There was a spring in John's step as he manoeuvred himself through the labyrinth of tables, the two plates balanced precariously on his right forearm whilst he clutched a big carafe in his left. It was basically a larger version of the ones on each table, and the waiting staff would periodically do their rounds, topping up the ones that were starting to reach depressing levels. John didn't actually need to do that at that time, he'd done it right before his little 'Wankus Interruptus', but he'd stopped by the bar for a different reason and thought it might raise suspicion if he didn't, so...
His smile was beaming when he arrived at table six, and the sounds of appreciation turned the professional one he had been wearing into a rather silly one. How could a grown man be so enthusiastic about being served some overpriced food? Still, if Paul wasn't going to be self-conscious about his undiluted joy, then neither was John. Besides, that lad looked hella cute, all happy and excited like a kid on Christmas morning.
Natalie didn't waste any time digging in, Paul noticed when their food arrived. Well, she had complained about how long it had taken for their meals to arrive, so he supposed she was very hungry. Still, she could have at least waited until he had his plate too. Oh well, he shrugged, what's the use of worrying anyway, especially when he had better things to think about? A minute earlier, his heart had leapt up when he spotted that tell-tale gait of the approaching figure, and by the time he could see Giovanni's smile up-close, the butterflies had completely taken over to the point of being unable to do much more than smile. He supposed it was really a bad thing to be infatuated with the waiter, especially when out on a date with someone.
Then again, he'd given up all hope of ending up in Natalie's bed (or she ending up in his, for that matter) and truthfully, he didn't much care anymore. What was that saying? Be careful what you wish for; it might come true... Well, the truth was that reality wasn't nearly as charming as the fantasy he'd nursed for the past three months. She was fun to look at and nice enough for a superficial chat, but dating material? Magic 8-ball says 'outlook not so good'. Pity about the missed shag, though.
He wasn't too sure he'd be able to get over this crush he had on brown-eyed, handsome man quite as easily, however. As the lad in question arranged the plate of Ossobuco just so, he invaded Paul's personal space. The moment he leant in from behind, that special way waiters do, his hair had ever so slightly brushed Paul's cheek. Curls... He loved curls, especially on gingers. Auburn-haired people were redheads too, weren't they? It looked red enough anyway, now that the sun had nearly completely set and the sky was a kaleidoscope of pinks, purples, and oranges.
Having the man this close-by meant Paul also got a strong whiff of his deodorant, which smelt of chocolate. Best perfume ever. Whoever thought of it, should get a statue and Paul made a mental note to try and find out which scent it was so he could go out and buy some for himself. Suddenly, Paul kind of wanted to lick it off of Giovanni's skin, just to see if (he) it tasted as good as (he) it smelt. Not because he just wanted to suck the sexy waiter's neck, of course. Or snog him until they'd both be gasping for air... Ahem.
They had a moment. Yes, that's right. One second, John was leaning over to turn the plate so it'd be the right way up, whilst his other hand fumbled to find Paul's jacket pocket. He'd paused on his way from the kitchen to scribble his phone number onto a paper cocktail napkin (which he supposed would be more practical than one of the fancy linen ones from the tables), along with the words 'Crying, hoping, waiting for a call', along with some X's and O's, just to make sure the recipient knew exactly the kind of call was expected. John hoped the Buddy Holly reference would have the desired effect. It should, he thought, if Paul truly was a fan of that era. He hadn't signed his name, though. Some mystery wouldn't hurt.
Anyway, when he was busy stuffing that napkin into a pocket, it occurred to John exactly how close his face was to Paul's. He couldn't help it, his eyes acted on their own accord. They'd locked gazes for several seconds, and John could swear he saw Paul's pupils getting bigger. That meant something good, didn't it? Up close, he noticed those eyes weren't just brown. No, that was only the middle. The outer edge was a deep emerald green, and there were specks of gold on there, too.
John's breath had hitched at the sight of those stunning colours, and he was sure the gap between them was getting smaller, even though he wasn't the one making that happen. It was a moment if ever there was one and John was absolutely sure they would've kissed if that bloody berk hadn't decided to choose that exact moment to find out the lasagna was 90% pepper. Talk about spoiling the mood!
The sound of someone gasping had broken the spell. Probably a good thing too, Paul mused, considering he'd gotten this close to kissing Giovanni. He couldn't prevent losing himself in those hypnotising eyes. nor from slowly leaning in. His body appeared to be completely out of his control at that point. Even his hand seemed to function independently, seeing as how it was already off the table and halfway to reaching that wonderful hair he so badly wanted to feel between his fingers. Saved by the bell, then, or by the choking girl in this case. It happened so fast, Paul didn't know what else to do but sit there and stare.
