Work Text:
Carlos perches on a toilet in a dimly lit stall, trembling and biting his lip. His right hand trembles while his left hand digs its nails into his right arm. He’s trying not to breathe too heavily, doing everything he can to not break down completely.
He had come to the station to surprise Cecil. “Hey guess who got out of the lab early,” he had planned to say. “I know I've been in the lab too much lately and we should go out again, so, yeah, I figured I'd surprise you,” he figured he would add clumsily.
Carlos had not planned to see Cecil's desk get flung across the broadcasting room while Cecil scrambled away from the danger and into the listening booth. He had not figured Cecil would yell at him to run before Station Management got between the two of them, blocking Cecil from view. The sounds, the lights flickering for dramatic effect, the screaming...
Now he perches in the bathroom, tense and terrified. Carlos can't even remember getting into the bathroom. He can't remember anything except the cause of this building meltdown he can't let himself have.
Cecil is-
Carlos bites his lip harder, drawing blood. Don't cry. Don't start hitting anything. Don’t breathe harder. Don't-
There’s a tap at the door that jolts Carlos from his self preserving thoughts. A noise that Carlos can’t understand, isn't in a state to work out. The lock somehow unlocks and more light filters into the stall. Carlos stops breathing. This is too much. He needs to run, he needs-
Pressure surrounds him, something has him! Carlos thrashes around, hitting clumsily at whatever has got him. So what if he made noise now, he’s dead anyways. He doesn’t hear his own grunts, sobs, and ineligible yells as he flails out, letting the stress, the too muchness of it all; overtake him.
“Shh, Carlos, Carlos, shhhh,” a voice finally breaks through to him. “It's alright, everything is alright.”
Carlos flings his arms tightly around the lower being, finally recognizing what is really going on. “Cecil!”
“Yes, Carlos, yes.”
“You're ok, you're ok,” Carlos gasps, finally calming down some, enough to be back in his own mind.
“I'm fine. Can you now get off the toilet?”
“Ok, yeah, uh, yeah,” Carlos mumbles, embarrassment settling in. Cecil lets him go so that Carlos can make sure he gets down without slipping on anything. The fact he hadn't fallen during his meltdown was astounding...
“Would you like me to hug you again?”
Carlos hesitates a moment before nodding. Cecil carefully wraps him in another hug and Carlos rests his head on Cecil's shoulder. Carlos works on slowing down his breathing, rubbing Cecil's back a little.
“... The weather will be over soon,” Cecil whispers.
“S-sorry,” Carlos mutters, pulling away from Cecil.
Cecil looks at him, worry in his eyes. “Come with me. I won't make you say anything on air.”
Carlos nods with a small smile. They stop by the sinks to wash up his lower lip. Luckily, the bite isn’t too deep and has already scabbed up.
As they walk back, Cecil holds something out to him. Carlos brightens, recognizing the silver wrapper. He takes the stick of gum and quickly places it into his mouth. The smell of lavender, the movement of chewing gum lets the rest of the stressful situation from moments ago vanish, now to be replaced by guilt for having been so lost that he had attacked the man he is trying to get another date from.
As they enter the room Cecil goes to lift his desk back up and Carlos realizes only as Cecil’s about to begin struggling that he should go over and help. Cecil needs a new coffee mug, and the picture frame of himself needs a new glass front, but all in all, the damage is not that great. The microphone looks rather pristine.
“... I am... I'm sorry for uh, hitting you,” Carlos finally mutters, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact.
“It’s ok,” Cecil says gently. “You were just so scared... Station Management can be a lot to take in, especially when they’re on a rampage because someone may have said too much about their management practices on air,” he rambles a little sheepishly.
“That’s what happened?” Carlos shakes his head. “How can you work for someth- uh, someone, someones? like that?”
Cecil shrugs, sitting down in his chair. “That’s radio.” He glances over at Carlos. “Want to come here? You can sit in my lap.”
“Nnno, that wouldn't be, uh... That would be awkward and pretty, very, well, unprofessional-”
“I wouldn’t mind. Only if you want to though.”
Carlos swallows before slowly heading over as Cecil pulls his headphones back on. He sits down in Cecil’s lap. Yeah, the chair felt crowded, but the feeling of Cecil’s arms wrapping back around him helps him relax once more.
“Welcome back, listeners,” Cecil starts, his voice even and calm, not betraying for one second that Carlos is right in his lap at the moment. Carlos can't help but be impressed. “I'm glad to be back as well. Station Management's reign of terror that started just before the weather has been settled and they are once again back in their office. Also, to the friends and family of Intern Tom, we regret to inform you that he was assimilated into Station Management. He will be greatly missed...” Suddenly Cecil’s demeanor entirely changes and his voice gets a certain high pitch quality to it. “Also, Carlos stopped in today! I haven’t gotten a chance to find out why just yet, but I promised I wouldn’t make him speak over the air this time. I’m currently staring at his silky curls right now, listeners, and I’ve got to say, they're as beautiful as ever.”
Carlos blushes furiously. Well, Cecil will always be Cecil, Carlos thinks, hiding his face in his hands.
“Oh just loo-” Cecil finally catches himself and clears his throat. “Sorry, listeners. I should let you go. Up next, [insert low gurgling noise]-” Carlos glances out from his hands, unsure as to how Cecil is making such an inhuman noise. He had always figured these odd noises on the radio were prerecorded, but apparently not. “- and Suzan Fitshopper, the 3 foot tall jackalope that lives in the sand wastes, discuss life hacks and how you can make your life longer or shorter as long as you have an internet permit. Goodnight, Night Vale... Goodnight.”
Cecil switches off the microphone and sets it onto the desk where it belongs before wrapping his other arm around Carlos as well. “So, what are you doing here, Carlos,” he purrs, getting to sniff that mesmerizing mane.
“I, uh...” Carlos tries, his prepared speech no longer as prepared as it needs to be.
After a moment of struggled silence that Carlos couldn’t seem to break, Cecil suggests, “Arby’s?”
Carlos nods, sighing. “That... That would be nice.”