Chapter Text
"There, that feels good doesn't it, D?" Cullen says, looking at Dijon, as the door to their apartment building closes behind him with the same creak it's always made. Dijon looks back, with a puzzled expression. Perhaps it veers closer to judgmental, rather. Then he huffs and starts down the sidewalk, tugging Cullen along after him. "Right, right… on with it, then."
And it does feel good, to be out in the spring weather. The sun is a little weak but it's out, still, and the clouds and the wind are holding themselves at bay. But even with the chill, it's better than the stuffy confines of the apartment. Until a month ago, walking the dog had been a part of Cullen's routine, an activity that took fifteen, twenty minutes of time that he very often didn't have. Now it's a reason to leave the apartment. And if they happen to go on two or three in a day, sometimes, Dijon never seems to mind.
They walk aimlessly, no direction in mind beyond away from the apartment. It's busy, but then when is Manhattan ever quiet? It shouldn't feel like such a major adjustment from life in London's West End because it was constantly busy there too. But it is an adjustment. The hustle bustles differently here, more aggressive and more loud and more… everything. It had been invigorating when Cullen had been working, because he only encountered it when he was already on the go, to the restaurant or to various suppliers or to farmer's markets for things the suppliers didn't have. In the absence of all of that, though, the 'never sleeps' aspect of the city is overwhelming.
"It's a gamble, Cullen," Mia had said, before he had left and with enough time for him to still stay. But staying wasn't an option, not considering the opportunity put before him.
Mia was right, of course. As she'd always been. About everything.
He sighs, still lost somewhere in his thoughts, and Dijon turns to look back at him with a huff that catches his attention. He looks down at his dog, sitting patiently and watching him, and he realises—they're paused at an intersection, people walking quickly past them on all sides. He clears his throat, embarrassed despite being seemingly unnoticed, and starts through the intersection at the tail end of the walk signal.
Perhaps instead of being a 'walk the dog' sort of morning, this is a 'take the dog for some caffeine' sort of morning.
It doesn't take long to come across a coffee shop, but it does take a few blocks to find one that has an available table outside. It's one Cullen's never been to before, but it's busy and it isn't a chain, so that has to be a good sign. He stops in front of the open table, smiling quickly at the pair of men seated at the next one over, and ties Dijon's leash to one of the legs.
And he feels two pairs of eyes watching him as he heads into the coffee shop.
When he emerges again, latte and muffin in hand, Dijon's settled onto the ground and is being scratched behind the ear by one of the men next to their table, the one whose arms are littered with colourful tattoos. Cullen sits down and smiles at him again.
"Well, he seems to like you."
The man looks up from Dijon and smiles back. "He's a charmer." His accent is English too, something posh and elegant.
"It's all an act, I assure you," Cullen says with a scoff, reaching over to tap Dijon's backside with the toe of his boot. The dog turns his head and levels him with an unamused look, before turning back to the hand doling out attention. Cullen chuckles and tucks into his coffee, unable to help the small mmm that he lets out after the first sip—it's good coffee, perfectly brewed and aromatic. He looks up and makes mental note of the address.
His eyes fall onto the two men's table next, and he notices the tablets and the folders and the notepad covering the top of it. They've clearly been working on something before he and Dijon—but mostly Dijon—had come along and interrupted them, and now Dijon is up on all fours, demanding even more of the tattooed one's attention.
"Hey," Cullen says quietly, leaning forward to get more on the dog's level. "Dijon, come on—let them get back to work, okay?" Dijon looks at him and huffs, before looking back to his new friend.
The tattooed man chuckles a little. Cullen notices then that the tattoos aren't imprinted just on his arms, but up a ways onto his neck too. His hands are adorned with several rings and bracelets too, which glint in the sun as he draws them away from Dijon.
"His name is Dijon? After the city? Or the condiment…?"
They're really one and the same, Cullen is tempted to say but he holds that back, because not everybody is as interested in such things as he is. "The condiment, technically."
And this time the man laughs, quick and clearly amused. "What a riot. I've never met a dog named for a condiment, I have to say." Dijon barks and takes a step back, sitting on his haunches. "Oh, have I offended you, sir? Not my intention, I promise—a charming name for a charming dog, either way."
"I'm a chef."
"Oh, well that explains it then." The man leans back in his chair and reaches for his mug, before turning slightly more towards Cullen. "Where do you cook?"
Cullen dips his head and scratches at his forehead. That was always the immediate question that followed telling someone that he was a chef, and when he was actually cooking somewhere, it wasn't an issue but now— "well, I'm… Nowhere, at the moment."
"Oh. That doesn't work very well for a chef, does it…?"
"Not exactly, no. have you heard of Wunderbar?"
"Didn't that close recently?"
Cullen shrugs one shoulder and nods before taking a drink of his latte.
The man nods, looking out onto the street. "I've a few friends in the industry and I've heard that was a rather… messy situation, that one."
"And whatever you've heard, I can assure you it's worse than that." Cullen sounds bitter and he knows it, but… he is bitter. But that isn't this man's problem, it's his, and he remembers again that he'd meant to let the two men get back to their work. He doesn't feel much like talking about Wunderbar any further as it is, so he waves his hand and clears it all away. "Anyway, like I said, I'll let you both get back to work."
