The thing about being a model is that you have to travel sometimes. Ken doesn't really mind. It's actually sort of cool, getting to go places and do things, but sometimes he just misses home. He yearns for his beachside bungalow in Malibu, where he can walk out the door and go lay in the sun and just bask. That's his happy place.
All he has right now is New York City and, if he's being honest, he's feeling a little bummed out by it. Laying on the couch in just pyjama pants, in the suite they usually rent when they come here, Ken stares forlornly out the floor-to-ceiling window at the high rises and gloomy grey sky. At least he's not alone.
"Allan," he calls out, rolling on to his back to stare at the equally uninspiring ceiling, "what are you doing right now?"
Ken's restless for the beach and Allan is, too, although maybe not to the extreme. Ken's a boundless fountain of bubbling energy that's honestly only surpassed by his good looks, so of course the weather effects him. Homesickness gets him, too, moreso than Allan, so Allan's doing what he can.
By the time Ken asks what he's doing Allan rounds the corner, a small tray with two large glasses filled with orange juice, rum, pineapple juice and cream of coconut. If they both miss the beach--Ken moreso--he might as well bring it to them. He's even taken care to add a cherry and have a few brightly coloured straws: Ken gets a pink umbrella and Allan has a green one.
"I was going to answer e-mails but it's too depressing outside," he reasons, setting the drinks down on the coffee table right in front of the couch Ken is laying down at.
Gosh, Ken loves Allan. The brightly coloured drinks get an instant smile out of him as well as a look of adoration directed at Allan, and Ken sits up, patting the spot on the couch next to him.
"Good. I was gonna tell you not to work today because if I'm not working, then you shouldn't be working, and maybe we can just do stuff."
If he's distracted he can't feel morose, right?
Picking up the drink, Ken takes a sip and immediately lets out a happy sigh. Instant California in a cup.
Allan's already got the vast majority of his work done anyway--he gets up around the same time Ken's early morning gym outings and jogs and spends the time it takes for Ken to do that to hit the books and get most of their work done. He's extremely efficient when he wants to be, and he'd much rather spend most of his time with Ken and stepping away for the occasional confirmation phone call than not being near him for hours at a time. Ken has to go to the vast majority of the meetings Allan has to go to anyway, given that Ken's face is what makes them money.It works out. It's nice.
E-mails can wait. Especially with Ken insistent that he doesn't work. Who is he to say no to the love of his life? He beams, clearly pleased at both the words and the sigh, sliding next to him and letting their knees bump against each other. He holds his own glass as awkwardly as possible with two hands and is completely unbothered by it.
"We can do whatever you want to do. Would going to a roller rink later tonight boost morale? Or hit that steak house you really like?"
He turns his head and presses his nose into Allan's cheek, fond and more lingering than a simple kiss there would be.
"Can we do both?" he asks, voice a little muffled by Allan's face.
Ken's pretty sure that Allan doesn't really like roller rinks in the sense that he doesn't think Allan likes rollerskating. Still, whenever they go to things like that, Allan does seem to have a good time in the end.
There's a thoughtful hum from him as he moves his head again, this time to rest on Allan's shoulder as he sips from both the straws in his drink.
"Why don't we go that restaurant you were talking about the other day?"
Because he listens, and just because he was trying to decide how many suitcases to pack doesn't mean he missed Allan mentioning off-hand a super popular sushi place that's been getting crazy good reviews. Ken likes doing stuff he likes to do, but he likes doing stuff Allan likes doing, too, sometimes.
Ken pays attention. Allan never doubts it--people underestimate Ken and it's always driven him a bit nuts--but it causes him to smile wide, genuine and soft as his fingers curl against the glass.
"If you're into it I'm totally into it. Both sounds perfect." He's always loved watching Ken get to be as high energy as he likes and he loves roller rink music, it's a win for him anyway, but an exclusive sushi restaurant as well?
He's already whipping out his phone with his free hand, head against the top of Ken's head, heart racing with nothing but affection.
"Cool to use your name to get a reservation? I'm thinking this is a business meeting. We can discuss our game plan for tomorrow." By which Allan means he'll probably say something like 'I'll wake you up at 6?' before they continue to have the time of their lives.
Ken makes a fist with his free hand, and under his breath he says, "Yes, date night." Then he sips more drink before continuing, at regular volume, "Yeah. Totally cool to use it."
