Fic: May I Admire You Again Today? (1/3) (Johnson/Marshall)
Title: May I Admire You Again Today? (or, Love’s a Bitch, Duckie)
Pairings: Johnson/Marshall, Cash/Deleon, Johnson/Cash
Rating: PG13 for language?
Word Count: just under 24k
Disclaimer: Completely fictional, did not happen, etc etc.
Summary: High school AU. In which there is a prom, Cash and Deleon are dating, Johnson is in love with his best friend, Marshall is just pleased Johnson agreed to go to prom with him, and Ian is just quietly awesome.
A/N: Wonderfully betaed by the lovely mintyfiend who put up with me going on about this fic for forever. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. Written because…well, I like a good, angsty high school fic and want more Johnson fic too, and this kills two birds with one stone, I guess? Title from Pretty in Pink.
It takes less than ten minutes, from when Cash finally plucks up the courage and asks Alex Deleon to prom, for the word to get around the entire school.
"Did you hear?" Paul asks, sliding in opposite Johnson in the darkest corner of the library, his favourite hiding place.
Johnson grunts in response and stares at his French homework (that's due next period and still isn't done) until the letters start to blur into each other. He doesn't need to hear about it, he'd been lucky enough to have front row seats to the uncomfortable-yet-annoyingly-adorable show.
They'd been heading back from a quick 'lunch' (a burger from the nearest fast food joint and one and a half cigarettes each) inside Cash's car, when Deleon had walked past, caught Cash's eye and blushed. He'd looked away and kept walking, books clutched tight to his chest and Cash had thrown Johnson a terrified, but eager look, and dashed after him.
"So, prom's coming up," Cash had said, catching at Deleon's sleeve, and Johnson had thought that was the dumbest thing ever to say, considering Deleon was on the Prom committee.
Deleon had just nodded, smiled a little. And then Cash had blurted out, "Want to go with me?"
Johnson is pretty sure that if he hadn't been dealing with the way his heart had just been torn out of his chest, he'd have seen Deleon beaming and saying yes and Cash acting like a totally adorable tool. But Johnson hadn't looked. He'd turned and walked away, past everyone having fun, enjoying their teenage years, not having their heart broken, straight into his favourite seat in the library. There was a freshman occupying his table, some tiny freshman called Cassadee (which was an even more ridiculous name than Cash's, but at least his name was spelt normally) and Johnson had just glared until she picked up her books and fled.
It wasn't that Johnson was surprised at all, except that maybe he was. Cash was the sort of dude who would talk about all the chicks and dudes he'd want to bone, yet would hardly say two words to them. So even though Johnson had known about Cash's crush on Deleon, he hadn't worried about it too much (how he'd found out had been kind of painful though, catching Cash doodling 'Cash ♥'s Alex' in his notebook, not wanting to hope, until Cash had glanced up and laughed and jokingly said "you wish" and, well, yeah, Johnson had). But apparently somewhere along the way, Cash had grown a pair. Which meant he really must like Deleon. Which was going to be a bitch.
Johnson had always thought it was lame for people to hate their best friend’s boy or girlfriend, but now? He can relate.
"I think they're adorable together," Paul says. He's apparently been talking the entire time about how Cash and Alex were the school's hottest couple, a total shoe-in to be crowned on prom night. "Don't you think?" Paul asks.
Johnson refocuses on his homework. The bell's about to ring, and he still has three questions to answer. He looks up at Paul.
"Fous le camp," he tells him, his tone apparently enough to convey his meaning, even if Paul doesn't seem to understand the words. Paul frowns at him.
The bell rings and Johnson picks up his books and leaves, wondering if Mme Fournier will give him extra credit for that.
~~~
"Are you pissed at me?" Cash asks.
Johnson stares at the ceiling above his bed, idly twirling a drumstick in his hand.
"No," Johnson says calmly.
There's silence on the other end of the phone.
"Oh," Cash says. "Okay then. Look, I've got to go and meet Al-"
Johnson hangs up. A moment or two later, his phone rings again. He doesn't answer.
~~~
"You are pissed at me," Cash announces, at 3am when he lets himself into Johnson's room. Johnson still isn't sure why his mom was stupid enough to give Cash a key to their house. According to her, it was to save them another 10 years of Cash tripping over Johnson's windowsill and breaking branches off the tree outside on the way up. Johnson had been pretty sure it was just asking for trouble.
"No, I'm not," Johnson lies, turning on his side, away from Cash. He feels the bed dip as Cash climbs on, two muffled thumps as he kicks his shoes off. Cash stretches out beside him, too close, despite the queen sized bed Johnson's had since he was 12 and the pair of them outgrew sharing his twin bed.
"You are," Cash says, kicking at Johnson's foot until he sighs and rolls onto his back.
"Maybe," Johnson admits. That's as much as he's going to concede- to tell Cash more, to tell him how he feels like his insides have been sliced to shreds and that being beside Cash right now is both the worst and best feeling ever, would only fuck everything up. Johnson's spent 4 years, maybe longer, keeping this secret from his best friend, so it's no great strain to add to that burden.
Cash hooks his ankle over Johnson's.
"I know I said that prom was lame. And that we should just hang out here and watch cheesy movies and play video games. And then I know I changed my mind and said maybe prom wasn't that bad, but there wasn't anyone I wanted to go with, except you, and how we should totally go together and that it would be awesome."
Johnson doesn't reply and Cash moves his foot, jiggling Johnson's leg.
"And you said yeah, that you'd like that," Cash continues, "and I even promised to get you a corsage because that would be kind of hilarious. And then I accidentally asked Alex instead. I didn't expect him to say yes, but he did! And now I'm going with him and. And not you. And I'm sorry."
"I hired a tux already," Johnson says.
"You did not," Cash laughs, then goes serious. "Did you?"
Johnson shrugs, neither confirming or denying.
"Oh!" Cash says suddenly, and a strange expression flits over his face, an expression that Johnson doesn't like the look of. It's the look Cash gets before he suggests something that sounds like an awesome idea, but generally ends up with them grounded, or in detention, or accidentally on fire (and then in detention and grounded).
"What?" Johnson asks, warily.
Cash shakes his head, but he looks kind of smug. "Nothing," he says, folding his arms across his chest and grinning to himself.
"Seriously, what?" Johnson says, in the special tone he has for Cash that sounds like 'I'm two seconds away from punching you in the neck' but actually says 'I'm two seconds away from punching you in the neck but I still love you, you idiot' even though luckily no one else beside Johnson can translate it completely.
"Nothing," Cash stresses, twisting onto his side and sliding his hand under the pillow. "I'm just glad, because I worried you were going to stay home and watch movies by yourself and beat yourself at Mario Kart or whatever, and that would make you a total loser and I wouldn't be able to hang out with you anymore. But if you've already got a tux, it means you'll be coming too, right?"
"I'm not going on my own," Johnson tells him. "And I'm not going as, like, a third wheel with you and…with you two." He's not sure why he can't bring himself to say Deleon's name, but Cash doesn't seem to notice.
"Okay," Cash says, but in a way that lets Johnson know the conversation's not over.
Johnson narrows his eyes and opens his mouth.
"Shh," Cash says, closing his eyes. "Sleep time now." He feigns sleep.
Johnson glares at him until Cash actually does fall asleep. And he definitely doesn't stay awake on purpose for a few minutes longer just to watch the steady rise and fall of Cash's chest and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he dreams.
~~~
"You remember Marshall," Cash says by way of greeting when Johnson reluctantly joins him in the cafeteria for lunch on Monday.
Johnson puts his tray down in the empty space and nods at Deleon (he's been practicing, all weekend, at being civil. He's heard stories about shitty people making their boyfriends choose between them or their best friends, and Johnson sometimes thinks Cash could be douche enough to let his dick make the decisions) and then smiles at Marshall.
Marshall who was in grade school with them, who sits behind him in Algebra, who is in his gym class, who is in Jazz band with him, who hangs out at that grungy café where they let aspiring musicians and wannabe poets perform sometimes. Oh, and sometimes comes round to Johnson's place for epic Halo marathons. Yeah, Johnson remembers him.
Marshall rolls his eyes in Cash's direction and Johnson stifles a laugh, sits down, and pokes at whatever mystery meat the cafeteria is serving today.
"We were just talking about prom," Cash announces, and Johnson shovels in a mouthful of whatever it is, just to avoid having to talk.
"We were?" Deleon asks, and then jumps like he's been kicked under the table or something. "Ohhh, right, yeah. Yeah we were."
"And we were saying," Cash continues despite the fact he's just taken a large, loud bite out of his apple and is chewing it, "that Marshall here was going to tag along with me and Alex. And then we thought, well, you're a loser with no one to go with either, so why don't the two of you go together."
