Alternate 2/?
Alternate 2/?
Gale busied himself poking around Brian's loft while Randy did stuff in the bathroom. After eating a banana and an apple, he found himself itching to smell everything--the furniture, the clothes, the inside of the refrigerator and cupboards--because scent was the only thing that was never recreated for television and he'd always wondered how Brian Kinney's loft smelled like. Gale had always thought that the loft would smell like a gay bordello, for all the sex Brian had in it, but as it turned out the loft smelled clean and expensive (except for the bedroom, which smelled exactly as he thought it would, which he refused to think about just yet). Brian must have the cleaning lady come in everyday.
The loft was familiar but also not, and Gale was very slowly getting used to getting used to the idea that these were not props and costumes and cleverly put together bits of plywood but things that someone owned and used, that the walls were actual brick and cement and the windows looked out to a street with pedestrians and cars.
It was all really cool in a Twilight Zone kind of way, and Gale wondered what it said about him that he was actually _dealing_ with this weird shit and not freaking out like a normal person.
He was vaguely aware that there had been no bathroom noises coming from the bathroom for a while now.
Gale had poked his head out the door and picked up the newspaper he'd noticed earlier so when Randy finally came out and walked over wearing Justin's gray sweats, he was sitting down at the kitchen counter reading about the Scott Peterson verdict with a glass of water half-full by his elbow.
"Gale?" Randy asked, voice dangerously even. Tension radiated from his body in waves and for one crazy, suicidal moment Gale wondered what Randy would do if he turned and asked "who's Gale?" Fortunately, he was not quite that stupid.
"Yes, Randy?" Gale asked back, putting down the paper and looking straight at bright blue eyes.
Randy closed his eyes and sighed with obvious relief, slumping down and running a hand down his face. "Oh thank God," he said with a small desparate chuckle, "I thought--I mean this is..." he drifted off, unusually but understandably lost for words.
"Yeah, this is pretty fucked up."
"Is this some kind of, you know, joke or something?" Randy had walked around the loft himself before going in the bathroom.
Gale handed him the newspaper and went to get a couple of bowls and that organic cereal Brian had while Randy sat down on a stool and flipped through the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, his eyes getting more and more worried with each page. Gale had two bowls of breakfast ready when Randy put down the paper.
"Christ." Randy rubbed at his temples tiredly.
"Can we think about this after breakfast?" Gale asked. He had a feeling he needed more than two pieces of fruit to help him get started with the day.
Randy looked up with a wan smile. "Sounds like a plan." He picked up his spoon and the two of them started to crunch through the muesli but Gale could tell Randy was already trying to make sense of...everything. Randy was thinking so hard Gale could feel it in his _teeth_.
After the empty bowls were left in the sink, Randy turned to Gale with a determined look in his eye and for the first time since Gale woke up in Brian's bed, he was scared. He hastily ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, towards the bedroom.
"Um, I need to take a shower." Okay, so maybe he wasn't dealing with the situation more than avoiding it. Randy frowned and looked ready to argue. "I, uh, smell," Gale added in a rush and the two of them promptly blushed.
"Oh, yeah, okay," Randy glanced away, embarrassed and apparently only now realizing what _exactly_ the sex-smell on him meant. "I should probably take one too--um, but after you, of course."
"Yeah, sure." And Gale bolted for the bathroom.