Work Text:
Grian was livid. Despite being very quick to anger, he had never felt so much rage in his life. He didn’t even know feeling THIS upset could be possible. There was a burning, sinking, tight feeling in his chest. He clenched his fists as he stormed along the street in a dark, shady neighborhood he would usually never go to. At this moment, he didn’t care. All his mind was set on was the strong urge to punch someone in the face with all his might.
Who might that “someone” be, you ask? And why is it that Grian is so upset?
Well, that someone is none other than Martyn Littlewood, the owner of Traffic Lights club. As for the reason…
- Grian’s POV -
“Scott– What?! Scar, what did you just say?” I nearly choke, leaning forward in disbelief. I’m usually used to Scar saying weird, unusual things, but this time… I really can’t believe it.
And for some reason, he looks completely unfazed. Just standing there, a stupid smile on his face with his brows raised.
“Oh, I said that work went well!”
Sometimes I wonder how Scar even made it in this world.
“No, Scar, the thing you said before that!” I shout, trying to get just how serious this is into his head. I’m also desperately trying to get him to say it again, considering my brain doesn’t want to believe what it just thought it heard.
Scar looks up at the ceiling, stroking his chin as if he’s deep in thought.
“Joel gave the customers free drinks again…?” He says with uncertainty. I let out a frustrated groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why would I even be referring to that?
“No, the thing you said about Scott!”
“Ohh,” His eyes light up, then he nods a few times. “he got a raise. Since, y’know, Martyn’s his ‘pimp’ and all.”
I stare at Scar in complete and utter shock. I try to speak, but the words can’t leave my mouth. I try to slap Scar across the face for never telling me about this before, but my hand won’t move. I just sit there, staring in disbelief.
“I think he’s the only one who even gets raises, actually.” Scar mumbles to himself, somehow not even noticing how shocked I am. I open my mouth to speak again, but this time, only a little pained squeaking noise comes out. Scar finally looks concerned, his head tilting to the side.
“What was that? Are you okay?”
Am I okay? Am I okay? He just dropped that on me, and now he’s asking if I’m okay??
“You…are joking.” Is all I manage to scoff out. He looks confused as ever.
“About what?” His voice gets higher, and a bit quieter. His voice tends to do that when he senses he’s said something wrong. And now, oh boy, did he say something wrong.
I stand up and aggressively put my hands on my hips. Maybe Scar will start taking this seriously if I shout at him. I take a big, deep breath in before letting it all out.
“You mean to tell me Scott works with you? As a dancer?? At the club that Martyn runs– What do you mean Martyn is his ‘pimp’?? How long have you known about this, Scar!?” I spew out all the pent up anger and confusion, my face going hot and red from shouting so loud. Just as Scar opens his mouth to respond, I decide I’m not done yet.
“You just drop all of this… insane information on me and expect me to be cool about it?? Oh, yeah, I’m so cool about it, Scar! You know what? I bet Mumbo would be cool about it too– Why don’t we go break the news to him!?” I sarcastically ramble and rant, gasping for air when I’m finally done yelling.
I expect Scar to explain himself… Or at least, that’s what I was hoping for, but instead he just stares at me with a wide-eyed, dumbfounded expression. From the looks of it, everything I just said went in one of his ears, and straight out the other.
His surprised expression then turns into a stupid little smile, which fills me with even more rage, which at this moment I didn’t know was possible.
“Oh, he doesn’t know?” Scar asks, innocently tilting his head again. I swear, Scar does this to get on my nerves. I throw my hands up in a fit and my mouth hangs agape, offended that Scar just asked me that.
Mumbo met Scott maybe a year back. Everyday, he’d tell me about how much he loved him. Even now, he still rambles to me about his dates with Scott, or about how happy he is with him. He even told me once that he was thinking about marrying him.
Now, I was never sure about Scott, but I can say with certainty that all my suspicions have been confirmed. All the times I told Mumbo that he couldn’t be sure, and that he shouldn’t give so much love to someone who doesn’t give any back… I was right. And I hate to say it, I hate it so much, but I was right. Mumbo never listened to me. His logic was overwritten by love.
…Oh, god. He doesn’t know.
How am I going to tell him?
- Scott’s POV -
I grunt as I struggle to lift my tights to my thighs, trying to get changed quickly so I can get to work. Martyn always makes these outfits too tight for me– And I know he does it on purpose. On the bright side, at least this tight and extremely uncomfortable outfit will make me some good money tonight.
Just as I’m finishing up changing, fixing my hair in the mirror, Cleo makes her way into the changing room. I glance back at her, still touching up my hair.
“You’re working tonight?” I ask as I turn to look at myself in the mirror again. She lets out a dramatic groan and throws her shirt over her head.
“Unfortunately, yes. Martyn called me in… God, I hate him.” She mutters out, beginning to remove her shorts. I watch her from behind me in the mirror.
“I dunno… I like him,” I smirk, unable to hold back my giggle when Cleo fakes a gag.
She glares at me in the mirror whilst stepping into her own tights. “Of course you like him, he pampers you.”
I shrug a little, leaning closer to my reflection to check my makeup. I smudge my mascara a bit under my eyes for a messier look. I then turn my head, examining my reflection carefully.
I can see why I’m Martyn’s favorite. I look good.
