Just an Ordinary Love Story (that's what we are): Part Five

[amfiguree]

[American Idol] [David Archuleta/David Cook] [G]

So hey, fallenangels607, I hear it's your birthday today. And - okay, I know we haven't been talking as much these days because I suck and am never around, and also you have, I don't know, an actual life? But seriously, like, you know how much I adore you, and I don't see that changing anytime soon, and if there's anything else I need to say to you, I think this story - and this part, especially - does it for me. So here's to the most FANTASTICAL, FAMAZING BIRTHDAY EVER. And I hope you enjoy getting older while you're still young! ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

All earlier parts of the 'verse can be found here.



Just an Ordinary Love Story (that's what we are)

Part Five

David's always been awkward around new people - especially when it's crowds of new people. He just never knows what to say, and his life really isn't all that interesting, so it's not like he has funny anecdotes to share or anything.

Cook's the total opposite, though, which is awesome, oh my gosh. He can talk to anyone and make them like him (which, okay, David already knows that from firsthand experience, but it's different when he gets to watch Cook in action, like, his effect on other people or whatever). Cook's so good at it, in fact, that he even kind of rubs off on David a little bit, till David actually starts enjoying himself enough to start a conversation about organic vegetables with Tricia, whom he hasn't seen in forever (and who's his, um, third cousin twice removed or something? David doesn't even remember anymore).

"I mean it's totally the healthier option," Tricia says, and Cook nods, gravely. "But, like, when you add up all that extra cost it's kind of--oh. my. gosh! Jazz!"

And before David has time to press her for the rest of that statement, Jazzy materializes in front of them, Jeff on her arm, and a couple David's never seen before right beside them. Jazzy sort of flails a little, and then Tricia makes another excited, um, squeeing noise, and drags Jazzy off to a corner to, like, talk about the sequins on her wedding dress or something.

"Oh my gosh," David says, under his breath, once they're safely out of earshot. "I haven't even met some of these people! Just, how do you keep all of this stuff straight?"

"Practice," Cook says, on a laugh. "Lots and lots of--"

"Dave?"

There's Cook's hand, warm on the small of his back, and David doesn't realize how heavily he's leaning into Cook until he feels Cook stiffen, suddenly, feels Cook's open palm clench into a tight, tight fist behind him.

"Cook?" David says, uncertainly. Cook's eyes are too dark to read when he turns, and then David's distracted by Jeff saying, "Hey guys. This is Michael, a buddy of mine. And this is his wife, Stacey. Mike, this is Jazzy's brother, David."

"Hi," David says, and reaches for Michael's hand. Beside him, Cook goes even tenser. "Um," David says. "This - he's David, too. David Cook. My, um - my--"

"Escort," Cook interrupts. His voice is strangely hard. "For the evening."

David practically feels his stomach knot, and his throat is so scratchy with panic he can't even speak.

Michael gets this really weird look on his face for a second, but it disappears as he reaches for Cook's hand, and he says, easily, "Good to meet you, mate."

David's pretty sure he should be relieved right about now, but Cook barely smiles back, barely even makes to extend his own hand, and David's stomach clenches up even harder.

Then Stacey says, too brightly, "So how did you two meet?" and David blinks and, on auto-pilot, turns to Cook--

"I'll go get you something to drink," Cook says.

"...Okay?" David says uncertainly, completely thrown. "Thank you?"

"I'll join you," Michael offers.

"I'm fine, thanks," Cook says, shortly, and turns away.

David's pretty sure he's not imagining the other weird look Michael gives Cook this time.

"Yeah," Jeff says, then, and David tries, guiltily, to return his focus back to their conversation. "Jazzy said something about a surprise party?"

David tries to make (awkward) small talk for another second, though he's pretty sure the only reason he gets away with it is the fact that Jeff plays mediator the entire time, and also the fact that he really, really loves Jazzy, and also the fact that he's known David for, like, a decade or something by now. But when it's actually been fifteen minutes (versus, um, just feeling like it's been forever), and Cook still hasn't come back with the drinks, David excuses himself to go looking for him.

It's not hard to figure out where Cook is, really. Once David exhausts the restaurant, and the men's room, there's really only one place Cook could be.

