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Pretty Woman

There were still dying ribbons of pink resting on the horizon when Jet settled in against the outside wall of the strip club. He could hear the bustle and voices of customers coming in for the night around the corner but didn't bother to look. He didn't care.

One, two, cigarettes and two other people stepped into the mouth of the alley. The shorter one turned to face the taller one and wrapped his arms behind their neck to pull the taller man into an intense kiss. They exchanged a few words, the shorter man kissed his friend again then saluted as he turned into the alley and walked up towards Jet.

The red head watched as the taller shadow seemed to hesitate a moment before finally leaving, then turned his attention to the man who'd settled in beside him with his own cig.

"Thought we agreed you weren't gonna hang around out here by yourself anymore."

Jet shrugged. "No one's really around yet. Besides, I got done with my stuff early and decided heading over was easier than hanging around."

Bucky didn't say anything to that, just gave a mildly irritated grunt and worked at the stick in his mouth instead. They were better at silence when it came to those heavier issues like why Jet wasn't supposed to hang around on his own.

Jet wasn't like Bucky, he didn't pack as much punch on his own, though he did have his height. Beyond that, Bucky had Steve who never failed to walk the brunette to and from work like an overprotective watchdog. Jet had been present for the arguments that had ensued about Bucky feeling like Steve didn't trust him to take care of himself, but those arguments had stopped after one night when a customer had gotten really handsy with Buck -more than any other customer before- and after the night when Bucky had found Jet behind the club after that one guy went too far.

That had been over a year ago and where Jet lacked a body-builder-esk boyfriend, he had his own methods of protection. It wasn't even really that he wanted a boyfriend like Steve, he had his classes and his job and plenty of things that made having a boyfriend difficult, but he'd be lying if he said the idea of having someone care that much about him didn't sound appealing.

Too bad he was a stripper and guys like Steve didn't come out of the woodwork very often.

"Come on, we should head in and get ready. You know Jackson hates it when we smell of smoke."

Jet nodded and stomped out the butt of the cig before leading the way through the back entrance and into the backrooms.

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If there's one undeniable truth of the universe it's that Albert does not want to be here.

It's his birthday and by all rights he should be glad he has people in his life that still even want to drag him places to celebrate the fact that he's still breathing but after a day full of dealing in other people's happiness, he'd rather just go home and wallow in the fact that he has little of the same. Instead Martin and Harry from work had taken his keys and dragged him out to this strip joint. He'd never been to one before and the other two men had been flabbergasted enough to close the shop early and initiate him into the joys of topless women dancing for his entertainment. He imagines they think it'll improve his morose attitude. He has doubts.

But here he is anyway, sitting at the small round table and listening to his coworkers whoop and holler and generally make asses of themselves by waving singles at the woman on the pole with the body of a goddess and eyes like a shark. She's gorgeous and the things she can do with her legs start some gears turning that he hasn't used in years, but Albert remains more intent on his drink than her bare skin.

At least, until the smaller stage to their left's lights start flashing and a heavy beat picks up. Suddenly everything else is so much background noise as a tall, lithe redhead slides onto the stage, swaying in time, slowly slipping out of each already small stitch of clothing.

"I thought you swung the other way, Bert!" Harry slaps him on the back so suddenly that Albert nearly spills his drink right down his font.

"Whatever, it's his birthday! Live a little!" Martin turns his wad of ones from waving at the predatory pole dancer to the gyrating redhead down to nothing but chaps and a thong while Albert tries to sink into the floor out of embarrassment.

It was a normal night with the normal crowd. Bucky went out and worked the floor while Jet worked the stage and they would switch once Jet's 'turn' was over. Bucky had always been better about garnishing attention before he showed off whereas Jet was better about continuing to gain it once he'd been up. They made a pretty decent double act that earned a bit of popularity in the club for the time they implemented it.

He noticed the small group of guys -closer to the other stage than his- waving their money around like a call signal shortly after they seemed to have noticed him. He finished his dance on the stage until he was down to the bare essentials like he was supposed to before stepping off to begin his 'mingling.'