That means he just has to kill maybe seven or eight hours, and two of those hours will absolutely be getting ready and figuring out what to wear, so that's not bad! Maybe he can convince Allan to take a nap with him and then they'll just have, like, three hours to fill.
Allan mirrors Ken's free-hand fist perfectly at the permission to get a guaranteed swanky seat, complete with a muttered 'yesss.' It's difficult considering both of his hands are full but he manages to do it. The miracle of Allan.
He takes a sip, sets the drink down and allows his fingers to absently roam on Ken, touching at his shoulder idly as he makes the uick phone call. It's awkward and stilted but he still manages to get it done. Again, the miracle of Allan. He hangs up and his phone joins the drink on the coffee table, which means Allan has an extra hand to card absently through Ken's short hair, massaging his scalp.
Any linger tension leaves Ken at the feeling of fingers in his hair (which only Allan is allowed to mess up). He lets out a pleased sigh before sipping back half of his drink and getting only a slight brain freeze.
“Yeah. It’s just … Home, you know?” All the other models are always so excited to travel, but Ken would love nothing more than to just work out of Southern California. “All of our stuff is there.”
"Yeah I wanna eat lunch and nap," Allan says automatically, because it's what Ken wants to do and Allan can honestly think of nothing better than curling himself onto Ken's incredibly sculpted and warm chest on a day with a dreary, cloudy sky.
He leans forward, pants Ken's knee, and gets up. Drinks are nice but food is nicer--he's not going to complain if Ken follows him into the fridge, either. They have to have something. Allan's not the world's best cook and the majority of restaurants they hit are astounding in number, but it's always a neverending whirlwind of fun with Ken and it's easy to forget to do things like learn how to make more than a grilled cheese.
Speaking of... He's already pulling the little plastic slices out of the little bag.
Ken gets up and follows, like a lost puppy trailing after a human its attached itself to. He doesn't really care what lunch is. Allan could slap a piece of ham between two slices of bread and that could be lunch. It drives Ken's personal trainers crazy that he's always eating out or ordering in, but he's also apparently genetically blessed to be able to stay ripped with his morning workouts and less than stellar diet. The compromise is that his morning pre-workout snack and his breakfast are nutritionally dense for maximum performance and recovery (they get those premade and delivered with a food prep company). Everything else? Totally fair game as long as he gets some good protein and veggies at dinner.
He leans against the counter in a way that looks like he's advertising pajama pants in the pages of Vanity Fair.
"Well ... I need something nice for dinner." Because it's date night and nice restaurants usually want you to look nice and Ken wants to look nice for Allan. "But I also wanna be able to rollerskate." The dilemma. He hums as he thinks through what he brought.
"Oh! The nice black jeans and maybe that pink polo shirt with the white collar?" And the impossibly deep v-neck. "I can throw a jacket over it for dinner."
He'll still probably change outfits at least five times before circling back to his original plan.
Allan has learned that he loves the beach. He loves the sand, the bright clear sky, the sound of the waves. He loves the big umbrellas and the sheer vibrancy of the world even if he often feels uncomfortable in the bigness of the atmosphere. He also finds it nice. Refreshing.
Of course the fact that Ken is there is the biggest reason why he likes it. He and Barbie had been partnered up in a cooking class and hit it off as pals--probably because while Barbie is absolutely gorgeous Allan doesn't swing that way so he didn't hit on her or ask her out--and before he really knew it, Allan found some pretty good friends. Most of them girls--okay, all of them girls--but there's nothing better than a girls night at Barbie's house. Allan has a preference for You've got Mail, Barbie loves Sleepless in Seattle but every single person in that living room will throw down when it comes to defending Dirty Dancing.
They do other activities sure, Allan always lingering in the corner when he does want to go, happy to just be included as an afterthought. He's used to not feeling like he belongs so he's long since tuned it out, not with confidence but with the simple act of not caring. Awkward? Yes. Lonely? Sure. But he's never once questioned who he is.
Still: he likes the beach. He likes the atmosphere. He likes the lifeguard, Ken, all blond hair and toned abs. Sometimes Ken plays volleyball with the rest of the guys. Sometimes he's on duty. Sometimes he surfs. Allan has watched him do it all because eventually he stopped asking Barbie to go with him and just makes a point to walk by where he knows Ken will be almost every day.
And today? Today's the day. Allan's decided that this is it, he's going to actually say something to Ken. There's no big deal, right? It's whatever, isn't it? Just a few words. Ken doesn't know he exists anyway: Allan never does any actual beach activities, he always just politely watches Barbie do her thing from underneath the shade of a large umbrella. He's a redhead and pale as hell, he doesn't tan he disintegrates. But now? Now, he's going to walk by Ken's lifeguard perch.