I’ll keep that one to myself though. As fun as it is to mess with Cleo, I can tell she’s already annoyed just from being here. I turn my back to the mirror and look at Cleo, watching as she lifts her skirt up to her waist.
“Lucky,” I pout my lip out. “you get the comfortable outfits.”
She looks at me with furrowed brows, like she can’t believe what I just said.
“Comfortable? Scott.”
I gesture to my own outfit defensively. “In comparison to mine!” I whine. “Every time I move I feel like this is gonna pop!”
She turns her attention back to changing whilst she looks at herself in the mirror.
“I can’t argue with that…” She lifts her foot to slide into her high heel. “Just think about how good it will feel when you take it off.”
I lean up against the wall and cross my arms, raising my eyebrows suggestively at her.
“It’ll feel even better if someone takes it off for me.” I tease. She flips her hair over her shoulder and rolls her eyes again.
“Gross… I don’t know how you can stand that guy.”
“I didn’t say Martyn. I have other guys, you know, Cleo.” I correct her in a matter-of-fact tone. She makes her way to the changing room door, her heels clanking when she walks.
“Who, Mumbo?”
I glance at the floor, my smile fading a little at the mention of him.
Ever since I got the job here, there’s been an awful feeling in my chest. Like… Guilt? Obviously, I haven’t told Mumbo about it. If I told him, he’d probably be ruined for life. If it was any other guy, I really wouldn’t care, but…I don't know. There’s something about Mumbo that makes me feel bad for him. There’s just something about Mumbo.
“...Yeah.” I shrug. Cleo glances back at me.
“He’s a gentleman, for sure.” She giggles, then tilting her head with a teasing grin. “ Remind me, Scott, how’d you two hit it off again?”
I walk past her and to the door, grabbing at the handle.
“He’s cute, he’s got a lot of money, and he’s really into me. That's how.” I sassily reply as I twist the handle and open the door. The muffled music turns louder as the door opens. The red and green neon lights flash in my face as I step onto the stage.
Cleo walks close beside me, leaning in to speak into my ear over the loud music.
“Sounds better than Martyn.” She says loudly, almost as if she wants Martyn to hear her say it. I lean back to whisper to her.
“Mumbo’s too into me.”
- Martyn’s POV -
I lean back in my chair, getting impatient as I wait for the dancers to come on stage. Who knows if BigB will even show up tonight… He’s got a busy life, or so I’ve heard. I glance down at my rolex that I splurged the majority of my money on, to see that the time is 10:43. I click my tongue and stand up, finally getting sick of waiting.
I head over to the bar counter to see a sleepy Joel leaned against the wall, practically nodding off. I also see Jimmy sitting on one of the barstools, just looking at Joel.
“Ah, Tim, if it isn’t my favorite regular!” I take a seat next to Jimmy, loudly speaking in hopes to wake Joel. Jimmy flinches and turns to look at me with wide eyes.
“You’re only regular.” Joel mutters, his eyes still closed. I glare at him.
Some nerve he has, that one. An employee, talking back to their boss whilst they nod off on the job! For Joel, that’s practically routine. Boy, is he lucky that I’m so broke and rich at the same time. He’d have been fired a long time ago if I had the money… which I do. And don’t.
“Hey, make me a drink, would you, Joel?” I ask, although it’s more like a demand since I am his boss after all. That never really stopped Joel from disrespecting me, though…
He finally opens his eyes to shoot me a look, one of his brows raising.
“You paying for it?”
I rest my arm on the table and scoff.
“I own this building, Joel. I pay for everything.”
He rolls his eyes before turning back to grab a bottle from the shelves. He pours the drink into a cup, muttering something to himself. Something like, ‘you don’t pay me’, which by the way, is definitely not true. I’m loaded, which is why some say I over-pay my employees. That’s also the exact reason that I’m poor and in massive amounts of debt.
Jimmy perks up when Joel puts the cup down in front of me, leaning closer to him.
“Can I get a refill, Joel?” He asks as he pushes the empty glass of his forward. Joel gives him a deadpan look before grabbing the empty cup and refilling it without a word.
I watch this unfold, squinting my eyes at Jimmy.
“Hate to say it, but refills are gonna cost you extra.” I tell him, tapping my finger on the bar counter.
Joel slides the cup back in front of Jimmy, completely ignoring what I just said.
“On the house, Jim.”
“Oh, stop it, you!” Jimmy coos, resting his chin on his hand as he watches Joel. “...Really?” He genuinely asks, his expression turning serious. I stand up and intervene quickly. I’m not havin’ anymore of this ‘on the house!’, ‘free drinks!’ nonsense from Joel.
“No, not really.” I lean closer to Jimmy, pointing my finger at him. “Refills cost extra, got it?”
Jimmy nods, looking upset with his lip pouted. I then turn to Joel and point my finger to him.
“Refills. Extra. No more ‘oh, it’s on the house, Timmy!’’s from you, or you’re out the door!” I scold, whipping my pointed finger to the door. Joel just looks at me and crosses his arms.
Does he not even care that I just threatened to take his job away? His livelihood? His paycheck?
“Okay,” Joel smirks, and turns to Jimmy as he rests his arms on the counter. “it’s on. the. house, Jim.” He says again, fully annunciating his words. Jimmy