He strode over to the table, grace and confidence in every step and stopped with his hands planted lightly on his hips, head playfully cocked to the side as he regarded them.

He'd only been at this job a little over a year and a half, but clad in a very short and very tight frayed top, tight shorts that barely covered anything, tall boots to accentuate his long legs and the many accessories accenting his outfit, he was dressed like a pro. The confidence, aura of sensuality and the nice thick layer of liner around his eyes only added to that.

Bucky had said he'd be good at this job and his friend was hardly wrong.

"Evening, fellas. Did you like the show?"

The German is at a loss for words but his company seem to have enough between them to make up for it. 'Birthday' and 'lapdance' get thrown around along with a decent amount of cash and Albert can't even get a word in to decline.

He's not even sure he wants to decline, which makes him want to run and hide because he hasn't wanted anything sexual in so very long that the sudden return of his hormones with a vengeance has him wanting to run for cover.

But there's no escape with his two coworkers practically stuffing the bills in the ginger Adonis' shorts and boots. He's trapped.

Lap dances were usually hit or miss, sometimes they were fine and could even be a little fun depending on the reaction and sometimes they were less than fun and left Jet feeling like he needed five showers to make up for it. The worst ones were when entitled assholes thought the 'no touching' rule didn't apply to them and security had to come over and remind them that it did. Jet always just wanted to call one of the girls over and have them smash the guy's hands in with their heels and while he was sure they'd be happy to, it was far less trouble for everyone to just let it go.

The lap dances that were bought for someone else, though, tended to be okay, mostly because the one he was dancing for was often too flustered or too shy to try anything. That seemed to be the case with this one.

Jet started slow, keeping a little ways away from the chair to allow himself room to get closer. His hands ran slowly over himself and led him to the floor where he crawled up to the man's legs. One hand on each knee, he pushed his customer's knees apart and slid in-between them, his hands gliding up lightly along the older man's thighs.

Jet's face hovered over the man's legs and crotch area, just close enough to blow air on his pants, but not close enough for contact. He nuzzled in close to his quiet audience's stomach and moved up his chest and near his face, bracing himself only on his arms for as long as he could.

Once his lips had passed the other's with only a breath between them, long legs gracefully found their way on either side of those noticeably strong thighs as Jet half sat, half stood, in the man's lap.

His hands slid up an equally strong chest and over his shoulders, brushing up through silver hair as his hips gyrated dangerously close to his customer's. Any potential sounds or words being said by the guy's friends went completely unnoticed, the whole bar might as well not exist for the amount of attention and half-lidded eye contact Jet was giving.

But just as his hips nearly got close enough for their crotches to meet, the red-head stood and turned, demonstrating his flexibility with how he could contort his body and how far his legs could stretch.

But no matter how far away he got, he got closer again and straddled the older man again, backwards, with Jet's hands on his knees. His ass ground against knees, thighs and finally right into the guy's lap for all of a second before Jet settled enough to lean back and leave a light kiss on the guy's cheek, marking the end of his dance.

It was a little bit more than he'd normally give a customer, but it was the guy's birthday....and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't one of the most handsome men Jet had serviced in a long time.

Bucky'd probably give him shit for it later, but if what he'd felt pressed against his ass was any indication, it had been worth it.

The pounding beat thuds in Albert's ears as those long legs seem to wind their way in, around, and through his own. Little bucks of hip and all the bobbing a weaving almost get him motion sick with how much Albert's eyes flit around the stripper's form, trying to take in everything at once as the everything he tries to take in keeps gyrating into a new position and there's hands on his thighs and breath on his inseam and the sudden realization that the pounding isn't the music at all but his own pulse in his ears.

Gott, the kid is attractive.

He loosens his tie in an effort to make it easier to breathe, only to have hips backed up into his lap and the redhead bending backwards completely double, providing all kinds of wild things to his heretofore disused imagination.

