100 hours (1/3)
Title: 100 hours.
Author:Aneas
Artist: 3whiteroses
Type: AU
Word-Count: 31 100.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Adam/Kris.
Disclaimer: This portrayal is entirely fictional. Not for profit, just for our entertainment.
Warnings: AU. Mmm...Possible embarrassment squick in some places?
Betas: The delicious Jerakeen and Forsweatervests. They’re goddesses, and I worship them. Without their work, Architect!Adam wouldn’t make any sense at all. Thanks to Lire_casander and Cookie57, you’ve helped me so much…
Summary:
“Lil said he had to look both professional and reliable for the hearing and when he nodded, she added, ”And that means no leather at all, Adam.”
“When you say no leather . . . what do you really mean?” Adam asked, intrigued.”
Lil said he had to look both professional and reliable for the hearing and when he nodded, she added, “And that means no leather at all, Adam.”
“When you say no leather…what do you really mean?” Adam asked, intrigued.
So that’s how he ended up wearing a totally boring charcoal suit today. His jacket is boring, his shirt is boring, and - oh, the outrage! - his tie doesn’t even sparkle. He looks like, like…like a clerk! The dullest, most conservative clerk ever. Lil is a tyrant. And to add insult to injury, she made him wipe off any trace of eyeliner, too.
Adam can deal with looking conventional. What he can’t deal with is the complete lack of fabulousness here.
He’s aware that he’s sulking, but it’s not because of his outfit. Well, not entirely because of his outfit. His business is taking off big time right now, and it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day already, so this court appearance is an inexcusable waste of time for him. He already apologized for the incident and offered to pay the damages. What more do they want? His firstborn?
He fidgets and rubs his hands together. They feel naked without his rings and nailpolish. It makes him restless knowing that whoever’s sitting here, wearing his clothes, is not the real Adam. It’s a disguise, and more than anything, Adam hates disguises. He’s been fighting tooth and nail to be himself, to live life on his own terms. Having to put on a costume just to conform to the norm after all this time is driving him insane.
But Lil said prison, and Adam would not do well in prison. Even if it’s for a couple of days. He’d prefer to stay out and be less fabulous than he thought was possible, instead.
Lil puts a hand on his arm and opens her mouth to say something, but just then, there’s a rustle at the door, and everyone rises. The judge is back.
Judge Abbot is a middle-aged man whose giant gut precedes him into the chamber. Adam thinks-rather bitchily-that for once, black seems to have no slimming effect whatsoever. He coughs and gives Adam a stern look over his glasses, his beady eyes suspicious. Adam smiles winningly at him, which only works to make the judge look even more constipated.
Well. It was a long shot anyway. The man is so not a fan of Adam’s.
“Mister Lambert,” he says, “you pled guilty on all charges.” He pauses expectantly, and Lil nudges Adam’s arm.
“Yes, sir.”
“You were driving under the influence and crashed into public property, causing extensive damage.” His tone is harsh enough to make Adam flinch. When he puts it like that, it sounds worse than it really was. He crashed into the security fence surrounding a worksite. Which belonged to him. It was three in the morning and Adam had had only two glasses of wine at dinner-almost five hours before he sat behind the wheel. There’s no need for the look the man is giving him, like Adam went kamikaze across a schoolyard completely wasted. In a Hummer. While the kindergarteners were at recess.
“I’m getting incredibly tired, Mister Lambert. I’m sick of wasting time with irresponsible people that drive like the streets are their private racetracks and then come to my court acting contrite. I’m tired of letting you all go with only a slap on the wrist, like reckless driving is just a shenanigan you can get away with, instead of a real crime with real consequences.”
Adam has a very bad feeling about where this is going.
“That’s why I’m going to use this case as a cautionary tale. I hope it’ll work as a reminder of what could happen when people old enough to know better forget that driving and being responsible are not mutually exclusive.”
“Your Honor,” Lil says, “we would like to state that the reason Mr. Lambert took the car that night was because there was an emergency problem at one of the sites that required his immediate presence. He did not intend to drive that night or endanger anyo-”
“Don’t try my patience, Mrs. Rounds. I’m sure that as the owner of a Maserati, Mr. Lambert can afford to pay taxi fare.”
Adam closes his eyes. His mother always said buying that damn car was a bad idea. She’s so going to be tattooing ‘Mom told you so!’ on his ass…
“Mr. Lambert, I’ve been told you’re a good architect,” the judge says. Adam snorts-perhaps unwisely, but come on. A good architect, he says. Ha! Last year, Adam was nominated for the Pritzker Architecture Prize. Good architects design houses that don’t crumble under the breeze; Adam Lambert is a fucking rock star in the world of architecture.
The judge is waiting for an answer, and for once Adam manages to hold his tongue and simply nods.
“That’s good to know. You’ll be paying for all damages and the cost of this trial. But you’re not getting away with just throwing your money around either. I want you to learn your lesson from this. So we’ll put your knowledge to good use. A local church is currently raising funds to build a block of apartments to help single mothers get back on their feet. I hereby sentence you to 100 hours of community service, beginning next week. You’ll be helping them with their project in any capacity you’re needed.”
There’s a long, long pause. Adam is waiting for him to bang his gavel, but instead, the judge leans forward and says, “That means, Mr. Lambert, helping them with the actual building process. Not just staying in your fancy studio working on the blueprints, but spending those hours at the actual site. Am I making myself clear?”
Adam nods then, too shocked to do anything else, and the judge finally bangs the gavel, bringing the hearing to a close and crushing Adam’s hopes for this hearing going his way.
Hour I.
Kris looks around the lobby he’s found himself in, wondering for a moment if he got the wrong address. The place is incredible. It has high ceilings, glossy walls and dark polished floors that reflect the light coming in through the huge windows. He’s never been in a building quite this impressive before. There’s some kind of techno music playing in the background, instead of the pseudo-ambient garbage he would expect from a posh office like this, and when the receptionist raises her purple head to greet him with a smile, he’s too surprised by how young she seems to return it.
This is not at all what he would have thought an architecture firm would look like.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the receptionist asks, her voice friendly and a little raspy. Her smile is infectious. She’s the first receptionist he’s seen in a long, long while who isn’t rabid at the sight of customers.
“Yeah-I’m here to meet with…hold on a sec,” he takes the paper from his pocket and reads out loud, “with Adam Lambert. I have an appointment with him.”
“Let’s see,” the girl says, checking her screen. “Kristopher Allen?” Kris nods, relieved to get the confirmation that he’s in the right place. “Well, you’re early. Mind waiting for a moment while I talk to him?”
She gestures towards a big fuchsia sofa, near a pitch-black door with a gleaming logo affixed, proclaiming the space to belong to Hendel and Lambert, Architects. She picks up the phone, looking away from Kris and talking quietly into it. Kris perches awkwardly on the surprisingly comfortable sofa and looks around. Behind the girl’s desk, made of black wood and steel, is a massive glass wall revealing a large room behind it, full of movement and activity. The room has no partitions whatsoever, just a lot of tasteful and delicate-looking desks that are also made of steel and glass, crowned with expensive computers. The walls are bare, painted in a lustrous silver tone that amplifies the light and makes everything sparkle.
Kris watches the scene, enraptured. He never thought that designing buildings could be such an animated activity. The employees type energetically, beckoning each other closer every once in a while, and there’s a lot of movement among and between the desks. In a corner, around a huge trendy conference table, three men are engaged in a rather feisty discussion over a model of something made of balsa wood and…wire? The shorter guy at the table, with hair that makes him look like a skunk, throws his hands in the air and exclaims something, while another man with dreadlocks leans on the table by his side and laughs.
It would be hard not to notice that everyone working here seems to be somewhat alternative. Colorfully dyed hair, piercings and tattoos are everywhere, only second to platform boots and lots and lots of leather. Kris can’t help but be curious about the man he’s supposed to be meeting. This Lambert guy must be something else entirely.
The receptionist receives a call, and then she’s up and beckoning Kris. “I’ll take you to Adam, Mr. Allen.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. She offers him one of her wide smiles.
The music is even louder inside the workroom. Nobody seems to be paying them any mind as they cross it, but Kris still avoids looking around to confirm it. He’s obviously underdressed in his plain jeans, scruffy converse and old t-shirt. He hurries his pace. He feels like a sparrow in a room full of peacocks.
The girl opens another of those big black doors, and keeps it open with her body, inviting him through. “Adam, this is your two o’clock appointment, Mr. Kristopher Allen. Mr. Allen, this is Adam Lambert, our almighty boss!” She grins, her eyes mischievous, and then ducks quickly when a paper ball comes her way. With a giggle, she pushes Kris gently through the door and disappears.
“One of these days, Ally, I’m really gonna fire you!” the guy yells after her, rising from behind his desk. That’s when Kris gets his first eyeful of the infamous Adam Lambert. And what a first impression he makes! Lambert is really, really tall, with wide shoulders and a solid build. He looks like he could snap Kris in half without breaking a sweat and look fabulous doing it. But that’s not really why Kris is gaping like an idiot, and it isn’t the all-black ensemble with chains dangling from his belt, either. The greenish streaks in his black hair barely even register with kris; he expected that much after seeing his employees. Kris is forced to pause by the insanely blue eyes Lambert turns his way. They’re striking, made more so by the expertly applied eyeliner around them. And the smile isn’t bad either. Separately, the man’s facial features are impressive. In combination, however, they’re lethal. Kris’ gut jumps, apparently agreeing with him.
“Hi,” Lambert says as he comes closer to shake hands with Kris. “It’s nice to meet you,”
“Likewise, Mr. Lambert,” Kris mumbles and tries not to show the shiver that runs through him when their hands meet.
“Please, call me Adam. We’re not very formal around here.” No, really? Kris thinks wryly. He never would have guessed. Taking in all the leather the guy is wearing and the feathers hanging from his ears, the staff’s unusual attire makes total sense now. They’re clearly allowed to be a little unconventional with their outfits when their boss dresses like an extra in a Lady Gaga video.
Lambert’s smile is unexpectedly warm and friendly. “Can I call you Kristopher? You don’t seem old enough for me to call you Mr. Allen.”
The guy is a charmer, that’s for sure. “Kris is okay,” he answers.
“Come on then, Kris; have a seat.”
With an answering smile, Kris follows Lambert over to a couple of leather couches arranged casually by the huge window. The glass goes from floor to ceiling, framing an incredible view of the city skyline. It’s overwhelming, sunsets in this office must be amazing.
“Nice office,” he comments once they’re seated. Kris has chosen the big couch, while Lambert sits in one of the single black leather chairs. Although Kris knows next to nothing on the subject, his mother did have a ton of interior design magazines at home, and he’s pretty sure he recognizes both the couch and the chairs from those glossy pages. They look expensive.
“Thank you. We designed the building ourselves. We’re very proud of it. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, soda?”
“No, I’m okay, thank you.” There’s a moment of silence as Lambert studies-quite openly-Kris’ face, and when he’s satisfied with what he sees, he leans closer, resting his elbows on his thighs, and says, “I’ll be honest, Kris. I hope you know how this supervision business goes, because I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do here. It’s my first time, so please be gentle with me.” His tone is mocking, but underneath that, he sounds genuinely lost. Kris suppresses a laugh at his expression.
Kris didn’t expect to like this guy-definitely not so fast-and yet here they are. It had been a surprise when Pastor Evans had called him and informed him that he was going to oversee a reckless driver that happened to be an architect-and also incidentally the help they so urgently need to finish the project. They really are desperate; they can’t turn down any help if they want the block of apartments finished on time, so criminal or not, there was no way Kris could say no to this arrangement. The pastor had told him that all he had to do was to make sure that Lambert was following through on his sentence and report it to the state at regular intervals. It hadn’t sounded all that difficult-especially considering what they would be getting out of it.