Deep breathes.
Allan inhales. Exhales. Cranes his neck up, stands a little too close to the base. He waves.
Ken also loves the beach, which is pretty evident to anyone who has ever looked at him for five seconds. Everything about him screams beach bum he doesn't really mind. Being there makes him happy, and all his friends like the beach, too. Friends like Barbie, who Ken grew up with and used to have a major crush on but now they're just good friends. And Barbie's friends, too.
There's one friend that's caught his eye. Amidst the people who frolic in the sand and sun there's Barbie's quiet friend Allan, who sits under the beach umbrella but is always smiling even if he never says much. Ken thinks he's cute. When Allan comes to the beach alone, Ken tries not to think too hard about how maybe Allan's there to see him, specifically, but he does try to show off a little. Just in case.
He's thinking maybe he should just go talk to Allan next time he's there but suddenly Allan is there, like right there, and he's talking first.
"Hi, Allan!"
Ken waves back, feeling impossibly pleased with himself even though he's done absolutely nothing.
Had Barbie introduced them before? Maybe once. Probably? No, definitely, its just that Allan took one look at that those blue, blue eyes and got so lost in them he forgot how to process the English language. And now Ken's looking down and looking at him and Allan's mouth opens.
"Oh." He blinks rapidly. "It's definitely going. What are you doing?" Allan knows what Ken's doing. Kens' doing his job. What Allan is doing is panicking while maintaining almost a completely straight face.
There's another lifeguard coming over, in fact, to do the shift swap. Ken climbs down and finds himself standing obnoxiously close to Allan entirely accidentally given how close Allan is to the base of the structure. He doesn't really know what to do about it other than flash another smile as if that might fill up the silence.
"What are you doing?"
Since, you know, they established what Ken is (well, isn't) doing so the natural thing is to ask what Allan's up to.
Holy shit Ken is so close Allan thinks he might pass out. He doesn't, and instead he sort of just blinks again. He'd drop eye contact except Ken's eyes are completely and utterly hypnotizing, and right now he can't look away. Or move. He's on autopilot.
"Beach," he blurts, and he moves his hands to his hips in an attempt to look confident. It does not work. "I was just doing beach. Sand..." Sand? Sand what? Allan has managed to tear his eyes off of Ken's only to find himself looking at Ken's smooth, broad, muscular chest. The urge to run his hand down it is nearly overwhelming. He clears his throat.
He finds that he's still sort of grinning like an idiot, and he clears his throat, too, leaning against the lifeguard stand to look nonchalant as he glances out over the beach.
"Yeah, the beach is so cool. I have one. My parents have one. A private beach, you should come check it out some time."
"Totally," Allan says without thinking about it whatsoever. He'll remember what he agreed to later, most likely just as he's trying to sleep.
He tries to mirror Ken as well, bringing one arm up but there's nothing but air. In an attempt to cover up his error, he makes it a point to stretch in a poor attempt to make himself seem cool.
Ken has a beach. Just, like, a whole beach that his parents just... beach on. Wow. God, he's so cool. Ken's so cool. Ken smells good, too, and the fact that Allan can tell because they're still so close is very much driving him insane.
Ken's just about to congratulate himself on successfully inviting Allan to his beach when he's caught off guard. He turns his head a bit to look at Allan, brows furrowed just enough to suggest that he wasn't expecting that.
"... Thank you."
There's nothing but sincerity in his voice and on his face, as if Allan has genuinely paid him the nicest compliment anyone has ever given another person.
"Your problem," Allan says, nodding and unable to hide a bashful grin. He's pretty sure his cheeks are as red as his hair.
Wait.
"I wanted to you're welcome and no problem," he explains, smile still wide like this isn't awkward at all. Neither of them have moved from their spots, entirely too close to each other and entirely too close to the lifeguard tower. The other lifeguard can't actually get up.
Ken laughs like it’s honestly the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He only stops when the other lifeguard finally tells him to go do this weird flirting thing somewhere else, and he clears his throat again.
As he takes a step to move out of the way, he feels a drop of rain on his bare shoulders. When did the sky get cloudy? How long has he just been smiling dumbly at Allan? He looks up and squints as another drop hits his eye.
