The morning after the next few days proved so dreary for Hans. Every morning was the same, at first, in every single conceivable way. Wake up at the crack of dawn, eat breakfast, take the metro trains to the same work. Yet, all mornings since that day at the coffee-house felt especially devoid of life, for whatever reason Hans couldn't discern. Perhaps it was just the opportunity to meet someone new whizzed by him, and he had been too cowardly to reach out a hand and grasp it between his fingertips. Hans couldn't be bothered with the introspection he'd need to conduct to fully understand it, unfortunately, with how crushingly monotonous work days were.

Hans tapped away at the keys across the board, staring listlessly into the computer screen at his desk. It was an ebony, modern, and minimalistic desk that matched his coworkers' desks, lining the studio's walls that were painted in such an outlandish fashion: shades of reds waving across the sea of stagnant white. Showrooms were boxed in on the opposite side of the studio from the workspaces, parading the trendiest designs of interior fashion. Hans would fill his spare time waiting for clients to call by examining those rooms from his desk. A room with flamboyant oriental style would occupy the left space, complete with the commonly favored paper lanterns softly illuminating the area with its incandescent glow, and the ink like furniture with red cushions. The middle room was certainly more rustic, with antiquated chairs and plaid curtains in front of faux windows, all tied together with neutral colors. Older couples seemed to favor this one the most when they came in for a gander, Hans noticed. The last room to the right had the prominent modern feel, matching the rest of the office. It was populated with rectangular furniture, from the couch to the lamps, only differed from the office by a more green color scheme. None of these rooms really suited himself, as Hans preferred to have a colorful living space that still managed to be balanced. Having this job could tend to curb one's tolerance for a disproportionate home and an owner with a despicably low sense of style. That much was clear to him when he visited Berwald's apartment, which was splattered in hideous combinations of blue colors.

Finally, something stimulating presented itself when the phone tucked away in his pants' pocket began to hum. Hans quickly took his hand's fingers away from the keyboard and fumbled with them in his pocket to get a grip on the phone. Pulling it up to his ear, he accepted the call and shouldered it, continuing to work at the computer as he spoke.

"Densen?" Hans said, as he would talk so many times on this damned device, he couldn't bother with any other greeting.

"Hans, it's me, Lars," the Dutch man greeted rather firmly.

"Lars? What's up? Make it quick, I'm in the office right now." Hans made somewhat of a friend in Lars, as they painted sets together with a couple other people.

"Right. Listen, about the painting that needs to be done on the other backdrops, I won't be there next time, neither will the other guys. I'm goin' on vacation with my sister. I just got word from them, too."

Hans' hands tensed and ceased their work at the keys.

"What?" he spat out tersely.

"Ya heard me. Sorry. I only get to vacation this time of year, alright? Cut me some slack."

"Cut you some slack? Are you kidding?! Those backdrops are wanted before the premier, ya know...!" Hans hissed between his teeth to keep himself from bursting out in the quiet of the office.

"I'll make it up to you somehow. Besides, painting is more your thing than mine. Ye'll do fine."

"How do you know, smart guy?"

"Dunno. I just figure."

Hans smacked his face lightly with his palm, groaning with closed lips. "Fine, but you definitely do owe me. Say... a week's worth of beers on your tab." Even with this bargain, Hans still wanted to bash his head on the desk. If only his co-workers weren't around.

"Three days of it," he haggled.

"Five."

"Four."

Hans was quiet briefly as he realized this was probably as good a deal he'd get from Lars. "Fine, ya crook. Go have a good vacation or something while I slave away with paint buckets."

"Definitely. See ya around."

"Later." Hans hung up afterwards, still unable to believe this news, believe of course in the worst possible sense. Yes, painting was one of the more enjoyable things he had to do, but whole backdrops to finish on his own was like murder. And this time the one with a knife was Lars. Maybe the beer deal would make this worth it, the Dane thought.

Maybe not, on second thought.


Hours passed the next day while Hans slathered some base coloring on the next backdrop, then wiped away sweat from his brow. Painting might be fun, but the glaring light from above to give sight to Hans also made it warmer than he'd like while he tried to concentrate. As he had to cram in this job in time for dress rehearsal to take place, he ended up having to stay well after the usual time he did to meet the deadline. By this time, the actors were meeting behind him on the stage with the director to talk over the script and their duties. However, he couldn't be bothered to look over his shoulder at them, not tired enough to stop painting yet, but tired enough not to care about anything else.

Behind him, the director had stopped his chattering and left the actors to their own devices, which consisted of meeting and greeting each other. None of them honestly considered Hans' presence, other than the occasional glance to peek at what the stranger was doing, standing atop a broad ladder with a bucket of paint to reach the upper surface of the large canvas. Over and over he cursed Lars and the others, bending over to dip the paint in the dark blue meant to give basic color to the night sky the scene would portray.

As he righted himself to reach up, Hans shifted his weight in perhaps the most wrong way one could, and ended up throwing himself off-balance. His chest tensed in a determined attempt to keep himself on the ladder, but the forces of gravity had other plans for his waving arms. Hans, with a terse yelp, slipped from the ladder and plummeted to the wood of the stage, landing on his back with a thud. Thankfully, he'd kept his head up enough to keep injury away from that, but he'd certainly feel the ache in his back for a while. The paintbrush he held had been released from his grip, and it had grounded itself unceremoniously on Hans' face, slathering it in dark blue.

