Gerald/Baz
The June sun was hot overhead, and Basil had been running after Gerald all morning, helping coordinate messages between interns and pointing out minute problems as they developed. In all the heat, he'd been forced to roll up his shirt sleeves and unbutton the first few buttons of his collar. Even so, he felt uncomfortably warm, unhappily aware of the lines of sweat running down his back and neck, the way his shirt was sticking to his skin.
Yet, Gerald had been right. It was rewarding, seeing the band at a venue like this - the last time he'd seen them, they'd been a wee young group of four members, playing a squalid little pub, where Basil's sartorial choices stood out even more than they did at present. Seeing how far they'd come since was rather - well, dazzling. Basil felt proud, now, knowing he'd been some small part of their meteoric rise - mostly through providing their manager with soothing teas and talking him out of his more ill-advised schemes, but regardless.
"An iced drink sounds wonderful," Basil agreed at once, tugging at his collar again. "But merchandise first, I agree. Business before pleasure."