Cook's hunched into himself, his back tense and his head lowered, when David pushes the curtains to the balcony back. He doesn't look up, not even when David inches closer.

"Fuck," Cook's hissing, under his breath. He slams his palms against the balcony railing, and David winces. "Fuck, motherfucking son of a bitch." He scrubs a hand over his face. "Jesus, Dave, get a fucking grip."

Hesitantly, David steps fully out onto the verandah. "Cook?"

Cook spins around, caught off-guard, and then ducks his head back down again. David sees the brief disappointment there anyway. "Archie," Cook says. His voice dips, unsteadily, and he clears his throat. "Sorry, man. I'm - I'll be inside in a sec, okay? Just - give me a minute."

It shouldn't have taken this long, probably, but it finally hits David, then. All of a sudden he realizes -- this is the guy. The guy who - all of Cook's jokes (stories) about burning his suits, and - and being stupid.

This is the guy.

But--"He has a wife!" David wants to say. He fumbles it, though, and somehow what he ends up hearing from himself is, "Do you want to get some air? We could, um - there's a park nearby? If you want."

Cook does lift his head, then. David has a second to register the surprise written all over his face before it melts into something almost like relief. "Yeah," Cook says, eventually. "I could use some air." His voice is rougher than David's ever heard it, and there's an unexpected curl of heat low in David's stomach. Cook hesitates another moment, then forces a smile as he adds, "I, uh, I could just -- if they'd miss you, I can handle the air on my own."

David doesn't take the bait (and, um, yeah, he can totally tell when Cook's trying to bait him now okay). "They won't miss me," he says.

It's not really a lie.

Probably.

And Cook's half-nod of acknowledgment, the grateful curve of his mouth... a maybe lie is totally worth that.

It's late in the afternoon by the time they slip out of the restaurant, and the sun's already starting to set. it's warm and balmy out, and there's a gentle breeze teasing the ticklish curl of hair at the base of David's neck.

Cook's hands are jammed in his pockets as he walks, and he doesn't offer any funny anecdotes, or bad jokes, or stupid stories (which, David realizes, suddenly, he's totally been doing from the beginning), so they're both quiet for a while. There are a million things David could say, and about a million more questions he could ask, but he struggles for words anyway, for anything to break the silence, oh my gosh, the longer they go without talking, the longer he has to think about - about Michael, and Cook, and what could've happened between them, and whether Stacey knows, or - or maybe approves, and then his mind circles around the idea of Michael and Cook, together--and there's a sharp jerk in his chest, something that feels dangerously like--

On the heels of desperation, David starts to hum.

Cook looks over at him, eyebrow canted curiously, but then his mouth curves into another smile David can't read, and he joins in.

David feels himself relax, involuntarily, and it takes a little longer, a little more coaxing, but then Cook totally starts to relax too. They take turns free-styling with little rifts and, when the song ends, with picking the next one. They keep egging each other on, just making stuff up and trying to thread their harmonies together, and David hasn't heard of a bunch of the songs Cook chooses, but it doesn't even matter, he's having so much fun - it's never like this, not even in school, where it's always about scales and sheet music and stuff, which is great, too, honestly, it's just... not like this - and he just goes with it.

All too soon, they get to the park, and David holds onto the last note for a long beat before reluctantly letting it go. "Not bad, Archuleta," Cook says, as they slow to a stroll. David can't help the snick of pride he feels at the admiration in Cook's voice. "That Bieber kid better watch out for you."

"Oh my gosh!" David protests, swatting ineffectually at Cook's arm. "Why are you even--he's, like, twelve."

"Because you're so much older," Cook says, and laughs when David rolls his eyes.

"We've totally been over this," David points out. "I'm, like, a year away from turning legal."

"I gotta tell you, man," Cook says, grinning. "That doesn't help your case much."

David sighs, but when he looks up, Cook's still smiling, almost like the afternoon never happened, and--

"So you're--" David begins, cautiously. "Are you--"

"Yeah," Cook says, a long, long second after David trails off, and David is kind of glad Cook doesn't need him to finish the question. The smile he offers David is small but real. "Thanks, man. I needed this." He pauses, almost awkwardly, and then says, "Look, about tonight, it - I was really unprofessional in there, and I--"

David shakes his head. "It's okay, Cook."