Johnson swallows, even though he's not done chewing. "Um," he rasps, then clears his throat. "Uh. What?"
Cash beams at him, and Deleon is doing the same thing and Johnson maybe wants to die, for the floor to swallow him and the entire world along with him so no one else ever has to suffer from such embarrassment. He doesn't look at Marshall, just glares at Cash who is getting to his feet and picking up his tray.
"We have to go and do that thing, remember?" he says, and Deleon nods quickly, and they both hurry off, no doubt to make out with their hands down each others pants while they laugh at how much of a loser they obviously think Johnson is.
Johnson stares down at his plate. He eats another bite and then pushes his tray away, sighs and turns to Marshall, who is eating his sandwich with a carefully blank expression.
"I'm sorry about that," Johnson says awkwardly. "I…I made some joke about a tux, and being all dressed up with nowhere to go, and apparently he decides that means he has to force someone to go to the prom with me."
"He's not forcing me," Marshall says, and Johnson blinks at him.
"He's not?"
Marshall shakes his head. "He even offered me money. I turned it down. Didn't seem to be fair when it's obvious he's saving up to buy himself some tact."
Johnson laughs despite himself. "Look, you really don't have to do this. I can go on my own. Or not. I'm sure there are dozens of people you'd rather ask."
Marshall shrugs. "Not really. It's cool. It'll be fun- we can go, hang out, make fun of the cheesy music and crappy decorations and see if Alex cries when some random idiot gets their tongue stuck to the ice sculpture he's worked so hard to organise and they have to melt it with hairdryers."
The tiny vicious voice inside Johnson tells him he'd really like to see Deleon cry over something stupid like that. Especially if the random douche turns out to be Cash, and there's a high probability of that.
Johnson nods. "Okay then. Beats sitting at home and watching Dancing with the Stars by myself, or getting to share a limo with those two," he says, and Marshall grins.
"Great," he says, brushing crumbs off his lap and standing up. "It's a date then."
Johnson finds himself smiling without forcing himself, for the first time since Cash and Deleon had started dating. He watches Marshall go and decides that, maybe, he won't kill Cash totally dead after all.
~~~
There's less than a month until prom, and Johnson would be sick of the talk about it if Marshall hadn't firmly informed Cash and Deleon that, no, they didn't want to hire a limo with them, nor did they want to hear the pros and cons of matching shirts and bowties and cummerbunds, nor did they need to hear about how Cash was totally booking a hotel room for the night. Johnson was particularly grateful to Marshall about the latter- his stomach coiling with hurt and anger and nausea at the thought, unable to block the mental images from his mind.
Marshall had been so adamant that prom wasn't the be all and end all that Cash and Deleon actually seemed to be trying to not talk about it too much. Which was lucky, since over the past few weeks the four of them had taken to hanging out more and more. Mostly it involved sitting around in the coffee shop or at Johnson's or Deleon's place, watching movies and kicking Cash's ass at video games, but sometimes Johnson and Marshall got dragged along on their dates, to movies and the diner and to the few clubs they could sneak into easily.
Cash and Deleon want a lot of time on their own, to do things Johnson tries not to contemplate, and so Marshall and Johnson hang out. They talk about stuff, although never Cash and Deleon, and never prom. It turns out they have more in common than liking to shoot people on the Xbox, so conversation flows easily enough.
It's a week before prom, and they're marathoning all six Star Wars movies, accompanied by appropriate mocking and sad shaking of heads at the new episodes, when Marshall starts snoring lightly just as Han is about to be frozen in carbonite.
Johnson glances over and grins, and then Marshall turns on his side and curls up a little and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Even though the TV is on pretty loud, it's Johnson's light laughter that makes Marshall's eyes flutter open, cheeks colouring red as he hastily wipes his thumb on his shirt.
"Um," Marshall says, sitting up and stretching a little. "Sorry? I. I should go."
Johnson grins and shrugs. "You could always stay here. There's plenty of room." He nods at his bed, and Marshall follows his gaze, hesitating, before nodding.
"Okay then," he says, and moves as if he's going to get into bed fully clothed. Johnson laughs again- he likes that Marshall does that to him, makes him smile enough he can pretend his heart is still intact and that he's capable of happiness- and throws him a pair of pyjama bottoms, quickly changing himself.
When he turns around, Marshall is already in bed, curled up on himself with his eyes closed. Johnson slips in beside him, and waits for that wash of anxiety he always got from sharing a bed with Cash, the worry he'd blurt out his feelings in his sleep or wrap his arm around Cash accidentally or maybe even do something worse. It's something that's always kept Johnson lying awake longer than he'd like, but tonight that feeling doesn't come and he falls easily to sleep to the sound of Marshall's steady breathing.
Johnson's bedroom door bangs open too early the next morning, jolting him awake.
"Dude, I need your help choosing a corsage for- oh. Well. Huh."
Johnson sits up and glares at Cash.
"What fucking time do you call this?" he demands, and Cash pulls his phone out of his pocket and squints at it.
"Quarter after 11," Cash replies, flashing his phone screen at Johnson so he can see. "Late night?" He's staring at Marshall who is still somehow sleeping despite the racket Cash is making.
Johnson pokes Marshall in the back until he stirs.
"Hmm? Oh, hey Cash," Marshall says, yawning.
Cash winks at him, and Johnson gets the distinct impression he's missing something, especially when Marshall rolls his eyes and laughs a little.
"We were watching movies," Johnson explains hastily, kicking off the covers and getting up to wave the DVD cases at Cash as proof. His insides churn at the idea that Cash might think something else was going on besides purely platonic hanging out.
Cash waves the DVD cases away. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Anyways, I need your help- Alex won't tell me what colours he's wearing so I don't know what kind of corsage to get him and you need to come with me to the florist."
Johnson stares at Cash, then glances at Marshall, who's sitting up in bed, sheets pooled around his bare middle, hair all mussed.
"Don't look at me," Marshall says. "I'm not going with you."
For a moment Johnson considers telling Cash to go on his own, and staying in to finish watching the movies.
"Al," Cash says, wheedling, and Johnson sighs. His heart is obviously still intact enough for Cash to be able to tug on his heartstrings so that Johnson will agree to go.
"I can let myself out," Marshall says before Johnson can even nod at Cash. For a moment Johnson thinks he maybe sounds sad, disappointed even, but then he's out of bed and pulling his t-shirt back on.
"What would I do without you?" Cash asks, having waited impatiently for Johnson to get dressed, as he throws his arm around Johnson's neck on the way to Cash's car.
Johnson glances back over his shoulder at where Marshall is climbing into his own car, hair unbrushed and still wearing the borrowed pj bottoms. He tries to wave, but Cash is pushing him into the car.
"So, I don't know if a rose is coming on too strong," Cash is saying, as he puts the car in drive, not waiting for Johnson to put his seatbelt on. Johnson makes a noncommittal noise and secretly hopes that if Cash chooses roses, the florist leaves the thorns on.
~~~
y is limo nt here??? Cash texts at 5 o'clock on the day of the prom.
probs cos u bookd it 4 6 Johnson texts back.
what if it doesnt cum? Is Cash's instant reply.
Johnson doesn't respond. He's busy staring at the tux hanging on his wardrobe door, wondering if he's made too much of an effort. There's a box downstairs in the fridge, containing a simple white carnation buttonhole, that suggests he probably has. Johnson figures he should be more worried about that than he is, but this is Marshall, and he'll probably love it.
i cant tie this fuckn bowtie Cash texts, interrupting Johnson's thoughts. And then im comin ovr.
Johnson's not sure why Cash thinks he'll be able to help. Johnson has decided to forgo a tie, to avoid looking like their creepy History teacher, but that probably won't stop Cash from coming round. He lives three doors down, so only a few minutes pass before he can hear Cash pounding up the stares.
"It won't stay tied!" Cash exclaims, waving the stupid bowtie in Johnson's face. He looks nervous, like he might throw up, and Johnson hasn't seen Cash like this for years, not since they started high school and Cash had turned to him and asked "What if no one realises how cool I am? What if I'm not popular here?"
Cash stops waving the tie around and stares at Johnson. "Did you…you washed your hair!" he says, sounding half surprised, half accusatory.
Johnson shrugs defensively. "So?" he asks, and Cash just shrugs.
"It suits you," he says, and Johnson expects to feel a surge of joy at the compliment, or even a stab of hurt that Cash doesn't mean it the way he'd say it to Deleon. But all he has is the urge to roll his eyes and flip Cash off, so he does.
"I need to get dressed," Johnson says taking his tux off the hanger. He gives Cash a pointed look. "I reckon Mom will be able to help you get that tied," he adds, nodding at the fabric clutched in Cash's fist.