The man shrugs. "We're actually completely at a stand-still, you see. Stumped." He looks over at his tablemate, who's typing away rather quickly on his phone. "Aren't we, Felix?"
Felix hums and slowly looks up from his phone as he finishes typing. "What's that, Dorian?"
"I was just saying that we're fucked, basically."
"Oh, yes. We are. Ruthlessly so."
Dorian laughs softly. "So there you have it. There's really not much to interrupt, at this point."
Cullen opens his mouth to reply but he finds he doesn't know what to say. He's not one to speak with strangers often, not like this, and he's not sure whether this was a topic to continue talking about or one to politely sympathise over and drop. So he closes his mouth, clears his throat, and says, "I'm sorry to hear, hopefully you find a solution soon."
Dorian nods and sips from his mug. Tiny flecks of pale green matcha are left behind on his moustache when he lowers it a moment later, and he flicks his tongue out to catch them.
And then that's it; he doesn’t say anything further, and Cullen doesn't either, though more for lack of knowing what to say rather than lack of wanting to continue talking. Because he finds he does want to continue talking. There's something intriguing about Dorian, something Cullen can't quite work out. He very much isn't Cullen's usual type, with the tattoos and the jewellery. But he's strikingly attractive and he seems very much like a… force unto himself, a catalyst of some kind, and Cullen can't deny the impulse to want to know him more.
But how one gets from here to there, he's never been entirely sure, so instead he reaches for his muffin and tears it in half, leaving the top on the plate and whistling for Dijon. The dog jumps up from Dorian's feet and moves toward Cullen, pushing his head into his lap and snuffling eagerly at the muffin in Cullen's hand. Cullen breaks off a chunk and feeds it to him, wiping the leftover wetness from the dog's tongue on his jeans.
Cullen glances at Dorian when he turns back to the table for his latte, and sees that Dorian had been watching him with Dijon. Dorian flashes a quick smile and then turns to Felix, leaning in to whisper something to him.
He turns back to Cullen a moment later and smiles again, but wider and this time it lingers. "Perhaps you might be able to help us, actually…"
Cullen freezes, a large bite of muffin top in his mouth. "Excuse me?" he says, muffled, surprised at the suggestion. He swallows quickly and clears his throat.
"We're running a fashion line, Felix and I—something new for both of us, under our own names. Our first show is around the corner and we've had nothing but problems. Suppliers having nothing of what we needed, which has led to some interesting wild goose chases around several fabric stores out in the burroughs… And we had a venue, which we lost, but we've gotten another one secured—"
"Maker willing," Felix interjects, with a roll of his eyes.
"Yes, exactly. Anyway, our current problem now is that we're short three models. Of all things to be short of for a fashion show! But perhaps that's where you come in…"
"…Me?"
Dorian nods. "Indeed," he says, his smile fading save for one corner of his mouth that holds it up.
"I…" Cullen swallows again, and for Maker knows what reason, he glances at Dijon—who, rightfully, is looking back at him with a puzzled expression. "As in to cater it?" Cullen ventures, because surely Dorian can't be asking what Cullen thinks he might be asking, so better to deflect and hope his first thought is wrong.
Apparently it isn't.
Because Dorian laughs, a short, sharp bark of a laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Oh, no, no, though I'm sure your food is fabulous, to have been contracted at a place like Wunderbar, after all. But no, I mean to model for us."
And Cullen blushes, across the tops of his cheeks and down the back of his neck, and at the tops of his ears, too. "Maker, are you serious? I'd be no good at that, truly—I was barely able to walk myself across the street on the way over here, let alone down a runway."
Dijon barks then, panting as he looks between Cullen and Dorian, as if in agreement.
"Is that so? You seem perfectly agile from what I've seen of you here," Dorian says. "I confess I watched you as you approached, and on your way in and out of café."
Which Cullen had suspected, at least in part, and yet still he blushes a bit anyway. "I really don't advise you to pin your hopes on me. I'm sure I'd muck it all up somehow."
"Nonsense, it won't be as serious as all that. You'd be one amongst a group of nine or ten, and it's a straight shot down the runway."
"And we'll pay you," Felix adds.
Dorian nods and smiles. "Naturally."
It isn't as though Cullen's in a position to be refusing money, at this point. He has savings, of course, but Maker knows how long his severance will be tied up in Wunderbar's bankruptcy proceedings.
There's a blur of movement out the corner of Cullen's eye and he looks over to see Felix gathering up the things scattered on the table. "Dorian, we have that lunch with the Immaculate Agency rep, in Midtown."
"Right, right… thank the Maker for you, Felix." Dorian tips his mug back all the way to empty it and rises from his chair. Standing in front of Cullen now, he pulls his wallet from his jacket pocket and takes out a card, handing it over. "Our studio address is on here, as is my contact info. We're having a fitting tomorrow afternoon, all afternoon, so please do come by if you're interested. I promise you'd be a great fit for the look we're going for. We'll start you out small, one or two outfits to see how you fare, and I used to walk myself—I'll teach you everything I know." He winks then, the corner of his mouth hitching up slightly. "What's your name, by the way?"
Cullen swallows, his eyes glancing down quickly at the red card with ALTUS written in white lettering, now pinched between his fingers, before looking back at Dorian. "It's Cullen, but I, um… well…"
"I'll see you if I see you, Cullen," Dorian says, as he starts taking a few steps backward. "But I do hope I see you."