Oh, wow, Ken's laughing. Ken's laughing at something Allan says, and Allan laughs back, strained in comparison to how easy going Ken's is. It's music to Allan's ears. He doesn't even notice the rain (or the other lifeguard calling this flirting) until the other points it out and then hits him with something Allan can only describe as an act of God.
"You wanna go get a poke bowl and wait for the rain?" He suggestions because yes, absolutely, he would love to hang out. He'd developed an affinity for the bowls when he followed Ken to Incredibowl one day, waited until he left, and then went in and ordered the same thing as Ken ordered. He lifts his eyebrows, holding his breath. That's a good suggestion, right? That's what Ken likes. He'll definitely get a good grade in wanting Ken to notice him, something completely normal to want to achieve.
Could this be any more perfect? Allan’s funny and he likes the same food. And he wants to eat that food with Ken!
“There’s a place just across the road. Let me stop and grab a shirt from my car.”
He waits until he’s sure Allan is following, then leads the way to the parking lot and to a pale blue Ferrari of all cars. He grabs a button up shirt which does get put on, but stays decidedly unbuttoned.
Allan follows, trailing after Ken like a lovelorn puppy, his heart absolutely racing. He's done it. He's got Ken to go out with him. two on two, even. Just pals, sure but Ken is noticing him.
If he dies tomorrow it'll probably be fine. This is obviously the best day ever. He's unable to hide his grin, nodding fervently. He'll even take Ken covering up his chest, because somehow--Allan has no idea how--Ken manages to look even better with a shirt on. And open. Allan saw him in a tank top once and nearly passed out. It was all he could talk about with his roommate for a solid week.
"Totally," he mumbles, and he's already got his wallet out the moment they enter the building, the bell above the door signalling their arrival.
Ken wouldn’t mind covering the bill but he seems tickled that Allan wants to. He gives Allan another wide smile, then he waves at the people working at the counter who wave back. He’s a regular, after all.
He orders and finds a seat by the window. The rain bums him out but he likes to look outside anyway.
“Barbie said you do cooking classes together? That’s so cool.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
real life au;
All he has right now is New York City and, if he's being honest, he's feeling a little bummed out by it. Laying on the couch in just pyjama pants, in the suite they usually rent when they come here, Ken stares forlornly out the floor-to-ceiling window at the high rises and gloomy grey sky. At least he's not alone.
"Allan," he calls out, rolling on to his back to stare at the equally uninspiring ceiling, "what are you doing right now?"
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By the time Ken asks what he's doing Allan rounds the corner, a small tray with two large glasses filled with orange juice, rum, pineapple juice and cream of coconut. If they both miss the beach--Ken moreso--he might as well bring it to them. He's even taken care to add a cherry and have a few brightly coloured straws: Ken gets a pink umbrella and Allan has a green one.
"I was going to answer e-mails but it's too depressing outside," he reasons, setting the drinks down on the coffee table right in front of the couch Ken is laying down at.
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"Good. I was gonna tell you not to work today because if I'm not working, then you shouldn't be working, and maybe we can just do stuff."
If he's distracted he can't feel morose, right?
Picking up the drink, Ken takes a sip and immediately lets out a happy sigh. Instant California in a cup.
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E-mails can wait. Especially with Ken insistent that he doesn't work. Who is he to say no to the love of his life? He beams, clearly pleased at both the words and the sigh, sliding next to him and letting their knees bump against each other. He holds his own glass as awkwardly as possible with two hands and is completely unbothered by it.
"We can do whatever you want to do. Would going to a roller rink later tonight boost morale? Or hit that steak house you really like?"
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"Can we do both?" he asks, voice a little muffled by Allan's face.
Ken's pretty sure that Allan doesn't really like roller rinks in the sense that he doesn't think Allan likes rollerskating. Still, whenever they go to things like that, Allan does seem to have a good time in the end.
There's a thoughtful hum from him as he moves his head again, this time to rest on Allan's shoulder as he sips from both the straws in his drink.
"Why don't we go that restaurant you were talking about the other day?"
Because he listens, and just because he was trying to decide how many suitcases to pack doesn't mean he missed Allan mentioning off-hand a super popular sushi place that's been getting crazy good reviews. Ken likes doing stuff he likes to do, but he likes doing stuff Allan likes doing, too, sometimes.
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"If you're into it I'm totally into it. Both sounds perfect." He's always loved watching Ken get to be as high energy as he likes and he loves roller rink music, it's a win for him anyway, but an exclusive sushi restaurant as well?
