Chapter Text
$120, flat rate. A generous tip of $10, but Hal knew his commissioner probably only did it to be polite, or for pity. Whatever it was, it paid his electricity bill for the month, with a little left to buy groceries. If it weren’t for the woman next door ‘accidentally’ making too much dinner on a regular basis, he probably would’ve been down to nothing but the marrow of his bones with a mop of hair. He was also a little overdue for a haircut, but it was long enough he could pull it back and not look like a slob. Maybe he’d have to start listing off figurines to sell for a little extra cash. Loan payments started chewing a hole through his wallet before he realized it, and even with the doctorate, Hal was working off of commissions from his one-bedroomed apartment and hopping around temp agencies while trying to ride off whatever his estranged family felt obligated to pitch in. When they managed to communicate, that is.
God, it was like college again. Counting change here, ‘borrowing’ money there. Writing papers for underclassmen for extra cash on the downlow, creating programs for other grad students who would otherwise never give him the time of day. Ramen and poptarts, Diet Coke and Arizona teas. It was no wonder his immune system was shit. Did he have anything warmer than a pullover and a scarf? Headphones weren't the same as earmuffs.
Worse case scenario, he could sell nudes online. No, he wasn’t handsome enough to manage that. Maybe feet pics, with the help of a little photoshop. Now that he could maybe pull off.
The thought makes him laugh, a small snort to himself on the subway with no other patrons. It was already a little past 7, and he still had a good 20 minutes until he got to the studio. He'd be a little late, sure. No big deal. He hasn't come to class in... A week. Two. Five? Since his last paycheck. When was that?
Through the windows, Hal could see the city pass as a blur. Snow smeared the windows, leaving trails of wet. Sniffling, Hal turned back in his seat and fiddled with his satchel. A sketchbook, a baggie of charcoals, pencils and erasers. An extra phone charger, some spare change for dinner. A metal water bottle with Gundam on it that he's had since he was 14. All of this had been gathering dust in the corner of his kitchen while he worked on a new program he'd been commissioned for. After sending the first beta, he was asked to correct something, which threw him off and set him back a couple days. It was when he was taking the trash out after it started overflowing that he remembered the class.
It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things that Hal wishes had changed his life for the better, but only in a very minute way. Every Thursday, a retired art teacher opened a studio class in the basement of a high school. Free, works off tips. There's some college students who came looking for a destresser, a few elders looking for something fun to pass the time; Hal's somewhere in between there, he guesses. Out of college with nothing to show for but a diploma or three. Whatever. If he can sit for free in a dimly lit studio with headphones on and draw for a couple hours once a week, that's all the socialization he needs.
Not that anyone talks to him. It's nice. Whenever he's stuck on a project he can go vent out his frustrations and eat donuts. Sometimes he sketches out character designs for the game he's working on, and once the teacher complimented him. It felt like years since he's been complimented and he got so embarrassed he didn't show up for a couple more weeks. A few times Hal has overheard other students talking about him, but once his headphones are on he's in his own bubble until he's satisfied, gives a nice tip and heads back home. The 45 minute subway ride was equally therapeutic and stressing, but the satisfaction of going outside was rewarding enough. Sometimes.
Stepping off at his stop, Hal throws his hood over his head and starts trekking towards the high school. He didn't go to school here - after graduating, he was given an internship, which fell through and he never bothered moving away. Living in the suburbs had its pros and cons. Hal stops to buy a hot chocolate from a vendor, then dips into the back stairwell of the school and pulls open the fire escape door at the bottom. Immediately, a warm rush of air greets him, and he involuntarily exhales. All of the lights are on in the basement, and there's student artwork pinned along the walls. Brings back good and bad memories. High schoolers sure are creative.
The door is slightly ajar, which saves Hal the fear of pulling it open and making an unnecessary amount of noise. Hooking his heel around the door, he slowly pries it open further, trying to hold his bag and drink without jostling around too much. Once inside, he scans quickly to make sure no one saw him come in so late.
Sara's got her head tucked into a book in her seat. She's still working on her thesis.
Andrew's sipping a Redbull. Typical.
Mary Ann has her smock on. World's Best Grandma.
Joseph is drawing... Hal squints. A naked man? Hal's eyes graze from the easel to the--
Oh my God.
By the time Hal's eyes register the nude model posing at the front of the room on a small stage, the model's eyes have already settled on Hal, and he smiles. Oh my God.
Hal's first response is to back out of the room, his bag snagging on the door and pulling it shut with a slam once it's freed.
Finding comfort on an uncomfortable bench just down the hall, Hal puts his headphones on and stares down at his sneakers. Trembling hands fidget with the cord, plugging and unplugging them from his phone. Inhale. Exhale. Plugs it in, shuffle, listen. Skip, skip, skip. Listen. Pause. Out of his peripheral he sees the formerly shut door start to open, as well as registering the sound of people talking - clapping, thanking their model. Grabbing his bag, Hal hugs it tight to his chest and dips into the nearest classroom, which was thankfully unlocked.