Kris isn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he couldn’t have even imagined this guy. He doesn’t look like the typical reckless driver. Not that Kris has met a lot of reckless drivers in his life, but there should be a type, right? And this can’t possibly be it.
“I’m not exactly experienced myself,” Kris admits. “This is a first for me as well. How about we play it by ear? As far as I know, your case isn’t typical, but the orders seem pretty flexible to me; it doesn’t have to be that hard.”
Lambert chuckles dryly. “Oh, I’m sure Judge Abbot wants it to be as hard as possible.” He leans back and puts an arm over the back of his chair, crossing his right leg over his left. He raises an eyebrow imperiously and says, “To be honest, I don’t think he liked me very much. He acted like my mere existence pissed him off.” He rolls his eyes. “I have no doubt he specifically chose this little project,” he says, gesturing with his hand dismissively, “to bug me as much as possible. He was very into the idea of making an example of me, and I’m pretty sure he wants to see me sweat blood, so…” He leaves the comment hanging there, his upper lip curving in a sneer.
Suddenly, Kris isn’t sure why he liked this guy at all. He doesn’t know what irritates him more, the mocking tone of Lambert’s words, or the disdainful way he talks about the project. “Listen,” Kris says, trying to keep his cool. “I’m not sure if anybody told you, but this is a volunteer project. It’s been a lot of work to even get it off the ground, and we had to make a lot of sacrifices. People have been volunteering to “sweat blood” to get this done. It means a lot to us. So we really don’t need any negativity around just when we’ve started getting somewhere.” Lambert’s spine stiffens. His blue eyes don’t seem so friendly anymore, and Kris notices that he has crossed his arms defensively.
Kris doesn’t want to be rude, honestly. He’s usually a pretty laid-back guy; he takes pride in the fact that he doesn’t lose his temper easily. But this project is very dear to him. He’s been working his ass off the last two years to save enough money to be able to take a six-month leave from work and dedicate it to making this happen. It’s not Lambert’s fault that he doesn’t get how vital this project is to him, but they can’t deal with this kind of negative attitude at the site either. If Lambert won’t be able to give them what they need, then it’s better to know sooner rather than later.
“This project is important for a lot of people. We want - no - we need this to work out. Obviously, I don’t expect you to be as invested in it as we are, but if you’re going to act like this is the most unpleasant chore in the world, then no offense, but I’m not sure we do want your help. I’ll sign whatever document you need me to sign, and you can just go on with your life, okay? No hard feelings.”
He’s sure his tone is more tired than angry, but still, Lambert looks like he’s been slapped. The silence between them stretches until Kris is ready to just get up and leave, but then Lambert speaks, his voice icy despite the apology in his words.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t want to imply that working in this project would be a burden; I just meant that surely the judge didn’t have my convenience in mind when he gave his sentence. Don’t forget that this is supposed to be punishment for me, not a picnic.”
Kris sighs and rubs his eyes, trying to hide an angry blush. Great. What a way to start their working relationship. They really do need an architect on board. The project’s blueprints are old, and the license to build has an expiration date that’s coming up pretty quickly. They’ve been having problems at the site-problems an architect could easily solve-but they can’t afford to pay for professional assistance. They could really use Lambert’s help.
“Sorry, I…I overreacted. I’m kind of touchy about this project. We’ve been working on this building for a long time, more than two years now, and my patience is running low.” He looks at Lambert, who still has his arms crossed, all traces of his nice, friendly persona gone. “Seriously, man. I’m sorry.”
Kris hopes he’s coming across earnest enough. If he costs them an architect over a misunderstanding, Megan will have his hide. After an endless stretch of uncomfortable silence, Lambert smiles with one corner of his mouth.
“Was that our first fight?”
Kris tries to fight off a grin, but it’s hard. Lambert seems to notice it and raises an eyebrow.
“Kristopher, I think this relationship is moving too fast for me. I might need a bit of space,” he jokes, and Kris laughs out loud, relieved.
“From what I see, Mr. Lambert, space is something you don’t lack at all,” he says, and makes a gesture to encompass the whole office.
“I’m a big boy, I have big needs. So, what? Are we friends again, then?” He throws some puppy eyes at Kris, and Kris caves.
“Not quite there yet. But I think we’re on our way.”
“Then you better get used to calling me Adam.”
Kris nods, and Lam-Adam smiles.
Hour IV.
It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Adam is parking his SUV in a nice enough-and yet extremely boring-neighborhood near the southern limits of the city. Judge Abbot is clearly a sadist, because this is torture, plain and simple. And not the good kind either, the kind that ends with orgasms all around. This must go against the Geneva Convention or something.
It’s not that he’s not used to waking up early for work, because he is, but it’s just that this is supposed to be his day off and last night there was this crazy party at Alisan’s. There were so many hot boys and so little time. Adam is insanely busy right now; he deserves a little distraction, a little partying. He’s been working all around the globe for months; he needs to have some time for himself every once in a while.
But he had to leave the party early and couldn’t even drink-well, couldn’t drink too much, anyway, because he’s supposed to be a responsible adult- and he even took a cab to get back home. But that’s mostly because he’s scared of Leila, definitely more than he is of Judge Abbot, to be honest.
He gets out of the car with his cup of coffee in hand, and the sun hits his head like a ruthless fist. Torture. He never thought someday he would consider using his hard hat as protection against the sun. Thank God he put his giant sunglasses on when he left the house, because otherwise, he’d be melting like the Wicked Witch of the West in a downpour now.
He opens the trunk and takes out his hard hat, fitting it snugly over his hair. It’s custom-ordered, silver and fabulous, of course, but hardly his accessory of choice. Next is his blueprint carrier, lined with leather and designed by the one and only Cassidy Haley. The drawings Kris had left in his office last Thursday are in it. Adam spent three hours yesterday going over them, and he’s so counting them as part of his service, no matter what the judge said about always being on-site.
The project looks fine, if a little plain; nothing special. It’s a basic block of apartments with some communal space. The main structure of the building is already up, so it’s time for the plumbing, sanitation, and electrical installations, as well as constructing the interior partitions. He closes the trunk and walks unhurriedly towards the building to get out of the sun.
As he gets closer, he hears female laughter and finds himself wondering what could be so funny at a construction site. That’s when a lithe woman with long blonde hair crosses the threshold and stops dead in her tracks.
“Hello,” she says cautiously.
He puts on a charming smile.
“Hi, I’m Adam Lambert; I’m meeting Kristopher Allen here-” he starts, but she interrupts him and bellows behind her. “Kris, your delinquent is here!” Adam splutters indignantly, but she ignores him. “You’re late. You were supposed to be here first thing in the morning.”
First thing in the morning? It is first thing in the morning! He opens his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but then Kris appears and distracts him.
“Hey, Adam, I see you’ve met Megan,” he drawls. Adam sighs. He’d forgotten about the drawl. It’s so unfair that the guy ticks every single box of Adam’s type. And what’s worse, he’s actually even more gorgeous than Adam remembers. His old jeans are too baggy, but the tight t-shirt he’s wearing makes up for it in spades. He looks absolutely mouth-watering, and Adam hasn’t had breakfast today.
Oblivious to Adam’s lecherous thoughts, or at least, that’s what Adam hopes, Kris gestures towards the half-done stairs. “Come with me. I’ll give you the tour and then introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
Like any construction site, the place is pretty messy, with plenty of sawdust and haphazardly dumped piles of material everywhere. Pipes, cement, and plaster are heaped in the corners; the insulation material competes with bricks on occupying more floor surface. Despite the clutter, the space is full of possibilities, and Adam already has a lot of ideas for the future apartments. He wants clean configurations and interconnected rooms to achieve free-flowing spaces. It’ll be stunning.
By the time they reach the top floor, Adam is out-and-out smiling. Kris has been talking nonstop since they started the tour, and it’s clear that he loves this project. He’s incredibly enthusiastic about it, and his enthusiasm is contagious.
“And the best part is that the neighborhood is fantastic. There’s a park nearby - wait, I think we can see it from here.” He turns and happily gestures towards the east. “Look! There it is! And there’s also a primary school five blocks down, and a laundromat, and the church is really close, too. I mean, we’ve been looking for a place just like this for a really long time, but we thought we’d have to settle for whatever we could get, and then, bang! This site appears on the market and how perfect is it? I couldn’t believe it.”
Adam laughs, and Kris blushes.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit overexcited,” he says, sheepish.
“No, it’s okay. It’s a great project. It’s wonderful to see that you’re so passionate about it,” Adam answers. “In my experience, the more fanatical you are about a project, the better the results.”
They smile at each other-dare he say it-sappily, until Kris looks away and clears his throat. “It’s good to have you on board, Adam. I’m really glad that you’re helping us.” His voice is soft, and his eyes shine.
He looks amazing under the morning sun, all perfect skin and well-built shoulders. Adam’s stomach churns in a familiar way, and he wants to bang his head against the closest solid surface. No, no, no. Don’t crush on the nice guy, he tells himself firmly, he’s probably straight anyway. It’s funny that his stern inner voice always sounds like Mrs. Rivers, his algebra teacher.
Kris is still staring at him, with these brown warm eyes of his that Adam is already fond of. He has always been a sucker for earnest eyes and boyish smiles.
“I want you to know that I wasn’t drunk that night,” he blurts out.
“Hey, you don’t have to-”
“No, I want to. Really,” he says. Kris bites his lip and nods.
Adam takes a deep breath.
“I had a business dinner with some Portuguese clients that night. I only had two glasses of port; it would have been impolite to refuse and I need the business. They’ll give me free reign and they pay wonderfully. The project is the remodeling of a winery in Porto. The Portuguese take their port very seriously, apparently.” Kris nods again, uneasy. Adam thinks he’s probably going to end up making Kris uncomfortable with this, but he is on a roll and just keeps on talking.
“I got home and went to sleep, but it turned out that there was a gas leak in one of my sites. I had to run over there quickly, even got myself a nice ticket on my way over. I was so frantic by the time I got there; I crashed into the security fence somebody had moved to where I usually park. It was, like, three in the morning anyway; there was no one in any real danger, except to my poor bumper.”
Kris is still staring at him with an anxious expression on his face.
Adam adds. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think that I run around driving under the influence like, like Heather Locklear or something!”
Kris snorts, and Adam cringes. Of all the stupid things to say! He closes his eyes, waiting for the mocking or the dismissal to come, but after a few seconds-or a couple of weeks, Adam’s not sure-of silence, Kris puts him out of his misery.
“Adam, I can honestly assure you that I’ll never compare you to Heather Locklear. I give you my word,” he says formally. Adam feels torn between relief and humiliation. He tentatively opens one eye, and sees Kris, barely holding back a laugh. When it inevitably spills out, Adam can’t help but laugh with him. The whole thing is pretty ridiculous, and the way Kris is laughing with his whole body is just too much to resist.
It takes them a couple minutes to calm down, and then Kris says, “Come on, man, I have to introduce you to the guys. Let’s go downstairs.”
Kris stops at the top of the stairs. “Don’t worry about the conviction thing. It doesn’t matter to us, really. We needed you; this project was pretty much doomed without an architect. God sent you to us, and that’s the only thing that matters, okay?” When Adam nods, Kris nudges his arm with his shoulder and starts to go down. “Who cares if we volunteered and you came under duress? What’s important is that you’re here right now, helping us.”
Adam pauses for a moment and watches Kris go down, whistling.
Hey, Adam, his heart says, about that “crushing on the nice guy” thing? I’m afraid it’s a bit too late.
Hour VIII.
Kris takes off his hard hat and looks around. It’s really hot outside, but here on the second floor, there are no windows yet, and the breeze slipping through the holes in the façade creates a cool stream of air that keeps the heat at bay. It’s lunchtime, and everybody’s slowing down, finishing up their work for the break. In the corner closest to the elevator pit, Adam is crouching, talking to the electrician.