Cash grins at him, and dashes from the room. By the time Johnson is dressed and has stared at himself in the mirror for too long, wondering if he looks like a dick or not, Cash's bowtie is tied, and he's sitting in the front room opposite Marshall who looks a little scared.
"Terrifying my prom date, Cash?" Johnson asks, and they both turn to look at him.
"Wow," Cash says. "You clean up well. Who'd have thought under that whole grungy douchebag exterior was some James Bond suaveness. I mean, not Connery levels of suaveness or anything, but Lazenby, definitely. Maybe even Dalton.”
Johnson walks over and punches Cash in the arm, and then turns to Marshall, who's grinning at him.
"You look," Johnson starts and then stops, unsure how complimentary you can be to someone who's only going to prom with you because they're your friend and your other friends bullied them into it. "Um. Nice," he finishes lamely. "You look really nice."
Cash snorts. "Jeez, don't hold back there. I mean, careful, Marshall might get an overinflated ego with enthusiastic compliments like that."
"I figured your ego filled the room too much for me to risk inflating Marshall's too. I might suffocate," Johnson replies. "Why are you still here, anyway? Don't you have a limo to catch?"
"You mom's gone to find the camera," Cash grins when Johnson groans. "And you know her scrapbooks wouldn't be complete without a picture of us both all scrubbed up."
"Alex!" Johnson's mom calls. "Don't forget to give your friend that beautiful flower you got for him."
Johnson points a warning finger at Cash. "Shut up," he warns, and goes to fetch the buttonhole. He thrusts it at Marshall unceremoniously. "I just thought…I don't know. Here."
He watches as Marshall opens the box and grins.
"What?" Johnson asks, but Marshall just picks up another box from the coffee table and opens it, showing Johnson the almost identical flower inside.
"Great minds?" Marshall suggests.
Johnson gives Marshall a wry grin and moves to pick the flower out of the box, but Marshall plucks it up.
"Here, let me," he says, leaning in and fixing the flower in place, smoothing out the lapel afterwards.
There's a bright flash, and Johnson turns to see his mom brandishing the camera, informing Cash off all the shots she just has to take.
"Cash is right," Marshall says quietly, as she ushers them to pose by the fireplace. "You do look good."
Johnson ducks his head and blushes a little, just as the flash goes off again. "Mo-om!" he complains.
"Just a few more!" she insists, and directs Cash to throw his arm around Johnson's shoulders. Cash is wearing cologne and Johnson breathes it in deeply and tries to pretend he doesn't want to press his face into Cash's neck.
"Man," Cash says, rubbing at his eyes after what seems like the hundredth shot in a row, "I hope Alex's mom isn't this snap happy. I almost forgot I have to go through all of this again in a few minutes."
Johnson, who'd felt a surge of relief when the camera battery had died right after his mom had suggested he and Marshall do some traditional prom poses (it didn't seem fair to embarrass Marshall even more than he probably already was), stops smiling.
"Man, yeah, you'd better go. Your limo should be here soon, right?"
Cash nods. "Hey, guys, come on, last chance- join us in the limo? It'll be fun."
Johnson shares a look with Marshall, who's frowning a little.
"Yeah, I think we'll pass," Johnson says. "Have fun though. Actually, we should probably…"
Marshall nods. "Right. Well. Thanks for the retina damage, Mrs J. See you later, Cash."
Johnson pauses only long enough to let his mom kiss him on the cheek and for Cash to squeeze his shoulder as he passes, and then hightails it to the car.
"I am so sorry about that," Johnson says when they're heading towards the prom. "For all of that. So sorry."
Marshall laughs. "It's all good," he says. "You looking forward to this?"
Johnson hesitates before answering. "Yeah," he says eventually. "Yeah, I think I am. We'll have fun, I reckon."
Marshall takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance over and smile. "I hope so," he says lightly. They spend the rest of the journey in a comfortable silence, listening to the radio.
~~~
In an attempt to steer clear of the clichéd 'Under The Sea' prom theme, the committee had seemingly racked their brains to come up with…this. Johnson thinks the theme might be 'We love aluminium foil more than anything', judging by the decorations.
"I think it's supposed to be 'Space age' or the 'Future' or some shit like that," Marshall says, and when Johnson looks around again he can kind of make out what's either a space ship or a silver dildo. Knowing the prom committee, it could be either.
They spend the first hour drinking punch and mocking prom dresses until the band starts playing. Johnson's never heard of them- Cobra something, who seem to have some 80s throwback thing going on- but Marshall really seems to like them, enough that he leans in and says "Look at Suarez, isn't he amazing?"
Johnson follows Marshall's gaze and watches the guy. He's playing a bass, so Johnson can't really see how it's amazing. Playing bass can't be that difficult- after all, Cash can apparently manage to do it fine.
"He's okay, I guess," Johnson shrugs and Marshall shakes his head.
"No, I mean, look at him. He's gorgeous."
Johnson frowns and looks at this Suarez guy again. He can't see what Marshall sees in him. "If you like the whole conventionally handsome thing, sure," Johnson says. He realises he sounds a little bitter, and puts it down to the whole Cash falling for a pretty boy thing.
Marshall gives him a strange look, then smiles. "Dance?" he asks.
Johnson doesn't dance. It's something that he very much doesn't do. His preferred music is generally the type that requires a lot of headbanging and moshing, but very little actual dancing. But Marshall looks kind of hopeful and Johnson figures he owes him- he'd be either sitting at home on his own, hating a lot of people, or sitting on his own here, having been dragged along with Cash and Deleon, if Marshall hadn't agreed to come with him.
"Okay," Johnson says and puts his cup of punch down and follows Marshall out onto the crowded dance floor.
The music the band is playing is upbeat and poppy and their drummer keeps a good beat, so Johnson can do his awkward two-step easily enough, grinning at the sometimes elaborate dance moves of his classmates or the lead singer, who's doing a lot of shimmying and touching himself inappropriately. Marshall seems to be enjoying himself, and Johnson realises after a few minutes that he's having a lot of fun. Even when he catches sight of Cash and Deleon dancing much closer than necessary, he easily turns his back on them and focuses on how it's kind of cute the way Marshall keeps flicking his bangs out of his eyes.
When the song ends, there's a moment of silence, and then their headmaster, Mr Bryar comes out on stage and takes the microphone. Johnson's always thought Mr Bryar was cool, that he always seemed like he wished he didn't have to give them detention.
"It's the time you've all been waiting for," Mr Bryar says. "The coronation of the Prom King and Queen!" There's an explosion of applause and cheering and someone snaps three pictures, one after the other.
Mr Bryar blinks against the flash. "No pictures!" he says firmly, and glares when another flash goes off. "I'm serious," he says dangerously, hand balling into a fist, and everyone goes very quiet.
Mr Bryar sighs and opens up an envelope. He reads the card, smirks to himself and glances out across the room, as if searching for someone.
"Well," he says. "This is interesting. None of our candidates have won. It looks like a write-in landslide, which I'm sure will mean someone is looking at a couple of days detention next week, Mr Colligan . Still, this is the only result we have, so. Please put your hands together for this year's Prom King and Queen- Alex Marshall and Alex Johnson."
There's a moment of hush, then everyone starts clapping and cheering again. Johnson stares at Marshall.
"Did he say…did he say our names?"
"Get up there!" a random kid says, pushing Johnson towards the stage.
"I'm going to kill Cash," Marshall says, right behind him, as they trip up the steps to the stage, blinded by the spotlight suddenly thrust upon them.
Johnson blinks in confusion. He's not entirely sure what's going on, except for how he doesn't know whether to kill Cash for embarrassing him like this, or hug him for being clever enough to figure out how to fuck with the ballot papers. And-
"Wait," Johnson says, turning to Marshall once they're both on the stage and walking hesitantly towards Mr Bryar, who is brandishing two cheap plastic crowns. "Did he say my name second? Am I supposed to be the queen?"
"That's right, your majesty," Mr Bryar says, jamming the crown down onto Johnson's head, the combs catching in his hair. "There, don't you two look lovely. Now, get down on the floor for your dance, and tell Cash to come and see me first thing on Monday morning."
"D-dance?" Johnson stutters and almost trips over his own feet as Marshall shrugs, face bright red, as they're ushered into a space in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone is staring, and a few of the girls are making "Awww," noises as Marshall heaves a sigh and moves closer.
"Seriously, I'm going to kill him," he says, and Johnson nods.
"I'll put my foot on his throat to hold him down, you take your time kicking him in the ribs. Deal?"
Marshall laughs. The band starts playing, a song Johnson recognises but can't quite put his finger on yet. Marshall closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head, and moves to put his hands on Johnson's waist.
"Whoa, hold up," Johnson says. "Why do you get to be the guy? I'm taller than you."
Marshall raises an eyebrow and grabs Johnson's waist anyways. "By, like, an inch, if that. Besides, I'm the King, remember?"
