He doesn’t really know anything about this restaurant he’s wandered into, chosen mostly at random–such is life for a touring musician. Finding himself in unfamiliar cities with nearly all his free time sucked away by rehearsal, wandering the streets within a few blocks’ radius of his hotel or venue and ducking into whichever restaurant caught his interest, if not his eye, first. This one will do. Felix steps inside, removing his sunglasses and setting them atop his blond head.
Somewhat less expected is the man inside the restaurant–the host?–who hands him his menu. Looking up as he hears the words, for one brief moment shaken out of his mundane touring routine. Eyes widen fractionally, quirking his left eyebrow in his signature way. It’s an odd coincidence, but the other man’s knowing greeting has taken a bit of the edge off its surreality.
“Hello yourself.” His tone growing slightly warmer with amusement as he recovered from his initial surprise at the uncanny sensation of looking into a mirror. Well, a mirror with certain alterations, the most notable of which is brilliantly red lipstick, shiny as vinyl. Apparently such a thing would suit him far better than he ever would have guessed. “Tell me, what is someone as unutterably good-looking as you doing working in a restaurant?” A slightly dry tone. There was nothing to do in such a situation but roll with the absurdity.
Everyone apparently has one lookalike somewhere in the world. If not their twin, someone, somewhere, that is currently alive, looks just like them. It’s a real-true-honest-to-god statistic, Romeo thinks--he’s sure he’s read it somewhere in a pink, girly magazine he’s picked up before. But he doesn’t quite remember. What a coincidence, though, that Felix has happened to wander into Romeo’s restaurant! Romeo takes note of his English accent. The stars have aligned! His European counterpart!
Or Romeo’s fallen prey to his wavering sense of reality again. Both are equally plausible.
“I know, I know. If I was only a hostess, it’d be tragic,” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. They garner turned heads from the table beside them as he leads Felix to the bar. He wonders if they assume that him and Felix are brothers--if the accents differentiate them enough. It’s an exciting new thing! He can’t wait to add this detail to his life, like a classy accessory. Like carefully applied rouge.
“But I own it. Not bad, right? Twenty-six and my own restaurant on the Strip!” he brags, grabbing him a glass of white wine immediately, despite the fact he has yet to order anything. “What is someone as unutterably gorgeous as you doing in my restaurant? Hey...”
He leans down close and whispers in his ear that looks just like his, “This is weird, right?”
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