It’s Adam’s second day at the site. Last Saturday, he spent the whole morning taking notes around the place, talking with the staff-and being a big sparkly distraction, to be honest. The guy is huge, impossible to miss, even when he’s not wearing a black t-shirt that reads: You’ve been a naughty boy. Now go to my room! But Kris has to admit that he knows what he’s talking about.
“Mr. Reynolds, all I’m saying is that you can’t be conservative with the measures, because while right now an elevator fits here comfortably, who knows what’s going to happen in twenty years? Things change fast, so we must be flexible and plan with future advances in mind.”
Mr. Reynolds, a retired electrician with white hair and dark skin, gives him a distrustful glance.
“I’ve been installing elevators for thirty years, son, and I never had a problem before.”
“Trust me, you’ll be grateful when the time comes and the tenants won’t have to take up a collection to renovate the elevator,” Adam says. The old man sighs in response, admitting defeat, and rises to talk with his crew. Adam watches him go, biting his lip thoughtfully. He still seems pretty overwhelmed with the number of volunteers and the quality of their work.
Kris remembers the look on Adam’s face when he learned that almost 65 percent of the crew on the project was working free. “But that’s crazy! You can’t expect professional behavior if they don’t get paid, Kris! They won’t commit!” he’d said. Kris had just chuckled and pointed out to him that almost everyone Adam met the weekend before, (Matt, Archie, Anoop…) were volunteers. He was amazed, but it looks like nothing baffles Adam for long, because almost immediately he invented a game called “Guess the job”. His hypotheses were hilarious, (Archie as a call boy?) but he nailed Cook’s job as a rugby coach on his first try. Adam’s mind works in mysterious ways.
Kris drops his gloves on a sack of plaster and goes to Adam, who seems to be taking notes.
“Hey, man,” he says, crouching down to sit by his side. Adam turns towards him with a tired smile.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Not only did everyone come back on Saturday, but even more people showed up today.”
He sounds amazed. Kris doesn’t want to burst his bubble, but it has to be done.
“Don’t get used to it. People come and go. Sometimes there are twenty people here; sometimes we only have five. It depends on their schedules. People have more time during weekends, so these are usually the better days.”
“But you’re here every day. I could hear the concrete mixer in the background when I called you last Thursday to talk about the price of the bathroom tiles. That’s a lot of hours, man. Are you getting paid enough for this?” he asks, sounding perplexed.
“Not really.” Kris shrugs. “I took leave from work so I could finish this project. I’m living off of my savings right now.”
“God, are you kidding me?” Adam is gaping. “Why would you do that?”
Kris looks at him. Really, really looks at him. It hits him suddenly how sad it is that Adam doesn’t understand the motivation behind all the work they’re doing. For Adam, this is just a job, because he doesn’t know how this building will affect people’s lives. Kris wonders if there is a way to make Adam understand; for some reason, he really wants Adam to.
Maybe it’d be enough if Kris could explain his own motivations for doing this. It’s not in his nature to tell a virtual stranger something so intimate, but maybe he can share parts of it? Just enough to make Adam see. He mentally braces himself and kicks off.
“I used to do volunteer work when I was younger. And I went on some mission trips, too; to Morocco and Thailand, but mostly to Africa. I always wanted to help people, but I didn’t know what I was getting into with the missionary work. You can’t even imagine the conditions those people live in, struggling for the most basic things we take for granted every day of our lives. Seeing that changes you. It’s-you can’t look at your life the same way afterwards.”
“But you don’t do it anymore?” Adam interrupts him.
Kris nods. “I got sick during one of the trips. The doctors told me that I shouldn’t travel for a while.” He tries to smile to show it’s not a big deal. “I went back to volunteering, but it just wasn’t enough anymore. We’re all so fortunate, you know? And-and there are people out there with no shelter or food; mothers who can’t feed their children, have nowhere to go, stuck in abusive marriages because they can’t see a way out. What we’re doing here isn’t that big a deal for us. I have a home to live in, food to eat. I can afford to take these six months off. When you think about what this will mean for all those women-the children. Tthere is no excuse not to do it.
Adam just stares at him, face unreadable, and Kris flinches inwardly. He went and did it again, didn’t he? He made things weird. He’s just about to laugh and make up an excuse to run away, but Adam says, “You’re an incredible person, Kristopher.”
Relieved and now blushing, Kris says, “Oh, shut up,” looking down at his boots to avoid Adam’s eyes.
Everybody at the site has his or her own stories. Megan’s is, in Kris’ opinion, especially touching. If Adam has to be impressed with somebody’s tale, it should be hers.
“Really, you’re amazing. Right now, I’m feeling totally ashamed of myself,” Adam says.
Kris raises his head. “Hey, no. Don’t do that. This is not about making other people feel bad, it’s about helping and sharing and being happy, man. It’s not about making anyone feel guilty.”
“I’m Jewish, Kris. We’re all about the guilt,” Adam deadpans, but his eyes are twinkling.
Kris laughs. “Well, we Christians are pretty hung up on remorse and penitence too,” he says. Adam snorts and folds the sheet in his hands. He gets up from the floor and holds his hand out to Kris.
“Let’s go eat something. I’m starving. All this talking about guilt and remorse and stuff puts me in the mood for bacon.”
Kris chuckles and takes the offered hand to stand up. “You’re paying,” he says.
“If I’m paying, then you’re gonna have to put out,” Adam answers absently, arranging the documentation inside his portfolio. Kris stumbles over his own feet. Realizing what he just said, Adam’s eyes widen, and he flushes. “Oh, shit! I was joking. It was- I didn’t…”
Kris starts to laugh; Adam’s embarrassed face is hilarious. “Don’t sweat it, man. It’s cool.” Adam is still looking at him, gaping, and Kris smirks. “Besides, a pitiful bacon sandwich only merits first base. A real make-out session with me takes, like, lobster at least.”
This time it’s Adam’s turn to trip over his own feet. Kris turns around to hide his smile and heads down the stairs.
Hour XXIV.
“I brought you coffee,” Adam says, handing Kris a too-large cup. The coffee is inevitably too sweet, but Kris nods and thanks him anyway. Any hot liquid is welcome right now. The sunset is almost over, and Kris was beginning to feel a little chilly.
Now that he knows Kris is at the site fulltime, Adam comes by at least twice a week. Their early evening chat every Wednesday has become a kind of ritual for them. They go over all the weekly details, drinking the coffee that Adam brings from some pretentious café near his office. It’s nice to know that Adam trusts him enough to share all artistic matters with him, but Kris is afraid that a big part of it is because he’s the only one Adam is totally at ease with. Everybody is cordial towards him, and Adam is extremely polite in return, but there’s some kind of distance between the gang and Adam that Kris doesn’t know how to close. He can count on Matt to assist him, Matt seems to like Adam just fine, but asking Megan for help would be pointless. Adam and Megan are like water and oil. If love at first sight is possible, then Kris supposes Adam and Megan fell in hate at first sight.
“I talked to the waterproofing guys. We’ll have the supplies here in two weeks.” Adam says. Kris hums in response. “And we have to choose between the three carpentry budgets, Kris. We can’t delay it anymore.”
“I know.” He sips his coffee, resting his back against Adam’s SUV door. He watches the guys pick up their belongings, their work for the day completed. It’s nice here, in the twilight, with Adam by his side, just hanging out and talking.
“I have the new floor plan here. Can you look at it tonight and send me any modifications tomorrow morning by fax? That way, I can change the plans and have them ready by the afternoon, and by Friday we could begin to trace and start with the partitions. We should take advantage of the weekend rush.”
“Sure.” He watches Megan leave the building. He waves his hand and she waves back, already talking on her phone. Judging by the way her smile is widening, he guesses she’s talking with her son Ryder. Her blonde hair shines under the streetlights when she tilts her head back, laughing out loud, and he feels a twist of longing in his gut.
Sometimes the yearning sneaks up on him and catches him unaware. It’s times like this that he has to be extra careful, because he would spend his life wallowing in doubt if he gave free reign to these feelings. The decision he made when he left Conway was sound. He knew it then, and he knows it now. It was the right thing to do even if it hurt the people he loved. Staying was not an option, not anymore.
Surrendering to self-doubt would only lead to madness. It’s just that, sometimes, he can’t help but wonder whether there had been another way; a way that he wasn’t smart enough to see.
“Have you ever regretted something so much that it literally pains you to think about it? he blurts out. Something about Adam pushes him to be reckless with his words. He doesn’t mean to share so much of himself, tries to keep it in, but they just come out, regardless.
Adam looks into his eyes searchingly, but doesn’t answer. He jumps up to sit on the hood of his car, sipping his coffee. He’s leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, and his profile is sharp against the streetlights.
“Only every single fucking day of my life,” he finally says.
Kris turns back to face forward again, and they finish their coffees in silence.
Hour XXXVII.
When Adam picks up his bag from the floor, his spine creaks. Loudly. He’s getting too old for this shit. In the last two days, he’s spent almost twelve hours at the site. He really needs to find himself another hideout, one that doesn’t wreak havoc on his body. And doesn’t ruin my clothes, he thinks sulkily, rubbing at a plaster stain on his jeans.
He’s letting his friends think that this project is literally eating his time away, but that’s not true. In truth, he’s started using it as a hiding place, a haven from all the unresolved issues in his life.
Not that he has many. Right now, the biggest one is his personal life. He knows he’s lucky; he loves his job and he has money and success. He gets commissions from all over the globe; people admire his work, and he’s respected in his field. His family has always loved and supported him, and his network of friends is well beyond what he deserves.
But.
He still feels lonely. There’s never a shortage of offers if he so much as hints that he needs somebody to spend the night with, but that’s just a stopgap measure, just a fun night. It doesn’t make him feel much better in the light of day, and to be honest, he’s always happier when he’s in a relationship.
What makes it even worse is that Brad doesn’t seem to be having the same problem. It’s hard work trying to be friends with the guy that broke your heart. It takes a lot of dedication, lots of patience, and a great poker face. But sometimes Adam is just not in the mood for feigning indifference. Especially when the love of his fucking life is throwing another party to celebrate his newest relationship. Again.
He can’t deal with it tonight. He can’t go to Brad’s and smile and wink at him and pretend it doesn’t hurt that he’s not the one holding him. He feels raw right now. Too raw to put on a brave face and swallow back his feelings.
It’s hard not to feel betrayed. It doesn’t matter that their breakup was an amicable one, or that they agreed that they make better friends than lovers. His heart doesn’t listen to reason. He still loves Brad, and something in his gut still yells Mine! every time Adam sees him.
The wooden stairs creak behind him, and he turns around, startled. Kris is coming down, looking as surprised as Adam is to find someone else still at the site. It is Friday night after all.
“Adam? I thought you left ages ago.”
“Ditto. No hot date tonight?” Adam jokes. He learnt early on that the best defense is a good offense. Not that he has to be defensive with Kris, it’s just habit for Adam since the breakup.
“Yeah,” Kris laughs. “Two of `em. One with the shower, and then a threesome with a bottle of beer and my TV.”
Kris is beautiful when he smiles. Adam has mostly gotten used to it, but sometimes it stills sneaks up on him, and he can’t help but lose his train of thought, distracted by the luscious lips and ridiculously perfect skin.
When Kris smiles and his eyes shine, full of mischief, he looks a little like Brad, and it makes Adam’s heart crack and shatter into a million pieces. He knows this is all kinds of fucked up, but he can’t help it. So he has a type. Sue him.
He grimaces and tries to hide his inner turmoil.
“Well, I don’t want to cockblock, so I’d better be going home.” He knows he wasn’t quick enough to cover it up when Kris comes closer, concern in his voice.
