Title: Wednesday
Fandom: Queer as Folk RPS
Pairing/Characters: Randy/Gale
Author: knittedshadow
Rating: R
Words: 1,301
Description: When Gale left Randy’s apartment that night, he was cold. Toronto weather did not encourage warm balmy evenings, and it was now three in the morning and anything but balmy.
Challenge: None
Disclaimer: They don't actually do this, and if they did they probably wouldn't appreciate me writing it all down. Just a fluffy little piece to stop me dying of an angst-overdose.



Wednesday

When Gale left Randy’s apartment that night, he was cold. Toronto weather did not encourage warm balmy evenings, and it was now three in the morning and anything but balmy.

When Gale left Randy’s apartment he could barely walk and a lamppost nearly bumped into him. A night of stoning and drinking and … doing whatever they did, could do that to a guy y’know?

Gale’s aim was to get to his car and drive home, slump in bed and not get up until late the next evening. Luckily his body had other ideas and he passed out, forehead on steering wheel before he got a chance to turn the key in the ignition.

-----

When Randy lifted a heavy head off his sofa he realized he was alone, the small click of his apartment door shutting must have woken him.

He stared at the mess that used to be his floor, littered with beer cans and chip packets and in the corner he was pretty sure he could see one of Gale’s shoes. Which was odd, because Gale wasn’t there any more and he would probably need that shoe for his walk home.

It was all a little bit too much for Randy and in the end he rolled himself off the sofa, stumbled into his bedroom and with a sigh of contentment passed out on his bed.

-----

When Gale woke up, he was still cold, colder. Toronto didn’t really encourage warm sunny mornings either. His neck was cricked too and there was drool on his dashboard. His mouth tasted of plastic.

He was a little surprised to find himself still only three or four yards from the apartment that he was supposed to have left. He thought it was lucky, perhaps. Although Gale boasted, like any man, that he could hold his drink and weed, in all likelihood, he thought, if he had driven last night there would currently be little bitty Gale pieces dancing all along the highroad. He thought some more and decided that maybe he was still a little stoned.

-----

When Randy woke at the sound of his alarm he was too hot, hair sweat-slicked to his forehead, sheets tangled in legs. He had dreamt all night, the kind of dreams you get after eating too much cheese and suddenly your kindergarten teacher is chasing you down a seaside pier dressed as a penguin. Randy reckoned he was showing some deep-seated childhood fear. When he’d mentioned it to Gale, Gale had just told him to lay off the cheddar.

When Randy woke he had the motherfuckingbastardsonofabitching worst headache. The kind that pounds down your skull into your neck and spreads outwards to your eyes. Randy decided that laying his head back down and dying quietly was an excellent idea.

When Randy’s snooze alarm went off for the third time he was forced to admit that he would have to get up. Suicidal thoughts or no, he was expected at work by nine.

-----

Gale peeled his cheek from the dashboard and rubbed his face. Stretching out his feet he noticed that one was considerably colder than the other, looking down he was met with one tatty sock and one neat brown loafer.

Deciding he’d leave that one to figure out later he checked the clock instead. 7:45 blinked bright and red above his radio. He needed to be at work by nine.

-----

Randy’s first try at moving was not successful. He threw up a little in his mouth and fell over. Face pressed into the surface of his bedroom carpet Randy came to the decision that maybe he was a little hung-over.

When Randy left his apartment he had, thanks to copious amounts of coffee and vigorous showering, got to the stage of hung-over where he could, at least, move without dying. He was however in a rather fragile sense of mind. A fragile sense of mind that was shattered, broken and thoroughly confused by the sight of Gale Harold sitting in a parked car, mere metres from Randy’s front door.

-----

Gale had had neither copious amounts of coffee nor vigorous showering, he could, however, pull off tired and rumpled one hell of a lot better than Randy, and he knew it. He lent nonchalantly out of the car window as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be outside his co-stars house at eight in the morning. The effect was slightly ruined by the unattractive shade of green his face turned when he moved and the imprint of the steering wheel pressed into his cheek.

“Wanna lift?”

-----

Randy tried to think of an excuse but couldn’t and then he tried to think of a reason for wanting an excuse, but couldn’t. In the end opening the car door and sliding into the seat seemed like the easiest option.

Randy watched as Gale tried to subtly move a shoeless foot onto the gas pedal and out of sight. He thought of the brown loafer back in his apartment, considered mentioning it but didn’t. Gale, noticing his gaze, just shrugged.

“Lost my shoe.”

-----

Now, despite the early-morningness and distinct hungover-ness, Gale could still put two and two together. Slightly hungover Randy and definitely hungover Gale outside Randy’s house, meant the two had probably got drunk together sometime last night.

What Gale did not know, was where in that equation he had managed to lose his shoe.

-----

And despite his hungover-ness Randy was also able to put two and two together. Gale’s shoe in his apartment, lack of Gale’s shoe in car, probably meant the two had drunk themselves stupid the night before. And gathering from the utter lack of memory and the current smell of Randy’s room there had probably been some illegal substances involved as well.

-----

“So…” Gale said, “You have fun last night?”

A clever ruse on his part to figure out what exactly had happened without ever mentioning the fact that he couldn’t remember a single thing.

“Yeah,” answered Randy “You?”

Damn. Foiled.

-----

“Yeah, fine,” replied Gale.

So, Randy thought, Gale didn’t have a clue what they’d done either. Great.

Gale didn’t elaborate and Randy left it at that. Leant his head against the cool glass window instead and tried to imagine how he was going to get through today’s shoot without chucking up on his fellow actors.

-----

They didn’t speak again until Gale pulled into his usual parking spot (with only a minor scratch for the cars either side) and Randy unbuckled and slid out with a “Thanks”.

They walked together towards the studio in a slightly awkward silence and Gale was suddenly horribly aware of his missing shoe. Thud. Squelch. Thud. Squelch. As his soggy sock hit the tarmac with every other step. Thud. Squelch.

In the end it was too much, he giggled, a most un-manly giggle. Randy’s head shot up to look at him, startled and Gale stopped giggling. They continued walking in silence once more. Thud. Squelch. Thud. Squelch.

That time it was Randy that giggled, Gale stepped back from him in surprise. Squelch. And then they were both laughing. Helplessly, almost unable to stand up, propped up on each other’s shoulders as they laughed and laughed, tears streaming from their eyes.

When they had eventually calmed down enough to get words in between the laughter, Gale said,

“I have no idea what happened last night.”

And Randy grinning in relief said, “Me neither, not a fucking clue.”

-----

It was not until that evening when Randy came home to his apartment and found a used condom in his bin that the wheels started turning.

And Gale? Well Gale had spent the whole day trying to work out why his ass was hurting.


*****