I mean, really attractive.

The pounding in Albert's head intensifies, making him dizzy and short of breath. The lanky stripper placing himself in Albert's lap and planting a light and coy kiss to his cheek makes him freeze up altogether, utterly and completely overwhelmed, with only one thought making it through the muddled mess of hormonal jelly his mind's been made into.

I want to--

But he doesn't let that thought finish, his heart clenching painfully at the somehow familiar but still completely foreign feeling of want. Not sexual, though it started there, but for companionship. The ten ton thought steamrolls his mind and has him bolting for the door, completely undoing his tie and shedding his blazer as he goes because he just can't manage to get a deep enough breath.

I want to get to know you.

Jet blinked in surprise at the man's sudden exit and the men with him seemed amused for a moment before talking amongst themselves and deciding to follow after their friend.

It wasn't exactly unheard of, but that kind of reaction happened more in virginal boys and girls than adult men. Ultimately, it wasn't Jet's problem, he'd give the guy some of the best he had and the poor fellow hadn't been able to handle it. So he moved on.

Although he didn't forget about it. Even if he'd wanted to, Bucky was right there to remind him about it at the end of their shift.

"Wow, Jet, you really chased that guy off, huh?"

Jet smirked and hit him in the arm. "Shut up. Maybe he was married or something and got cold feet. That's what happens when you've got friends who'll buy you lap dances."

Really, Jet had made a pretty good haul off of even just that dance, much less everything else, so he didn't have any second thoughts about it, just dismissed the meeting as he followed a pace or so behind Bucky and Steve as they made their way home.

It takes Albert at least a week to recover from the encounter. He's not sure when he got so fragile - when she died, probably, but he's never been so overcome before as to have to run. He'd barely made it home that night rattled as he was and was grateful that he'd been given that Sunday off regardless. Even so all he does all day is go through the motions and try to figure out exactly what it was about that man that made his heart stop. The way the redhead moved, the way he spoke, that little twinkle in his eye that was somehow equal parts mischievous and fragile and how Albert feels he knows this despite never having met him before.

He buries his head in the pillow again and doesn't come out until he has to the next day.

* * *

The week carries on as normal with classes and work and Saturday rolls around again, only this time instead of Albert getting in extra time in the music lab, instead he finds himself scurrying through the black double doors of the Onyx Club and finding a dim booth to watch from where he won't be seen.

The next week he does the same.

And the next.

He always stays long enough for Jet to dance, eyes transfixed on the way he moves and the grace with which he conducts himself when he knows everyone is watching. And each night the second the song ends, Albert leaves his tip, turns up his collar, and slips out the doors.

There's nothing wrong with watching, he reasons. It's just watching. He's not touching, not pursuing, just observing a talented dancer. Jet's wasted in this place, he decides privately, though he can't quite be upset that he's there at all. Otherwise he wouldn't even know the redhead exists.

Then he has to wonder if this is how stalkers get started and vows not to go in again.

He does this every week.

Only this week, on Sunday, he's agreed to do a favor for the head of the theater department, an old friend from Europe (English though, not German) who's casting the spring musical and needs a pianist for the dance auditions. Albert agreed to it, thinking it would be a nice change to play for something other than grades for awhile.

Considering Jet shows up with the rest of the audition hopefuls, Albert has to wonder if someone up in heaven - or in hell - is mocking him.

He pulls his collar up and his hat down, hunching over the piano so his face isn't visible. He can't bolt now, but god does he ever want to.

He'd almost completely forgotten the encounter with the attractive man at the club, he had plenty of other things to think about instead. Like the auditions for the musical that got announced.

He hemmed and hawed about it so much that even Bucky got tired of him and said if Jet didn't go, he'd toss the red-head onto the stage himself day-of. So Jet practiced and practiced, every time he had a chance, he was dancing.

By the time the day of the auditions came around, he felt like his chest would burst with how hard his heart was beating. What i they thought he was awful? What if they actually liked him? He wasn't sure which option was more terrifying.

