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Allen cannot drink to save his life.
It’s true. It’s sad, and it’s pathetic, and it’s kind of funny when Conrad tries to take his third beer away from him because he’s on the verge of passing out and everyone gets to watch him act like he’s not drunk, and it’s true. Allen gets piss drunk after 2 beers. His face gets red like a tomato, his filter is 100% turned off, and his hangovers are the worst. Everyone in the crew figured out pretty quickly that it was a bad idea to ask him to go drinking on a work night, or else he wouldn't even want to look at them the next morning.
Cesare could remember more than once what it was like to call Allen the morning after one of these drinking nights, only to be met with an out of character, pissed off, real Allen. They all just agreed afterwards that they wouldn’t bring Allen out drinking unless it was a day off the next day.
After Cesare had finally been freed from Caligari’s chains, and after they had finally decided that Cesare should stay with Allen for the time being, the team thought there was no better way to celebrate than to invite Cesare to their weekly nights out.
That meant food, drinks, and figuring out what Cesare could reasonably consume before his body gave out on him for the night. Cesare discovered the joy that was actually good fast food, courtesy of the burger place that was situated a few blocks down from Allen’s apartment. Frances made fun of him every time he tried something and didn’t like it, while Conrad hovered over him and let him try his cocktails. Allen would put things on or take things off his plate if he thought Cesare would like them, or could eat them.
That also meant watching his employees drink. Conrad never really seemed to get drunk, although if his cocktails were anything to go by, that probably was because he wasn’t drinking a lot of alcohol to begin with. Frances claimed she could drink them all under the table, but she always ordered a soda with her food. And Allen always ordered a beer. And then another. And by his third, Conrad would try and stop him from ordering more, but drunk Allen was a force to be reckoned with. Cesare always watched awkwardly as Conrad and Frances let themselves into his apartment while Cesare got ready for bed, making sure that the Doctor was at least taken care of before he fully passed out.
Cesare asked once why they insisted on doing it, since it seemed like the other two were going out of their way at the end of every dinner to make sure he was okay. Frances insisted that Allen worked hard, and deserved to at least be put in bed after drinking himself to sleep. Conrad admitted they were used to it, and didn’t mind. Allen was their friend. He was family. Cesare couldn’t argue with that.
But it made him wonder, if that was the case, why wasn’t he taking care of him? That was the Doctor, his Doctor, after all. If anything, Cesare should be the one to make sure he was in bed, changed and fresh for his inevitable hangover in the morning. Cesare should be the one making sure his employee wasn’t going to wake up in his doorway with a pounding headache.
Cesare should be the one taking care of him.
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
“Aaaand there he goes.” Frances laughed as Allen slumped against Conrad, on his fourth beer. Usually, he’d stop at his third. But he seemed a little riled up today of all days.
Cesare stared at him. His eyes were open, a little unfocused, and he was staring in Cesare’s direction.
“Allen? You okay?” Conrad asked, subtly shifting his arm. Allen nearly toppled off of the barstool, but Cesare and Conrad caught him before he fell.
“M’fine…” He mumbled. “Jus’... Just a bit tipsy…”
“Yeah, he’s gone.” Cesare muttered. “Jesus, Doctor, did somebody die or something? You’re drinking like it’s the playoffs.”
“Shaddup. Y- Y’don’t even watch sports.” He slurred.
Cesare blinked. “Does he usually have those locked and loaded when I say something?”
Conrad laughed nervously. “I don’t think he means it. He’s drunk.”
“Jus’ take me back to my ‘partment already,” Allen hissed. “Th’ lights’re killing me…”
Conrad looked at Frances, who rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll cover it this week.” She laughed, turning to the bartender. “Check, please?”
As Conrad stood up from his seat, Cesare watched as he put Allen on his back. He stared at Allen, who seemed to be staring down at him with his usual, furrowed brow.
“Bosss…?” He slurred.
“Yeah?” Cesare asked.
Allen stared for an even longer time. The silence felt deafening. Then Allen just turned his head.
“Mmh. That’s new.”
Cesare blinked, then turned to Frances, who was hopping off her barstool herself.
“Oh, don’t mind him.” Frances laughed. “He’s always this out of it when he drinks this much.”
“What the hell does he mean by ‘That’s new’?” Cesare cocked a brow, putting ‘That’s new’ in quotation marks.
Frances tilted her head. “Your guess is as good as mine, man.”
He watched her as she walked ahead, then quickly picked up the pace to catch up to them.
