Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 10

"I'm really disappointed that you didn't invite your boyfriend here tonight, Rog," Geoff mumbled as he and the blonde clocked out for the night, their shifts ending at the same time—though Geoff's ended much earlier, his side gig keeping him there after hours, "I wanted him to see what an amazing number I did on you."

Roger chuckled. "Well, I'll be sure to tell him it was all you when I get home, I promise."

"You better," the prostituting bartender joked, smacking the blonde playfully on the arm before bidding him goodnight. Roger did the same but lingered a bit longer, wandering into the bathroom once his coworker was out of sight and locking the door behind him. He yanked at the paper towel dispenser, pulling each square out one by one with growing frustration until he had a decent pile accumulated on the grimy countertop. If there was one thing Roger could count on in New York City, it was the neglected public restrooms.

Turning the faucet, the blonde ran the corner of a handful of paper towels under the steady stream and brought the dampened end to his face, dragging it down his cheek and erasing the mask Geoff worked so hard on—the foundation, the eye shadow, the faint pink gloss on his lips, a few angry tears, all removed with a few, harsh swipes. He appreciated his friend's efforts more than words could express, but he knew that if he wore the look home, Tim would—without a doubt—notice and get the wrong impression. The brunette had been itching for his chance to strike up their old business in the new city, and if he saw Roger sporting even the slightest bit of cosmetics, he'd jump at the opportunity like he'd never get another one. The blonde couldn't risk that, not after all he did to distance himself from his past.

Roger heaved a sigh as he tossed the last of the paper towels into the trash, taking one final look at himself in the mirror. It terrified him to see that the makeup had all but more returned, with his hair tucked beneath the signature blonde wig he swore he left behind in London and his neck speckled with hickeys he didn't recall getting. The sight threw him back into the bathroom wall, vanishing upon impact and being replaced with his foundation-free face, hickey-free neck, and natural, grown-out locks. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and dared to take another glance at the reflective surface, this time his normal appearance sticking around.

With his heart pounding against his chest, Roger rushed home, surely attracting the attention of the lurkers but not enough to draw them out of the shadows. He even caught the eye of Tim's friend who sat out on his balcony, smoking his nightly joint. However, the landlord was too stoned to have the wits to meet the blonde halfway, so, without any obstacles, the blonde made it to his apartment, slamming the door behind him and falling against it.

He dropped his head back against the smooth surface and looked to his left to see Tim passed out on the couch—the loud noise not having stirred him one bit. His legs were propped up on the coffee table and his head was dropped to the side, the phone's handset resting on his shoulder, the base sitting in his lap, and a faint dial tone buzzing from the speaker. The peaceful sight brought a small grin to Roger's face, almost making up for the terrible-from-beginning-to-end day he had.

The blonde sighed and peeled himself away from the door, crossing the room to take the seat next to his boyfriend. Just before he got settled, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and out fell a slip onto the floor. He raised a suspicious eyebrow and tossed the small, worn-out leather pouch onto the table, bending down to snatch the piece of paper up and unfolding it to see that it was a number—Brian's number.

Roger's cheeks suddenly grew warm, the memory flooding back to him like he'd just been given it yesterday.

It was the day after Winter break; the day he returned to the university to retrieve his things; the day Brian walked away from him, but not before giving him a way back.