Johnson scowls. "Give Cash an extra kicking for setting that part up, will you?" He feels kind of silly standing there with his hands hanging by his sides and Marshall's hands on his waist where he can feel the heat from them through his dress shirt. He sighs and rests his palms on Marshall's shoulders, lets Marshall sway them both in time with the music.
The lead singer starts to sing. "This Romeo is bleeding, but you can't see his blood…" and Marshall starts laughing, leaning his head forwards as he giggles, until it's resting against Johnson's.
"Seriously," Johnson says, and laughs too. He thinks about the first concert he and Cash went to, aged nine or ten, and how they'd sung along to this. And then he thinks about how Marshall's shoulders are shaking with mirth beneath his hands. Johnson slides his hands round, behind Marshall's neck, so he can lean in, lips against Marshall's ear so he can sing, with overdramatic feeling, "I've made mistakes, I'm just a man!"
Marshall laughs even harder, and Johnson grins, sure Marshall can feel it from where his mouth is almost pressed to Marshall's cheek.
When the song ends and the band immediately launches into something upbeat, they take advantage of the rush of enthusiastic dancing couples, and flee to the side of the gymnasium. Johnson tugs off the stupid crown, wincing as it tangles in his hair and pulls.
Johnson is determined to find Cash and to inform him that any similar stunts will only result in testicular damage, but they immediately run into Ryan, who seems to be busy spiking the punchbowl. Ryan had been a senior when Johnson was a freshman, and Cash had thought everything Ryan touched turned to gold.
"Hey guys!" Ryan greets them. "Can I offer you some fruity punch?" He giggles, like he's just said something hilariously funny.
Marshall shrugs and takes the offered cup, so Johnson does the same, discovering that not only is it now about 70% proof, but it tastes approximately 100% better than it had before.
"What're you doing here?" Marshall asks and Ryan shrugs.
"They needed chaperones. And I had nothing to do tonight, so I dragged Jon along too." He motions towards a guy with a drink in his hand and a camera around his neck, standing a few feet away. Jon gives them a big thumbs up, and Johnson immediately likes him, thinks he's maybe better than Ryan's ex, Pete, who he'd dated as a junior and who was so much older than him that he'd already gone through college and was out the other side.
"So, what's been happening around this place?" Ryan asks, and Marshall starts filling him in on the latest gossip and rumours. Johnson is about to chime in with more details on the whole Hunter/Travis internet video sextape scandal when he spots Cash and Deleon heading outside. He's not about to let Cash sneak off without at least the promise of an ass kicking, so he excuses himself, leaving Marshall and Ryan talking, and follows them.
By the time he gets through the doors they're nowhere to be seen, so he heads towards the parking lot. He doesn't make it far though- there's a big oak tree in the middle of the lawn and Cash has Deleon pressed against it. They're kissing, but it's not the frantic, horny teenager type kissing Johnson's had the honour of witnessing from Cash in the past. It's tender and sweet and gentle and suddenly it's like the last sliver of hope he's been clinging to, the last possibility that Deleon isn't right for Cash and it'll only be a matter of time before Cash turns to Johnson and sees him properly, is dashed.
Johnson thinks about the first time he ever kissed a guy. It was Cash, of course. They'd been 12, and Sally Henderson had pulled Johnson behind the skate ramp and kissed him one hot summer afternoon. Johnson had of course gone straight to Cash and told him about it and Cash had been annoyed he had yet to kiss anyone.
He'd demanded details, which Johnson had explained as best he could- it had been soft and kind of wet and cherry flavoured from her lip-gloss. Cash had got impatient and had just said "fuck explaining, just show me," and Johnson had rolled his eyes and leant in and kissed him. It had been better than with Sally- Cash didn't try and force his tongue down Johnson's throat, for one thing, and it had felt good, amazing, like nothing Johnson had ever felt before.
Looking back, it was maybe that moment that had sparked Johnson's later realisation about his feelings for Cash. Now, he almost regrets doing it.
It seems that Cash's technique has improved since they were kids- he's not pushing Deleon away after a few seconds and demanding to know if he had a tuna melt for his lunch, for one thing- and Johnson can't help but stop and stare. It hurts both more and less than he'd expected, this realisation that he's never going to get what he wants. He wants to feel anger, or jealousy, or sadness, or betrayal, or anything, but mostly he just feels numb.
"Hey."
Johnson turns around. Marshall is walking towards him, looking worried. "You okay?" he asks, and Johnson just stares at him. He takes a couple of steps forwards, stopping right in front of Marshall.
He thinks about how much fun he had tonight, without Cash, and how he'd forgotten all about the ache in his heart. He thinks of Marshall putting up with his mom taking endless photos and the inadvertently matching corsages and the slow dance with Marshall's body shaking with laughter against his own. He thinks about Marshall smiling at him and the way he'd looked in Johnson's bed when Cash came to drag him away. Marshall likes him, and Marshall is there. So.
"Marshall," Johnson says, stepping in again, right up in Marshall's personal space, so close that he hears Marshall's intake of breath. "Alex," he says, and kisses him.
Marshall kisses him back. He opens his mouth to Johnson, and Johnson takes that as invitation to move closer, until they're standing like they'd been during the dance, Johnson's arms around Marshall's neck, Marshall's on the small of his back, holding him in closer.
They kiss until Johnson has licked the last trace of rum punch out of Marshall's mouth, and then pulls back.
"Wow," Marshall breathes. "That was…yeah, um…I'm really pleased you did that. I didn't know if I was ever going to kiss you because, I mean, you didn't seem over the moon about coming here with me and I know the guys kind of forced it on you but I guess they knew I'd had this crush on you for awhile and you feeling the same is-”
He stops babbling, suddenly, and it's only when his mouth clamps into a thin line that Johnson stops staring at his lips and looks up. He realises Marshall is looking past him, back towards the tree and he doesn't have to turn around to know Cash and Deleon are still there.
Marshall lets go of Johnson, his arms dropping to his sides. Johnson's hands are still behind Marshall's neck and there's an awkward moment where he doesn't let go and Marshall gets this look on his face like he's going to shove him away.
Johnson lets go. Marshall steps back. He looks upset, jaw held tight as he looks at Johnson.
"So I was right," he says. His voice is quiet and low and almost devoid of emotion. He doesn't sound like Marshall at all, and it bothers Johnson. "You do have a crush on Cash."
Johnson bristles without meaning to. There's something about the way Marshall says it that makes it sound so empty and meaningless. "It's not a crush," he says hotly, and Marshall's eyes widen.
"Fine," he says. "Not a crush. But I'm right. Why…why did you even…Jesus, you let me go on about liking you, about having wanted to kiss you for ages, and you didn't think to stop me? Or, you know, not fucking kiss me in the first place? What, were you hoping Cash would see and he'd realise he'd made a mistake, that he'd picked the wrong Alex?"
Johnson stares at him. "Marshall," he says, taking half a step forward but Marshall turns away.
"Fuck you," Marshall says. "It must kill you to see him with Alex, to have your emotions messed with like that. So why you think it's okay to mess with mine, I don't know."
He glances back at Johnson, and there's hurt in his eyes that Johnson recognises instantly. He doesn't know what to do, whether to reach out for Marshall or to punch himself in the face or to throw up or to walk away.
"I was going to tell you that this was one of the best nights of my life," Marshall says. "Guess I was completely wrong."
He walks away and Johnson lets him go, watches until Marshall's figure merges with the night, and the light stops reflecting off the cheap gold paint on the crown Marshall is still wearing.
Johnson stays where he is, just standing there, his back to the tree and whatever's happening against it. He finds he doesn't really care anymore, and he thinks he should be glad, maybe, that hurting Marshall has apparently made his own hurt lessen a little, but he's not that kind of guy.
"Yo, Johnson."
Johnson takes his time turning around.
Cash and Deleon are walking towards him. They're holding hands and even in the darkness Johnson can see how swollen and red Cash's lips are.
"Hey," Johnson says, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "What's up?"
Cash gives a nervous laugh. "Turns out our limo driver fucked off. Guess I should have tipped him better when we got here. Think we can bum a ride with you guys? You can just drop us at the hotel on the way home."
Johnson sighs. "No can do," he says.
Cash and Deleon share a look. "Ohhh," Deleon says knowingly. "So it's like that, huh? You guys need your privacy?"
Johnson doesn't mean to shoot him a look of pure hatred, but he can't quite reel it in this time. It's enough that Deleon takes a half step back, and Cash frowns.
"Dude?" Cash asks, sounding worried. He moves towards Johnson but Johnson steps away.
"My ride left without me," he says. "Because I'm the biggest fucking asshole on the planet. So I can't help you get to the hotel, but I'm sure you'll both have a fantastic night anyways."
He turns and walks away, ignoring Cash calling his name behind him.