The fact the auditions were held with the rest of the hopefuls watching didn't make him nervous, although it was clear how a couple of them got self-conscious from it. Not all of them though, there were plenty of very talented people there and that made him nervous.

Then he stepped on stage.

The lights made everyone else vanish and the second that music started, his nerves didn't matter anymore, he just started dancing. It was going well until he could hear the music strain and break the tempo as the pianist messed up the chords. Annoyance flared through him, but he tried to keep going. After his performance was over, Jet snuck off to the piano to have a word with the pianist. After all, it was amazing how he hadn't messed up once the entire time and only just now while Jet was on.

He rounded the piano, irritation brewing...and stopped short once he finally got a good view of the man. He'd pulled his hat down and his jacket up, but Jet could see the silver hair peeking through and that defined jaw he'd admired for the time he'd been staring at him.

"Hey! You're that guy!"

It's the same tune he'd played for eight dancers before and he'll have to play the same one for almost twenty after but with Jet on stage Albert just can't make his fingers behave in the way they're supposed to to keep playing. They freeze up every time the redhead moves to his side of the theater because Albert's eyes stray from the music to the stage. And this time, this time it's not for sex, there's no gratuitous shaking or dipping, just raw art and grace, tugging at the German's heart with the emotion that's obviously behind the drive to perform. Even with Albert's imperfect playing, they would be fools not to cast Jet.

And then the audition is over and there's a break called. Albert comes back to reality just in time to find the taller man bearing down on him like a stork, looming over the piano bench from one side and causing Albert to duck as if he's been struck.

Scheisse, now he's 'that guy'.

He nearly runs. As it is, he pops up and gathers his music books in a hurry, pulling his hat down over his eyes almost like he could disappear into it. There's a mumbled 'I have to go' and then he's gone, leaving behind a nondescript blue notebook under the piano bench.

He was tempted to call after him or try and catch him, but he hesitated and then the guy was gone. Probably for the best. Almost no one knew about Jet's job and out of fear of losing any possible audition opportunities in the future, he would rather it stayed that way.

Instead he glanced at the door before turning to look at the piano. A bit of blue beneath the bench caught his eye and he fished it out before returning to his seat. The rest of the auditions went unnoticed as he flitted through the pages in the binder. It was music and notes, some of it printed and some of it handwritten. None of it had a composer listed and based on the how the hand writing on the notes and on the music was the same, he was going to guess that guy had written this. Was it original? He didn't know enough about classical music to tell, but Bucky knew some from an old fling he'd had years ago, he'd told Jet about it. The auditioners were dismissed with a promise of results posted within the next week and Jet hurried home to show his friend the binder.

"Take a look at this, does it look familiar to you?" Jet rudely shoved the binder on top of the book in Bucky's lap once he'd walked in. The other man grunted and made a noise of annoyance before opening the cover to have a look. He'd gotten about half way through by the time Jet flopped down on the couch and he looked up, blue eyes bright with curiosity.

"Where'd you get this from? It's not yours."

Jet shook his head and curled up on one end. "Nope. It belongs to that guy, you know, the one from the club who bolted? He was at my auditions of all things, playing the damn piano. I went to talk to him and he bolted again, but I guess he forgot that."

Bucky looked far off for a moment, considering whether to tell Jet that guy had been coming to see the younger man consistently for weeks...and now he was at their college? That seemed...off. Or it could be a coincidence. There was no need to send paranoia into the picture when he didn't need to; Jet didn't need to think every guy who showed interest in him was a threat. He'd tell him later.

Instead, he flashed a devilish smirk in the red-heads direction. "Maybe it's just you. Something about you just screams 'run in the other direction.'"

"Shut up!." Jet glared and Bucky laughed at him. Then something gleamed in his eye and Jet knew he'd just had an idea, it was one of those faces. "What are you doing?"