First, the girl had sat there, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. The next, she'd started drinking like one, draining first her own glass of water, and then Paul's. Apparently, it wasn't enough, since she'd grabbed the big carafe John had momentarily parked next to the smaller one so he could arrange the plates, and drank straight from that, pouring half of it down her front. Well, at least it seemed to do the trick. If only he hadn't laughed, things might not have spun out of control. Then again, wasn't that the idea?
He couldn't imagine why she took it so badly. It was only a joke. Paul thought it was funny. John could tell by the way he shook with suppressed giggles whilst clearly struggling to keep a straight face. A fat lot of good that did him. It didn't fool John, nor that girl, Natalie, who'd turned into some kind of banshee at the mere sight of their amusement at her expense. First, she threw her glass of wine at him - John - but she missed. Then, she'd grabbed Paul's glass, which John had just topped up, and repeated the same thing, only this time succeeding in hitting her target.
Paul had actually been doused before. Those things happened, it was an unavoidable part of student life for one thing. However, he'd never taken a full glass of red wine to the face, particularly from that angle. Most of it went straight into his eyes, and some went up his nose. Not pleasant, to say the least. "Fucking hell, that hurts," he groaned, throwing up his hands to ward off any further attacks.
Paul's head was reeling what the hell was going on, anyway? In the meantime, the wine stung something awful, and he could feel tears streaming down his face. Not from crying, mind you, but because his eyes were watering so profusely. Whilst he blindly felt around for something with which to ease the pain, the mayhem continued around him. He couldn't see since he had his eyes firmly shut, but he sure could hear.
He had to do something, John decided. Having completely lost control of the situation, he did the next best thing: leave the bird to stew in her own juices and help Paul instead. Without thinking, he reached for what was left of the water, meaning to wet a napkin or something like that. Maybe that would be useful. What he honestly did not plan, was to slip on the puddle of wine on the floor and lose his balance.
Next thing John knew, the girl jumped up shouting all sorts of accusations at him before disappearing to wherever it was she went, the cute yellow dress stained red from the lasagna that had fallen into her lap when John nearly fell over. He hadn't meant for his hand to come crashing down on the edge of that plate, couldn't have calculated the perfectly elegant way in which the abused dish had been launched, nor the wonderfully poetic place it fell: right on top of her lady bits. All of that had been utterly accidental. That didn't mean John didn't love every second of it because he did. Very much. Well, except for what it did to Paul. That, he didn't enjoy at all. Poor bugger. Could it get any worse for that lad?
Finally, his hand found something soft. It felt like a napkin. That ought to help a bit, Paul hoped, so he grabbed it and pressed it to his eyes, praying to the gods of rock 'n' roll that getting the sticky wine off his face would make his eyes stop aching. It didn't. At all. In fact, a whole new level of pain he never experienced before seared his nerve-endings. Paul didn't even scream. Couldn't, actually, what with the wind having been knocked out of him. He might have produced a kind of ultrasonic squeak, though, because someone cursed loudly and pulled away the napkin.
"Get up," the same person commanded. It sounded like the waiter, although if it was, then his voice had changed completely. Paul felt himself being pulled to his feet, and then grabbed by the shoulders. What else could he do but allow himself to be herded off to...? A door opened, and then he heard the best sound imaginable: running water. "Bend over, mate, get that pepper out before it burns holes in your eyes." Who was that? It couldn't be Giovanni because this person didn't have an Italian accent, even if the voice was similar. One of the customers, maybe?
"I got it now, ta'," Paul managed, beginning to feel the embarrassment increase as the pain in his face lessened. The adrenaline was wearing off and the realisation of what just happened dawned. He'd have to go back out there eventually. He'd need a few minutes to gather courage, so he'd rather be alone. "I'd rather be alone for a sec if you don't mind." Whoever it was - Paul still couldn't see on account of his head being underneath the tap - patted his shoulder in an affectionately comforting sort of way and left, blocking out the noise of the restaurant as the door fell shut.
_~*~_
"You've gone too far this time, John." Brian's voice was unforgiving. Still as proper as ever, obviously, but definitely determined not to give John an inch this time.
He'd been told to see Brian in his office, the moment he'd emerged from the employees' loo in which he'd locked himself after leaving Paul alone as per his request. Somehow, that strange sound he'd made when the pepper-stained napkin did its worst had snapped John out of his daze. He'd known instinctively what to do: rinse, rinse, and rinse some more. So, he'd basically dragged Paul into the customer's toilet and shoved his head under the tap, which seemed to do the trick. The fact that the poor sod hadn't wanted John's help hurt, even if he could understand on some level. It was his bloody fault, after all, so no wonder he wasn't exactly being lauded for his efforts and quick thinking. Still, he'd hoped...