“Are you okay, man? You sound off.”
“No, I’m okay,” he tries, but Kris is pretty perceptive, and doesn’t budge. “Really, Kris. I’m okay.”
He tries to smile at Kris like he has not a worry in the world, but his façade is for shit, apparently.
Or maybe Kris has telepathic powers.
Kris smiles at him indulgently. “I’m off to eat something. Do you want to come?” he asks. Adam’s gratitude for the company is so instantaneous that he’d be ashamed if he weren’t so relieved. Now, when his friends call, he won’t be lying when he says he’s out with somebody.
“Sure. I’d love to,” he answers.
Kris’s smile widens.
“I hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to my new favorite place, and they like their customers ravenous.”
The restaurant is very close, so they decide to leave the cars behind. As they walk, Kris tells Adam how he discovered the place just two weeks ago when he was looking for somewhere cheap and close to the site for lunch. He’d been desperate for something other than the rather questionable hot dogs they’ve been getting off a cart for the last-God knows how long. Megan thinks they might have actually been dogs once upon a time, not that that stops her from eating a couple every day. When they arrive, the restaurant is packed despite the early hour, but the waitress recognizes Kris and leads them to a secluded corner with a wink.
“¿Qué van a beber?” she asks.
Kris translates for Adam. “She wants to know what we want to drink.”
“A cocktail?” Adam says.
Kris scrunches his nose. “I think some wine would be better. This is a Spanish restaurant. They take their wine as seriously as your Portuguese friends,” he says with a teasing smile. When Adam nods, Kris orders for them, and Adam tries to hide that he finds a Spanish-speaking Kris really, really hot. He waits until the girl leaves to ask him about it.
“Where did you learn to speak Spanish so well?” He fidgets with his menu, not bothering with reading it at all. He’s so letting Kris order for them both.
“You’re kidding, right? My Spanish is a disgrace. I learned some words here and there with all the volunteer work I did, but mostly I’m only fluent when I’m asking for food or wondering where the toilet is,” Kris says in a self-deprecating tone, while his eyes roam over the menu.
“It can’t be any worse than mine. I can only say useful things like, ‘Crazy chicken’, and, ‘Excuse me, madam, but he told me he wasn’t married’!”
It’s a good thing Kris isn’t drinking, because he snorts so loudly that the old couple at the next table shoots them stern looks.
“That’s a story I really need to hear, Adam.”
“Believe me, the one where I had to use: ‘I swear to God this is not what it looks like’, is much more entertaining,” he deadpans.
The waitress comes back with a bottle of red wine. When she opens it, she offers a taste to Kris, and Adam smiles to himself. It’s nice having someone else be the worldly one for a change.
Kris accepts it graciously, and she pours them two glasses. Adam takes a sip. It’s an excellent wine with a strong body, and its rough taste leaves a trace of wood and apple at the back of his tongue.
“Do you like it?” Kris asks, and when Adam nods, he smiles, relieved.
“I’m shit at ordering wine. This vintage is the only one I know,” he confesses sheepishly. Adam tries very hard not to be charmed, but it’s a difficult task when Kris looks so earnest and eager to please.
“I like it. A lot,” Adam adds after a moment. The curve of Kris’ lips is the perfect company for the wine.
The dinner is nice. Adam kicks up a small ruckus when Kris tries to convince him to try an octopus salad starter, and he stubbornly refuses until Kris calls him a coward.
“I bet you’re a sushi fiend,” he says. “If you eat it raw, you damn well can eat it cooked, Lambert.”
Adam makes a face as he tries a taste-and then keeps on making it as he eats half the plate. That Kris is right and the salad is delicious is so not the point. It’s a matter of principle.
Adam finds talking to Kris easy. He’s always so composed; he takes all of Adam’s stories in stride, and before long, Adam finds himself dragging out his most outrageous anecdotes just to catch him off-balance.
They eat, and talk, and laugh; it’s all so easy that they don’t even notice the passing of time. Finally, the owner of the restaurant takes it upon himself to inform them, warmly but firmly, that they have to leave so they can close, but says that they’re very welcome the next day. If this was a date, Adam thinks, I would totally call it a success.
“I’m going to burst,” he complains as they walk back to the site. “I told you the…what is it called again? The dessert thingy?”
“Flan,” Kris answers.
“Yes. The flan,” he carefully vocalizes, “was too much.”
“But you liked it?” Kris asks.
“Yes, but that’s not-” he tries to explain, but Kris interrupts him.
“We both liked it. So stop complaining. You shouldn’t worry about dieting and stuff so much.”
“Says the guy with the perfect body.”
“Shut up. You’re too skinny. You need to put some meat on your bones,” he chides Adam. It makes Adam want to kiss him.
“I could kiss you right now,” he says.
“See, that’s why I insisted that we share the bill. I didn’t want you to feel all entitled to cop a feel or something.”
Adam doubles over with laughter; Kris smiles at him and shakes his head.
They keep on walking at a relaxed pace. It’s a clear and warm night, and right now, Adam is so full of bonhomie and excellent food that he hardly remembers why he was so distressed earlier.
They reach the parking lot, and Kris waves at the security guy on shift. Adam leans against his car, and Kris mirrors him. They unconsciously mimic the positions they always take in their Wednesday chats, with their backs against the car and their gazes on the building.
“Are you feeling better, now?” Kris asks softly.
Adam nods. “Yes, thank you for the dinner. It was very nice of you.”
Kris shrugs. “It looked like you needed some time out of your own head. I know how that feels.”
And before he realizes it, Adam is telling Kris all about Brad. He could blame the wine, but he knows he didn’t drink nearly enough. There’s something about Kris’s patience that makes Adam relax, trust him. And it doesn’t help that, as his brother used to say, Adam is kind of afflicted with a really bad case of suicidal sincerity when he’s with people he trusts, where he blurts out his inner fears, thoughts and feelings at the drop of a hat. That’s why in five minutes flat, he’s managed to give Kris a summary of his love life for the last five years.
“And it’s not that I’m resentful, you know?” Adam raises a hand to his heart. “I’m glad he’s having a blast, really, I am, but why does he have to fucking flaunt his happiness in front of me all the time? I don’t even know how many guys he’s been with in the last year.”
He knows he’s whining, but he can’t help it.
“You broke up a year ago?” Kris asks.
“Ten months. We were together for two years,” Adam answers.
“Two happy years?” Kris asks, and that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Because by the last three months, they were hurting each other more than they made each other happy.
“Mostly. We were insanely in love-the key word being insanely.” He snorts. How can he explain to Kris the utter exhilaration he felt when he and Brad first started their relationship? It doesn’t seem possible, but he tries anyway. “In the beginning we could hardly spend any time apart. I took him with me everywhere; I loved showing him new places. We went all over Europe and Asia.”
“He must have liked that,” Kris comments.
“He did. He’s a very curious person, and he loved learning about other countries and other cultures,” he explains. Kris nods. “But in the end, for me, they were all business trips, and Brad had to spend a lot of time alone. So what started off as exciting and romantic lost its appeal after a while.”
He sneaks a glance at Kris to see him frowning. “Was he demanding? I mean, did he resent your work?” Kris asks.
Adam considers that. “Not exactly. Instead of fighting with me over it, he just decided to stay behind.” He rubs his right eye. “When I noticed his distance, I became clingy, and that, in turn, suffocated him. It was kind of a vicious cycle.”
The discussions, the stony silences, the cold shoulders; they all come back to him, and Adam remembers clearly how much they were both suffering in those days.
“It was difficult, because I really have to travel a lot. That he didn’t come with me cut in half the amount of time we could spend together.” He bits his lip. “It made things…difficult.”
“But you loved each other,” Kris says.
“Believe me, it was never a matter of falling out of love. He’s younger than me, and he needs to find his own place in the world.” Adam pauses. “It’s complicated, okay? We were complicated.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “When we’re together, I mean, together as a couple, we feed each other’s insecurities. And we have a knack for hurting each other in the worst ways. We know each other too well, and we can be serious bitches when we fight.”
Kris looks up at him, and the light coming off the streetlight paints his brown eyes gold. Adam takes a deep breath and keeps on talking. It’s good to talk about this with somebody who hasn’t met Brad. They didn’t split their friends when they broke up, thank God, but sometimes Adam wonders if it would have been better if they had. That way, he could at least feel like he had someone in his corner.
“And that was the beginning of the end,” he says with a grimace. “It wasn’t the only reason for our break up, but it showed us we had problems.”
Kris says nothing for a while. When he finally talks, his voice is wistful. “Love should be enough.”
Such a romantic, Adam thinks and can’t help but smile. “We didn’t break up because we weren’t in love anymore, but because we loved each other for the wrong reasons, in the wrong way, at the wrong time.”
“Wrong reasons?” Kris asks.
Adam heaves a sigh. “Yes. We were projecting our needs on each other, I think. I admit I went into full-on sophisticated mode with Brad, trying to impress him.” He shrugs. “It was exciting for me to be his mentor, you know? To take care of him and his needs, and show him everything.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “But I needed a partner, and he wasn’t ready for that level of commitment. He’s young, and he needs to live through a lot of things I’ve already lived. I know it’s better this way. It hurts like hell, though.”
It feels kind of… liberating, to admit it out loud. He’s been repressing this feeling for so long, not allowing himself time to grieve the relationship because he’s supposed to be the experienced one, the mature one. As if Brad hadn’t been his first love, as if his heart wasn’t broken too.
He stands there, breathing hard like he’s been running instead of talking, half-elated and half-ashamed. But Kris isn’t judging him. He just puts a hand on Adam’s arm and squeezes.
“I’m sorry,” he offers.
“Not your fault,” Adam says. Not his wittiest repartee, but right now, that’s all he’s got.
“I know. It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry it didn’t work.” Kris’s eyes are locked on Adam’s. Adam offers him a sad smile in return.
“Well, that’s life,” he says. Kris pulls his hand back. Adam misses it immediately. He needs to recover lost ground; he’s starting to feel weak and insecure again, as it usually happens at the end of one of his talkative moods. “And what about you, Kristopher?” he asks, turning the tables on Kris.
Kris raises both his eyebrows.
“Somebody waiting for you at home?” Adam asks.
Kris shrugs. “I’m single,” he says. It sounds odd, because there’s a touch of coldness in his tone. As always, Adam tries to use humor to lighten the mood.
“But you’re so hot,” he says and makes a show of checking Kris out.
Kris must be getting used to Adam’s antics because he takes it in stride. “Thank you. But no, I’m not seeing anyone right now,” he says. And if there’s tightness around Kris’s smile now, Adam chooses not to take it seriously. Kris is never cold, so it must be Adam’s impression.
“You must have some embarrassing and sappy stories of your own. Give me a hand, baby. I don’t want to be the only one baring his soul here. Care to share them?” he asks with a charming smile.
Kris’s only reply is a firm “No.” He looks away pointedly, and Adam feels it hit him like a slap.
And he thought he was embarrassed before…
“Oh,” Adam says in a small voice, and pushes away from the car, the palm of his hand warm against the cold hood. Kris grimaces and makes as if to touch Adam’s arm-in an apology maybe-but Adam sidesteps him and turns towards the driver door.
“Well, it’s getting late. I think it’s time for all good little architects to go bed.” Adam knows his smile is artificial, empty, but Kris is just going to have to make do. He doesn’t have a better one right now.
Kris follows him and puts a hand on the door when Adam climbs into his car.
“Adam, wait.” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “I didn’t-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Adam says, tightening his fake smile. “It’s pretty late anyway.” He fastens his seatbelt and offers Kris a parting nod that he hopes doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says and starts the engine.
Kris hesitates, and for a moment, it looks like he’s not going to close the door. Adam holds his breath.
The door shuts softly. Adam doesn’t lower the window to say goodbye.
