Oh My God, They Were Roommates

32 | Mm Whatcha Say

TW: Transphobia, slurs, violence in the second half of the chapter

a/n: Why do I always make drama, like... TOO intense??

Sora spent all of work in the presence of nameless men and women. There was a bachelorette party that night in the VIP section and two private sessions in, Sora felt like the music just wasn't sitting right with him. It felt like he was at a club and didn't know any of the songs, the lyrics—none of it.

None of it was working for him when his brain was working around the clock, thinking about Ray-fucking-de Lucía.

Sora went to the bar for another shot and there, he found Ambrose sitting with one foot propped up on the spokes of a stool, sipping a gin and tonic. Sora sighed dramatically as he came to stand beside Ambrose, and when he sighed again, Ambrose rose an eyebrow at him.

Sora pouted like he did for customers. Ambrose rolled his eyes and raised a hand out to flag David down.

"Tough night?" Ambrose asked.

"Sort of," Sora said, hand on his hip. "I just did a vibe check and—"

"This night just isn't making the cut, huh," he concluded, and Sora conceded with it.

David arrived, the makings of a Malibu and coke in his hands. He poured the glass and slid it over to Sora, who took one sip and offered a thumbs up as compensation. David put a hand on his hip and glared at Ambrose, and Ambrose tipped him for Sora's sake.

David took the cash with a huff and shook it at Sora, saying, "Just 'cause you're lovesick doesn't mean you don't tip a man."

"Lovesick?" Ambrose repeated, an eyebrow raised.

Sora narrowed his eyes and said, "And how would you know if I'm 'lovesick'? I've got a pretty stellar RBF, dude."

"Yeah, and no one comes to my bar sighing like that unless they're lamenting a loved one," David said.

"We're in a strip club," Sora cried, indignant. "I can sigh however I want!"

"Yeah, and do it around people who'll pay for it. Now skedaddle, hotshot," David said with a snap of his fingers, and Sora groaned, lifting his drink from the bar.

Ambrose took an idle sip of his gin before swiveling around in his chair to watch Sora walk off. "Feel free to take a night off—there's no shortage of replacements."

"Is that a subtle indication that you can kick me to the curb whenever?" Sora said, turning back to him with a hand on his cocked him.

"It's just me saying that some nights are better spent at home watching Netflix. And please, Silver—as if I could replace you," Ambrose said and with that, turned back around to prop his elbow up on the bar and pretend he hadn't just thrown Sora for a loop.

Sora made a mental tally of his profits that evening and, in the mental math of figuring out groceries and rent, decided that he could afford to spend the rest of the night at home. Thank God for bachelorette parties, he thought as he left to the back room and busied himself with changing and packing away any used lingerie from that evening.

As he waited for his Uber to arrive, his mind was back on the same path as before, the one that made every song feel off-beat and the lyrics gibberish.

Of the things he expected Ray to do, kiss him certainly wasn't on the list.

Sora put a thumb to his bottom lip, the edge of a smirk tugging at them. If I knew he'd do that, I wouldn't have even needed espresso for tonight, he thought, still buzzing with energy. The root cause of it all was Ray's unexpected kiss.