Pressing his forehead against the cool of the wall, he lets his eyes close and takes several deep breaths. Skip, skip, skip, skip, skip. Lets the song finish before he opens his eyes again. Taking his headphones off, Hal listens for any other sound, and can hear Justine locking up her room, the distinct sound of her keyring full of trinkets following her down the empty hallway. After another moment, he cracks the door open and steps out. His drink still on the bench, he picks it up and it slips between his fingers, splashing on his shoes and the floor.
"Fuck," an angry hiss between grit teeth, Hal sets his belongings down, picking up the cup and carefully carrying it to the bathroom. Pitching it, he grabs for a handful of paper towels, dabbing at his jeans and sneakers before grabbing another handful to clean the spill. There are dirty shoe prints on the bathroom floor, Hal backtracking his way to try and lessen the mess, but--
"Woah!" Before he can register anything else, two firm hands are latched onto Hal's shoulders, steadying him at an angle. Blinking twice, he processes that he slipped and was caught by... Who?
"Are you okay?" With concern in his eyes and a face that is a little too close for Hal, the latter looks away and swallows.
"Yeah. Yeah." The other sets Hal upright, his hands gripping paper towels into two sweaty messes. Casting his eyes upwards for a brief moment, Hal is greeted by a familiar looking smile, and a peep of skin. No, a lot of skin. A loosely draped bathrobe thrown together at the navel.
“Uh,” he starts, then realizes he’s staring and adverts his eyes to his hands. Why am I so sweaty?
“Are you sure?” The man asks, pulling his robe closer around himself. Modest. Chiseled. Hairy.
“Yeah. Just spilled my cocoa.”
“What a shame. You were in Justine’s class, right? I’m David.” Sticking his hand out for a handshake, Hal pretends not to see the robe slowly open a little and nods. “Oh, sorry, your hands are full,” he chuckles. “Do you need help cleaning up?”
“No,” swallowing dryly, Hal steps around David and speeds his way to his mess, hastily wiping it up and tossing his trash before grabbing his bag and making a run for it.
Standing at the station with his arms wrapped tightly around him, Hal realizes quickly he just missed the train and will be another 20 minutes or so until the next one. Looking at his phone and sighing, he departs from the platform in search of something to eat. A diner is the first thing to catch his eye, the warm smell of fries making his stomach rumble in response. Sitting himself down at a booth, he flips through the menu and chews on his bottom lip.
A figure stands beside him, shadow looming.
"I'll have the 1/3 pound burger, no cheese or tomato but extra onion, medium-well, a--" a laugh cuts him off, Hal looking up to see not a waitress, but a tall man in a turtleneck and jeans.
"Oh, no, sorry about that. Continue your order, sir." Sliding across the table from him, the man first grabs a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and slips one between his lips. "Do you mind?"
"I don't think you can smoke here," Hal says quietly, hand on his bag if he needs to leave.
"Really? Damn. I just moved from out of state." Tucking the cigarette behind his ear, he crosses his arms across his chest and exhales through his nose. "I hope I didn't scare you."
"...David?"
"Ah," he says, a smile on his lips, "sorry, I guess I should've reintroduced myself before sitting down." Sticking his hand out, Hal hesitantly shakes it this time, albeit with trembling hands - David either doesn't notice or pretends not to. "I guess you didn't recognize me dressed like this."
"Very, uh, modest."
"You could say that. I also hope you don't think I was following you or anything. Had a friend suggest this place and it's close to the station. I'm assuming that's what you're doing here as well, huh?" Nodding, Hal looks back down to his menu. "By the way, I don't think I caught your name."
"I'm Hal. Dr. Hal Emmerich," he corrects, still unfamiliar with the term. Across from him, David looks very surprised.
"A doctor, huh? Didn't know I had the pleasure speaking to someone so sophisticated." Despite his nerves, Hal can feel himself blushing, playing with a loose curl subconsciously.
"It's not that big of a deal," he lies, shrugging one shoulder.
"Good evening, gentlemen," a lanky guy no older than 22 greets them, notepad and pen in hand. "What can I get started for you?"
"I'll have a Coke," Dave says, looking at Hal.
"Uh, Dr. Pepper, please."
"Sorry, we don't have Dr. Pepper." Frowning slightly, Dave speaks up.
"Cherry Coke, then. It's close enough." Shooting the other an incredulous look, the waiter scribbles it down regardless.
"Are you ready to order?"
"Yeah. We'll take two 1/3 burgers, one medium-well with no tomato or cheese but extra onion, and the other one medium-rare with everything." As the kid writes it down, Hal stares at Dave, who winks in response.
"Sides?"
"Fries. That sound good?"
"Yeah, fries are fine."
"Alrighty, that'll be out in a little bit and I'll come back with your drinks." Even as the kid leaves, Hal is still staring in surprise.
"What?" David asks, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "I have a pretty good memory."
"Cherry Coke is not the same as Dr. Pepper." To Hal's surprise, Dave bellows out a laugh.
"That's what you're strung up about? Well, you have the doctorate, so you must know more about that than I do."
"Dr. Pepper and I were in the same graduating class, actually," Hal remarks, pushing up his glasses, trying to keep a straight face even when David can't. His laugh is contagious, the two of them subsiding their laughs when their drinks are brought to them.
Raising his glass, David proposes a toast.
"To what?"
"To making you laugh." With a blush he can't control, they clink their cups and drink.