NEXT PART
Author:Aneas
Artist: 3whiteroses
Type: AU
Word-Count: 31 100.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Adam/Kris.
Disclaimer: This portrayal is entirely fictional. Not for profit, just for our entertainment.
Warnings: AU. Mmm...Possible embarrassment squick in some places?
Betas: The delicious Jerakeen and Forsweatervests. They’re goddesses, and I worship them. Without their work, Architect!Adam wouldn’t make any sense at all. Thanks to Lire_casander and Cookie57, you’ve helped me so much…
Summary:
“Lil said he had to look both professional and reliable for the hearing and when he nodded, she added, ”And that means no leather at all, Adam.”
“When you say no leather . . . what do you really mean?” Adam asked, intrigued.”
Lil said he had to look both professional and reliable for the hearing and when he nodded, she added, “And that means no leather at all, Adam.”
“When you say no leather…what do you really mean?” Adam asked, intrigued.
So that’s how he ended up wearing a totally boring charcoal suit today. His jacket is boring, his shirt is boring, and - oh, the outrage! - his tie doesn’t even sparkle. He looks like, like…like a clerk! The dullest, most conservative clerk ever. Lil is a tyrant. And to add insult to injury, she made him wipe off any trace of eyeliner, too.
Adam can deal with looking conventional. What he can’t deal with is the complete lack of fabulousness here.
He’s aware that he’s sulking, but it’s not because of his outfit. Well, not entirely because of his outfit. His business is taking off big time right now, and it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day already, so this court appearance is an inexcusable waste of time for him. He already apologized for the incident and offered to pay the damages. What more do they want? His firstborn?
He fidgets and rubs his hands together. They feel naked without his rings and nailpolish. It makes him restless knowing that whoever’s sitting here, wearing his clothes, is not the real Adam. It’s a disguise, and more than anything, Adam hates disguises. He’s been fighting tooth and nail to be himself, to live life on his own terms. Having to put on a costume just to conform to the norm after all this time is driving him insane.
But Lil said prison, and Adam would not do well in prison. Even if it’s for a couple of days. He’d prefer to stay out and be less fabulous than he thought was possible, instead.
Lil puts a hand on his arm and opens her mouth to say something, but just then, there’s a rustle at the door, and everyone rises. The judge is back.
Judge Abbot is a middle-aged man whose giant gut precedes him into the chamber. Adam thinks-rather bitchily-that for once, black seems to have no slimming effect whatsoever. He coughs and gives Adam a stern look over his glasses, his beady eyes suspicious. Adam smiles winningly at him, which only works to make the judge look even more constipated.
Well. It was a long shot anyway. The man is so not a fan of Adam’s.
“Mister Lambert,” he says, “you pled guilty on all charges.” He pauses expectantly, and Lil nudges Adam’s arm.
“Yes, sir.”
“You were driving under the influence and crashed into public property, causing extensive damage.” His tone is harsh enough to make Adam flinch. When he puts it like that, it sounds worse than it really was. He crashed into the security fence surrounding a worksite. Which belonged to him. It was three in the morning and Adam had had only two glasses of wine at dinner-almost five hours before he sat behind the wheel. There’s no need for the look the man is giving him, like Adam went kamikaze across a schoolyard completely wasted. In a Hummer. While the kindergarteners were at recess.
“I’m getting incredibly tired, Mister Lambert. I’m sick of wasting time with irresponsible people that drive like the streets are their private racetracks and then come to my court acting contrite. I’m tired of letting you all go with only a slap on the wrist, like reckless driving is just a shenanigan you can get away with, instead of a real crime with real consequences.”
Adam has a very bad feeling about where this is going.
“That’s why I’m going to use this case as a cautionary tale. I hope it’ll work as a reminder of what could happen when people old enough to know better forget that driving and being responsible are not mutually exclusive.”
“Your Honor,” Lil says, “we would like to state that the reason Mr. Lambert took the car that night was because there was an emergency problem at one of the sites that required his immediate presence. He did not intend to drive that night or endanger anyo-”
“Don’t try my patience, Mrs. Rounds. I’m sure that as the owner of a Maserati, Mr. Lambert can afford to pay taxi fare.”
Adam closes his eyes. His mother always said buying that damn car was a bad idea. She’s so going to be tattooing ‘Mom told you so!’ on his ass…
“Mr. Lambert, I’ve been told you’re a good architect,” the judge says. Adam snorts-perhaps unwisely, but come on. A good architect, he says. Ha! Last year, Adam was nominated for the Pritzker Architecture Prize. Good architects design houses that don’t crumble under the breeze; Adam Lambert is a fucking rock star in the world of architecture.
The judge is waiting for an answer, and for once Adam manages to hold his tongue and simply nods.
“That’s good to know. You’ll be paying for all damages and the cost of this trial. But you’re not getting away with just throwing your money around either. I want you to learn your lesson from this. So we’ll put your knowledge to good use. A local church is currently raising funds to build a block of apartments to help single mothers get back on their feet. I hereby sentence you to 100 hours of community service, beginning next week. You’ll be helping them with their project in any capacity you’re needed.”
There’s a long, long pause. Adam is waiting for him to bang his gavel, but instead, the judge leans forward and says, “That means, Mr. Lambert, helping them with the actual building process. Not just staying in your fancy studio working on the blueprints, but spending those hours at the actual site. Am I making myself clear?”
Adam nods then, too shocked to do anything else, and the judge finally bangs the gavel, bringing the hearing to a close and crushing Adam’s hopes for this hearing going his way.
Hour I.
Kris looks around the lobby he’s found himself in, wondering for a moment if he got the wrong address. The place is incredible. It has high ceilings, glossy walls and dark polished floors that reflect the light coming in through the huge windows. He’s never been in a building quite this impressive before. There’s some kind of techno music playing in the background, instead of the pseudo-ambient garbage he would expect from a posh office like this, and when the receptionist raises her purple head to greet him with a smile, he’s too surprised by how young she seems to return it.
This is not at all what he would have thought an architecture firm would look like.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the receptionist asks, her voice friendly and a little raspy. Her smile is infectious. She’s the first receptionist he’s seen in a long, long while who isn’t rabid at the sight of customers.
“Yeah-I’m here to meet with…hold on a sec,” he takes the paper from his pocket and reads out loud, “with Adam Lambert. I have an appointment with him.”
“Let’s see,” the girl says, checking her screen. “Kristopher Allen?” Kris nods, relieved to get the confirmation that he’s in the right place. “Well, you’re early. Mind waiting for a moment while I talk to him?”
She gestures towards a big fuchsia sofa, near a pitch-black door with a gleaming logo affixed, proclaiming the space to belong to Hendel and Lambert, Architects. She picks up the phone, looking away from Kris and talking quietly into it. Kris perches awkwardly on the surprisingly comfortable sofa and looks around. Behind the girl’s desk, made of black wood and steel, is a massive glass wall revealing a large room behind it, full of movement and activity. The room has no partitions whatsoever, just a lot of tasteful and delicate-looking desks that are also made of steel and glass, crowned with expensive computers. The walls are bare, painted in a lustrous silver tone that amplifies the light and makes everything sparkle.
Kris watches the scene, enraptured. He never thought that designing buildings could be such an animated activity. The employees type energetically, beckoning each other closer every once in a while, and there’s a lot of movement among and between the desks. In a corner, around a huge trendy conference table, three men are engaged in a rather feisty discussion over a model of something made of balsa wood and…wire? The shorter guy at the table, with hair that makes him look like a skunk, throws his hands in the air and exclaims something, while another man with dreadlocks leans on the table by his side and laughs.
It would be hard not to notice that everyone working here seems to be somewhat alternative. Colorfully dyed hair, piercings and tattoos are everywhere, only second to platform boots and lots and lots of leather. Kris can’t help but be curious about the man he’s supposed to be meeting. This Lambert guy must be something else entirely.
The receptionist receives a call, and then she’s up and beckoning Kris. “I’ll take you to Adam, Mr. Allen.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. She offers him one of her wide smiles.
The music is even louder inside the workroom. Nobody seems to be paying them any mind as they cross it, but Kris still avoids looking around to confirm it. He’s obviously underdressed in his plain jeans, scruffy converse and old t-shirt. He hurries his pace. He feels like a sparrow in a room full of peacocks.
The girl opens another of those big black doors, and keeps it open with her body, inviting him through. “Adam, this is your two o’clock appointment, Mr. Kristopher Allen. Mr. Allen, this is Adam Lambert, our almighty boss!” She grins, her eyes mischievous, and then ducks quickly when a paper ball comes her way. With a giggle, she pushes Kris gently through the door and disappears.
“One of these days, Ally, I’m really gonna fire you!” the guy yells after her, rising from behind his desk. That’s when Kris gets his first eyeful of the infamous Adam Lambert. And what a first impression he makes! Lambert is really, really tall, with wide shoulders and a solid build. He looks like he could snap Kris in half without breaking a sweat and look fabulous doing it. But that’s not really why Kris is gaping like an idiot, and it isn’t the all-black ensemble with chains dangling from his belt, either. The greenish streaks in his black hair barely even register with kris; he expected that much after seeing his employees. Kris is forced to pause by the insanely blue eyes Lambert turns his way. They’re striking, made more so by the expertly applied eyeliner around them. And the smile isn’t bad either. Separately, the man’s facial features are impressive. In combination, however, they’re lethal. Kris’ gut jumps, apparently agreeing with him.
“Hi,” Lambert says as he comes closer to shake hands with Kris. “It’s nice to meet you,”
“Likewise, Mr. Lambert,” Kris mumbles and tries not to show the shiver that runs through him when their hands meet.
“Please, call me Adam. We’re not very formal around here.” No, really? Kris thinks wryly. He never would have guessed. Taking in all the leather the guy is wearing and the feathers hanging from his ears, the staff’s unusual attire makes total sense now. They’re clearly allowed to be a little unconventional with their outfits when their boss dresses like an extra in a Lady Gaga video.
Lambert’s smile is unexpectedly warm and friendly. “Can I call you Kristopher? You don’t seem old enough for me to call you Mr. Allen.”
The guy is a charmer, that’s for sure. “Kris is okay,” he answers.
“Come on then, Kris; have a seat.”
With an answering smile, Kris follows Lambert over to a couple of leather couches arranged casually by the huge window. The glass goes from floor to ceiling, framing an incredible view of the city skyline. It’s overwhelming, sunsets in this office must be amazing.
“Nice office,” he comments once they’re seated. Kris has chosen the big couch, while Lambert sits in one of the single black leather chairs. Although Kris knows next to nothing on the subject, his mother did have a ton of interior design magazines at home, and he’s pretty sure he recognizes both the couch and the chairs from those glossy pages. They look expensive.
“Thank you. We designed the building ourselves. We’re very proud of it. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, soda?”
“No, I’m okay, thank you.” There’s a moment of silence as Lambert studies-quite openly-Kris’ face, and when he’s satisfied with what he sees, he leans closer, resting his elbows on his thighs, and says, “I’ll be honest, Kris. I hope you know how this supervision business goes, because I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do here. It’s my first time, so please be gentle with me.” His tone is mocking, but underneath that, he sounds genuinely lost. Kris suppresses a laugh at his expression.
Kris didn’t expect to like this guy-definitely not so fast-and yet here they are. It had been a surprise when Pastor Evans had called him and informed him that he was going to oversee a reckless driver that happened to be an architect-and also incidentally the help they so urgently need to finish the project. They really are desperate; they can’t turn down any help if they want the block of apartments finished on time, so criminal or not, there was no way Kris could say no to this arrangement. The pastor had told him that all he had to do was to make sure that Lambert was following through on his sentence and report it to the state at regular intervals. It hadn’t sounded all that difficult-especially considering what they would be getting out of it.
