I started posting this before Christmas and then forgot about it till long after Christmas. I am sorry. In these chapters, Jamie stops being So Fucking Sad and remembers he's a top.
Chapter 3 - Saint Nick
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The first time Jamie had gone off to explore Vancouver on his own, a week after arriving, he had gotten lost.
Naturally, his first instinct was to call Moose and ask for a way back. But his pride had shored back up to combat the ebb of his helplessness, and he pocketed his phone again. Jamie was suddenly filled with determination to make the most of it. And besides--it was the weekend anyway. Why shouldn't he go find out what life in his new city was like?
He didn't miss Montreal much, if he was honest. Maybe certain people's company--and easy access to real-ass smoked meat sandwiches--but that was the extent of it. It wasn't like he'd gotten any communications from his mother, or anyone he used to consider family friends. Some of his outside friends just expressed surprise and congratulations that he'd made the move across the country unscathed. Only his sister Jessie kept up with him every other day.
Their conversations were plentiful, but brief, as if Jessie was dosing her brother's presence throughout her week. At one time, she just barely brought up their mother--and then immediately rushed past the subject as if it were a mistake. Jamie didn't have the heart to circle back to it; their mother was the forbidden topic. So long as her face and name didn't show up on his phone, then he wasn't going to be the one.
Having taken a wrong connection, he had ended up in the Fraser Street vicinity: a hilly descent down towards the water, and businesses aplenty lining both sides of the street. Snow did not find much purchase here--not commonly, anyway. Wet sleet would fall and by the end of the day, it would just be cold water running down the asphalt. Nonetheless, the neighbourhood was alive with the colours of the holiday season.
Of course all the Filipino stores were decked out in red and green; gold and sparkles; multi-coloured twinkling lights. The Jewish businesses (like Jamie's new favourite bakery) also chimed in for Chanukah, which was also around the corner this year. As cliché as it was, the sight of it did wonders to lift his spirits. He couldn't help it; he still loved Christmas, as tainted as the memory was now. Images of family swirled up in his mind. Of his sister Jessie; of his mother.
"Damn." He bit back the bubbling discomfort inside of him. Jamie stopped to force the thoughts down, and noted that he had stopped in front of an Indian grocer. One that also had Christmas lights in the windows. George and Sons; "South Indian delights".
It was a quaint, unobtrusive little place, and he recognised it from his first day in the city, when Moose had driven him to his home. Numerous small stores and restaurants coursed up and down this street, dotted between houses and the even smaller businesses that were based within them. It was nice to see it again in the daytime, to be certain, but he had not planned this at all.
He hadn't expected a damn thing. And so when he found himself staring into the glinting amber-brown stare of a particularly handsome cashier, he found himself flushing. He hadn't expected anything interesting, or even positive to happen today, least of all to run into a hot guy.
It had just been the two of them, and an older lady, slowly browsing, in the store. The scent of sandalwood, cumin and burnt ginger permeated the crowded aisles, competing with the familiar yeasted smell of baked bread. It was an intoxicating combination. Jamie had wandered the aisles of unfamiliar food until he strolled up to the counter, fully intending to be in and out. That was before he laid eyes on him.
He must've been a few years younger, as he had a trim figure and the sparkling look of youth clear all over his chocolate-brown face. He sported a neat beard that disappeared up into an overgrown mop of thick, black hair; it framed his wide, mischievous grin. As he rang up Jamie, he let his fingers brush across his knuckles more than once; each time lingering a little longer than necessary. Not that Jamie minded.
"That'll be $16.94, sir," the cashier said in his gently accented cadence. Jamie stumbled to pay for his treats; the whole time he felt his eyes on him, and he grew warm at the attention. "You know," he was saying now; "99% of my customers are Indians like me. It's not very often we get other people!"
"Ah well, you know," Jamie said lightly, trying to keep his cool. "I'm pretty new to Vancouver. I wanna try out a bunch of different things...."
"Would you like to try Indian?"
He looked up at him, finally catching the wicked glint in the cashier's eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he was waiting to see if Jamie would catch his innuendo. This surely couldn't be happening, right? This wasn't really happening. ...Right?
"Ah--" And Jamie took care to measure his words carefully. "I can't say I ever have, but I would like to, for sure."
The cashier smiled, and handed Jamie his bag full of sweets and desserts. "Maybe you'll get the chance to," he said with a wide smile and a curt head nod. Their fingers brushed against each other, just lightly, just briefly, but Jamie felt it nonetheless.
And in the same instant, he snapped out of his torpor as the cashier then turned to the older woman as she hobbled up to the counter. They began chatting in an unfamiliar language, and just like that, normalcy snapped back into place. Like nothing was ever off at all. Jamie stumbled back into the crisp sunlight, the street noises around him grounding him instantly. Reality smelled of car exhaust and a million restaurants' fumes. It was a sobering bus ride back home.
His ass was sore when he arrived back at Moose's condo, but he'd made it, apparently having just missed the couple on the way out. He spied some containers of takeout food on the kitchen counter with a note--"help yourself!" Jamie felt warm at the gesture. He still couldn't believe his life now; what had he done to deserve this kindness?
But he didn't have much time to ruminate on that one, as when he pulled out the tray of bakery goods to leave some as a gift for Bruce and Moose, he spotted the receipt. Crumpled at the bottom of the back, unusual black writing caught his attention. He unfurled it, his heart jumping at what the receipt revealed.
A note.
"Nikhil / just Nick :) 604-XXX-XXXX. Call me anytime!"
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Thus, the second time Jamie had gone out into Vancouver's mean streets on his own was two days later, and he was practically writhing with anticipation. His work day was over, and he had learned from the mysteriously disarming Nikhil that he usually took Mondays off from the family business. That he could be found close to the store itself, not even a block away.