Part 2.
Pairings: Johnson/Marshall, Cash/Deleon, Johnson/Cash
Rating: PG13 for language?
Word Count: just under 24k
Disclaimer: Completely fictional, did not happen, etc etc.
Summary: High school AU. In which there is a prom, Cash and Deleon are dating, Johnson is in love with his best friend, Marshall is just pleased Johnson agreed to go to prom with him, and Ian is just quietly awesome.
A/N: Wonderfully betaed by the lovely mintyfiend who put up with me going on about this fic for forever. Any remaining mistakes are all mine. Written because…well, I like a good, angsty high school fic and want more Johnson fic too, and this kills two birds with one stone, I guess? Title from Pretty in Pink.
It takes less than ten minutes, from when Cash finally plucks up the courage and asks Alex Deleon to prom, for the word to get around the entire school.
"Did you hear?" Paul asks, sliding in opposite Johnson in the darkest corner of the library, his favourite hiding place.
Johnson grunts in response and stares at his French homework (that's due next period and still isn't done) until the letters start to blur into each other. He doesn't need to hear about it, he'd been lucky enough to have front row seats to the uncomfortable-yet-annoyingly-adorable show.
They'd been heading back from a quick 'lunch' (a burger from the nearest fast food joint and one and a half cigarettes each) inside Cash's car, when Deleon had walked past, caught Cash's eye and blushed. He'd looked away and kept walking, books clutched tight to his chest and Cash had thrown Johnson a terrified, but eager look, and dashed after him.
"So, prom's coming up," Cash had said, catching at Deleon's sleeve, and Johnson had thought that was the dumbest thing ever to say, considering Deleon was on the Prom committee.
Deleon had just nodded, smiled a little. And then Cash had blurted out, "Want to go with me?"
Johnson is pretty sure that if he hadn't been dealing with the way his heart had just been torn out of his chest, he'd have seen Deleon beaming and saying yes and Cash acting like a totally adorable tool. But Johnson hadn't looked. He'd turned and walked away, past everyone having fun, enjoying their teenage years, not having their heart broken, straight into his favourite seat in the library. There was a freshman occupying his table, some tiny freshman called Cassadee (which was an even more ridiculous name than Cash's, but at least his name was spelt normally) and Johnson had just glared until she picked up her books and fled.
It wasn't that Johnson was surprised at all, except that maybe he was. Cash was the sort of dude who would talk about all the chicks and dudes he'd want to bone, yet would hardly say two words to them. So even though Johnson had known about Cash's crush on Deleon, he hadn't worried about it too much (how he'd found out had been kind of painful though, catching Cash doodling 'Cash ♥'s Alex' in his notebook, not wanting to hope, until Cash had glanced up and laughed and jokingly said "you wish" and, well, yeah, Johnson had). But apparently somewhere along the way, Cash had grown a pair. Which meant he really must like Deleon. Which was going to be a bitch.
Johnson had always thought it was lame for people to hate their best friend’s boy or girlfriend, but now? He can relate.
"I think they're adorable together," Paul says. He's apparently been talking the entire time about how Cash and Alex were the school's hottest couple, a total shoe-in to be crowned on prom night. "Don't you think?" Paul asks.
Johnson refocuses on his homework. The bell's about to ring, and he still has three questions to answer. He looks up at Paul.
"Fous le camp," he tells him, his tone apparently enough to convey his meaning, even if Paul doesn't seem to understand the words. Paul frowns at him.
The bell rings and Johnson picks up his books and leaves, wondering if Mme Fournier will give him extra credit for that.
~~~
"Are you pissed at me?" Cash asks.
Johnson stares at the ceiling above his bed, idly twirling a drumstick in his hand.
"No," Johnson says calmly.
There's silence on the other end of the phone.
"Oh," Cash says. "Okay then. Look, I've got to go and meet Al-"
Johnson hangs up. A moment or two later, his phone rings again. He doesn't answer.
~~~
"You are pissed at me," Cash announces, at 3am when he lets himself into Johnson's room. Johnson still isn't sure why his mom was stupid enough to give Cash a key to their house. According to her, it was to save them another 10 years of Cash tripping over Johnson's windowsill and breaking branches off the tree outside on the way up. Johnson had been pretty sure it was just asking for trouble.
"No, I'm not," Johnson lies, turning on his side, away from Cash. He feels the bed dip as Cash climbs on, two muffled thumps as he kicks his shoes off. Cash stretches out beside him, too close, despite the queen sized bed Johnson's had since he was 12 and the pair of them outgrew sharing his twin bed.
"You are," Cash says, kicking at Johnson's foot until he sighs and rolls onto his back.
"Maybe," Johnson admits. That's as much as he's going to concede- to tell Cash more, to tell him how he feels like his insides have been sliced to shreds and that being beside Cash right now is both the worst and best feeling ever, would only fuck everything up. Johnson's spent 4 years, maybe longer, keeping this secret from his best friend, so it's no great strain to add to that burden.
Cash hooks his ankle over Johnson's.
"I know I said that prom was lame. And that we should just hang out here and watch cheesy movies and play video games. And then I know I changed my mind and said maybe prom wasn't that bad, but there wasn't anyone I wanted to go with, except you, and how we should totally go together and that it would be awesome."
Johnson doesn't reply and Cash moves his foot, jiggling Johnson's leg.
"And you said yeah, that you'd like that," Cash continues, "and I even promised to get you a corsage because that would be kind of hilarious. And then I accidentally asked Alex instead. I didn't expect him to say yes, but he did! And now I'm going with him and. And not you. And I'm sorry."
"I hired a tux already," Johnson says.
"You did not," Cash laughs, then goes serious. "Did you?"
Johnson shrugs, neither confirming or denying.
"Oh!" Cash says suddenly, and a strange expression flits over his face, an expression that Johnson doesn't like the look of. It's the look Cash gets before he suggests something that sounds like an awesome idea, but generally ends up with them grounded, or in detention, or accidentally on fire (and then in detention and grounded).
"What?" Johnson asks, warily.
Cash shakes his head, but he looks kind of smug. "Nothing," he says, folding his arms across his chest and grinning to himself.
"Seriously, what?" Johnson says, in the special tone he has for Cash that sounds like 'I'm two seconds away from punching you in the neck' but actually says 'I'm two seconds away from punching you in the neck but I still love you, you idiot' even though luckily no one else beside Johnson can translate it completely.
"Nothing," Cash stresses, twisting onto his side and sliding his hand under the pillow. "I'm just glad, because I worried you were going to stay home and watch movies by yourself and beat yourself at Mario Kart or whatever, and that would make you a total loser and I wouldn't be able to hang out with you anymore. But if you've already got a tux, it means you'll be coming too, right?"
"I'm not going on my own," Johnson tells him. "And I'm not going as, like, a third wheel with you and…with you two." He's not sure why he can't bring himself to say Deleon's name, but Cash doesn't seem to notice.
"Okay," Cash says, but in a way that lets Johnson know the conversation's not over.
Johnson narrows his eyes and opens his mouth.
"Shh," Cash says, closing his eyes. "Sleep time now." He feigns sleep.
Johnson glares at him until Cash actually does fall asleep. And he definitely doesn't stay awake on purpose for a few minutes longer just to watch the steady rise and fall of Cash's chest and the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he dreams.
~~~
"You remember Marshall," Cash says by way of greeting when Johnson reluctantly joins him in the cafeteria for lunch on Monday.
Johnson puts his tray down in the empty space and nods at Deleon (he's been practicing, all weekend, at being civil. He's heard stories about shitty people making their boyfriends choose between them or their best friends, and Johnson sometimes thinks Cash could be douche enough to let his dick make the decisions) and then smiles at Marshall.
Marshall who was in grade school with them, who sits behind him in Algebra, who is in his gym class, who is in Jazz band with him, who hangs out at that grungy café where they let aspiring musicians and wannabe poets perform sometimes. Oh, and sometimes comes round to Johnson's place for epic Halo marathons. Yeah, Johnson remembers him.
Marshall rolls his eyes in Cash's direction and Johnson stifles a laugh, sits down, and pokes at whatever mystery meat the cafeteria is serving today.
"We were just talking about prom," Cash announces, and Johnson shovels in a mouthful of whatever it is, just to avoid having to talk.
"We were?" Deleon asks, and then jumps like he's been kicked under the table or something. "Ohhh, right, yeah. Yeah we were."
"And we were saying," Cash continues despite the fact he's just taken a large, loud bite out of his apple and is chewing it, "that Marshall here was going to tag along with me and Alex. And then we thought, well, you're a loser with no one to go with either, so why don't the two of you go together."
Johnson swallows, even though he's not done chewing. "Um," he rasps, then clears his throat. "Uh. What?"
