Grey is talking about his band again. Ryan gladly listens, but his mind is a little distant, trying to guess what the next customer to walk in is going to look like. This is the most he's heard from Grey since the birth of their friendship, but it's getting a little repetitive, not that Ryan will ever tell him that. He's happy to hear Grey talk about something other than his dislike for other people, so he lets him continue without interruption.
"We're so close to being able to start productive practices, but we could still use a rhythm guitarist," Grey goes on, doodling mindlessly with a pen on a receipt a customer chose not to take with them, his dark hair flopping over his equally-dark eyebrows. "A new lead singer would be ideal, too. Like, don't get me wrong, I think Mai-ly's good, but she's never sung anywhere that wasn't the shower before now, so she's hesitant to sing loudly. Not to mention, it's kind of hard to sing and play the drums simultaneously."
Ryan nods in response, cupping his chin in his hands as he leans over the counter next to the cash register. He pulls his bottom lip with his fingers absentmindedly as he stares at the door. A study group that came in a couple hours earlier talks animatedly as they leave, and Ryan is so focused on the bright pink hair of one of the girls in the group that he barely notices the boy who enters, moving against the current of the sea of exiting people. Ryan immediately straightens up in preparation for customer-employee interaction, but the boy looks briefly in his direction before immediately veering left, in the direction of the bathroom. Oh, one of those customers, Ryan thinks to himself, before shrugging and returning to his slouched over position. Grey is still talking.
"Maybe you should put up a poster somewhere," Ryan suggests, more to contribute to the conversation than anything. He doesn't even realize his idea is actually sort of good until Grey smiles a little. Ryan beams back.
"That's not a bad idea," Grey says. Then, as an afterthought, "Thanks." This makes Ryan smile more. Seeing Grey happy is enough to make his day.
Ryan decides to tidy up the counter to pass time. Grey continues to doodle. It's mid-afternoon, so the sluggish atmosphere of the café isn't surprising. Grey likes these shifts because they're so slow, but Ryan would much rather work during the morning rush or open mic evenings. He thrives in social scenes, getting to know people, talking until his throat feels raw. The only reason he ever takes the slow shifts is to accompany Grey, who always insists that he's fine alone. Ryan knows better than that.
"What if we only get a response from some weirdo who thinks they know how to play the guitar but actually can't?" Grey asks after a couple of minutes of quiet, eyebrows furrowed. He crumples the pen-graffitied receipt into a ball and tosses it into the trash can beneath the counter.
"Sounds like you just described yourself," Ryan says with a grin.
Grey's face falls with annoyance. "Ha. That was a good one."
"Thanks," Ryan chirps, before genuinely contemplating Grey's question. "Worst comes to worst, you hold auditions, and if only one weirdo shows up, you let them audition, tell them they failed, then start all over." Ryan shrugs as if this were the easiest problem to solve in the world.
Grey rolls his eyes at Ryan's nonchalance, but says nothing. Then, so quietly that they almost don't hear:
"May I ask what you're holding auditions for?" Ryan takes a moment to register the fact that someone is talking to them, and when he does, his head immediately turns in the direction of the voice, on the other side of the counter. It's the bathroom boy.
"Oh, it's nothing," Grey immediately says dismissively. He's barely looking at the guy, and Ryan feels bad for him.
"By nothing, he means for his band," Ryan adds, receiving a pointed look from Grey he's learned to understand as Dude, what the fuck. Ryan blinks in response—his equivalent of someone rolling their eyes.
"Oh," the boy says, awkwardly bobbing his head. "That's cool." He looks to the door, as if expecting someone to walk through it at that moment, then turns his head back to look past Ryan's head. Only then does Ryan realize he recognizes him.
"Hey, aren't you in my Stats class?" he asks, jutting out his bottom lip. "Like, Francis, I think?" The boy's face immediately flushes pink.
"Yeah," he says with a half-laugh. "That would be me."
The only time Ryan recalls ever seeing Francis was when they were sitting down in the lecture hall, so he's surprised to notice how short he is from up close. Or, at least, how small his stature is in comparison to Ryan. He's at least five inches shorter.
"The perfect height for basketball," the coaches back in high school would always tell Ryan during gym class. They never tried to recruit him to the team, though. He was probably one of the worst athletes in his class. An unathletic boy in a should-be-athletic body. He sometimes wishes his height went to someone who would've put it to use.
