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Gabin Roux does not cross picket lines.
So when all three of the train lines he takes go on strike, he resigns himself to riding his bike to ballet.
He tells himself it’s fine that his commute time has doubled and is somehow uphill both ways because of fucking Montmartre. That it’s a fantastic idea to bookend eight hours of dancing with an hour of cardio. And that his ankle twinging before practice even starts is not evidence that he’s undoing weeks of physical therapy.
He might’ve gaslit himself into believing all of it if it weren’t for Tobias Bell.
Gabin is trying not to be distracted by Tobias’ hands on him一 adjusting Gabin’s starting position with one on his waist and one on his bicep一 when Tobias says, “Why are you so sweaty?”
“I’m a dancer,” Gabin says. “We are always sweaty.”
“We just started,” Tobias says. His eyes zero in on something in Gabin’s hair. He reaches over, plucks out a leaf, and holds it up in question.
“I biked here.”
“Don’t you live outside the city?”
“The train workers are on strike.”
Gabin expects there to be more, but Tobias, thankfully, is Tobias. “Remember to keep your shoulders open on the arabesque,” he says, then starts the music.
~
Gabin’s almost to the ballet the next morning when someone jumps in front of his path. He skids to a stop mere centimeters from their sneakers. “Putain,” Gabin swears, heart pounding. “Tobias, what are you doing, I almost killed you!”
Tobias braces both hands on Gabin’s handlebars. “Stay with me.”
“What?”
“Until the strike is over,” he adds.
Gabin blinks. “You’re asking me to stay with you?”
Tobias nods.
“At your apartment?”
“No, in my houseboat on the Seine.”
“Really?”
“No. Of course at my apartment.”
Gabin laughs, but sobers quickly. “I don’t know how they go in America, but strikes here can last a long time.”
“I know. The garbage men haven’t been by my building in weeks.” Suddenly, the rat that made it into Tobias’ third floor walk-up makes much more sense.
“I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”
Tobias gives him a blank look.
“You know, you and I,” he glances at Tobias’ hands, nearly touching his own, “being in each other’s, euh一”
Tobias leans closer. “Space?”
Gabin swallows. “Exactly.”
Tobias considers this for a moment. “If you’re using all your energy to get here, you won’t have any left to dance. You were veering left at practice yesterday so I know your ankle is bothering you. And you’re endangering the public by riding this thing.”
“How am I endangering the public?”
“Well you almost ran me over just now.”
“You jumped in my way!”
Tobias shrugs, that infuriating little smirk on his face.
Gabin has to look away so he can think. After a moment, he says, “Okay.”
Tobias touches Gabin’s shoulder. “Good.”
~
Tobias’ apartment is nice, in an Ikea lamp sort of way. Gabin was too single-minded to notice the last time he was here. He drops his bag by the door and peers in the tank on the counter. “Nice fish. What’s its name?”
Tobias sighs. “I’m working on it.”
Gabin’s stomach growls. “I’m starving. What do you want to do for dinner?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do you usually cook or go out…?”
“Mostly I go to Boulangerie.”
“You mean a boulangerie.”
“It says Boulangerie on the sign….”
Gabin straightens. “Tobias. Tell me you have not been eating bread for every meal.”
“They have desserts, too.”
Gabin groans.
“Everything here is so一” Tobias makes a noise.
“Different?” Gabin guesses.
Tobias nods. “But the bread is basically the same.”
“Do not repeat that to another French person,” Gabin warns. Then, thoughtfully, “You are saying you miss New York?”
“Sometimes.”
“Come on,” Gabin says. “I know a place.”
~
Tobias looks particularly tall sitting in one of the Frenchman sized green chairs around the Tuileries’ fountains.
Gabin sits beside him and says, “Here. It’s a 'genuine New York hot dog'.”
Tobias takes the paper bowl and says, “I think this has beef tartare on it.”
“Is that not how they make them?”
“No.” Tobias takes a bite.
“How is it?”
“Bad,” Tobias says. “So pretty genuine. Is that mayonnaise?”
“Probably. We love mayonnaise.” Gabin drags his foot over the lip of the fountain. “Sorry. I saw the signs before and I thought it might help you feel less, ah, sick of home.”
Tobias’ mouth quirks. “Homesick?”
“That’s it.” Gabin takes a bite of his hot dog and resists the urge to spit it into the fountain. He forces it down and says, “Your boulangerie is probably still open.”
“Thank god. Let’s go.”
~
Gabin wakes to someone standing over him. “Tobias? What time is it?”
Tobias checks his watch. “Three am.”
Gabin stands and touches Tobias’ arm. “Is everything okay?”
Distractingly shirtless and sleepily agitated, Tobias says, “You should sleep in the bed with me. The whole point of all of this was so you could dance well and you can’t dance well if you have a bad night’s sleep on my shitty couch.”
“It’s really not that bad一” Gabin starts then cuts himself off. He can tell from Tobias’ face that this is not something he’s going to compromise on. “Okay. I’m coming.”
~
Later that week, Geneviève finds them in the middle of rehearsal. “Are you sleeping together?” she demands.
“Yes,” Tobias says.
“No,” Gabin says at the same time. “I mean, I’ve been staying with him, yes. And we have slept in the same bed. But we have not slept together.” To Tobias he mutters, “A little help here?”
“The train workers are on strike,” Tobias offers up.
“The train workers are striking,” Geneviève says slowly, “so you had to sleep together?”
“Yes,” Tobias says.
No!” Gabin says at the same time.
“You know what? Nevermind. You’re both adults and I have a board meeting later today. Ignorance is bliss.” Geneviève sighs deeply and says, “How’s piece two coming along?”
“Well,” Gabin says weakly.
“Excellent.” Geneviève strides away.
Gabin, feeling like he’s had a few years taken off his life, collapses his weight against a bar.
Tobias, unperturbed, starts the music up again. “From the top.”