“You know, uh, I was thinking.” Cesare began as they walked. “Just a- A thought! No need to take it too seriously.”
“What’s up, boss?” Conrad turned to look at him, with the Allen on his back echoing ‘Boss’ in a quiet voice.
“Maybe…? Maybe you guys could go home early today! I'll take care of Doc, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. The whole thing.”
Conrad blinked in surprise, and Frances cocked an eyebrow.
“You want… to take care of Allen?” Frances asked.
Cesare nervously swallowed. “...Yeah?”
Frances pressed her lips together. Cesare heard the squeak that came from her, indicative of the fact that she was hiding a laugh.
“I mean, if you guys could help me bring him up to his apartment, I- I wouldn’t say no.” He quickly added. “I’m basically ancient, you know? I think if I tried carrying him, my bones would collapse.”
“Yeah! Yeah. Of course, Boss. No problem. Yeah.” Frances nodded, turning to look at Conrad. Conrad stared at her, and seemed as if he was about to speak, but whatever face Frances had given him stopped him.
Frances looked back at Cesare. Cesare didn’t entirely enjoy Frances’s reaction, but he wasn’t about to complain.
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
“And his clothes are usually in the dresser by the door. The top drawer is his shirts, you should at least change his shirt.” Conrad added.
Cesare waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, Conrad. Thanks for dropping him off, I got it. I’ve taken care of drunk people before.”
That was a lie. Almost too obvious of a lie, honestly. Luckily, lie or not, it seemed to assuage Conrad's concerns as Frances called out from the front door.
“Conrad! Come on.”
Conrad glanced over in the general direction, then back to Cesare.
“G’night, Boss.”
Cesare stood right by the bed until the front door locked. Then, he turned to the somewhat asleep Allen, who had passed out at some point between the restaurant and the front door before walking over to the dresser.
He hesitated over the top drawer. This seemed like a really weird step. He knew that both Conrad and Frances had helped Allen change before while he was drunk, and it was totally fine with him to be shirtless in front of those two. Besides, it was literally just a guy with his shirt off. Cesare has seen shirtless men before. Sure, this was his employee and not a rando at a beach, but if he overthought it then it would just make it more awkward. He breathed in hard and just pulled the drawer open.
The shirts were mostly just… t-shirts with horror movie graphics, or tank tops, or hoodies. Cesare grabbed a random t-shirt and closed the drawer. As he walked back over to Allen’s bedside, Allen shifted and nearly rolled over off the bed, bumping his shoulder into Cesare’s leg.
“Woah. Alright, let’s maybe not do that again.” Cesare laughed to himself nervously, carefully pushing Allen’s body up into a sitting position, careful to prop him up against the headboard. Cesare crouched beside the bed, checking to see if Allen’s eyes were maybe awake.
“Hey, Doc? You awake?”
No response. Cesare sighed and stood back up, putting the shirt on the bedside table. As he struggled to find the most un-invasive way of slipping Allen’s shirt off, he wondered how Frances and Conrad did this without it feeling weird. Probably because there were two of them, and Conrad was just used to it, apparently. Maybe Cesare could get used to it.
He held Allen’s arms out as he tugged his shirt off before grabbing the shirt on the floor and quickly pulling it over Allen’s head. It felt clunky and awkward, but luckily Allen was neither sober nor conscious so Cesare could save himself the shame and embarrassment. Still…
“This would’ve been way easier if he was awake…” Cesare muttered to himself.
Allen stirred at Cesare’s words, his eyes fluttering open. He squinted a bit at Cesare.
“B…oss?” He asked in a dazed tone.
“Oh, you’re awake. Wait, shit, let me grab you some water.” He stood up, grabbing the water bottle that Frances had left on the dresser.
As he held it out to Allen, the man made no effort to grab it.
“Doc, drink some water.”
Nothing. Cesare wondered suddenly if he was going to have to literally pour the water into Allen’s mouth. Allen’s lack of reaction seemed to confirm that. Regretfully.
“Oh my god. Fine. Open your mouth.”
Allen actually did as he was told, and Cesare shakily poured water into Allen’s mouth.
“There. Alright, let's lay you down.”
As Allen scooted downwards on the bed, he stared up at Cesare, latching his hand on Cesare’s wrist.
“You’re so…” He mumbled. “So pretty.”
Cesare blinked. “I’m what?”
“Pretty.” He repeated, matter-of-factly.
“Uh…” Cesare turned his whole body to Allen. “It’s me. Cesare? Your boss?”