"Hey. You alright down there?" A man asked blandly. One of the actors had noticed his fall and had wandered over to check on the ailing Hans, looming over his face and offering a hand. The light from above made it difficult to see the man's face, but Hans gave a cheerful smile as he always did in this sort of embarrassing predicament.

"Ah.. Yep! Just a bit of a..." he paused to make a small noise of discomfort. "...Fall. Y'know. Everyday stuff." Hans brushed it off, though not smoothly. Despite this, he took his hand and slowly started to rise up from the floor, taking the paintbrush in his other hand.

"You fall often, then? Don't forget about your face, either." the man teased, pulling the rest of Hans' weight up until he was safely on two feet, then took his hand away to rest on his hip.

"Well, less often than you're implying, honestly!" Hans chuckled, eyes shut with it while he used his now free hand to wipe off any dust clinging to his messy shirt that he wore when he painted.

When the Dane opened his eyes next to get a view of his apparent savior, he tried to restrain a strong reaction to the sight of this man, for he was the very same one he saw in the coffee-house. Instead, a more controlled response of wide eyes and raised brows were present on his expression. The other man merely raised a brow at this supposed stranger's reaction. With a somewhat curious undertone is his voice, the man asked, "Is something the matter?"

Excited with his mouth pulled into a wide grin from awe, Hans quickly responded with a shake of the head, "No, no, nothing's the matter at all!"

"Is that so?" he answered slowly, as if suspicious of this oddly excited Dane. A fan, perhaps? Possibly...

"No, really! Nothing's wrong, it's just..." Hans took a moment to gather his thoughts and take a breath, then in more restrained excitement continued with, "It's gonna sound weird and maybe just a tick crazy, but I've seen you before! A few days ago... the coffee shop."

The man's face lightened at this revealing information. "Ah... yes, I recall. I usually make my own, I just didn't want to be late."

Hans suddenly felt his enthusiasm bloom in his heart and spread across his body, almost unable to believe he'd meet this character again, in this theatre of all places. "Yeah! I was just... too nervous to talk to you. I have trouble with... well, talking to new people and making friends. I'm a bit shy."

"Shy? You certainly don't seem that way with how... bouncy you are so far." he retorted.

"It's true, swear! Anyways... thanks for helping me up. If I may know, what's your name? Mine's Hans!"

"Nils. It's a pleasure, Hans." he said politely, extending a hand to shake while the other took its place on the other side of the hip. Nils briefly glanced down to watch Hans excitedly shake hands with a surprisingly warm hand, at least compared to his own colder one, then looked back up to meet eyes with Hans.

Hans leapt straight into small talk, hoping to immediately strengthen the bonds that weren't quite formed yet between the two. "So you're an actor, Nils? It's for the play I'm making these backgrounds for right now, yeah? Phantom of the Opera?"

Nils nodded lightly. "That's correct. I'm one of the leads, the Phantom, so it seems." Though he spoke little compared to Hans' babbling, it satisfied him nonetheless.

"Ah, cool! You play leads a lot?" he asked simply.

"Yes. I act professionally, after all." Nils was nothing if not confident in himself, although not to the level of boastful. "A bit off your chosen topic, but you're Danish, right?"

Hans held his mouth agape in surprise at how perceptive Nils proved to be, but then shut it with a gulp. "Wh-whoa, how'd you know?"

"Your hairstyle. ...A joke, of course. No, it was your accent. Anyone who speaks with a heavy tongue like that would come from there." Nils gave a shrug.

"Damn, and I was trying so hard to hide it." Hans laughed lightly, scratching at the back of his head to ease his nerves somewhat. "But really, then you must be a hell of an actor to get so many leads! I feel like it's an honor to even talk to you."

"Don't, it's no big deal. I'd hate to seem unapproachable. I'll admit, you're interesting so far yourself, with all these contradicting traits you're showing to me already." Nils really did think Hans was a curious person, so outgoing but so shy.

"Really? Hah, I guess that's good!" Hans beamed at his new friend, taking his hand away from his head and letting it hang at his side. "Well, I have backdrops to finish. My associates all thought it'd be fun to take vacation at the same time, so I've gotta handle this myself, meaning I have to stay even while you guys come in and practice. So I suppose we'll see each other around!"

Nils nodded at him, a very slight smile showing itself on his face. "Very well. I'll leave you to it. I'll see you another time, then."

"Sure, definitely! We can talk after the practice, too, though... Maybe exchange phone numbers so we can call each other!"

"Phone numbers, hm?" Nils briefly contemplated this, though soon replied. "Alright. After this meeting."

"Great! I'd better get back to painting, then." Hans gave the Norwegian a nod, then turned to go back to attending his backdrop, still ignoring the ebb of pain from his backside.

"Don't fall this time, yes?" Nils called over, eliciting a snort from the Dane.

This man would certainly prove to be very amusing.