"It's nice to finally talk to you," Ryan says to Francis, who responds by flitting his eyes down to stare at his feet. Ryan observes how dark and thick his eyelashes are—a stark contrast to his blonde hair. His eyebrows match the color of his eyelashes, and Ryan has to force himself to stop being so intrigued by the color of Francis's hair. Grey's told him on multiple occasions that he has a habit of looking at people too closely. "You interested in auditioning for the band?" he asks, drawing his gaze away from Francis's brows and down to his hazel eyes. "They're looking for a rhythm guitarist and/or a lead singer."
Francis raises his eyebrows with contemplation, and Ryan has to will himself not to look at them. They're thick, dark arches sculpted above his brow bones—too symmetrical to not notice. "I mean, I do occasionally sing, and I can play the guitar. . . ," he trails off.
Ryan beams at Grey, who's subtly frowning, then at Francis. "Great! You should totally come out for auditions. Since their band is merely a baby, it shouldn't be too difficult to get in." Grey mutters something under his breath in response. Ryan ignores him.
Francis shrugs, but also nods his head a little. "Yeah, I guess I'd be interested, if that's okay with you?" The question is directed at Grey, who's trying very hard to look like he's not paying attention. Ryan has to kick him lightly in hopes that Francis can't see the interaction over the counter.
"Oh," Grey starts, almost sounding confused, "yeah, sure, okay. We haven't exactly set an audition date, though, so I guess I should probably give you my number to stay in touch. . . ."
Ryan grabs a receipt someone put in the tip jar and hands it to Grey, which he takes and jots his number on with the pen he's still holding. He hands it back to Ryan, who then hands it to Francis.
"There ya go," he says as if he were handing him an order. "One phone number and a future audition."
"Cool," Francis says mindlessly as he gazes intently at the receipt he holds with both his hands. He looks up. "Well, I guess I should be going now."
Ryan smiles and Francis looks away. "Okay, see you around, then!"
"Right," Francis says as his parting word. He gives them a slight nod before turning around, starting away slowly before picking up his pace as the space between them widens.
Ryan turns to Grey, who's looking off into space with a deadpan expression on his face. "Well, that was easy. Look how well that went!"
Grey rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't exactly call that a success. We don't even know if he's good or not."
"At least we have one person lined up for auditions, though."
"Did you even see him?" Grey asks, ignoring Ryan's remark. "He was blushing so hard."
Ryan furrows his eyebrows. "Really? Hm, maybe he was just embarrassed? Bad at talking to people?"
"He wouldn't even look you in the eye."
Ryan shrugs. "I've interacted with plenty of customers who didn't look me in the eye. Some people are just more sociable than others. Give the guy a break—he was nice."
Grey rolls his eyes again, saying, "You think everyone is nice."
"That is not—"
"Shut up. It is and you know it."
"Whatever."
"Besides," Grey begins, moving from his position against the wall, "I wouldn't even call him a customer. Didn't you notice he left without ordering anything?"
Ryan chews his bottom lip in thought. "I guess you're right. I don't really see why you're finding this such a big deal, though."
Grey sighs heavily. "God, Ryan, your skull is so thick. He was obviously trying to flirt with you. Or, at least do something with you. He was such a fumbling mess—it was hard to tell exactly what he was trying to accomplish."
Ryan barks out a laugh. "That's a good one, Grey. I thought I was funny, but no—you win."
Grey scoffs before walking away, heading towards the kitchen. "Shut up, Ryan. I don't trust this guy's intentions. Don't you find it a bit strange that he just happened to know how to play the guitar and sing?He better be one hell of a musician if he wants a position in my band."
"There're other people in the band too, you know," Ryan points out. "You don't exactly hold all the decision-making power. I think you're being overly suspicious."
"Whatever." Grey pushes open one of the double doors into the kitchen. "Maybe if I'm lucky, he'll lose the receipt and won't be able to call me."
Ryan shakes his head, wanting to tell Grey that he should give Francis a chance, that he should give people in general a chance, really, but he's already disappeared through the flapping doors.
Whatever, Ryan thinks, turning back to face the front of the café. Francis seems cool to me, and that's all that matters. All that should matter to me is my own judgement. He returns to tidying up the already-clean counter, thinking about the next conversation he hopes to have with a customer.
***
mehehehe it is I, @astronomizes, writing ryan's pov for this wonderful story drew decided to start. this ended up being a lot longer than planned oops sorry not sorry :-))))))))))