“Mhm…” Allen sighed. “My boss. My Cesare.”
Cesare froze. “I-”
“So… so pretty. I’m so lucky. ‘Don’t know what I would’ve done if…” Allen trailed off, his gaze dropping.
Cesare stared at him, then laughed. In disbelief, shock, confusion… whatever it was, Cesare felt all of it. He was drunk. Whatever he was saying was fake and wrong and something he’ll regret in the morning. Would he even remember what he was saying?
“Doctor.” He finally choked out between laughs. “You’re drunk.”
“Allen.” He slurred. “Call me Allen.”
“...Go to sleep. You’ll forget about this in the morning.”
He began to walk, but Allen didn't let go.
“You… Y'have to stay. Y'hafta call me Allen.” Allen murmured. He tugged on Cesare's arm, causing him to stumble a bit onto the mattress. He ended up sat beside Allen's body, staring down at the half-asleep, inebriated man.
“D- Allen.” Cesare spoke again, more firmly. “Let go.”
“You'll stay? Right?”
“Allen. Good night.”
“G'night.” Allen mumbled. “I love you. More than anything else in this world.”
Cesare froze. He stared at the man, who was asleep and unresponsive. Cesare watches his body slowly breathe, rise and fall, with no explanation or elaboration as to what he meant by ‘I love you.’ And Allen wasn't letting go. He sat there, confused, unsure whether to force his hand from Allen’s grasp or to just stay and lay down on the bed and sleep with the risk of waking up next to a hungover Allen in the morning, and having to explain why he was there.
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
Cesare didn't remember how the night went, but before he knew it, he was staring at the sun shining through the balcony windows in the living room. His hand was released at some point in the night, but it didn’t matter. Cesare wouldn't have been able to sleep no matter if he had been let go sooner or later.
Because how the hell was he supposed to react to ‘I love you’?
He got up, staring at Allen’s bedroom door, debating whether he should leave the room. Well, he definitely should. It was just that he didn’t know what he’d do once he left. After all, he was already in the room the whole night, without a wink of sleep. What else could he possibly do?
Breakfast? Water? He should get Allen some water. Yeah. That’s a good idea.
He walked, almost scrambling forwards and out towards the kitchen. Once he felt the floor change from wood to tile, he sighed and felt his nerves calm as he nearly collapsed against the counters. He chewed at his thumb nail, never actually bothering to grab a glass of water. That was literally the least of his worries at the moment. Allen said he loved him.
Cesare. The guy who was a crusty old zombie for a majority of their known relationship. Who was controlled by a giant, freaky mushroom guy. Who basically revealed, moments after finally capturing Steve, that their whole relationship was transactional and that he never really thought of them as true friends even though, and let’s be honest here, Cesare was just getting soft and he didn’t want to admit it. The guy that almost killed them. Allen was there. He watched Cesare hold the giant hammer over the crowd and almost kill them. And Allen didn’t move.
Fuck, Allen didn’t move. Allen seriously, truly loved him. There was no part of that statement from that half-sober, half-asleep man that wasn’t sincere. It was all true. Allen was in love with him.
And what was Cesare supposed to do about that?
Cesare heard the shuffling of the only other person in the apartment and bolted upwards from where he was crouched behind the counters.
“Doc! Doccy! Finally awake, are you? Well I don’t have anything for you, I’m not exactly a Michelin Star chef, y’know. Did you want any water, orange juice? Beer?” Cesare coughed. “That was a joke. Don't tell Conrad I suggested that.”
Allen stared at him blankly for a while. For a very long time. And when he finally spoke, he spoke not his character voice, or his stupid ‘daily’ voice, but a low, monotonous, pissed voice.
“I’m sorry.” He hissed, and Cesare froze. He was getting mixed signals—from what he was saying, it sounded like he was apologizing, though Cesare couldn't say for what. But from how he said it, Allen sounded angry. Probably a result of the hangover.
Cesare tried not to read too much into it. He already had.
“S- Sorry about what?”
“...About drinking so much.” He groaned, sitting at the kitchen counter.
“Ah, whatever.” Cesare sighed, trying hard to hide his relief. “We were at a bar, the food could barely be considered restaurant food. Honestly, did you taste that excuse of a sandwich they gave me? Jesus, we should sell that thing on the truck.”
So he was the kind of guy who forgot what he said when he was drunk. That made things easier for Cesare. He hoped he wouldn't have to think about it.