"No," Cook insists. "It's not. Listen, I'm a lot better at my job than it seems right now, and I just want you to know--"

He hesitates again, then opens his mouth like he might say more (and David finds himself leaning forward, closer, hoping--)

And then there's a sudden burst of heat beside them, and a loud, whooping, "Fuck yeah!"

David startles when Cook does, and they both turn to where a huge bonfire is suddenly crackling merrily beside them, a couple of feet away. There are a bunch of teenagers crowded around it, slapping each other on the back and laughing, like some kind of weird tribal dance or whatever.

"Oh," David says, belatedly realizing that maybe fire and Cook aren't the best combination right now. He tugs Cook aside. "Um, I - if you -- could you maybe wait till after the wedding to burn this suit?"

Cook's startled into a laugh at that, and David feels something warm settle deep in his gut. It's been happening a lot lately. "You're something else, Archuleta," Cook says, fondly. "You know that?"

They head back to the party a little while after that, because David's pretty sure they're going to send a search party out if they notice his absence, but once they get there, Cook seems fine again, or close enough to it anyway. He does give Michael a wide berth the rest of the evening, though, and David sticks close to him while he does it.

David catches Michael shooting them these looks every so often, like they're a puzzle he's trying to solve, and each time David looks away before he can say or do something rude.

It's - he's not like this at all, not usually; he's never been the confrontational type. But when he thinks about the way Cook's mouth goes tight around Michael, the way his eyes harden, it just - it makes him feel--

"Archie," Cook murmurs, low in his ear, and David feels his pulse hitch when Cook strokes a thumb over the back of his hand. Which is when he realizes his hand, the one tucked into Cook's - and when did that happen? - is clenched, tight.

"Oh my gosh!" David blurts, as he loosens his hold. "Sorry! I - just, I wasn't paying attention--"

"Yeah, because that killer grip really did a number on me," Cook says, and nudges David's shoulder with his own. "You okay?"

David manages a smile, and lets out a long, low breath. "Yeah," he says, finally, and studiously doesn't look over at Michael again. "Yes. I'm fine. I, um - do you wanna leave? I mean, it's been a long day, and we're going to see everyone here again tomorrow anyway."

If Cook's surprised by the request, he doesn't show it. "Let's hit the road."

It's like the entire lunch is forgotten the second they leave the restaurant. Cook's talking a mile a minute, and David's just settled to feeling like they've regained equilibrium when they reach their hotel. Cook starts fiddling with his phone as they get into the elevator, and he's grinning, one arm slung casually around David's shoulders as they go in, but when they come out he's slipped his phone into his pocket, and he isn't smiling anymore.

David nudges him a little, and gets nothing but a half-smile in response.

Cook gets this pinched look the closer they get to their room, and says, "Hey, you know, I think I'm gonna take off for a while," as David fumbles with the card key.

David looks up. He doesn't need to guess to know what this is about. Before he can catch himself, he says, "Can I come with?"

There's a flash of something on Cook's face, something that looks like - like maybe...

"It's okay," Cook says, and shakes his head. "It's, uh, you're probably wiped, man, and tomorrow's gonna be a real--"

"No," David shakes his head. "No, Cook, I want to."

"David," Cook says.

"I'm not - I just think maybe you shouldn't be alone right now."

Cook opens his mouth - to argue or crack a joke or--something, David isn't sure what, but he sees Cook bite it back, and David scrambles to put the room key back in his pocket and follow Cook back towards the elevator before Cook can change his mind.

Even before they get outside, David knows this isn't the same as before. Cook's not - he's all melancholic, and David can tell right away that this is going to take, like, serious heavy-lifting on his part or whatever to cheer Cook up again.

"I, um," he ventures, after they've been walking in silence for a couple of minutes. "I know this bar?"

Cook turns to him, then, his weary expression dissolved into disbelief, at least momentarily. "I'm listening."

The thing is, 'bar' maybe isn't the best word to describe the place.