Bucky stood and took one of the printed pieces of sheet music over to the piano he'd bought Steve for his birthday only a couple years ago. (It had taken a lot of extra time at the Onyx and months of saving, but he'd finally managed it. Besides, the look on his boyfriend's face had been worth it.) He put the paper on the piano and sat back down, closing the binder and leaving it on the coffee table. "I'm curios to hear this music. Don't tell Stevie where it's from, he won't play it otherwise."

So they waited.

It's not long before Steve gets home from work. Aside from taking the odd illustration job, he works both at the campus coffee shop and a nearby retirement home for veterans. Tonight he's coming from the home, evidenced by the fact that Bucky is actually here instead of mooching free cappuccinos from his boyfriend (which Steve always ends up paying for at the end of his shift, a fact he's kept secret from Bucky since for some reason unknown to the blond, Bucky enjoys being able to gloat that it's a perk of dating Steve. He guesses it still is even if the drinks are paid for.)

He flashes a hello grin to both of the other men in the apartment and drops his folio down against the recliner neatly. "Hey guys, what's up?"

The question is dropped as Steve disappears into the kitchen for a moment to retrieve a pop, but he stops short at the sight of music on his usually bare piano. "What's this?"

Bucky smiled and offered the customary 'not much' in response, although he couldn't help but watch the way his boyfriend moved, it was to the point of distraction sometimes. But right now, they were on a mission.

Steve's observation received nothing more than a half shrug as Bucky positioned himself so he was sprawling across his seat. "Nothing, really. Just a small bit from this show Jet's trying for. We thought maybe you could give it a shot to hear what it sounds like, whaddaya say?"

"Oh, is it to rehearse? You should have moved the table." There's precious little room to dance in their tiny apartment so sometimes, when Jet needs the space, they'll shove all the furniture into the hall or against the walls to give the youngest of their number the room to move around freely. Still, sometimes Jet likes to just listen to it first so Steve sets himself down on the bench and begins to play.

There's nothing notable about how Steve plays piano. It's rudimentary, no chords, just notes, but the melody comes through with a soft and melancholy rhythm that's somehow hopeful even as its sad. When the last note hangs in the air, Steve takes a minute to breathe in slowly before turning to Bucky and Jet. "That's really beautiful."

He can't shake the feeling that whoever wrote this must be incredibly lonely. "What show is it for?"

Whatever he'd been expecting it to sound like, that wasn't it. It sounded good and even made him feel a little sad. He glanced over to Jet and could tell his friend was thinking the same thing.

Who the hell was this guy?

Once Steve was finished, Bucky stood and bent over to fetch a kiss from the blond as he plucked the paperback up. "It's not. It really belongs to that guy Jet danced for and sent running a few weeks ago. You know, that guy."

He hadn't told Jet about the guy showing up every week to see him, but he'd told Steve, just in case they had to go take care of him or at least scare him off.

"We were curious, so thanks for playing it." He flashed Steve a cheeky smile as he replaced the page in the binder. He was probably in trouble for tricking Steve, but so be it.

"Bucky!" Steve sounds indignant and disappointed at the same time. "I hate it when you lie to me, c'mon. And this is someone's private work! How would you feel if someone picked up your print folio before you were done?"

He stands and plucks the binder from Bucky's hands. "He comes in the coffee shop sometimes, I'll give it back to him and apologize. Or..."

Steve's attention turns to Jet instead, thinking he could convince the redhead to do it instead. It'd be safe in the middle of the cafe; if the guy made Jet uncomfortable, Steve could be there in less than a minute to break it up, but he has the sneaking suspicion that this guy - despite what Bucky's said - is anyone dangerous. In fact, judging from the music and his stand-offish behavior, he just sounds lonely and shy. On a hunch, Steve looks at the front inside cover of the binder, before placing it in the musing Jet's lap. "Why don't you return it to your mysterious A. Heinrich?"

"What?" Jet jolted and looked up at Steve like he'd grown a second head. He couldn't be serious, right? Except that looked like his serious face.