“...And for springing all of that on to you so suddenly. Could you pour me some orange juice?”
What?
“What?” Cesare asked.
He squinted at Cesare, pointing to the fridge with more exhausted frustration than a mother of 5.
“The orange juice. It's right next to the ketchup.”
Slowly, and unsurely, he grabbed the orange juice and poured it into a glass and passed it to Allen. He watched Allen pour water from the water bottle that he drank from last night into the orange juice and chug it like it was alcohol. The eye contact Cesare made with him afterward felt like he was staring down a ticking time bomb.
“I don't need an answer right now.” Allen added. “I just wanted you to know. I couldn't keep it in any longer.”
The world was spinning and Cesare wasn't even the one hungover. He watched Allen, who just stared at the bottom of his glass of orange juice.
“So you were… serious.” Was all that Cesare could say.
“I was.” Was all that Allen replied.
The sound of his bedroom door shutting, followed by what sounded to be Allen's body hitting the mattress was all that Cesare got from that. Not even an explanation.
Cesare was losing his fucking mind.
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
I mean, seriously, he remembered?
That was the first thing he thought when he left the apartment in the clothes he wore last night, in the truck and driving straight to Conrad's house.
He remembered. Allen was the type of guy who could only handle 2 beers at most, 3 if he was looking to get drunk. 4 got him almost inebriated. And Cesare was supposed to believe that he could remember that he said I love you to Cesare? No, that he was fully conscious and aware when he said the words I, Love, and You? Bullshit, Cesare called bullshit.
This was insane. He was insane. Cesare hit his head on the steering wheel at the stop light before looking up and making eye contact with the woman in the car next to him, who just solemnly nodded as if she understood. As if this stranger at some Arizonan intersection could comprehend the emotional complexities of being told by your intoxicated employee while you were trying to make him fall asleep that he loved you. As if she could understand that.
Cesare nodded awkwardly at her, and she turned left when the light for her lane turned green. He just stared at his lane's red light like some reverse Gatsby. Running away from his green light. Fuck, he was literally evil Gatsby now. If only he could stare out his window like a depressed billionaire too. It wouldn't change anything, but it'd make him feel richer, at least.
He strained his neck looking for Conrad's particular house number on the neighborhood street, all too conscious of the glaring neon sign saying “Look at me, I'm a moron who drives my food truck in a cul-de-sac!” that was the Zomburger truck. He wished in times like these that he had a less conspicuous car. Luckily, he didn't have to wish for long as he made eye contact with Conrad, who stood outside of his house like he was expecting guests.
Well, he was expecting guests. He was expecting Cesare.
“Boss!” He shouted with a grin, giving a short wave.
Cesare hopped out of the truck, nearly tripping and falling. Conrad panicked, rushing over.
“Boss, where's your cane? I thought Allen told you to keep it in the front seat.”
The cane that Allen bought wouldn't have helped him avoid falling on his ass when he got out of the truck, Cesare wanted to say. But then another thought hit him. Did Allen buy that cane because he loved Cesare? Was Cesare fucking stupid?
“God, it's all so obvious now.” He muttered.
“What?” Conrad blinked.
“Nevermind, Conrad, come on. It's smoking out here.”
Conrad’s house was leagues nicer than Allen’s apartment, but it didn’t matter because Conrad’s house was a generational heirloom and Allen’s apartment probably housed college students paying for college with their parents’ money before they housed him.
“Let me grab you some water.” Conrad began, but Cesare stopped him.
“No need. I just wanted to talk.” Cesare groaned as he slumped on the wide sofa in Conrad’s living room. Despite the sofa having enough space, Conrad took the arm chair next to it.
“What’s up? Should I call Frances?”
Cesare blinked, staring at him.
“Actually, yeah. You should.”
“Oh my god, he did it, didn’t he?”
Those were Frances’ first words when she entered the house. Cesare eyed her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Cesare squinted, sitting up straighter.
Frances stared at him. She was panting, her phone gripped in her hand and a big stupid grin on her face.
“You know! He got shitfaced drunk and told you that he loved you!”
“Wait, how did you know that he was going to do that?” Cesare stood up, and Conrad quickly stood up alongside him, anxious.
“How do I-” Frances laughed. “Because he’s been saying that he’d do it every night for the past half-year that we’ve known you! Every night, after a drink or two, he’ll go on this long, long speech about how much he loves you, to the point that it’s genuinely a shock that he can even say that much about one person.”
“I wouldn’t call it a speech.” Conrad interrupted.