Kris isn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he couldn’t have even imagined this guy. He doesn’t look like the typical reckless driver. Not that Kris has met a lot of reckless drivers in his life, but there should be a type, right? And this can’t possibly be it.
“I’m not exactly experienced myself,” Kris admits. “This is a first for me as well. How about we play it by ear? As far as I know, your case isn’t typical, but the orders seem pretty flexible to me; it doesn’t have to be that hard.”
Lambert chuckles dryly. “Oh, I’m sure Judge Abbot wants it to be as hard as possible.” He leans back and puts an arm over the back of his chair, crossing his right leg over his left. He raises an eyebrow imperiously and says, “To be honest, I don’t think he liked me very much. He acted like my mere existence pissed him off.” He rolls his eyes. “I have no doubt he specifically chose this little project,” he says, gesturing with his hand dismissively, “to bug me as much as possible. He was very into the idea of making an example of me, and I’m pretty sure he wants to see me sweat blood, so…” He leaves the comment hanging there, his upper lip curving in a sneer.
Suddenly, Kris isn’t sure why he liked this guy at all. He doesn’t know what irritates him more, the mocking tone of Lambert’s words, or the disdainful way he talks about the project. “Listen,” Kris says, trying to keep his cool. “I’m not sure if anybody told you, but this is a volunteer project. It’s been a lot of work to even get it off the ground, and we had to make a lot of sacrifices. People have been volunteering to “sweat blood” to get this done. It means a lot to us. So we really don’t need any negativity around just when we’ve started getting somewhere.” Lambert’s spine stiffens. His blue eyes don’t seem so friendly anymore, and Kris notices that he has crossed his arms defensively.
Kris doesn’t want to be rude, honestly. He’s usually a pretty laid-back guy; he takes pride in the fact that he doesn’t lose his temper easily. But this project is very dear to him. He’s been working his ass off the last two years to save enough money to be able to take a six-month leave from work and dedicate it to making this happen. It’s not Lambert’s fault that he doesn’t get how vital this project is to him, but they can’t deal with this kind of negative attitude at the site either. If Lambert won’t be able to give them what they need, then it’s better to know sooner rather than later.
“This project is important for a lot of people. We want - no - we need this to work out. Obviously, I don’t expect you to be as invested in it as we are, but if you’re going to act like this is the most unpleasant chore in the world, then no offense, but I’m not sure we do want your help. I’ll sign whatever document you need me to sign, and you can just go on with your life, okay? No hard feelings.”
He’s sure his tone is more tired than angry, but still, Lambert looks like he’s been slapped. The silence between them stretches until Kris is ready to just get up and leave, but then Lambert speaks, his voice icy despite the apology in his words.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t want to imply that working in this project would be a burden; I just meant that surely the judge didn’t have my convenience in mind when he gave his sentence. Don’t forget that this is supposed to be punishment for me, not a picnic.”
Kris sighs and rubs his eyes, trying to hide an angry blush. Great. What a way to start their working relationship. They really do need an architect on board. The project’s blueprints are old, and the license to build has an expiration date that’s coming up pretty quickly. They’ve been having problems at the site-problems an architect could easily solve-but they can’t afford to pay for professional assistance. They could really use Lambert’s help.
“Sorry, I…I overreacted. I’m kind of touchy about this project. We’ve been working on this building for a long time, more than two years now, and my patience is running low.” He looks at Lambert, who still has his arms crossed, all traces of his nice, friendly persona gone. “Seriously, man. I’m sorry.”
Kris hopes he’s coming across earnest enough. If he costs them an architect over a misunderstanding, Megan will have his hide. After an endless stretch of uncomfortable silence, Lambert smiles with one corner of his mouth.
“Was that our first fight?”
Kris tries to fight off a grin, but it’s hard. Lambert seems to notice it and raises an eyebrow.
“Kristopher, I think this relationship is moving too fast for me. I might need a bit of space,” he jokes, and Kris laughs out loud, relieved.
“From what I see, Mr. Lambert, space is something you don’t lack at all,” he says, and makes a gesture to encompass the whole office.
“I’m a big boy, I have big needs. So, what? Are we friends again, then?” He throws some puppy eyes at Kris, and Kris caves.
“Not quite there yet. But I think we’re on our way.”
“Then you better get used to calling me Adam.”
Kris nods, and Lam-Adam smiles.
Hour IV.
It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Adam is parking his SUV in a nice enough-and yet extremely boring-neighborhood near the southern limits of the city. Judge Abbot is clearly a sadist, because this is torture, plain and simple. And not the good kind either, the kind that ends with orgasms all around. This must go against the Geneva Convention or something.
It’s not that he’s not used to waking up early for work, because he is, but it’s just that this is supposed to be his day off and last night there was this crazy party at Alisan’s. There were so many hot boys and so little time. Adam is insanely busy right now; he deserves a little distraction, a little partying. He’s been working all around the globe for months; he needs to have some time for himself every once in a while.
But he had to leave the party early and couldn’t even drink-well, couldn’t drink too much, anyway, because he’s supposed to be a responsible adult- and he even took a cab to get back home. But that’s mostly because he’s scared of Leila, definitely more than he is of Judge Abbot, to be honest.
He gets out of the car with his cup of coffee in hand, and the sun hits his head like a ruthless fist. Torture. He never thought someday he would consider using his hard hat as protection against the sun. Thank God he put his giant sunglasses on when he left the house, because otherwise, he’d be melting like the Wicked Witch of the West in a downpour now.
He opens the trunk and takes out his hard hat, fitting it snugly over his hair. It’s custom-ordered, silver and fabulous, of course, but hardly his accessory of choice. Next is his blueprint carrier, lined with leather and designed by the one and only Cassidy Haley. The drawings Kris had left in his office last Thursday are in it. Adam spent three hours yesterday going over them, and he’s so counting them as part of his service, no matter what the judge said about always being on-site.
The project looks fine, if a little plain; nothing special. It’s a basic block of apartments with some communal space. The main structure of the building is already up, so it’s time for the plumbing, sanitation, and electrical installations, as well as constructing the interior partitions. He closes the trunk and walks unhurriedly towards the building to get out of the sun.
As he gets closer, he hears female laughter and finds himself wondering what could be so funny at a construction site. That’s when a lithe woman with long blonde hair crosses the threshold and stops dead in her tracks.
“Hello,” she says cautiously.
He puts on a charming smile.
“Hi, I’m Adam Lambert; I’m meeting Kristopher Allen here-” he starts, but she interrupts him and bellows behind her. “Kris, your delinquent is here!” Adam splutters indignantly, but she ignores him. “You’re late. You were supposed to be here first thing in the morning.”
First thing in the morning? It is first thing in the morning! He opens his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but then Kris appears and distracts him.
“Hey, Adam, I see you’ve met Megan,” he drawls. Adam sighs. He’d forgotten about the drawl. It’s so unfair that the guy ticks every single box of Adam’s type. And what’s worse, he’s actually even more gorgeous than Adam remembers. His old jeans are too baggy, but the tight t-shirt he’s wearing makes up for it in spades. He looks absolutely mouth-watering, and Adam hasn’t had breakfast today.
Oblivious to Adam’s lecherous thoughts, or at least, that’s what Adam hopes, Kris gestures towards the half-done stairs. “Come with me. I’ll give you the tour and then introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
Like any construction site, the place is pretty messy, with plenty of sawdust and haphazardly dumped piles of material everywhere. Pipes, cement, and plaster are heaped in the corners; the insulation material competes with bricks on occupying more floor surface. Despite the clutter, the space is full of possibilities, and Adam already has a lot of ideas for the future apartments. He wants clean configurations and interconnected rooms to achieve free-flowing spaces. It’ll be stunning.
By the time they reach the top floor, Adam is out-and-out smiling. Kris has been talking nonstop since they started the tour, and it’s clear that he loves this project. He’s incredibly enthusiastic about it, and his enthusiasm is contagious.
“And the best part is that the neighborhood is fantastic. There’s a park nearby - wait, I think we can see it from here.” He turns and happily gestures towards the east. “Look! There it is! And there’s also a primary school five blocks down, and a laundromat, and the church is really close, too. I mean, we’ve been looking for a place just like this for a really long time, but we thought we’d have to settle for whatever we could get, and then, bang! This site appears on the market and how perfect is it? I couldn’t believe it.”
Adam laughs, and Kris blushes.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit overexcited,” he says, sheepish.
“No, it’s okay. It’s a great project. It’s wonderful to see that you’re so passionate about it,” Adam answers. “In my experience, the more fanatical you are about a project, the better the results.”
They smile at each other-dare he say it-sappily, until Kris looks away and clears his throat. “It’s good to have you on board, Adam. I’m really glad that you’re helping us.” His voice is soft, and his eyes shine.
He looks amazing under the morning sun, all perfect skin and well-built shoulders. Adam’s stomach churns in a familiar way, and he wants to bang his head against the closest solid surface. No, no, no. Don’t crush on the nice guy, he tells himself firmly, he’s probably straight anyway. It’s funny that his stern inner voice always sounds like Mrs. Rivers, his algebra teacher.
Kris is still staring at him, with these brown warm eyes of his that Adam is already fond of. He has always been a sucker for earnest eyes and boyish smiles.
“I want you to know that I wasn’t drunk that night,” he blurts out.
“Hey, you don’t have to-”
“No, I want to. Really,” he says. Kris bites his lip and nods.
Adam takes a deep breath.
“I had a business dinner with some Portuguese clients that night. I only had two glasses of port; it would have been impolite to refuse and I need the business. They’ll give me free reign and they pay wonderfully. The project is the remodeling of a winery in Porto. The Portuguese take their port very seriously, apparently.” Kris nods again, uneasy. Adam thinks he’s probably going to end up making Kris uncomfortable with this, but he is on a roll and just keeps on talking.
“I got home and went to sleep, but it turned out that there was a gas leak in one of my sites. I had to run over there quickly, even got myself a nice ticket on my way over. I was so frantic by the time I got there; I crashed into the security fence somebody had moved to where I usually park. It was, like, three in the morning anyway; there was no one in any real danger, except to my poor bumper.”
Kris is still staring at him with an anxious expression on his face.
Adam adds. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think that I run around driving under the influence like, like Heather Locklear or something!”
Kris snorts, and Adam cringes. Of all the stupid things to say! He closes his eyes, waiting for the mocking or the dismissal to come, but after a few seconds-or a couple of weeks, Adam’s not sure-of silence, Kris puts him out of his misery.
“Adam, I can honestly assure you that I’ll never compare you to Heather Locklear. I give you my word,” he says formally. Adam feels torn between relief and humiliation. He tentatively opens one eye, and sees Kris, barely holding back a laugh. When it inevitably spills out, Adam can’t help but laugh with him. The whole thing is pretty ridiculous, and the way Kris is laughing with his whole body is just too much to resist.
It takes them a couple minutes to calm down, and then Kris says, “Come on, man, I have to introduce you to the guys. Let’s go downstairs.”
Kris stops at the top of the stairs. “Don’t worry about the conviction thing. It doesn’t matter to us, really. We needed you; this project was pretty much doomed without an architect. God sent you to us, and that’s the only thing that matters, okay?” When Adam nods, Kris nudges his arm with his shoulder and starts to go down. “Who cares if we volunteered and you came under duress? What’s important is that you’re here right now, helping us.”
Adam pauses for a moment and watches Kris go down, whistling.
Hey, Adam, his heart says, about that “crushing on the nice guy” thing? I’m afraid it’s a bit too late.
Hour VIII.
Kris takes off his hard hat and looks around. It’s really hot outside, but here on the second floor, there are no windows yet, and the breeze slipping through the holes in the façade creates a cool stream of air that keeps the heat at bay. It’s lunchtime, and everybody’s slowing down, finishing up their work for the break. In the corner closest to the elevator pit, Adam is crouching, talking to the electrician.