He's already whipping out his phone with his free hand, head against the top of Ken's head, heart racing with nothing but affection.
"Cool to use your name to get a reservation? I'm thinking this is a business meeting. We can discuss our game plan for tomorrow." By which Allan means he'll probably say something like 'I'll wake you up at 6?' before they continue to have the time of their lives.
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That means he just has to kill maybe seven or eight hours, and two of those hours will absolutely be getting ready and figuring out what to wear, so that's not bad! Maybe he can convince Allan to take a nap with him and then they'll just have, like, three hours to fill.
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He takes a sip, sets the drink down and allows his fingers to absently roam on Ken, touching at his shoulder idly as he makes the uick phone call. It's awkward and stilted but he still manages to get it done. Again, the miracle of Allan. He hangs up and his phone joins the drink on the coffee table, which means Allan has an extra hand to card absently through Ken's short hair, massaging his scalp.
"...It always feels weird being away from LA."
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Any linger tension leaves Ken at the feeling of fingers in his hair (which only Allan is allowed to mess up). He lets out a pleased sigh before sipping back half of his drink and getting only a slight brain freeze.
“Yeah. It’s just … Home, you know?” All the other models are always so excited to travel, but Ken would love nothing more than to just work out of Southern California. “All of our stuff is there.”
Why does New York have to be so grey?
He glances up at Allan.
“Wanna eat lunch and nap?”
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He leans forward, pants Ken's knee, and gets up. Drinks are nice but food is nicer--he's not going to complain if Ken follows him into the fridge, either. They have to have something. Allan's not the world's best cook and the majority of restaurants they hit are astounding in number, but it's always a neverending whirlwind of fun with Ken and it's easy to forget to do things like learn how to make more than a grilled cheese.
Speaking of... He's already pulling the little plastic slices out of the little bag.
"You know what you're gonna wear?"
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He leans against the counter in a way that looks like he's advertising pajama pants in the pages of Vanity Fair.
"Well ... I need something nice for dinner." Because it's date night and nice restaurants usually want you to look nice and Ken wants to look nice for Allan. "But I also wanna be able to rollerskate." The dilemma. He hums as he thinks through what he brought.
"Oh! The nice black jeans and maybe that pink polo shirt with the white collar?" And the impossibly deep v-neck. "I can throw a jacket over it for dinner."
He'll still probably change outfits at least five times before circling back to his original plan.
beach au;
Of course the fact that Ken is there is the biggest reason why he likes it. He and Barbie had been partnered up in a cooking class and hit it off as pals--probably because while Barbie is absolutely gorgeous Allan doesn't swing that way so he didn't hit on her or ask her out--and before he really knew it, Allan found some pretty good friends. Most of them girls--okay, all of them girls--but there's nothing better than a girls night at Barbie's house. Allan has a preference for You've got Mail, Barbie loves Sleepless in Seattle but every single person in that living room will throw down when it comes to defending Dirty Dancing.
They do other activities sure, Allan always lingering in the corner when he does want to go, happy to just be included as an afterthought. He's used to not feeling like he belongs so he's long since tuned it out, not with confidence but with the simple act of not caring. Awkward? Yes. Lonely? Sure. But he's never once questioned who he is.
Still: he likes the beach. He likes the atmosphere. He likes the lifeguard, Ken, all blond hair and toned abs. Sometimes Ken plays volleyball with the rest of the guys. Sometimes he's on duty. Sometimes he surfs. Allan has watched him do it all because eventually he stopped asking Barbie to go with him and just makes a point to walk by where he knows Ken will be almost every day.
And today? Today's the day. Allan's decided that this is it, he's going to actually say something to Ken. There's no big deal, right? It's whatever, isn't it? Just a few words. Ken doesn't know he exists anyway: Allan never does any actual beach activities, he always just politely watches Barbie do her thing from underneath the shade of a large umbrella. He's a redhead and pale as hell, he doesn't tan he disintegrates. But now? Now, he's going to walk by Ken's lifeguard perch.
Deep breathes.
Allan inhales. Exhales. Cranes his neck up, stands a little too close to the base. He waves.
Here we go. Here. We. Go.
"Hi, Ken."
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There's one friend that's caught his eye. Amidst the people who frolic in the sand and sun there's Barbie's quiet friend Allan, who sits under the beach umbrella but is always smiling even if he never says much. Ken thinks he's cute. When Allan comes to the beach alone, Ken tries not to think too hard about how maybe Allan's there to see him, specifically, but he does try to show off a little. Just in case.