“It’s a speech, Conrad.” Frances threw herself on the other side of the couch, almost completely ignoring Cesare’s absolutely baffled expression on his face. “And he always goes on this long spiel about his perfect confession to you, where he’s speaking all these eloquent words, impressing you with romantic wordplay.”
Cesare glanced at Conrad, then back at Frances. “Yeah. Real eloquent, Frances.”
Frances waved her hand around. “It’s total bullshit, I tell you. And he knows it. When he gets drunk he turns into an illiterate, unpoetic version of himself from an alternate future where he became a pharmacist like god intended. We all knew that if we left him alone with you, he’d get the words out before he could prepare his big stupid speech.”
“So you knew. So you all knew and you guys never told me?” Cesare scoffed, backing up so that he could face the both of them at the same time.
Conrad struggled for his words. “It’s not like we wanted to hide it! And, well, I mean, I didn’t know until Allen started telling us.”
“No offense, boss, but I think you’re the only person who doesn’t know. Or didn’t know. It’s stupid obvious.” Frances laughed. “You’re so weirdly dense when it comes to Allen. Uh, Doctor.”
“Alright, well thanks for letting me know, guys, I feel real enlightened now.”
“Did you want us to tell you?” Frances scoffed.
“...Well, that answers one of my questions at least.” Cesare grumbled. “Alright, how about this. In all the, I don’t know, 6 months that you’ve known him, has he ever… remembered what he did when he was drunk?”
Frances blinked. Conrad tilted his head. Their reactions were really all the answer that Cesare needed.
“...No?” Conrad scratched the back of his neck.
“Are you kidding? 4 drinks? I’d be surprised if Allen even remembered how to breathe after that.” Frances cocked her eyebrow.
“Right. Yeah, of course he wouldn’t. God, I fucking knew it.”
“Wait, are you saying that he remembered last night?” Frances straightened up.
Cesare put his hands in his pockets, walking closer towards the door. “Well, I’m not saying he forgot it.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He was out like a light when we brought him home.” Conrad added.
“You don’t think he-” Frances stopped herself, glancing at Cesare. “Uh, nevermind.”
Cesare eyed them, but they both just stared at him. Finally, he chewed the inside of his teeth.
“Well, this has been very informative. Thank you and goodbye.” Cesare hissed, opening the front door and slamming it behind him. As he walked, he could faintly make out the pieces of conversation that Frances and Conrad shared between them.
“... call Allen. NOW.”
“... number… he’ll… passed out…”
“Jesus Christ, Conrad.”
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
The door opened with Cesare’s newfound upset. Nothing was making sense, everything felt wrong and stupid and Cesare had never felt more out of loop than he did in this very moment. The moment he walked in, Allen rushed out of the kitchen, panting as if he had been running around everywhere.
“You- Where have you been?” Allen asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you left?”
“How did you know? ” Cesare hissed. “Frances and Conrad just told me that you forget when you drink. So what were you talking about when I asked if you were serious?”
Allen stared at him. “I-”
“Because let me tell you right now, Doctor, exactly what you told me last night. You told me I was pretty. You asked me to call you Allen. You told me you loved me. And it’s deranged that you expect me to believe you said that sober, or that you remembered it.” He shoved his finger in Allen’s chest, causing him to take a step backwards. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you bullshit me again. Tell me what’s going on.”
Allen stayed frozen where he stood in the kitchen, tense and anxious, but he breathed out and relaxed when he realized that Cesare was done airing out his frustrations.
“You’re… right.” He began, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t remember what happened last night. But I knew what would happen last night.”
“You knew?”
“I-” He took another deep breath, walking past Cesare to pace in the living room. Cesare stayed glued to the floor in the kitchen. “I had this whole elaborate speech prepared with prose and- and flowery language, and flattery but I just- I realized it wouldn’t work. You wouldn’t believe me if I just told you.”
Cesare squinted at him. “I’m not even sure I believe you now.”
“I know.” He laughed, staring at Cesare with this exhausted, but tender look. It chilled Cesare to the bone with how obvious his love was. Was Cesare an idiot? “I knew you wouldn’t believe me because have you heard how you talk about yourself? It drives me crazy. I thought if I got really, really drunk, lost all my inhibitions, then if I said I loved you like I thought I would, you’d believe me.”
“Why do you even love me?”
“This!” He threw his hands up in the air, walking up to the other side of the kitchen counter. “See! This is exactly what I’m talking about! You- You’re this magnificent testament to human endurance and- and you’re so caring when you want to be, and you have this beautiful creative spirit, not to mention how attractive you are-”
“I feel like we’re- Did you just say I was attractive?”
