“So,” Joel says. “D’you think Tango would talk to me if I broke the bow again?”
Which, obviously, is a joke. Obviously. He’s a blummin’ actor, for goodness sake. He can handle an audience of one.
Even if that audience is Tango. And also– not quite an audience, is it, when you’re just two people having a conversation–
Grian pauses, looking up from where he's been checking Joel’s outfit, one hand tracing a seam. "Joel," He replies, deadpan. "You are not breaking another prop just ‘cuz you're bad at talking to people."
Joel bristles, oi! “I’m not bad at–!”
"Then talk to him like a normal person!" Grian retorts, rolling his eyes. He focuses his attention back on the costume, "Pretty sure he'll notice and chew you out for it anyway. I'm doing you a favor by telling you this, really." Joel scoffs.
He’s choosing not to reply to that, by the way. It’s a choice.
Joel lets Grian do his thing, double-checking his costume until Joel’s arms grow tired of staying up, pinning stuff into place and calling Cleo over for makeup stuff. Joel lets his mind drift, letting Grian lead him in front of a vanity mirror– Ah, look. His handsome face.
Joel studies his reflection for a moment, turning his head this way and that. And just before Grian leaves–
“…Would he really get mad?”
Grian pauses in the doorway, “Huh?” He frowns for a moment, squinting, then sighs. “Yes, Joel. You’re not that cute.”
“Oi!”
Grian lets the door shut with a click, his cackling muffled as he goes. That little…
Joel huffs, glowering at his reflection.
“Not that cute,” He grumbles. “I’m plenty cute. The cutest.”
Someone knocks on the door. Cleo pokes their head in, “Hey, Joel.”
“Hey,” He hasn’t stopped glaring at his reflection. “Don’t ask about Grian.”
Cleo lets herself in, “Wasn’t going to,” She says simply. “Now stop sulking and let me do your makeup.”
With great effort, (not really) Joel relaxes his face, his features smoothing out.
He looks good, is the thing. No matter what Grian has to say. Joel looks– good. Attractive. Drop-dead gor– whatever. The point is, he’s handsome, and he could woo whoever he wanted. Definitely.
(He thinks of Tango, gold-spun hair catching the stage lights, red eyes dark as wine.)
…Probably.
Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Ugh, he’s gonna be thinking about that all day, won’t he?
Stupid Grian.
—
(“Cleo,” Joel starts. “Am I hot?”
The brush on his face stops.
“The fuck?”)
—
He breaks the prop again.
In his defense, it was still mostly an accident. Mostly.
"How."
Joel squirms a little under Tango's gaze, hoo boy.
He holds up the broken prop bow, "Ehh, the uh. The thing is, I keep, like, using too much strength on it?" He grins, straightening his back. "You know, 'cuz I'm so strong and stuff. Happens uh, all the time, you know?” At Tango’s silence, he tacks on, “…It's annoying."
Tango raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Joel's grin goes lopsided, withering under the look.
"I– uh," He thins his lips, runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. "...Sorry?"
Tango’s tail sways a little behind him, His arms are crossed, just. Looking at him.
Okay, Joel thinks, palms starting to sweat. Maybe Grian was right.
“You realize I’m not even a props guy, right?” Tango asks. Joel swallows. “Official title’s set designer.”
Joel is so fucked.
“I knew that,” Joel manages, still clutching the damn prop. “Just– you helped me fix it last time.”
And the time before that. And, also, the time before that.
…Joel’s sweating up a damn storm over here.
Eventually, Tango sighs.
"C'mere, I've got something for ya."
Joel's eyebrows leap up. He follows Tango as he leads him deeper backstage, past costume racks and other stage tech-y stuff– none of which Joel can make heads or tails of.
His mind races with questions, half of his brain going why is he leading me all the way back here while the other half is really trying not to ogle at Tango’s–
"There it is," Tango says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He scoops up what looks like a small toolkit, holds it out to Joel. "Here, for the next time you manage to break that poor bow again."
Joel opens his mouth, closes it again. He just stands there, dumbfounded and cheeks burning with shame, "I don't know how to–"
"You've seen me do it like five times, haven't you?" Tango asks, teasing. Joel's going to die. "You're a big boy, you can do it."
What'd he just call me, "Right," Joel squeaks, "That's– Right. Yeah."
He reaches out to grab it–
But Tango pulls it back, his grin growing wider.
"Wha–?"
Tango tilts his head, "There are better ways to get my attention, you know."
Joel's heart leaps into his throat.
He’s so fucked–!
It must show on his face, too, because then Tango laughs and it would've been a win if it weren't at him– "I'm serious, man! You didn't have to do all that stuff– You thought I wouldn’t notice?"
Tango shakes his head, gives Joel the toolkit. He closes Joel’s hand around it with his own.
Joel's breath hitches in his throat– Tango’s touch burns but in a good way, like sunlight on skin, like–
"It's not like you needed help getting my attention, anyway."
If this were a movie, Joel thinks this is where he’d hear a record scratch.
Hold on. Rewind. What?
Tango looks surprised, “Did you really not know?”
“I–” Joel closes his mouth. He’s trying to form words, honest, Tango’s hand is just so warm– “Would you believe me if I said I knew?”
Tango laughs, (Again! Joel’s mind crows.) “It wouldn’t be your best performance, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Answer’s no, then,” Joel replies, strangled. A pause. “No as in, I didn’t know– oh gosh, I hope I’m reading this right–”
Tango’s hand falls away, amusement twinkling in his red eyes. Joel tries to remember how to breath.
Tango’s lips pull up into a smile, “You know, you’re way different off-stage.”
Ouch. “Sorry to disappoint,” Joel blurts out, a faint sting in his chest. Tango’s eyes go wide.
“That’s not what I meant!” His tail lashes in panic, “You’re– you’re a completely different person on-stage, you know? Which I get is the point, you’re amazing, just…”
Joel blinks. Is his brain melting out of his ears? It feels like his brain is melting out of his ears.
It echoes in his head, you’re amazing.
A faint red dusts Tango’s cheeks, “…I think I kind of prefer the real deal.”
“Oh,” Joel says, voice faint. Tango’s blush deepens.
“I just made this weird, didn’t I–”
Joel’s brain kicks into gear, finally, “D’you wanna go out some time?” He asks. His hands shake, just a little. “Cuz I think you’re bloody brilliant, Tango, so if you’re gonna be saying stuff like that,” He swallows. “You better at least let me take you out to coffee.”
Tango’s grin is blinding, “Only if you promise to stop breaking props.”
Joel laughs, a giddy rush in his chest.
“I promise.”
(At the back of his mind– Take that, Grian!)
—
Somehow, somewhere, Grian just sneezed.
