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?"
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.
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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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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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