So, even though it wasn't something he was wont to do, John had fled into the bog that was squeezed between the kitchen and the coffee lounge/locker room where he'd had a bit of a nervous breakdown. He might even have cried like a little girl, though he was never going to admit that, and he'd refused to come out until Ringo promised to make him his favourite dessert. Which he hadn't done yet, by the way. Or maybe he had. Brian hadn't given John any time to find out, had he?
Normally, Brian turned a blind eye to John's antics, mainly because he had a crush on him. It wasn't a secret, either. Somehow, John recognised, even that wasn't going to keep him from getting the sack this time 'round. He stared at his clasped hands, his mind racing. He couldn't lose this job. There was rent to be paid, and food to buy, and... Well, he just needed an income. "It won't happen again, Eppy, I swear."
"I've heard it all before, John. What on earth possessed you to do this? What if that young lady was allergic? Imagine the repercussions of that..."
"I know." John tried to meet the other man's eyes now, hoping to charm him into relenting. "You should've seen that bloke, Brian. I couldn't think straight anymore."
A hint of something Usually reserved for John ghosted over Brian's face. "I have seen him, John. I'll agree he's very good looking. Rather charming too."
"Don't get any ideas," he muttered, suddenly feeling as if his territory was being invaded. "I saw him first!"
"Don't worry, he isn't my type." To hear something like that being said in that prim and proper accent was rather funny, and John chuckled a bit. Not long, though, since the look on his (ex?) boss' face was kind of intimidating. "I'm afraid I have to inform you of your dismissal, John, it can't be helped. I'd like to ask you to leave now; you don't have to finish your shift."
Well, that was that, then. Shaking his head, John got up and stomped out of the office, heading straight for the dressing room where he stripped off his soaked uniform. He vaguely recalled that girl knocking over the wine bottle in her search for water, but he never even registered how much of its contents had seeped into his clothes. His iPhone was all sticky, and neither the home button nor the power button made the screen light up. John could only hope it'd work again once it was dry but he feared the worst.
After changing back into the faded jeans, white T-shirt, and red Converse trainers he'd worn to work, John grabbed his things and waved at Ringo, who was busy preparing desserts but nonetheless managed to cast him a sympathetic smile. No doubt they'd catch up for coffee soon enough. They were friends, after all. As he made his way to the front, John's eye fell on Neil (Nicola to customers) who was clearing away the remains of the scene that had gotten so terribly fucked up.
"Sorry about the mess, mate," John muttered. "I would've cleaned it up myself, but... Well."
"Don't worry, John. Text me later, yeah?" And with a friendly pat on his shoulder, Neil hurried off with shards he'd just swept up.
He'd be back with a soapy cloth soon, John supposed. Most of the mess was gone now, anyway. Feeling curious eyes pricking the back of his neck, he decided he might as well leave. It was then that he noticed something lying underneath the table: the yellow rose that had been on the table all night, right next to Paul's left hand. John bent over to pick it up and smelt it. Even mostly withered, it still smelt lovely. With the pretty flower in hand, John finally left the restaurant, only to see a blinding flash of lightning crawling across the darkening sky. When it rained, John mused, it poured. In his case, literally...
_~*~_
It had just started to piss down buckets when Paul shut the front door behind him. He didn't even mind. Going by the many bright flashes and the nearly continuous rumbling sounds, they were in for a rough night. It seemed to him like electric storms were moving in from three directions and since the Mersey would probably make it difficult for the front to move south, chances were the city would be under siege all night.
Not that Paul cared. He was inside, home and dry (well he would be, once he dried off), so the thunder and lightning didn't bother him. What did bother him, however, were his eyes. Nearly an hour had passed and they still burned. They hadn't stopped watering yet, either. The trouble was that he kept wiping away the wetness in order not to look as if he was crying, and the skin wasn't happy with all that rubbing.
Thinking he might as well go sleep it off, Paul set a course for bed, taking a detour into the sitting room when he noticed the light was still on. Sacked out on the sofa was Mike, who appeared to have nodded off sometime during the film that had now ended. A few slices of cold pizza sat forgotten on a plate, whilst an empty bag of crisps and a bunch of candy wrappers littered the area nearest Mike. Next to the plate of pizza stood a half-empty cola bottle, but Paul couldn't see the cap anywhere.
Too tired to make a fuss, Paul wiped the debris off the sofa and onto the floor, reckoning it'd still be there in the morning. Mike could clean up the mess then. After carefully prising the remote out of his kid brother's hand, he switched off the Blu-ray player and dug up a bedsheet, which Paul reckoned should keep Mike from being eaten by mozzies. Content with the result, he confiscated the remains of the pizza, as well as the cola, and made a beeline for his bedroom, where he'd probably get a better date out of five minutes with his left hand, than this entire night with Natalie...