“You have all of these good points and it boggles my mind that you don’t think so. You’re so hung up on-”
“I tried to kill you, Allen!”
“That wasn’t your fault!” He groaned, his face in his hands. “You were literally under the control of a giant fungus. This is driving me nuts. I thought things would be easier after I told you my feelings.”
“To be completely fair, I was not expecting you to be so passionate about this topic.” Cesare muttered. Allen just sighed.
“It’s you. How can I not be passionate when it comes to you?”
And everything clicked. Cesare wondered if he had hit his head somewhere between killing Caligari and now, to be so dense. Everything, everything, seemed so obvious. Why he chose to take care of Allen in the first place, the stupid look he got in Caligari’s lair and why it snapped him out of it. The phantom conversations he’d have with the Doctor in his cabinet. He turned around, to the confusion of Allen, and opened the fridge. Orange juice, milk, there was some other nondescript soda in here too, but… Ah.
Cesare pulled out a can of beer.
“...Sir? Cesare?” Allen leaned, straining his neck to see what Cesare was doing.
The beer can opened with a soft hiss, and Cesare took a deep breath before walking around the kitchen island to stare at Allen face to face. The man was a little shorter, especially when Cesare stood straight and stiff like this. He would make it work.
As quickly as he could, he chugged a bit of beer and immediately grabbed Allen’s collar, smashing his lips onto his own. The beer quickly seeped from Cesare’s mouth to Allen’s, even more so when Allen opened his mouth. And, woah, hold on. Cesare didn’t know what to do after this. He could press lips together. Anyone could. But anything beyond that, he-
There was no more beer to drink between the two of them, and Allen stepped back and leaned against the counter, flushed and red and… well, not drunk, but he did drink some of the beer that Cesare had in his mouth.
Cesare panted as he stared at Allen, who had his gaze averted. And then he gagged.
“Eugh. That tasted nasty. How the hell did you drink four glasses of that stuff…?” He hissed.
Allen stared up at him, and his face was already turning red. Cesare chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched him.
“You’re not gonna forget this, are you?” Cesare asked. “You better not. I’m not doing that again.”
“No! No. I could-” Allen coughed. “I could never. I will never forget this. Not for as long as I'm alive.”
Cesare rolled his eyes. “Well you don’t have to be so dramatic.”
“Does this mean- Do you- You-” Allen stammered through heavy breaths.
“...Don’t make me say it.”
“I’m sorry,” Allen smiled, “but I want to hear you say it.”
Cesare wished he had just replied to Allen’s feelings the normal way.
꩜ 𑽎 ꩜
Allen stared longingly at Cesare as he ate his fries. The shitty soggy fries that their regular bar served. Cesare tried really, really hard to focus on how shitty the fries were. He could not.
“You know, I have to ask.” Frances began. “How’d you know that Cesare would be taking care of you that night you confessed?”
Allen froze, blinking. He was noticeably less drunk, having only stuck to one beer for the night. He laughed nervously.
“I… didn’t know he’d take care of me. I couldn’t even have imagined it.”
Cesare stopped eating and stared at him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means he didn’t expect you to take it upon yourself to take care of him alone for the night, boss.” Conrad added.
Cesare whipped his head to look at Conrad. Then at Allen. Then back at Conrad. Then back at Allen again.
“You didn’t think I would take care of you?”
“Why would you?” Allen tilted his head.
“Because I-!” He began, but stopped himself. Allen was taken aback by the outburst, but Frances’ snicker brought him back to reality.
“Wait, so what were you planning to do after those 4 beers? Tell him that you loved him in front of the whole restaurant?”
Allen stared at her like she grew a third head. “Well, yes?”
“Then what did you think when I actually started changing your shirt and giving you water and stuff?” Cesare asked, dropping a fry back into the basket.
“I- I thought it was a dream. You know. Where you and I were already…”
Cesare felt like his head was spinning, and he didn’t even drink any alcohol. If he had just… never decided he should take care of Allen for the night, Allen probably would have said he was sorry for sharing his feelings without Cesare ever knowing what the hell he was talking about. Which was funny, because then Cesare wouldn’t have ever realized that he was stupidly in love with Allen the whole time. And none of this would have happened.
“...God, I hate you so much.” He grumbled, turning back to his fries.
“Wh- Cesare!”
God, he loved Allen too much.