It’s Adam’s second day at the site. Last Saturday, he spent the whole morning taking notes around the place, talking with the staff-and being a big sparkly distraction, to be honest. The guy is huge, impossible to miss, even when he’s not wearing a black t-shirt that reads: You’ve been a naughty boy. Now go to my room! But Kris has to admit that he knows what he’s talking about.
“Mr. Reynolds, all I’m saying is that you can’t be conservative with the measures, because while right now an elevator fits here comfortably, who knows what’s going to happen in twenty years? Things change fast, so we must be flexible and plan with future advances in mind.”
Mr. Reynolds, a retired electrician with white hair and dark skin, gives him a distrustful glance.
“I’ve been installing elevators for thirty years, son, and I never had a problem before.”
“Trust me, you’ll be grateful when the time comes and the tenants won’t have to take up a collection to renovate the elevator,” Adam says. The old man sighs in response, admitting defeat, and rises to talk with his crew. Adam watches him go, biting his lip thoughtfully. He still seems pretty overwhelmed with the number of volunteers and the quality of their work.
Kris remembers the look on Adam’s face when he learned that almost 65 percent of the crew on the project was working free. “But that’s crazy! You can’t expect professional behavior if they don’t get paid, Kris! They won’t commit!” he’d said. Kris had just chuckled and pointed out to him that almost everyone Adam met the weekend before, (Matt, Archie, Anoop…) were volunteers. He was amazed, but it looks like nothing baffles Adam for long, because almost immediately he invented a game called “Guess the job”. His hypotheses were hilarious, (Archie as a call boy?) but he nailed Cook’s job as a rugby coach on his first try. Adam’s mind works in mysterious ways.
Kris drops his gloves on a sack of plaster and goes to Adam, who seems to be taking notes.
“Hey, man,” he says, crouching down to sit by his side. Adam turns towards him with a tired smile.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Not only did everyone come back on Saturday, but even more people showed up today.”
He sounds amazed. Kris doesn’t want to burst his bubble, but it has to be done.
“Don’t get used to it. People come and go. Sometimes there are twenty people here; sometimes we only have five. It depends on their schedules. People have more time during weekends, so these are usually the better days.”
“But you’re here every day. I could hear the concrete mixer in the background when I called you last Thursday to talk about the price of the bathroom tiles. That’s a lot of hours, man. Are you getting paid enough for this?” he asks, sounding perplexed.
“Not really.” Kris shrugs. “I took leave from work so I could finish this project. I’m living off of my savings right now.”
“God, are you kidding me?” Adam is gaping. “Why would you do that?”
Kris looks at him. Really, really looks at him. It hits him suddenly how sad it is that Adam doesn’t understand the motivation behind all the work they’re doing. For Adam, this is just a job, because he doesn’t know how this building will affect people’s lives. Kris wonders if there is a way to make Adam understand; for some reason, he really wants Adam to.
Maybe it’d be enough if Kris could explain his own motivations for doing this. It’s not in his nature to tell a virtual stranger something so intimate, but maybe he can share parts of it? Just enough to make Adam see. He mentally braces himself and kicks off.
“I used to do volunteer work when I was younger. And I went on some mission trips, too; to Morocco and Thailand, but mostly to Africa. I always wanted to help people, but I didn’t know what I was getting into with the missionary work. You can’t even imagine the conditions those people live in, struggling for the most basic things we take for granted every day of our lives. Seeing that changes you. It’s-you can’t look at your life the same way afterwards.”
“But you don’t do it anymore?” Adam interrupts him.
Kris nods. “I got sick during one of the trips. The doctors told me that I shouldn’t travel for a while.” He tries to smile to show it’s not a big deal. “I went back to volunteering, but it just wasn’t enough anymore. We’re all so fortunate, you know? And-and there are people out there with no shelter or food; mothers who can’t feed their children, have nowhere to go, stuck in abusive marriages because they can’t see a way out. What we’re doing here isn’t that big a deal for us. I have a home to live in, food to eat. I can afford to take these six months off. When you think about what this will mean for all those women-the children. Tthere is no excuse not to do it.
Adam just stares at him, face unreadable, and Kris flinches inwardly. He went and did it again, didn’t he? He made things weird. He’s just about to laugh and make up an excuse to run away, but Adam says, “You’re an incredible person, Kristopher.”
Relieved and now blushing, Kris says, “Oh, shut up,” looking down at his boots to avoid Adam’s eyes.
Everybody at the site has his or her own stories. Megan’s is, in Kris’ opinion, especially touching. If Adam has to be impressed with somebody’s tale, it should be hers.
“Really, you’re amazing. Right now, I’m feeling totally ashamed of myself,” Adam says.
Kris raises his head. “Hey, no. Don’t do that. This is not about making other people feel bad, it’s about helping and sharing and being happy, man. It’s not about making anyone feel guilty.”
“I’m Jewish, Kris. We’re all about the guilt,” Adam deadpans, but his eyes are twinkling.
Kris laughs. “Well, we Christians are pretty hung up on remorse and penitence too,” he says. Adam snorts and folds the sheet in his hands. He gets up from the floor and holds his hand out to Kris.
“Let’s go eat something. I’m starving. All this talking about guilt and remorse and stuff puts me in the mood for bacon.”
Kris chuckles and takes the offered hand to stand up. “You’re paying,” he says.
“If I’m paying, then you’re gonna have to put out,” Adam answers absently, arranging the documentation inside his portfolio. Kris stumbles over his own feet. Realizing what he just said, Adam’s eyes widen, and he flushes. “Oh, shit! I was joking. It was- I didn’t…”
Kris starts to laugh; Adam’s embarrassed face is hilarious. “Don’t sweat it, man. It’s cool.” Adam is still looking at him, gaping, and Kris smirks. “Besides, a pitiful bacon sandwich only merits first base. A real make-out session with me takes, like, lobster at least.”
This time it’s Adam’s turn to trip over his own feet. Kris turns around to hide his smile and heads down the stairs.
Hour XXIV.
“I brought you coffee,” Adam says, handing Kris a too-large cup. The coffee is inevitably too sweet, but Kris nods and thanks him anyway. Any hot liquid is welcome right now. The sunset is almost over, and Kris was beginning to feel a little chilly.
Now that he knows Kris is at the site fulltime, Adam comes by at least twice a week. Their early evening chat every Wednesday has become a kind of ritual for them. They go over all the weekly details, drinking the coffee that Adam brings from some pretentious café near his office. It’s nice to know that Adam trusts him enough to share all artistic matters with him, but Kris is afraid that a big part of it is because he’s the only one Adam is totally at ease with. Everybody is cordial towards him, and Adam is extremely polite in return, but there’s some kind of distance between the gang and Adam that Kris doesn’t know how to close. He can count on Matt to assist him, Matt seems to like Adam just fine, but asking Megan for help would be pointless. Adam and Megan are like water and oil. If love at first sight is possible, then Kris supposes Adam and Megan fell in hate at first sight.
“I talked to the waterproofing guys. We’ll have the supplies here in two weeks.” Adam says. Kris hums in response. “And we have to choose between the three carpentry budgets, Kris. We can’t delay it anymore.”
“I know.” He sips his coffee, resting his back against Adam’s SUV door. He watches the guys pick up their belongings, their work for the day completed. It’s nice here, in the twilight, with Adam by his side, just hanging out and talking.
“I have the new floor plan here. Can you look at it tonight and send me any modifications tomorrow morning by fax? That way, I can change the plans and have them ready by the afternoon, and by Friday we could begin to trace and start with the partitions. We should take advantage of the weekend rush.”
“Sure.” He watches Megan leave the building. He waves his hand and she waves back, already talking on her phone. Judging by the way her smile is widening, he guesses she’s talking with her son Ryder. Her blonde hair shines under the streetlights when she tilts her head back, laughing out loud, and he feels a twist of longing in his gut.
Sometimes the yearning sneaks up on him and catches him unaware. It’s times like this that he has to be extra careful, because he would spend his life wallowing in doubt if he gave free reign to these feelings. The decision he made when he left Conway was sound. He knew it then, and he knows it now. It was the right thing to do even if it hurt the people he loved. Staying was not an option, not anymore.
Surrendering to self-doubt would only lead to madness. It’s just that, sometimes, he can’t help but wonder whether there had been another way; a way that he wasn’t smart enough to see.
“Have you ever regretted something so much that it literally pains you to think about it? he blurts out. Something about Adam pushes him to be reckless with his words. He doesn’t mean to share so much of himself, tries to keep it in, but they just come out, regardless.
Adam looks into his eyes searchingly, but doesn’t answer. He jumps up to sit on the hood of his car, sipping his coffee. He’s leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, and his profile is sharp against the streetlights.
“Only every single fucking day of my life,” he finally says.
Kris turns back to face forward again, and they finish their coffees in silence.
Hour XXXVII.
When Adam picks up his bag from the floor, his spine creaks. Loudly. He’s getting too old for this shit. In the last two days, he’s spent almost twelve hours at the site. He really needs to find himself another hideout, one that doesn’t wreak havoc on his body. And doesn’t ruin my clothes, he thinks sulkily, rubbing at a plaster stain on his jeans.
He’s letting his friends think that this project is literally eating his time away, but that’s not true. In truth, he’s started using it as a hiding place, a haven from all the unresolved issues in his life.
Not that he has many. Right now, the biggest one is his personal life. He knows he’s lucky; he loves his job and he has money and success. He gets commissions from all over the globe; people admire his work, and he’s respected in his field. His family has always loved and supported him, and his network of friends is well beyond what he deserves.
But.
He still feels lonely. There’s never a shortage of offers if he so much as hints that he needs somebody to spend the night with, but that’s just a stopgap measure, just a fun night. It doesn’t make him feel much better in the light of day, and to be honest, he’s always happier when he’s in a relationship.
What makes it even worse is that Brad doesn’t seem to be having the same problem. It’s hard work trying to be friends with the guy that broke your heart. It takes a lot of dedication, lots of patience, and a great poker face. But sometimes Adam is just not in the mood for feigning indifference. Especially when the love of his fucking life is throwing another party to celebrate his newest relationship. Again.
He can’t deal with it tonight. He can’t go to Brad’s and smile and wink at him and pretend it doesn’t hurt that he’s not the one holding him. He feels raw right now. Too raw to put on a brave face and swallow back his feelings.
It’s hard not to feel betrayed. It doesn’t matter that their breakup was an amicable one, or that they agreed that they make better friends than lovers. His heart doesn’t listen to reason. He still loves Brad, and something in his gut still yells Mine! every time Adam sees him.
The wooden stairs creak behind him, and he turns around, startled. Kris is coming down, looking as surprised as Adam is to find someone else still at the site. It is Friday night after all.
“Adam? I thought you left ages ago.”
“Ditto. No hot date tonight?” Adam jokes. He learnt early on that the best defense is a good offense. Not that he has to be defensive with Kris, it’s just habit for Adam since the breakup.
“Yeah,” Kris laughs. “Two of `em. One with the shower, and then a threesome with a bottle of beer and my TV.”
Kris is beautiful when he smiles. Adam has mostly gotten used to it, but sometimes it stills sneaks up on him, and he can’t help but lose his train of thought, distracted by the luscious lips and ridiculously perfect skin.
When Kris smiles and his eyes shine, full of mischief, he looks a little like Brad, and it makes Adam’s heart crack and shatter into a million pieces. He knows this is all kinds of fucked up, but he can’t help it. So he has a type. Sue him.
He grimaces and tries to hide his inner turmoil.
“Well, I don’t want to cockblock, so I’d better be going home.” He knows he wasn’t quick enough to cover it up when Kris comes closer, concern in his voice.
“Are you okay, man? You sound off.”