Cash beams at him, and Deleon is doing the same thing and Johnson maybe wants to die, for the floor to swallow him and the entire world along with him so no one else ever has to suffer from such embarrassment. He doesn't look at Marshall, just glares at Cash who is getting to his feet and picking up his tray.
"We have to go and do that thing, remember?" he says, and Deleon nods quickly, and they both hurry off, no doubt to make out with their hands down each others pants while they laugh at how much of a loser they obviously think Johnson is.
Johnson stares down at his plate. He eats another bite and then pushes his tray away, sighs and turns to Marshall, who is eating his sandwich with a carefully blank expression.
"I'm sorry about that," Johnson says awkwardly. "I…I made some joke about a tux, and being all dressed up with nowhere to go, and apparently he decides that means he has to force someone to go to the prom with me."
"He's not forcing me," Marshall says, and Johnson blinks at him.
"He's not?"
Marshall shakes his head. "He even offered me money. I turned it down. Didn't seem to be fair when it's obvious he's saving up to buy himself some tact."
Johnson laughs despite himself. "Look, you really don't have to do this. I can go on my own. Or not. I'm sure there are dozens of people you'd rather ask."
Marshall shrugs. "Not really. It's cool. It'll be fun- we can go, hang out, make fun of the cheesy music and crappy decorations and see if Alex cries when some random idiot gets their tongue stuck to the ice sculpture he's worked so hard to organise and they have to melt it with hairdryers."
The tiny vicious voice inside Johnson tells him he'd really like to see Deleon cry over something stupid like that. Especially if the random douche turns out to be Cash, and there's a high probability of that.
Johnson nods. "Okay then. Beats sitting at home and watching Dancing with the Stars by myself, or getting to share a limo with those two," he says, and Marshall grins.
"Great," he says, brushing crumbs off his lap and standing up. "It's a date then."
Johnson finds himself smiling without forcing himself, for the first time since Cash and Deleon had started dating. He watches Marshall go and decides that, maybe, he won't kill Cash totally dead after all.
~~~
There's less than a month until prom, and Johnson would be sick of the talk about it if Marshall hadn't firmly informed Cash and Deleon that, no, they didn't want to hire a limo with them, nor did they want to hear the pros and cons of matching shirts and bowties and cummerbunds, nor did they need to hear about how Cash was totally booking a hotel room for the night. Johnson was particularly grateful to Marshall about the latter- his stomach coiling with hurt and anger and nausea at the thought, unable to block the mental images from his mind.
Marshall had been so adamant that prom wasn't the be all and end all that Cash and Deleon actually seemed to be trying to not talk about it too much. Which was lucky, since over the past few weeks the four of them had taken to hanging out more and more. Mostly it involved sitting around in the coffee shop or at Johnson's or Deleon's place, watching movies and kicking Cash's ass at video games, but sometimes Johnson and Marshall got dragged along on their dates, to movies and the diner and to the few clubs they could sneak into easily.
Cash and Deleon want a lot of time on their own, to do things Johnson tries not to contemplate, and so Marshall and Johnson hang out. They talk about stuff, although never Cash and Deleon, and never prom. It turns out they have more in common than liking to shoot people on the Xbox, so conversation flows easily enough.
It's a week before prom, and they're marathoning all six Star Wars movies, accompanied by appropriate mocking and sad shaking of heads at the new episodes, when Marshall starts snoring lightly just as Han is about to be frozen in carbonite.
Johnson glances over and grins, and then Marshall turns on his side and curls up a little and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Even though the TV is on pretty loud, it's Johnson's light laughter that makes Marshall's eyes flutter open, cheeks colouring red as he hastily wipes his thumb on his shirt.
"Um," Marshall says, sitting up and stretching a little. "Sorry? I. I should go."
Johnson grins and shrugs. "You could always stay here. There's plenty of room." He nods at his bed, and Marshall follows his gaze, hesitating, before nodding.
"Okay then," he says, and moves as if he's going to get into bed fully clothed. Johnson laughs again- he likes that Marshall does that to him, makes him smile enough he can pretend his heart is still intact and that he's capable of happiness- and throws him a pair of pyjama bottoms, quickly changing himself.
When he turns around, Marshall is already in bed, curled up on himself with his eyes closed. Johnson slips in beside him, and waits for that wash of anxiety he always got from sharing a bed with Cash, the worry he'd blurt out his feelings in his sleep or wrap his arm around Cash accidentally or maybe even do something worse. It's something that's always kept Johnson lying awake longer than he'd like, but tonight that feeling doesn't come and he falls easily to sleep to the sound of Marshall's steady breathing.
Johnson's bedroom door bangs open too early the next morning, jolting him awake.
"Dude, I need your help choosing a corsage for- oh. Well. Huh."
Johnson sits up and glares at Cash.
"What fucking time do you call this?" he demands, and Cash pulls his phone out of his pocket and squints at it.
"Quarter after 11," Cash replies, flashing his phone screen at Johnson so he can see. "Late night?" He's staring at Marshall who is still somehow sleeping despite the racket Cash is making.
Johnson pokes Marshall in the back until he stirs.
"Hmm? Oh, hey Cash," Marshall says, yawning.
Cash winks at him, and Johnson gets the distinct impression he's missing something, especially when Marshall rolls his eyes and laughs a little.
"We were watching movies," Johnson explains hastily, kicking off the covers and getting up to wave the DVD cases at Cash as proof. His insides churn at the idea that Cash might think something else was going on besides purely platonic hanging out.
Cash waves the DVD cases away. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Anyways, I need your help- Alex won't tell me what colours he's wearing so I don't know what kind of corsage to get him and you need to come with me to the florist."
Johnson stares at Cash, then glances at Marshall, who's sitting up in bed, sheets pooled around his bare middle, hair all mussed.
"Don't look at me," Marshall says. "I'm not going with you."
For a moment Johnson considers telling Cash to go on his own, and staying in to finish watching the movies.
"Al," Cash says, wheedling, and Johnson sighs. His heart is obviously still intact enough for Cash to be able to tug on his heartstrings so that Johnson will agree to go.
"I can let myself out," Marshall says before Johnson can even nod at Cash. For a moment Johnson thinks he maybe sounds sad, disappointed even, but then he's out of bed and pulling his t-shirt back on.
"What would I do without you?" Cash asks, having waited impatiently for Johnson to get dressed, as he throws his arm around Johnson's neck on the way to Cash's car.
Johnson glances back over his shoulder at where Marshall is climbing into his own car, hair unbrushed and still wearing the borrowed pj bottoms. He tries to wave, but Cash is pushing him into the car.
"So, I don't know if a rose is coming on too strong," Cash is saying, as he puts the car in drive, not waiting for Johnson to put his seatbelt on. Johnson makes a noncommittal noise and secretly hopes that if Cash chooses roses, the florist leaves the thorns on.
~~~
y is limo nt here??? Cash texts at 5 o'clock on the day of the prom.
probs cos u bookd it 4 6 Johnson texts back.
what if it doesnt cum? Is Cash's instant reply.
Johnson doesn't respond. He's busy staring at the tux hanging on his wardrobe door, wondering if he's made too much of an effort. There's a box downstairs in the fridge, containing a simple white carnation buttonhole, that suggests he probably has. Johnson figures he should be more worried about that than he is, but this is Marshall, and he'll probably love it.
i cant tie this fuckn bowtie Cash texts, interrupting Johnson's thoughts. And then im comin ovr.
Johnson's not sure why Cash thinks he'll be able to help. Johnson has decided to forgo a tie, to avoid looking like their creepy History teacher, but that probably won't stop Cash from coming round. He lives three doors down, so only a few minutes pass before he can hear Cash pounding up the stares.
"It won't stay tied!" Cash exclaims, waving the stupid bowtie in Johnson's face. He looks nervous, like he might throw up, and Johnson hasn't seen Cash like this for years, not since they started high school and Cash had turned to him and asked "What if no one realises how cool I am? What if I'm not popular here?"
Cash stops waving the tie around and stares at Johnson. "Did you…you washed your hair!" he says, sounding half surprised, half accusatory.
Johnson shrugs defensively. "So?" he asks, and Cash just shrugs.
"It suits you," he says, and Johnson expects to feel a surge of joy at the compliment, or even a stab of hurt that Cash doesn't mean it the way he'd say it to Deleon. But all he has is the urge to roll his eyes and flip Cash off, so he does.
"I need to get dressed," Johnson says taking his tux off the hanger. He gives Cash a pointed look. "I reckon Mom will be able to help you get that tied," he adds, nodding at the fabric clutched in Cash's fist.
Cash grins at him, and dashes from the room. By the time Johnson is dressed and has stared at himself in the mirror for too long, wondering if he looks like a dick or not, Cash's bowtie is tied, and he's sitting in the front room opposite Marshall who looks a little scared.
