Chapter Text
Everything is fine, Stolas reminded himself as he boarded the ship. Via had already texted that she was home and Stella was not. The love of his life walked just in front of him. He'd turned off the location on his phone and triple-checked his luggage for a tracker. Not that Stella would put a tracker on him, but better safe than stupid, right? She wouldn't show up here, though. She couldn't.
"Hey. 614 or 712?" Blitzø asked over his shoulder.
"Seven-twelve is on the deck," offered the steward.
"Like hell are M and M getting a deck room," Blitzø growled. "Seven-twelve it is!"
"You fellas part of the drag show?" asked Steward.
Behind Stolas, Max sighed.
"Unfortunately," he hissed. "Key?"
Blitzø stuck his tongue out but handed Max the card. His own keycard went right down his dress.
"You're going to make me fish that out, aren't you?" Stolas chuckled.
"No, but I am gonna make you carry me," said Blitzø. "It's been a while since I wore good heels."
"I think you'd have more luck carrying me, Darling. You can just… take them off?"
Blitzø sighed and said, "Yeah, I guess. But then I look short!"
"I think you look perfect."
"No, he looks short," said Max as the elevator lurched to life.
"I swear to fucking god, Max, one phone call is all I'd need—."
"To lose your whole business?"
Blitzø scoffed and rolled his eyes. Stolas grinned softly at Max. Calling one of Blitzø's bluffs took guts, something Stolas didn't remotely have, in all honesty. Millie leaned up to nuzzle Max's neck in support, too. He'd grown… so much in the last two years. From a shy and reserved child to a confident young man.
Maybe there was still hope, then.
The doors opened, and Millie and Max stepped off, hand-in-hand, leaving Stolas and Blitzø alone for just a moment longer. A very quiet moment. Stolas's hand twitched, itching to slip into Blitzø's and stayed only by past threats to prolong their time apart. He was lucky to even have this time. He was greedy when it came to Blitzø's affection and wasn't ashamed of that.
Again, the elevator halted and released them onto the deck. Stolas plopped his sunglasses over his eyes while his partner ignored the sudden barrage of light. Blitzø grinned over his shoulder and adjusted his gym bag. And, like an obedient pup, Stolas followed.
"Oh, this is lovely," said Stolas, scanning the deck covered in streamers and balloons. "I haven't been on a ship in some time."
"Yeah? This one better than the last?"
"I think so. I wonder if Via would like a cruise for her birthday next year…"
"Who wouldn't? Maybe someone afraid of water or can't swim, I guess, but, heh. Yeah, ships are… great. Sure she'd love that."
"Are you all right, Blitzy?"
Blitzø paused then scanned the room card and pushed into their room.
"Fine," he said quietly. "It's all hunky-dory."
Stolas bit his lip but said nothing. Blitzø would only talk when he wanted to, and, if he didn't want to, no force in heaven or hell would make him, another lesson Stolas learned quickly. Instead, he stepped into the room behind Blitzø.
He immediately cooed at the decor: Lovely navy wallpaper and white panels, navy and aqua bedding with embroidered anchors on the pillows, beautiful beech flooring, and a bright dome light in the middle of the room. A small room, yes, but that was normal for any cruise ship. It screamed luxury regardless, even as Blitzø threw his duffel into a corner with the finesse of a drunk stage magician.
"Oh, Blitzy, isn't this perfect? So cozy!"
"Yep, it's great. I'm gonna go check out that open bar," Blitzø sighed.
He hurried out of the room without another word. Stolas sighed, opened his suitcase, then closed it again. He plopped onto the bed next to it.
What the hell was he doing?
This was a horrible idea. So many people… And if word got out…
The slam of a door jolted him from his thoughts. Blitzø returned and now had his back pressed against the door like he expected someone to break it down. Stolas could hear his teeth grinding.
"Blitzy—?"
"I can't do it," said Blitzø. "I-I-I… Who even invited him?"
"An ex of yours?"
Blitz scoffed, "I wish. That would be so much easier to deal with! It's… An old friend of mine."
Stolas giggled, "Sorry. That sounds like a good thing."
"Maybe if I hadn't damn near killed him."
"Ah."
"Look, just… Can you tell Ange I'm sorry? See if he can do the routine with Maxxie?" Blitzø pleaded, mostly with his eyes, as he pulled his wig off.
"Of course, Darling. Which room is it?"
"Fuck. He said across the hall from M and M, so, like… 617? Ish? Hell if I know."
He held out the wig, and, with a sigh, Stolas took it. He liked doing things for Blitzø, really, he did… Those "things" just normally involved money, not talking to strangers.
"Hey."
Stolas looked up. Blitzø smirked as he removed his earrings.