Just - it sort of is one, but Mormon, so there's no alcohol or whatever, and David goes there mostly because they bring in these, like, awesome live bands and stuff, only that night is apparently Karaoke Night.

"Well that's unfortunate," David says, as they settle into a booth. ("We might as well," Cook says, eyebrow raised as he follows David inside. "But just so you know, this is a total cop-out.")

"That's a whole lot of unfortunate," Cook agrees, wincing at the current act's latest sour note. "You are so going to have to make this up to me."

"Um," David says, midway of picking up the menu. "What?"

"Oh, don't even, Archuleta," Cook says. "You're totally going up there."

"Um?" David repeats. "What?"

"You heard me," Cook says, smugly, and apparently he's, like, in cahoots with the managers or something because that's when they ask for the next volunteer, and Cook yells out his name and sort of, um, shoves him out of his seat.

So David totally has to go up then, because there are people, like, whistling at him or whatever, and also, the spotlight is kind of there, on him, and he makes a half-panicked gesture at Cook before letting Rick herd him up onstage. "So - hi there," he says, and waves a hand awkwardly as Cook whoops and hollers his name. "My name's David, and I'm trying to cheer my friend up tonight, and apparently this is what he wants me to do, so, like, if I suck you guys can laugh or whatever and -- or you guys can laugh either way, I guess, um. But anyway, I'm going to sing a little Edwin McCain tonight, if that's okay. So - here goes."

David loves I'll Be - has loved it from the first time Claudia played it for him on the computer they shared and told him, dreamily, that it was the song she was going to set her first dance to - and he's sung it a billion times, maybe more, but tonight feels different.

Cook's watching him with this strange, serious, rapt expression, one David doesn't think he's ever seen before, like David's the only one in the room, and--it feels different.

David blushes through the entire song.

"David--" Cook says, later, once David's high-fived his way through the crowd and back to their booth (and oh my gosh, there were way more people here than he'd realized).

"Um, so it's totally your turn to get up there now," David says, before Cook can say anything else that'll probably, like, make him blush his head off again.

"What?" Cook demands, but then one of the guitarists - Maya - is at their table, already tugging on Cook's arm to get him to his feet, and Cook throws his straw at David before giving in with a laugh. David just grins at him, unrepentantly, but then Cook actually gets onstage, and somehow persuades Maya to let him try her guitar on for size, and then Cook's singing, about honeyed lips and burning desire, oh my heck, and David sinks lower into his seat, his skin practically on fire, and wishes he'd thought about his plan a little more before its execution.

"That was amazing," Cook says, bumping David's shoulder with his own as they walk down the street back towards their hotel. "I didn't think people gave standing ovations in bars."

"Ha!" David says, triumphantly. "You totally admitted it was a bar."

"Because that was the point I was trying to make," Cook shoots back, but he's still grinning, and David finds himself grinning back. "Seriously man, that was awesome. Thanks for showing me around town."

"It was one place," David says. "That doesn't really qualify as around town."

"Okay, you really need to learn to take a compliment," Cook says, and David colors on cue, which just makes Cook laugh, sigh, like David hadn't seen that one coming.

He ignores it in favor of rummaging around his pockets for the room key, and he's surprised (but glad) when Cook doesn't push the issue. That is, he's glad until he looks up again, when he realizes Cook's holding his cell phone, wearing that same, pinched look from earlier in the day.

David puts an uncertain hand on Cook's wrist, briefly, and Cook looks up with a tight smile that's almost painful to look at, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he puts his phone back in his pocket without replying, and follows David into the room.

Just like that, David feels the mood shift again. They've been out all night trying to pretend this isn't actually happening, like it's some chapter in a book they can just gloss over, but David knows firsthand that that isn't how life works. Denial only ever gets you so far.

"Do you want the day off tomorrow?" he asks, eventually, as Cook flops down onto his bed.

"What?"

"I mean - it wouldn't be a big deal if you missed it," David offers. "It's just the tasting menu. Jazzy won't mind."

Cook's sitting up now, watching him, and for the first time since they've been in Utah, it looks like Cook wants to say yes. "But Aunt Em--"

"I think she likes you," David says, with a small smile. "I don't think she'll try to make me sit on anyone else's lap just because you're not around for, like, two hours."