"Terrifying my prom date, Cash?" Johnson asks, and they both turn to look at him.
"Wow," Cash says. "You clean up well. Who'd have thought under that whole grungy douchebag exterior was some James Bond suaveness. I mean, not Connery levels of suaveness or anything, but Lazenby, definitely. Maybe even Dalton.”
Johnson walks over and punches Cash in the arm, and then turns to Marshall, who's grinning at him.
"You look," Johnson starts and then stops, unsure how complimentary you can be to someone who's only going to prom with you because they're your friend and your other friends bullied them into it. "Um. Nice," he finishes lamely. "You look really nice."
Cash snorts. "Jeez, don't hold back there. I mean, careful, Marshall might get an overinflated ego with enthusiastic compliments like that."
"I figured your ego filled the room too much for me to risk inflating Marshall's too. I might suffocate," Johnson replies. "Why are you still here, anyway? Don't you have a limo to catch?"
"You mom's gone to find the camera," Cash grins when Johnson groans. "And you know her scrapbooks wouldn't be complete without a picture of us both all scrubbed up."
"Alex!" Johnson's mom calls. "Don't forget to give your friend that beautiful flower you got for him."
Johnson points a warning finger at Cash. "Shut up," he warns, and goes to fetch the buttonhole. He thrusts it at Marshall unceremoniously. "I just thought…I don't know. Here."
He watches as Marshall opens the box and grins.
"What?" Johnson asks, but Marshall just picks up another box from the coffee table and opens it, showing Johnson the almost identical flower inside.
"Great minds?" Marshall suggests.
Johnson gives Marshall a wry grin and moves to pick the flower out of the box, but Marshall plucks it up.
"Here, let me," he says, leaning in and fixing the flower in place, smoothing out the lapel afterwards.
There's a bright flash, and Johnson turns to see his mom brandishing the camera, informing Cash off all the shots she just has to take.
"Cash is right," Marshall says quietly, as she ushers them to pose by the fireplace. "You do look good."
Johnson ducks his head and blushes a little, just as the flash goes off again. "Mo-om!" he complains.
"Just a few more!" she insists, and directs Cash to throw his arm around Johnson's shoulders. Cash is wearing cologne and Johnson breathes it in deeply and tries to pretend he doesn't want to press his face into Cash's neck.
"Man," Cash says, rubbing at his eyes after what seems like the hundredth shot in a row, "I hope Alex's mom isn't this snap happy. I almost forgot I have to go through all of this again in a few minutes."
Johnson, who'd felt a surge of relief when the camera battery had died right after his mom had suggested he and Marshall do some traditional prom poses (it didn't seem fair to embarrass Marshall even more than he probably already was), stops smiling.
"Man, yeah, you'd better go. Your limo should be here soon, right?"
Cash nods. "Hey, guys, come on, last chance- join us in the limo? It'll be fun."
Johnson shares a look with Marshall, who's frowning a little.
"Yeah, I think we'll pass," Johnson says. "Have fun though. Actually, we should probably…"
Marshall nods. "Right. Well. Thanks for the retina damage, Mrs J. See you later, Cash."
Johnson pauses only long enough to let his mom kiss him on the cheek and for Cash to squeeze his shoulder as he passes, and then hightails it to the car.
"I am so sorry about that," Johnson says when they're heading towards the prom. "For all of that. So sorry."
Marshall laughs. "It's all good," he says. "You looking forward to this?"
Johnson hesitates before answering. "Yeah," he says eventually. "Yeah, I think I am. We'll have fun, I reckon."
Marshall takes his eyes off the road long enough to glance over and smile. "I hope so," he says lightly. They spend the rest of the journey in a comfortable silence, listening to the radio.
~~~
In an attempt to steer clear of the clichéd 'Under The Sea' prom theme, the committee had seemingly racked their brains to come up with…this. Johnson thinks the theme might be 'We love aluminium foil more than anything', judging by the decorations.
"I think it's supposed to be 'Space age' or the 'Future' or some shit like that," Marshall says, and when Johnson looks around again he can kind of make out what's either a space ship or a silver dildo. Knowing the prom committee, it could be either.
They spend the first hour drinking punch and mocking prom dresses until the band starts playing. Johnson's never heard of them- Cobra something, who seem to have some 80s throwback thing going on- but Marshall really seems to like them, enough that he leans in and says "Look at Suarez, isn't he amazing?"
Johnson follows Marshall's gaze and watches the guy. He's playing a bass, so Johnson can't really see how it's amazing. Playing bass can't be that difficult- after all, Cash can apparently manage to do it fine.
"He's okay, I guess," Johnson shrugs and Marshall shakes his head.
"No, I mean, look at him. He's gorgeous."
Johnson frowns and looks at this Suarez guy again. He can't see what Marshall sees in him. "If you like the whole conventionally handsome thing, sure," Johnson says. He realises he sounds a little bitter, and puts it down to the whole Cash falling for a pretty boy thing.
Marshall gives him a strange look, then smiles. "Dance?" he asks.
Johnson doesn't dance. It's something that he very much doesn't do. His preferred music is generally the type that requires a lot of headbanging and moshing, but very little actual dancing. But Marshall looks kind of hopeful and Johnson figures he owes him- he'd be either sitting at home on his own, hating a lot of people, or sitting on his own here, having been dragged along with Cash and Deleon, if Marshall hadn't agreed to come with him.
"Okay," Johnson says and puts his cup of punch down and follows Marshall out onto the crowded dance floor.
The music the band is playing is upbeat and poppy and their drummer keeps a good beat, so Johnson can do his awkward two-step easily enough, grinning at the sometimes elaborate dance moves of his classmates or the lead singer, who's doing a lot of shimmying and touching himself inappropriately. Marshall seems to be enjoying himself, and Johnson realises after a few minutes that he's having a lot of fun. Even when he catches sight of Cash and Deleon dancing much closer than necessary, he easily turns his back on them and focuses on how it's kind of cute the way Marshall keeps flicking his bangs out of his eyes.
When the song ends, there's a moment of silence, and then their headmaster, Mr Bryar comes out on stage and takes the microphone. Johnson's always thought Mr Bryar was cool, that he always seemed like he wished he didn't have to give them detention.
"It's the time you've all been waiting for," Mr Bryar says. "The coronation of the Prom King and Queen!" There's an explosion of applause and cheering and someone snaps three pictures, one after the other.
Mr Bryar blinks against the flash. "No pictures!" he says firmly, and glares when another flash goes off. "I'm serious," he says dangerously, hand balling into a fist, and everyone goes very quiet.
Mr Bryar sighs and opens up an envelope. He reads the card, smirks to himself and glances out across the room, as if searching for someone.
"Well," he says. "This is interesting. None of our candidates have won. It looks like a write-in landslide, which I'm sure will mean someone is looking at a couple of days detention next week, Mr Colligan . Still, this is the only result we have, so. Please put your hands together for this year's Prom King and Queen- Alex Marshall and Alex Johnson."
There's a moment of hush, then everyone starts clapping and cheering again. Johnson stares at Marshall.
"Did he say…did he say our names?"
"Get up there!" a random kid says, pushing Johnson towards the stage.
"I'm going to kill Cash," Marshall says, right behind him, as they trip up the steps to the stage, blinded by the spotlight suddenly thrust upon them.
Johnson blinks in confusion. He's not entirely sure what's going on, except for how he doesn't know whether to kill Cash for embarrassing him like this, or hug him for being clever enough to figure out how to fuck with the ballot papers. And-
"Wait," Johnson says, turning to Marshall once they're both on the stage and walking hesitantly towards Mr Bryar, who is brandishing two cheap plastic crowns. "Did he say my name second? Am I supposed to be the queen?"
"That's right, your majesty," Mr Bryar says, jamming the crown down onto Johnson's head, the combs catching in his hair. "There, don't you two look lovely. Now, get down on the floor for your dance, and tell Cash to come and see me first thing on Monday morning."
"D-dance?" Johnson stutters and almost trips over his own feet as Marshall shrugs, face bright red, as they're ushered into a space in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone is staring, and a few of the girls are making "Awww," noises as Marshall heaves a sigh and moves closer.
"Seriously, I'm going to kill him," he says, and Johnson nods.
"I'll put my foot on his throat to hold him down, you take your time kicking him in the ribs. Deal?"
Marshall laughs. The band starts playing, a song Johnson recognises but can't quite put his finger on yet. Marshall closes his eyes for a second, shakes his head, and moves to put his hands on Johnson's waist.
"Whoa, hold up," Johnson says. "Why do you get to be the guy? I'm taller than you."
Marshall raises an eyebrow and grabs Johnson's waist anyways. "By, like, an inch, if that. Besides, I'm the King, remember?"