“No, I’m okay,” he tries, but Kris is pretty perceptive, and doesn’t budge. “Really, Kris. I’m okay.”
He tries to smile at Kris like he has not a worry in the world, but his façade is for shit, apparently.
Or maybe Kris has telepathic powers.
Kris smiles at him indulgently. “I’m off to eat something. Do you want to come?” he asks. Adam’s gratitude for the company is so instantaneous that he’d be ashamed if he weren’t so relieved. Now, when his friends call, he won’t be lying when he says he’s out with somebody.
“Sure. I’d love to,” he answers.
Kris’s smile widens.
“I hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to my new favorite place, and they like their customers ravenous.”
The restaurant is very close, so they decide to leave the cars behind. As they walk, Kris tells Adam how he discovered the place just two weeks ago when he was looking for somewhere cheap and close to the site for lunch. He’d been desperate for something other than the rather questionable hot dogs they’ve been getting off a cart for the last-God knows how long. Megan thinks they might have actually been dogs once upon a time, not that that stops her from eating a couple every day. When they arrive, the restaurant is packed despite the early hour, but the waitress recognizes Kris and leads them to a secluded corner with a wink.
“¿Qué van a beber?” she asks.
Kris translates for Adam. “She wants to know what we want to drink.”
“A cocktail?” Adam says.
Kris scrunches his nose. “I think some wine would be better. This is a Spanish restaurant. They take their wine as seriously as your Portuguese friends,” he says with a teasing smile. When Adam nods, Kris orders for them, and Adam tries to hide that he finds a Spanish-speaking Kris really, really hot. He waits until the girl leaves to ask him about it.
“Where did you learn to speak Spanish so well?” He fidgets with his menu, not bothering with reading it at all. He’s so letting Kris order for them both.
“You’re kidding, right? My Spanish is a disgrace. I learned some words here and there with all the volunteer work I did, but mostly I’m only fluent when I’m asking for food or wondering where the toilet is,” Kris says in a self-deprecating tone, while his eyes roam over the menu.
“It can’t be any worse than mine. I can only say useful things like, ‘Crazy chicken’, and, ‘Excuse me, madam, but he told me he wasn’t married’!”
It’s a good thing Kris isn’t drinking, because he snorts so loudly that the old couple at the next table shoots them stern looks.
“That’s a story I really need to hear, Adam.”
“Believe me, the one where I had to use: ‘I swear to God this is not what it looks like’, is much more entertaining,” he deadpans.
The waitress comes back with a bottle of red wine. When she opens it, she offers a taste to Kris, and Adam smiles to himself. It’s nice having someone else be the worldly one for a change.
Kris accepts it graciously, and she pours them two glasses. Adam takes a sip. It’s an excellent wine with a strong body, and its rough taste leaves a trace of wood and apple at the back of his tongue.
“Do you like it?” Kris asks, and when Adam nods, he smiles, relieved.
“I’m shit at ordering wine. This vintage is the only one I know,” he confesses sheepishly. Adam tries very hard not to be charmed, but it’s a difficult task when Kris looks so earnest and eager to please.
“I like it. A lot,” Adam adds after a moment. The curve of Kris’ lips is the perfect company for the wine.
The dinner is nice. Adam kicks up a small ruckus when Kris tries to convince him to try an octopus salad starter, and he stubbornly refuses until Kris calls him a coward.
“I bet you’re a sushi fiend,” he says. “If you eat it raw, you damn well can eat it cooked, Lambert.”
Adam makes a face as he tries a taste-and then keeps on making it as he eats half the plate. That Kris is right and the salad is delicious is so not the point. It’s a matter of principle.
Adam finds talking to Kris easy. He’s always so composed; he takes all of Adam’s stories in stride, and before long, Adam finds himself dragging out his most outrageous anecdotes just to catch him off-balance.
They eat, and talk, and laugh; it’s all so easy that they don’t even notice the passing of time. Finally, the owner of the restaurant takes it upon himself to inform them, warmly but firmly, that they have to leave so they can close, but says that they’re very welcome the next day. If this was a date, Adam thinks, I would totally call it a success.
“I’m going to burst,” he complains as they walk back to the site. “I told you the…what is it called again? The dessert thingy?”
“Flan,” Kris answers.
“Yes. The flan,” he carefully vocalizes, “was too much.”
“But you liked it?” Kris asks.
“Yes, but that’s not-” he tries to explain, but Kris interrupts him.
“We both liked it. So stop complaining. You shouldn’t worry about dieting and stuff so much.”
“Says the guy with the perfect body.”
“Shut up. You’re too skinny. You need to put some meat on your bones,” he chides Adam. It makes Adam want to kiss him.
“I could kiss you right now,” he says.
“See, that’s why I insisted that we share the bill. I didn’t want you to feel all entitled to cop a feel or something.”
Adam doubles over with laughter; Kris smiles at him and shakes his head.
They keep on walking at a relaxed pace. It’s a clear and warm night, and right now, Adam is so full of bonhomie and excellent food that he hardly remembers why he was so distressed earlier.
They reach the parking lot, and Kris waves at the security guy on shift. Adam leans against his car, and Kris mirrors him. They unconsciously mimic the positions they always take in their Wednesday chats, with their backs against the car and their gazes on the building.
“Are you feeling better, now?” Kris asks softly.
Adam nods. “Yes, thank you for the dinner. It was very nice of you.”
Kris shrugs. “It looked like you needed some time out of your own head. I know how that feels.”
And before he realizes it, Adam is telling Kris all about Brad. He could blame the wine, but he knows he didn’t drink nearly enough. There’s something about Kris’s patience that makes Adam relax, trust him. And it doesn’t help that, as his brother used to say, Adam is kind of afflicted with a really bad case of suicidal sincerity when he’s with people he trusts, where he blurts out his inner fears, thoughts and feelings at the drop of a hat. That’s why in five minutes flat, he’s managed to give Kris a summary of his love life for the last five years.
“And it’s not that I’m resentful, you know?” Adam raises a hand to his heart. “I’m glad he’s having a blast, really, I am, but why does he have to fucking flaunt his happiness in front of me all the time? I don’t even know how many guys he’s been with in the last year.”
He knows he’s whining, but he can’t help it.
“You broke up a year ago?” Kris asks.
“Ten months. We were together for two years,” Adam answers.
“Two happy years?” Kris asks, and that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Because by the last three months, they were hurting each other more than they made each other happy.
“Mostly. We were insanely in love-the key word being insanely.” He snorts. How can he explain to Kris the utter exhilaration he felt when he and Brad first started their relationship? It doesn’t seem possible, but he tries anyway. “In the beginning we could hardly spend any time apart. I took him with me everywhere; I loved showing him new places. We went all over Europe and Asia.”
“He must have liked that,” Kris comments.
“He did. He’s a very curious person, and he loved learning about other countries and other cultures,” he explains. Kris nods. “But in the end, for me, they were all business trips, and Brad had to spend a lot of time alone. So what started off as exciting and romantic lost its appeal after a while.”
He sneaks a glance at Kris to see him frowning. “Was he demanding? I mean, did he resent your work?” Kris asks.
Adam considers that. “Not exactly. Instead of fighting with me over it, he just decided to stay behind.” He rubs his right eye. “When I noticed his distance, I became clingy, and that, in turn, suffocated him. It was kind of a vicious cycle.”
The discussions, the stony silences, the cold shoulders; they all come back to him, and Adam remembers clearly how much they were both suffering in those days.
“It was difficult, because I really have to travel a lot. That he didn’t come with me cut in half the amount of time we could spend together.” He bits his lip. “It made things…difficult.”
“But you loved each other,” Kris says.
“Believe me, it was never a matter of falling out of love. He’s younger than me, and he needs to find his own place in the world.” Adam pauses. “It’s complicated, okay? We were complicated.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “When we’re together, I mean, together as a couple, we feed each other’s insecurities. And we have a knack for hurting each other in the worst ways. We know each other too well, and we can be serious bitches when we fight.”
Kris looks up at him, and the light coming off the streetlight paints his brown eyes gold. Adam takes a deep breath and keeps on talking. It’s good to talk about this with somebody who hasn’t met Brad. They didn’t split their friends when they broke up, thank God, but sometimes Adam wonders if it would have been better if they had. That way, he could at least feel like he had someone in his corner.
“And that was the beginning of the end,” he says with a grimace. “It wasn’t the only reason for our break up, but it showed us we had problems.”
Kris says nothing for a while. When he finally talks, his voice is wistful. “Love should be enough.”
Such a romantic, Adam thinks and can’t help but smile. “We didn’t break up because we weren’t in love anymore, but because we loved each other for the wrong reasons, in the wrong way, at the wrong time.”
“Wrong reasons?” Kris asks.
Adam heaves a sigh. “Yes. We were projecting our needs on each other, I think. I admit I went into full-on sophisticated mode with Brad, trying to impress him.” He shrugs. “It was exciting for me to be his mentor, you know? To take care of him and his needs, and show him everything.” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “But I needed a partner, and he wasn’t ready for that level of commitment. He’s young, and he needs to live through a lot of things I’ve already lived. I know it’s better this way. It hurts like hell, though.”
It feels kind of… liberating, to admit it out loud. He’s been repressing this feeling for so long, not allowing himself time to grieve the relationship because he’s supposed to be the experienced one, the mature one. As if Brad hadn’t been his first love, as if his heart wasn’t broken too.
He stands there, breathing hard like he’s been running instead of talking, half-elated and half-ashamed. But Kris isn’t judging him. He just puts a hand on Adam’s arm and squeezes.
“I’m sorry,” he offers.
“Not your fault,” Adam says. Not his wittiest repartee, but right now, that’s all he’s got.
“I know. It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry it didn’t work.” Kris’s eyes are locked on Adam’s. Adam offers him a sad smile in return.
“Well, that’s life,” he says. Kris pulls his hand back. Adam misses it immediately. He needs to recover lost ground; he’s starting to feel weak and insecure again, as it usually happens at the end of one of his talkative moods. “And what about you, Kristopher?” he asks, turning the tables on Kris.
Kris raises both his eyebrows.
“Somebody waiting for you at home?” Adam asks.
Kris shrugs. “I’m single,” he says. It sounds odd, because there’s a touch of coldness in his tone. As always, Adam tries to use humor to lighten the mood.
“But you’re so hot,” he says and makes a show of checking Kris out.
Kris must be getting used to Adam’s antics because he takes it in stride. “Thank you. But no, I’m not seeing anyone right now,” he says. And if there’s tightness around Kris’s smile now, Adam chooses not to take it seriously. Kris is never cold, so it must be Adam’s impression.
“You must have some embarrassing and sappy stories of your own. Give me a hand, baby. I don’t want to be the only one baring his soul here. Care to share them?” he asks with a charming smile.
Kris’s only reply is a firm “No.” He looks away pointedly, and Adam feels it hit him like a slap.
And he thought he was embarrassed before…
“Oh,” Adam says in a small voice, and pushes away from the car, the palm of his hand warm against the cold hood. Kris grimaces and makes as if to touch Adam’s arm-in an apology maybe-but Adam sidesteps him and turns towards the driver door.
“Well, it’s getting late. I think it’s time for all good little architects to go bed.” Adam knows his smile is artificial, empty, but Kris is just going to have to make do. He doesn’t have a better one right now.
Kris follows him and puts a hand on the door when Adam climbs into his car.
“Adam, wait.” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “I didn’t-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Adam says, tightening his fake smile. “It’s pretty late anyway.” He fastens his seatbelt and offers Kris a parting nod that he hopes doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says and starts the engine.
Kris hesitates, and for a moment, it looks like he’s not going to close the door. Adam holds his breath.
The door shuts softly. Adam doesn’t lower the window to say goodbye.
NEXT PART