Jet opened the cover and looked for the 'A. Heinrich' written in the same handwriting as the rest of the binder. Heinrich, huh? What if he did go and meet this guy? It's not like Steve wouldn't be there to keep watch if need be. Besides, there was something about the guy, something that made him curious.

"I dunno, I guess I could." He looked to Bucky to get his help, but the brunette shrugged while also managing to look like a kicked dog for his reprimand. Jet looked back to Steve.

"When does he usually show up?"

Despite having just reprimanded Bucky, Steve shoots a brief, bright smile at his boyfriend. They have a private little bet going over what will happen with the mystery man, Bucky staunchly convinced that the guy is a creeper and they'll have to end up with a restraining order or the bouncer at the club putting the guy out on his ass and Steve thinking he's really just awkward and shy (though he doesn't dispute that his visits to the club are somewhat creepy, regardless of intent). Jet bridging the gap finally will settle it.

"Not usually when I'm working but I see him Mondays after classes sometimes. He's always near the fireplace in the big ugly high backed chair in the corner." Usually writing while he has a tea. Steve's never had chance to make him a drink and learn anything about him as he usually comes in for the late night and the guy's already ensconced in his spot scribbling away in a notebook with glasses perched halfway down his nose. Steve always thought he was some sort of professor and gave him his space.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve and Jet decided not to ask; whatever that was about, it was just them.

Instead he thought about the question at hand: was he going to try and approach this guy who kept running off the minute Jet said anything to him? It clearly wasn't just because he'd danced for him if he'd run off during auditions too. Unless, of course, he was afraid people would see them together and somehow know he'd gone to the Onyx. Maybe he had a reputation he was trying to save. Maybe he was a professor at their school and he'd recognized Jet as a student and had run because of that.

That thought--that he viewed Jet as some stigma, a blemish on his good name--just made the red-head mad. Now he had to confront the guy to either tell him off or get a straight story from him.

"I guess I'll go over on Monday, then. Wish me luck, I guess."

"Good luck." Steve gives a grin, then sobers up a little. "And if anything happens, I'll be there. I'll come in early just in case, ok?"

Steve may be more lenient about how protective he is of his friend, but he won't forget what had almost happened in the alley outside the club. He wasn't there, it was Bucky who'd done the real rescuing, but ever since then both of Jet's roommates have been on high alert. No one's going to harm Jet while they're around.

* * *

Days later and a weekend gone (where Bucky might note that Heinrich didn't show up to the club for once), the Sparrow's Nest campus coffee shop has its usual quiet murmur of students after a hard first day of the week, all grumbling into their drinks. True to his word, Steve had come in almost an hour early but still missed the silver-haired guy coming in; he's already in his chair when the New Yorker pulls on his apron.

He keeps an eye on their target as he goes about his duties, friendly and polite as ever to every customer until he sees Jet come in. They don't exchange words, just a gesture from Steve towards where Heinrich is sitting and then he needs to go pour more coffee, but the meaning is clear enough. Go get 'im.

Jet loitered near the entrance a moment, making it seem like he was waiting for someone when he was really just waiting to see how cold his feet were about to get. He picked at the sleeve of his thin shirt, the conversation from that morning running through his head for a moment. Bucky had teasingly suggested Jet get dressed up for his 'date' to which Jet had shoved him out of his room and thrown on the plain black long-sleeved shirt and worn jeans, the only remarkable thing about either being the lower than average cut of the shirt's collar, but it was the last thing that anyone could call 'dressing up.' Much to Bucky's annoying amusement.

It really only took a moment or two before he decided his feet weren't so icy he had to turn back and made for the little cluster of chairs towards the back of the space. He came up from behind the guy--mostly by design, but it meant he wouldn't be spotted--and quickly plopped himself down in the chair across from 'Heinrich.'

He set his backpack on the floor beside him and began digging through it with only one glance up at the older man to know he had his attention.

"Don't run off this time, Heinrich."