"If you hurry," he said softly, "I might still be in the shower when you get back."
Stolas nearly tripped over his own feet as he scrambled into the hallway.
The room across the hall was actually 615, and no one answered that one when he knocked. The resident of room 617, however, rolled her eyes and gestured to the other side before asking if he wanted some "blow." Stolas declined as politely as he could, and she rolled her eyes with a smirk.
"Don't tell Blitzø, but I got acid, too, if that's more your style."
Stolas laughed nervously, saying, "Oh, no, no, thank you. I'm quite… Why not tell Blitzø?"
"That freak does not handle it well," she said. "He's good with snow, though. Keep it on the down, but if he's looking to score, I got him covered. I'm Cherri."
She held out her rough little hand. With a small smile, Stolas shook it, her work-toughened fingers familiar in his gentle grip.
"So… Angel is in 613, then?" he asked when she let him go.
"Yep."
"And Miss Cherri has… snow in 617? Is that right?"
"You got it."
"Alright, then. Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Thank you."
Cherri winked and clicked at him, then shut the door. Stolas shuffled down to the correct room.
Blitzø certainly knew some… characters. Stolas knocked, at last, on the correct door.
Another man, about the same height as Blitzø and several shades darker, opened it. Not Angel.
"I'm sorry," sputtered Stolas," I'm just looking for Angel, and—."
"We're roommates," Shorty said, crossing his arms. "What'd you need?"
"I— Rather, my partner… He needs to drop out of the show later. I was supposed to ask if Angel can do it in his place?"
Shorty sighed and shook his head. Then he smirked.
"I'm sure he will. Wasn't happy about not being on stage in the first place, but I wanted him to chill out, know what I mean?"
Stolas chuckled, but… did he know? Should he do things like that? Most of their little rendezvous were centered around Stolas relaxing. Blitzø was enjoying things, wasn't he? He seemed happy, had invited him to shower with him if he would just move faster.
"Been meaning to talk to you, anyway."
Stolas blinked and squeaked, "Me?"
"Yeah. I doubt you remember, but I was at the VoxTech announcement. You had Fireball and whiskey and tried to hide behind a plant."
Stolas winced. He remembered the pitiful potted ficus deltoidea and how he'd petted it's leaves in a half-drunken state. He remembered the dead-end 'networking' from the night and subsequent shut-down when the owners announced how exclusive their contracts would be.
"Anyway. I don't know how much work you do with them—."
"I assure you, none," Stolas said quickly. "I was considering it for the briefest of moments, yes, but I was… How to phrase it… 'put off' by how they talked. It felt…"
"Exploitative?"
"Precisely! Besides, I work more with models than actors. Not that it matters. If I recall correctly, Angel's contract—."
"Is void," said Shorty firmly. "Not my place to share the details, but he's running solo now. So, if you really don't associate with them… He could use the help."
Stolas chewed his lip, then said, "I'll take another look at his portfolio. Thank you. Angel is… very fortunate to have a partner like you."
Shorty snorted, "Sure. Maybe once he's sober." His face suddenly turned serious and he added, "Don't tell him I said that. Kid needs to choose it on his own, not in hopes of getting dick."
"Right… No, I'll keep it between us, Mister…?"
"Jerry Husker. You're Burgundy, right? Looked you up when Ange told me he was trading favors with that horny photographer, Bintz."
"Blitzø," Stolas corrected automatically, running his fingers through the wig in his hands. "My partner's name is Blitzø."
Husker frowned and muttered, "Damn. My condolences."
"Uh, 'scuse me!"
Stolas jumped. A fresh head of blonde hair and blue-green eyeshadow ducked around him and into the room. He handed a brown bottle to Husker. Angel Dust.
"You said Johnny, right?" he asked.
"Johnny Blue, huh? Color me spoiled," Husker laughed. "You got a visitor."
"Huh? Oh," Angel turned pale as he took in Stolas's presence. "Holy shit, you're—!"
"Just delivering a message, for the moment," Stolas laughed, probably too loud. "Blitzy's in a bit of a situation and can't do the act. Could you be so kind—?"
"Cover for him?" Angel smirked and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, why not? I'm not doing anything too important tonight. Unless…"
"Fuck no."
"You're too kind, Angel. I'll get back to you Monday morning— Monday afternoon," Stolas corrected at Angel's snarl, "about possibly taking over as your agent."
"Really? 'Cause I'll do anything. Whatever lets me start helping out with rent, I'm up for it!"
Stolas pushed up his smile again, saying, "Of course. I'm sure I can find you something. I'll… let you prepare now."
He really wasn't in such a hurry to get back upstairs anymore, though.