He's thinking maybe he should just go talk to Allan next time he's there but suddenly Allan is there, like right there, and he's talking first.
"Hi, Allan!"
Ken waves back, feeling impossibly pleased with himself even though he's done absolutely nothing.
"How's it going?"
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Ken said hi and knows his name.
Had Barbie introduced them before? Maybe once. Probably? No, definitely, its just that Allan took one look at that those blue, blue eyes and got so lost in them he forgot how to process the English language. And now Ken's looking down and looking at him and Allan's mouth opens.
"Oh." He blinks rapidly. "It's definitely going. What are you doing?" Allan knows what Ken's doing. Kens' doing his job. What Allan is doing is panicking while maintaining almost a completely straight face.
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There's another lifeguard coming over, in fact, to do the shift swap. Ken climbs down and finds himself standing obnoxiously close to Allan entirely accidentally given how close Allan is to the base of the structure. He doesn't really know what to do about it other than flash another smile as if that might fill up the silence.
"What are you doing?"
Since, you know, they established what Ken is (well, isn't) doing so the natural thing is to ask what Allan's up to.
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"Beach," he blurts, and he moves his hands to his hips in an attempt to look confident. It does not work. "I was just doing beach. Sand..." Sand? Sand what? Allan has managed to tear his eyes off of Ken's only to find himself looking at Ken's smooth, broad, muscular chest. The urge to run his hand down it is nearly overwhelming. He clears his throat.
"You remembered my name?"
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As if he could ever forget Allan's name.
He finds that he's still sort of grinning like an idiot, and he clears his throat, too, leaning against the lifeguard stand to look nonchalant as he glances out over the beach.
"Yeah, the beach is so cool. I have one. My parents have one. A private beach, you should come check it out some time."
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He tries to mirror Ken as well, bringing one arm up but there's nothing but air. In an attempt to cover up his error, he makes it a point to stretch in a poor attempt to make himself seem cool.
Ken has a beach. Just, like, a whole beach that his parents just... beach on. Wow. God, he's so cool. Ken's so cool. Ken smells good, too, and the fact that Allan can tell because they're still so close is very much driving him insane.
"You're so cool," he blurts.
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"... Thank you."
There's nothing but sincerity in his voice and on his face, as if Allan has genuinely paid him the nicest compliment anyone has ever given another person.
"That really means a lot."
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Wait.
"I wanted to you're welcome and no problem," he explains, smile still wide like this isn't awkward at all. Neither of them have moved from their spots, entirely too close to each other and entirely too close to the lifeguard tower. The other lifeguard can't actually get up.
Allan's beaming.
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As he takes a step to move out of the way, he feels a drop of rain on his bare shoulders. When did the sky get cloudy? How long has he just been smiling dumbly at Allan? He looks up and squints as another drop hits his eye.
“You wanna go someplace?”
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"You wanna go get a poke bowl and wait for the rain?" He suggestions because yes, absolutely, he would love to hang out. He'd developed an affinity for the bowls when he followed Ken to Incredibowl one day, waited until he left, and then went in and ordered the same thing as Ken ordered. He lifts his eyebrows, holding his breath. That's a good suggestion, right? That's what Ken likes. He'll definitely get a good grade in wanting Ken to notice him, something completely normal to want to achieve.
no subject
Could this be any more perfect? Allan’s funny and he likes the same food. And he wants to eat that food with Ken!
“There’s a place just across the road. Let me stop and grab a shirt from my car.”
He waits until he’s sure Allan is following, then leads the way to the parking lot and to a pale blue Ferrari of all cars. He grabs a button up shirt which does get put on, but stays decidedly unbuttoned.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
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If he dies tomorrow it'll probably be fine. This is obviously the best day ever. He's unable to hide his grin, nodding fervently. He'll even take Ken covering up his chest, because somehow--Allan has no idea how--Ken manages to look even better with a shirt on. And open. Allan saw him in a tank top once and nearly passed out. It was all he could talk about with his roommate for a solid week.
"Totally," he mumbles, and he's already got his wallet out the moment they enter the building, the bell above the door signalling their arrival.
"Let me, uh, get it."
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Ken wouldn’t mind covering the bill but he seems tickled that Allan wants to. He gives Allan another wide smile, then he waves at the people working at the counter who wave back. He’s a regular, after all.
He orders and finds a seat by the window. The rain bums him out but he likes to look outside anyway.
“Barbie said you do cooking classes together? That’s so cool.”