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It was late, and Brad was exhausted in a way he hadn't known for many years. Physically, psychologically, emotionally...he was drained, feeling more like a husk of a man than any semblence of any living thing. He was tired, worn from the time at the Club, and it hadn't even been a month yet. The man heaved a great sigh, burying his face into his pillow wearily. Despite how much he wanted to sleep - hell, to hibernate the time away, his mind kept moving and playing back fragments of memory from all that had recently happened. Like some torturous film that kept looping select frames, he watched several moments play over and over again in his mind.

He was positive he'd be completely grey before the Club opened.

The man grunted, nestling deeper into his pillow. He wouldn't ask what could possibly happen next, because he was not stupid or masochistic enough to believe that this was the worst trial he'd endure in life. He knew that tomorrow would be the start of a new day with all sorts of new issues. Sometimes, he wished life would prove him wrong for a change.

He was quite content to feel sorry for himself when there was...a knock at his door? Brad removed his head from his pillows, peering between the alarm clock on his night stand and the door, which he realized he hadn't closed and locked. That alone was a testimate to his state of mind, as he was such a stickler for his privacy. Grumbling a little, he launched himself out of bed, slipping on a near by pair of pajama bottoms before answering the door with a squint. Damn but those hallway lights were bright!

Was he ever grateful for putting on clothes. It took a moment for his indigo eyes to adjust, but he eventually made out the form of someone he knew quite well. It took every ounce of restraint he still possessed not to grin like a loon as he remarked, "You're not very good at this whole sneaking thing, Kenta." He curled his knuckles against his hip, leaning heavily on his shoulder against the doorframe, finally giving in to his half-cocked grin. It wasn't exactly his Host grin, but wasn't exactly his real one either; it was a compromise, and something he fully blamed on his tiredness.

"Why don't you come in then, hmm? Save you the effort to try and not wake me since you've got me alert now."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, not aware of Kenta's discomfort but helpless to do anything about it otherwise. He closed the door behind the younger man, moving towards his desk to pull out the chair for the waiter. He paused halfway there, looking over to the young man with muted surprise. "Huh. Is it that obvious?" he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. Brad grunted a little, grabbing the chair and indicating Kenta could get off his feet if he wanted to, turning and flopping back onto his bed with all the grace of a walrus.

He rubbed his face again with both hands, exhaling loudly between them. "I'm fine," he started, allowing his Host self to retreat a little, "just being reminded daily why I never took a job working under someone else." Brad shifted his position so that he could cross his arms behind his head, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling. "S'not easy to go from working from the comfort of your home to--" kissing, running, balancing, supporting "--this."

That felt awfully serious, prompting him to glance towards the waiter. "Sorry, but you asked," he mumbled, only half serious. "But how have you been? You hanging in there all right?" Brad continued to look at Kenta, envying the other's youth and seeming lack of weariness. Getting old sucked.

Brad smiled a little at Kenta's words, closing his eyes contently. At least something was going well for someone. "I'm glad to hear it, Kenta," he said honestly, feeling somewhat...relieved, that there was a chance for normalacy after all. He took a deep breath through his nose before exhaling in a sigh that seemed to come from his toes, settling into his position comfortably.

He didn't think much of the brief silence, or the soft creak of the chair as it was released of its burden. One indigo eye cracked open at the sudden and unexpected weight by his side, rolling it up to look into Kenta's own purple gaze. Brad was inwardly surprised by the motion - he was pretty sure Kenta had never come to him, least of all to touch - but the kind motion earned a faint, earnest smile from the older man. Out of all the people he worked with, he found Kenta to be the most agreeable so far. Maybe it was because the young man was serious and relatively straight forward when spoken to. It was nice not to have to beat around the bush when having a normal conversation.

"Why so serious?" he murmured, suddenly feeling like the room was too silent. He was half expecting someone to pop out of his wall and assume some strange and fantastic thing to get the waiter in trouble. The Italian uncrossed his arms and reached over to pat the waiter's knee before flexing his biceps in a mock strong-man motion. "Don't worry. I have broad shoulders to bear it all. Gramps doesn't need a walker yet."

The attention span of the Host flickered momentarily, shifting down to Kenta's lip ring as he started to play with it. That simple ring was a strange source of fascination to Brad, but he couldn't rightly say why. The waiter was so serious and aloof, the older man usually expected to see such things on more rebellious and callous youths. And that thing about kissing...did Kenta even know how to kiss a girl? That thought made him grin a bit, as it sounded old and underhanded. Living up to his lecherous persona after all.