Once he'd grabbed the blue binder, he pulled it out and held it out between them. "You left this. I coulda just tossed it, so do me a favor and answer me this: what's your deal? Why is it that the last two times I've seen you, you've run off like I had the plague. I mean, I know you've been coming to see me dance every week since that first time, so what is it?"

Not that he'd known that before today, but he was just going to act like he had. Truthfully, he'd never noticed and Bucky had only let him know that morning, probably as some last attempt at a warning to be careful.

Either way, he waited for an answer, deciding that if the guy took off now without answering him, Jet would wash his hands of the whole damn thing and forget about it.

He knows my name, is the first fluttering thought that runs through Albert's head before he remembers that's not supposed to happen and his anxiety tries to choke him. It makes him very still, barely moving or even showing signs of breathing as he gingerly takes the binder as offered, unable to even show how relieved he is to have it back. He'd been working on several pieces in it for months and the fugue at the front he'd started back in Germany and had gone through so many iterations he's not certain where it will come out just yet. He'd thought he'd have to start all over.

"Thank you." Albert's voice is a soft murmur, or at least that's what he intends. Instead it comes out harshly and he immediately regrets even saying that much and has to swallow down the desire to bolt. And oh Gott he knows about Albert revisiting the club. Had he seen him? He must have. How could Albert have even thought he was going to be sly about this? What was the point? He'd just wanted to watch, but then there'd been that audition and now Jet is looking at him with those brown eyes, hard and angry but still curious and Albert's heart is pounding fit to burst and he can't breathe.

"I-I..." It's more than a wheeze than a word, but Jet's cornered him and there's no way he can just run now.

"I..." He clutches the corners of the binder, sharp edges digging into his fingers.

"I didn't know how to talk to you." You're so bright, how could I talk to you?

Jet's hard look turned to one of honest confusion. Talk to him? He wanted to just talk to him? Why? Usually, the only reason anyone from his job wanted to talk to him was to try and sweet talk him into bed, otherwise they just cared about the show. The only reason he didn't think the former was Heinrich's case was because those people were often much more forward or charismatic. This guy was just painfully shy.

"Like a normal person, not some guy creepin' around and giving my roommates stalker vibes."

He was still confused as to why this guy would want to talk to him, but he was curious too and he didn't seem so bad now that Jet had gotten more than two words out of him. The younger man leaned back in his chair and relaxed a little more, hoping that would make it feel less like an interrogation.

"You invite me to a public place and start talking. We're in a public place, so now you just gotta do the talking." He hesitated a moment and glanced away before looking back, his tone going softer by degrees. "What's the 'A' stand for?" He gestured to the binder for context.

Jet takes pity on him, he can see that for what it is, and so the German makes a valiant effort to stay where he is instead of bolting despite just how hard his heart is pounding in his chest. "Albert."

Silence reigns awkwardly for a long moment, then Albert looks down, unable to keep up eye contact, but still he doesn't run. "I never meant to be creepy or scare you, I just..."

He swallows. "I've never felt-" No, that's wrong. That's awkward and creepy too. "I've never seen anyone dance like you." Better.

Another beat.

"Is Jet your real name or a stage name?"

The compliment about his dancing was nice and actually caused a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. It doesn't drop even as he non-noncommittally shrugs. "It's the only name I go by, just leave it at that."

He sat up a little more, that curiosity causing all of his attention to be on the other man. "My turn. You wrote all of that in that binder, right? Are you a musician? A professor here or something?"

"I'm not a professor, no. I'm a student." He smiles a little wry smile. It makes him look younger than his thirty years but not by much. "Old for it, I know, but I never had the chance for any higher learning until a few years ago."

Somehow Jet's easy to talk to and Albert's nerves abate enough that he no longer looks like he's about to run for the door at any moment. "You're a student here, aren't you? Are you studying dance?"

Something about the way he asks hints that he may be disappointed if that's not the case.

Edited 2014-07-25 05:48 (UTC)

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Pretty Woman

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