Johnson scowls. "Give Cash an extra kicking for setting that part up, will you?" He feels kind of silly standing there with his hands hanging by his sides and Marshall's hands on his waist where he can feel the heat from them through his dress shirt. He sighs and rests his palms on Marshall's shoulders, lets Marshall sway them both in time with the music.
The lead singer starts to sing. "This Romeo is bleeding, but you can't see his blood…" and Marshall starts laughing, leaning his head forwards as he giggles, until it's resting against Johnson's.
"Seriously," Johnson says, and laughs too. He thinks about the first concert he and Cash went to, aged nine or ten, and how they'd sung along to this. And then he thinks about how Marshall's shoulders are shaking with mirth beneath his hands. Johnson slides his hands round, behind Marshall's neck, so he can lean in, lips against Marshall's ear so he can sing, with overdramatic feeling, "I've made mistakes, I'm just a man!"
Marshall laughs even harder, and Johnson grins, sure Marshall can feel it from where his mouth is almost pressed to Marshall's cheek.
When the song ends and the band immediately launches into something upbeat, they take advantage of the rush of enthusiastic dancing couples, and flee to the side of the gymnasium. Johnson tugs off the stupid crown, wincing as it tangles in his hair and pulls.
Johnson is determined to find Cash and to inform him that any similar stunts will only result in testicular damage, but they immediately run into Ryan, who seems to be busy spiking the punchbowl. Ryan had been a senior when Johnson was a freshman, and Cash had thought everything Ryan touched turned to gold.
"Hey guys!" Ryan greets them. "Can I offer you some fruity punch?" He giggles, like he's just said something hilariously funny.
Marshall shrugs and takes the offered cup, so Johnson does the same, discovering that not only is it now about 70% proof, but it tastes approximately 100% better than it had before.
"What're you doing here?" Marshall asks and Ryan shrugs.
"They needed chaperones. And I had nothing to do tonight, so I dragged Jon along too." He motions towards a guy with a drink in his hand and a camera around his neck, standing a few feet away. Jon gives them a big thumbs up, and Johnson immediately likes him, thinks he's maybe better than Ryan's ex, Pete, who he'd dated as a junior and who was so much older than him that he'd already gone through college and was out the other side.
"So, what's been happening around this place?" Ryan asks, and Marshall starts filling him in on the latest gossip and rumours. Johnson is about to chime in with more details on the whole Hunter/Travis internet video sextape scandal when he spots Cash and Deleon heading outside. He's not about to let Cash sneak off without at least the promise of an ass kicking, so he excuses himself, leaving Marshall and Ryan talking, and follows them.
By the time he gets through the doors they're nowhere to be seen, so he heads towards the parking lot. He doesn't make it far though- there's a big oak tree in the middle of the lawn and Cash has Deleon pressed against it. They're kissing, but it's not the frantic, horny teenager type kissing Johnson's had the honour of witnessing from Cash in the past. It's tender and sweet and gentle and suddenly it's like the last sliver of hope he's been clinging to, the last possibility that Deleon isn't right for Cash and it'll only be a matter of time before Cash turns to Johnson and sees him properly, is dashed.
Johnson thinks about the first time he ever kissed a guy. It was Cash, of course. They'd been 12, and Sally Henderson had pulled Johnson behind the skate ramp and kissed him one hot summer afternoon. Johnson had of course gone straight to Cash and told him about it and Cash had been annoyed he had yet to kiss anyone.
He'd demanded details, which Johnson had explained as best he could- it had been soft and kind of wet and cherry flavoured from her lip-gloss. Cash had got impatient and had just said "fuck explaining, just show me," and Johnson had rolled his eyes and leant in and kissed him. It had been better than with Sally- Cash didn't try and force his tongue down Johnson's throat, for one thing, and it had felt good, amazing, like nothing Johnson had ever felt before.
Looking back, it was maybe that moment that had sparked Johnson's later realisation about his feelings for Cash. Now, he almost regrets doing it.
It seems that Cash's technique has improved since they were kids- he's not pushing Deleon away after a few seconds and demanding to know if he had a tuna melt for his lunch, for one thing- and Johnson can't help but stop and stare. It hurts both more and less than he'd expected, this realisation that he's never going to get what he wants. He wants to feel anger, or jealousy, or sadness, or betrayal, or anything, but mostly he just feels numb.
"Hey."
Johnson turns around. Marshall is walking towards him, looking worried. "You okay?" he asks, and Johnson just stares at him. He takes a couple of steps forwards, stopping right in front of Marshall.
He thinks about how much fun he had tonight, without Cash, and how he'd forgotten all about the ache in his heart. He thinks of Marshall putting up with his mom taking endless photos and the inadvertently matching corsages and the slow dance with Marshall's body shaking with laughter against his own. He thinks about Marshall smiling at him and the way he'd looked in Johnson's bed when Cash came to drag him away. Marshall likes him, and Marshall is there. So.
"Marshall," Johnson says, stepping in again, right up in Marshall's personal space, so close that he hears Marshall's intake of breath. "Alex," he says, and kisses him.
Marshall kisses him back. He opens his mouth to Johnson, and Johnson takes that as invitation to move closer, until they're standing like they'd been during the dance, Johnson's arms around Marshall's neck, Marshall's on the small of his back, holding him in closer.
They kiss until Johnson has licked the last trace of rum punch out of Marshall's mouth, and then pulls back.
"Wow," Marshall breathes. "That was…yeah, um…I'm really pleased you did that. I didn't know if I was ever going to kiss you because, I mean, you didn't seem over the moon about coming here with me and I know the guys kind of forced it on you but I guess they knew I'd had this crush on you for awhile and you feeling the same is-”
He stops babbling, suddenly, and it's only when his mouth clamps into a thin line that Johnson stops staring at his lips and looks up. He realises Marshall is looking past him, back towards the tree and he doesn't have to turn around to know Cash and Deleon are still there.
Marshall lets go of Johnson, his arms dropping to his sides. Johnson's hands are still behind Marshall's neck and there's an awkward moment where he doesn't let go and Marshall gets this look on his face like he's going to shove him away.
Johnson lets go. Marshall steps back. He looks upset, jaw held tight as he looks at Johnson.
"So I was right," he says. His voice is quiet and low and almost devoid of emotion. He doesn't sound like Marshall at all, and it bothers Johnson. "You do have a crush on Cash."
Johnson bristles without meaning to. There's something about the way Marshall says it that makes it sound so empty and meaningless. "It's not a crush," he says hotly, and Marshall's eyes widen.
"Fine," he says. "Not a crush. But I'm right. Why…why did you even…Jesus, you let me go on about liking you, about having wanted to kiss you for ages, and you didn't think to stop me? Or, you know, not fucking kiss me in the first place? What, were you hoping Cash would see and he'd realise he'd made a mistake, that he'd picked the wrong Alex?"
Johnson stares at him. "Marshall," he says, taking half a step forward but Marshall turns away.
"Fuck you," Marshall says. "It must kill you to see him with Alex, to have your emotions messed with like that. So why you think it's okay to mess with mine, I don't know."
He glances back at Johnson, and there's hurt in his eyes that Johnson recognises instantly. He doesn't know what to do, whether to reach out for Marshall or to punch himself in the face or to throw up or to walk away.
"I was going to tell you that this was one of the best nights of my life," Marshall says. "Guess I was completely wrong."
He walks away and Johnson lets him go, watches until Marshall's figure merges with the night, and the light stops reflecting off the cheap gold paint on the crown Marshall is still wearing.
Johnson stays where he is, just standing there, his back to the tree and whatever's happening against it. He finds he doesn't really care anymore, and he thinks he should be glad, maybe, that hurting Marshall has apparently made his own hurt lessen a little, but he's not that kind of guy.
"Yo, Johnson."
Johnson takes his time turning around.
Cash and Deleon are walking towards him. They're holding hands and even in the darkness Johnson can see how swollen and red Cash's lips are.
"Hey," Johnson says, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "What's up?"
Cash gives a nervous laugh. "Turns out our limo driver fucked off. Guess I should have tipped him better when we got here. Think we can bum a ride with you guys? You can just drop us at the hotel on the way home."
Johnson sighs. "No can do," he says.
Cash and Deleon share a look. "Ohhh," Deleon says knowingly. "So it's like that, huh? You guys need your privacy?"
Johnson doesn't mean to shoot him a look of pure hatred, but he can't quite reel it in this time. It's enough that Deleon takes a half step back, and Cash frowns.
"Dude?" Cash asks, sounding worried. He moves towards Johnson but Johnson steps away.
"My ride left without me," he says. "Because I'm the biggest fucking asshole on the planet. So I can't help you get to the hotel, but I'm sure you'll both have a fantastic night anyways."
He turns and walks away, ignoring Cash calling his name behind him.
Part 2.