted of three rooms—a common area, a single bedroom, and a bathroom so narrow that your knees touched the tub when you sat down to use the toilet. The living arrangements weren't ideal, but it was all Roger could afford, considering that Tim wasn't bringing in much income himself.

"I just don't see why we can't go back to the way things were," the brunette complained late one night. The pair was cuddled up in bed together, with Roger's long, blonde hair entangled in Tim's fingers and the summer's heat turning their new home into an oven. "There's a market here for us; I see it every day in Times Square."

"I told you I'm not dressing up again," Roger grumbled, too hot to physically react to his boyfriend's suggestion.

"But—"

"No buts, Tim." The blonde yawned and curled up beside his boyfriend, murmuring against his bare, sweat-beaded chest, "We left all that behind, remember?"

He did remember, but he struggled to acclimate to their new life as easily as his boyfriend did—or so Roger made it seem. Despite the two jobs he had, working as bartender at night and a barista during the day, the blonde spent many sleepless nights—early mornings—wondering if he'd made the right decision; wondering where he'd be right now if he'd just stayed in London and allowed Brian to love him like he wanted to.

It wasn't that he didn't love Tim, because he did unconditionally, but the brunette didn't seem to fit in in the Big Apple. He was just floundering around, losing every oddball job he could snag, and the tension that tore the couple apart in London was tearing them apart again in New York. It felt like they couldn't escape it, until that night.