He was distracted from his lip-staring, wiping the bemused expression from his face. "Uh," was his intelligent response at the words Kenta uttered, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights stare for a moment. Now? Here? Where else, you senile dolt, he chastized himself, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. The small pressure on his shoulders had made him realize how tense he really was, and despite the fact that it was the non-physical waiter who had done it, it hadn't bothered him in the least. If Kenta wanted to try and move some of those knots, he wasn't about to complain.

In typical Brad fashion, he gave a languid stretch, casting a sidelong glance at the waiter. "So! Where do you want me?" He couldn't help but grin lop-sidedly again. Something in Kenta just made him a playful little git, and it amused him likely as much as it amused the young man himself.

A soft snicker escaped him at Kenta's jest. Brad didn't actually take him seriously, which was fairly stupid of him, seeing just how serious Kenta often was. The gave him pause for thought as he pulled his legs onto the bed, sitting cross legged so that his back was straight. Slumping would only make the massage hurt, and he fully intented to enjoy himself.

Woah, woah, woah, when did the waiter get so close to his ear?! Brad repressed a small shiver, wondering if being so tired was making his reactions rusty. "I'm expecting as much," he admitted to the mention of pain with a grimace, rolling one of his shoulders as if to ward off what he knew was coming. "I've been hit in the back with a bar stool before, broke the thing to splinters. No offense, but I don't imagine your hands are quite that strong." He cast a glance over his shoulder, wanting to see the young man's expression. He hoped the other wouldn't try to prove him wrong.

"So...do you massage often?" he asked cautiously. "You got a girlfriend you practice on?" A pause. "Or a boyfriend?" Brad half expected an elbow to his back for that comment, although he had no idea if Kenta was the violently inclined type. He figured it couldn't hurt to ask, since it seemed everyone else had more of the latter than the former. Wonder if I'm missing something, he chuckled to himself. Now that was definitely his tired mind talking. At least he'd sleep well when Kenta was done with him.

Brad closed his eyes again, relishing in the brief strokes of pain that came with the deep kneading of his muscle. Things like this, he often liked to say, 'hurt so good.' Sure, it was painful, but as Kenta had said, it was going to feel a lot better once the man got through the initial barrier of knots. He even made a soft noise in his throat as the pressure hardened, lips pulling back a bit from the sudden bite of pain. That was a heck of a tough spot; apparently he carried his burdens on his shoulders.

And then Kenta started coughing as though choking. Brad opened his eyes slowly, starting to turn to make sure the other was okay, but was stopped by the replacement of hands. "Hey," he rumbled, reaching a hand over his shoulder to briefly touch Kenta's own. "I am grateful. Don't push yourself though, okay?" He knew that the talk of massage wasn't what made the waiter sound so harried all of a sudden. Brad would be mindful not to touch that subject again, not lightly anyway. He was a little surprised that Kenta reacted so vehemently, but to each their own, he supposed.

"Thanks," he murmured quietly, his shoulders sagging a little as he forced himself to relax. It seemed he had forgotten how to do that lately, taking too personal an interest in the well being of those he saw on a daily basis; even now, he was even worried that he'd upset Kenta. Brad decided he was sorely in need of sleep, and to keep his mouth shut.

"Makes you relaxed," he murmured jokingly, "try being on my end." He sighed with contentment, wincing in the slightest as Kenta found another tense spot by his spine. Damn, when had he gotten so wound up? And why hadn't he realized it sooner? He'd say it was a pain in his butt, but that seemed inappropriate at the time.

His eyes shifted to the side at the question, not able to see the waiter given his position but not minding terribly. Arching his back against Kenta's hands, he considered how to answer. "If you mean work ethic, I think most people are either charmed or disgusted." Brad chuckled lowly, placing his hands against his knees to keep his back at a nice angle against the younger man's persistant hands. "If you mean relationship-relationship, well. That's complicated."

Brad thought over the people he'd met, and how different everyone's take on him was. He wasn't sure he wanted to name names just yet, so he settled on an honest answer that was vague at best. "I've got myself an admirer, at least a handful of folk who think I'm two-faced, a few less who are pleasant enough and maybe one or two who are genuinely fun to be around. 'course, I include you in that last part."

A soft grunt escaped him as the knot was worked out, relaxing a little again as the effects of the massage finally started to grip him. He felt languid, mushy even, but comfortable. The man could have fallen asleep this way, if not for the fact he was sitting.