I hate lifts, I hate lifts, I hate lifts. Jimmy silently chanted his mantra as he waited for the sound of the descending elevator. If he could he would walk up to his apartment, but it was on the twenty-fifth floor and there was no way he was going to try that. Besides he would miss out seeing the guy from the twenty-eighth floor.
Jimmy's waiter job was crappy. "L'Auberge Downton." The quality of the food made up for its unfortunate name, or at least it had until Beryl Patmore moved on to another restaurant. The replacement chef wasn't up to the task, something that Jimmy suspected had to do with the owner Robert Crawley's attempt at false economy. The customers noticed, as did the food critics, and the decline had set in. With it came the loss of tips. Jimmy depended on those to pay for his tiny, crappy apartment, particularly since Ivy had moved out a few months ago after she caught him in bed with Jason.
Of course, being a waiter was only short term while he went after his real passion in theatre. However it had been weeks since he had an audition and even longer since he actually had a part. And that had been in some forgettable play by some equally forgettable writer that opened and closed within two weeks.
Now that he thought about it, a lot of his life was crappy, but there was always - or almost always - that ride up for four minutes each night. He had no idea why a complete stranger made him feel good, but on the days that "tall, dark & handsome" wasn't waiting with him for the doors to open, he felt cheated. He wondered if they would ever go beyond the curt nods they exchanged.
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Thomas was in such a rush as he stepped off the bus that he didn't see the deep puddle, but he soon felt it as the water splashed up and down into his shoe. Oh for fuck's sake. Today hadn't been the best. First, he was late getting to work because his bus had to detour around an accident. Old Carson hadn't been happy – although he wasn't sure if he ever was happy. Then at lunch, Daisy kept bugging him about going on a date with her friend Alfie. Who calls himself Alfie? What's it all about ... When he turned her down she huffed something about he deserved to be alone if he wouldn't let his friends help. In the afternoon he had somehow managed to miss a major error in an actor's contract and was only saved when Carson caught it at the last moment. I'll never live that down.
He sighed as he hurried down the street, one foot squishing in has shoe as he went. Days like this he really missed Edward and his welcoming smile, while at the same time he cursed him for the void he left in his life. A void that he couldn't fill because he couldn't move on, no matter how much he said he wanted to. Two years and the pain and the resentment still haunted him, keeping him locked away within himself. I couldn't make him love me enough to want to live. Just another of my failures. He had long ago given up blaming Edward so it had to be someone's fault.
When he was within a block of his apartment his mood lifted a little. I wonder if the cherub will be there tonight. He laughed to himself at the nickname. He was hardly a cherub, but he was young, blond and, as far as Thomas was concerned, angelic-looking. So "the cherub" had stuck from the first moment he saw him. Unlocking the main door and pushing it open into the lobby he saw he wasn't going to be disappointed. Well, something's going right today after all. One day, Thomas figured, they might talk.
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At the sound of the lobby door, Jimmy cast a sideways glance, catching sight of a familiar figure. He managed to contain his grin as the lift doors opened and he stepped inside; holding down the "open door" button, he waited. When Thomas entered the lift, he released the button and reached up to push the one for his floor. Thomas did so at the same time and their hands brushed.
"Sorry," Thomas mumbled as he pulled his hand back. "Twenty-eight, please."
Jimmy pushed his own floor then twenty-eight. Good Lord, he spoke! Manchester? What should I say?