Again, Cook hesitates.

"I'll be okay, you know," David adds, with more confidence than he feels. "They're my family."

Cook tilts his head, then, studying David for a minute, and oh my gosh, David wishes he knew what Cook was thinking.

"Michael was one of my clients," Cook says, finally.

David's heart stops.

Cook drops his gaze, fingers clenched around the thin fabric of his bedsheets. His mouth is twisted, humorlessly. "He's a businessman, and there was... a particular crowd he was trying to impress for a project. He hired me, said it would be an easy, one-time deal." Cook pauses for a second, then shakes his head. "Then it was twice, three times, and he started asking for... other services, and suddenly he was a regular.

"He bought me suits, took me out and showed me off, and then we'd come back and he'd fuck me in his hotel room." Cook's voice drops a notch, low and dirty. "I probably should've asked to see his place after the first year."

David sucks in a shuddering breath, and hears Cook do the same.

"But I got stupid," Cook adds, after a beat, with a hollow laugh. "I believed everything he told me. Every fucking word. And then I found out the bastard was married." Cook swallows, hard. "He told me he wouldn't be needing my services anymore, and that I could keep the suits. Like it was the suits I--"

Cook stops abruptly, and shakes his head.

"Cook--" David says.

"No," Cook interrupts. "I shouldn't - I'm not the one who -- I'll go with you tomorrow. I just - I wanted you to know. That's all. And I don't want you to think--"

"Okay," David says gently, as he slides over to sit beside Cook. He's not sure which one of them needs the contact more. "We'll both go."

And -- okay, David knows Cook can look out for himself. But after everything - after the previous night - he starts doing it too. It's surprisingly easy to spot the telltale signs that Michael's getting to Cook once he's watching out for them.

The clenched jaw, a sudden change in direction, a furrowed brow. All things David can see even from across the room (not that he likes being extracted from Cook's side too often) and he sees it again as he's talking to one of his relatives, sees Cook's face change, and excuses himself right away so he can distract Cook.

Michael's with his wife, watching Cook from over her shoulder. And the look on Cook's face...

Cook's never let him flounder, or look stupid, or anything like that, and he's dealt really well with David's entire family, even Aunt Em, and he doesn't deserve to - to look like that, not after everything he's done.

In some burst of affectionate bravado David murmurs, "um, Cook," and when Cook looks down, eyes hooded and jaw clenched, David leans up into him and presses their mouths together so fast he nearly unbalances them both.

Cook makes a low, surprised sound, but then steadies himself with a hand to David's back, and goes with it.

The kiss is slow, and warm, and deep, and David fists his hands in the lapel of Cook's jacket when he feels one of Cook's hands come up to cup the back of his neck. He feels loose and shaky all at once, and he has to make himself remember to pull back, to open his eyes and breathe and ask--

"Is he still watching?"

"What?" Cook blinks, and seems to take a second to find his balance. "David, was that--"

"I just," David says, helplessly. "You've been watching him watch us all night."

Cook stares at him for a moment, then smiles. It's half-hearted but real. "Thanks," he says, roughly.

"Um," David replies, fingers twitching with the effort it's taking to not touch his mouth right now. "You're welcome."

Cook looks at him for another small eternity, like he's figuring something out, before he lifts a hand and says, "you've got a little something -- just let me," and then he's skimming the pad of his thumb over David's jaw, and leaning in to kiss him again. And David isn't, like - this kissing thing isn't a foreign concept to him, exactly, but--Cook really knows what he's doing.

There's this hot, twisty thing in David's stomach, and - oh my gosh, it totally wasn't this warm a minute ago.

He blinks when Cook pulls away a heartbeat of a second later, fingers clenched tight around the fabric of Cook's blazer. "Could we maybe, um," he says.

"Yeah," Cook says, breathlessly, and leads them outside.

"I'm--" David says.

"Shut up," Cook says, and pushes him back against the wall, both hands planted on either side of his head, and David lets out a long breath and murmurs, "Okay," and leans in so Cook can kiss him again.

On to Part Six.