The Hours Everyone Else Throws Away (Nick/Tyson) 2/4
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Nick regrets asking about Gabe the moment the words are out of his mouth, but he can’t seem to stop with the questions. He can see Tyson closing himself off, turning away, but he can’t help it.
It’s so fucking frustrating. He just wants to know why, know what he’s done, know why Gabe’s with this new guy and not with him.
He regrets asking even more when they fight about it, because it’s all dumb and none of it means anything, it’s just words, designed to hurt. And then he really regrets it when Tyson punches him hard in the dick, pain making Nick bend double, before storming off.
That’s when his phone rings.
“Fucking fantastic evening,” Nick says when he can form thoughts other than ‘ohfuckfuckfuckthathurts’ and Mike laughs.
“Great, that sounds great,” he says, voice strained.
Nick is instantly suspicious. “What?”
“Don’t freak out or anything. But we lost your drunken dude.”
“What?”
“Cash. We lost Cash.”
“How the fuck did you manage to lose him?” Nick demands. He looks over at where Tyson is still trying to hail a cab, phone held to his ear.
“We stopped for hotdogs!” Mike explains. “When we got back, he’d run off. Guess he wasn’t hungry?”
“This is not cool, Mike. Not cool. And it’s not funny either.”
“I know. Look, tell me where you are, we’ll come and get you and then we’ll find him. Okay? I promise.”
Nick gives him their location and hangs up. Tyson has his back to him and Nick’s almost afraid of another punch to the dick when he taps him on the shoulder.
“They lost Cash,” Nick says and Tyson stares at him for a long moment. He snaps his phone shut and it’s loud in the silence between them, despite the bustling street noises going on all around them.
“What do you mean, they lost Cash?” Tyson yells and Nick winces.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“You said he’d be safe with them,” Tyson says, accusingly, and flips open his phone again. He hits speed dial and taps his foot impatiently as it rings.
“Come on, come on,” he mutters to himself. Nick stands there helplessly as Tyson’s frown deepens. “Come on, you motherfucker, pick up your phone.”
When it goes to answer phone, he hangs up and tries again. He doesn’t look at Nick and Nick just stands and watches him try again and again, until the others show up with the van.
“Welcome to mobile lost and found” Chris greets them brightly as he slides open the door to let them in. “Woo!”
“Except it’s kinda more lost, less found. Right now,” Mike offers an apologetic look that Tyson ignores.
“Gonna have ourselves a search party!” Chris adds, climbing back into the front seat.
Tyson narrows his eyes at Nick, who shrugs. “Any excuse for a party?” Nick says weakly.
Tyson elbows him out of the way and aims his glare at Chris as he climbs into the van. “How do you lose a whole fucking person?”
Mike offers him an apologetic look. “We’ll find him. He’ll head to Port Authority, right? Try and get home?”
Nick sits down beside Tyson, who gets up and slides over to the other side of the van. “Yeah,” he says tersely, and folds his arms across his chest.
“Onwards, in search of Cash!” Chris declares, and Bitchy Guy laughs. Tyson does not. Nick sits and tries not to stare at Tyson too much.
“I can’t believe we’re going to miss Where’s Petey?” Tyson says to himself loud enough for the rest of the van to hear, and Mike slams on the brakes.
“Where’s Petey? Where’s Where’s Petey?”
“Brooklyn Pool, supposedly,” Nick says and Mike stares at him like he’s insane.
“Why are we heading to fucking Port Authority when Petey is in Brooklyn?” he asks, and Bitchy Guy nods his agreement.
“Uh, because you lost Cash?” Nick reminds them. “Fuck, guys, can we change the habit of a lifetime and not act like complete assholes until we find the kid?”
“Yes mom,” Chris mutters and Mike steers them towards Port Authority. Nick sits across from Tyson in the back, neither of them talking, while the others argue over what radio station to listen to on the way.
“Look,” Bitchy Guy says, when they get there and look up at the departure board. “The last bus to Englewood has left already. He was probably on that.”
Tyson shakes his head. “We don’t know he was on it. Let me call him again.”
This time Cash answers. Nick is standing close enough that he can hear what he says.
“Tyson? Tyson? I threw up! And I lost my gum!” And then the phone goes dead.
Tyson stares at the phone and then dials again, but it just rings out.
“Fuck,” he says.
“Did you hear that music?” Chris asks. “Wherever he is, there’s music.”
Mike nods. “He’s probably already at Brooklyn Pool, having an awesome time while we chase him around the city. Come on, it won’t hurt to try.”
Tyson looks at Nick, who tries to give a neutral face, but he’d really like to see Where’s Petey? It’s the reason he’s out tonight, and so far it hasn’t turned out the way he’d planned, what with Gabe’s new boy and meeting Tyson and getting punched in the dick and losing an entire person. Where’s Petey? would make it better. Where’s Petey? always made things better. Music always made things better.
Tyson sighs. “Let’s go,” he says, and Chris whoops with glee and throws one arm around Tyson’s neck and one around Bitchy Guy’s and leads them towards the exit.
There’s a line outside Brooklyn Pool, but Tyson walks straight up to the bouncer who smiles at him and says hi. Tyson ushers them all in ahead of him, but Nick holds back once they’re inside, vaguely aware of Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy fanning out across the room.
“Is that ‘cos of your dad?” he asks, nodding back towards the entrance, and Tyson narrows his eyes a little.
“Why would you think that?”
Nick shrugs. “The guy at the Mercury Lounge. He mentioned your dad and, well, I’m pretty sure you weren’t on The Real World or You Tube or anything and so…Who’s your dad?”
Tyson looks uncomfortable. “The guy that fucks my mom,” he says. “It’s not important. Look, I’ve got to go and find Cash.”
The opening bars of something with a decent beat fill the crowded room and Nick doesn’t want Tyson to walk away. As complicated as everything feels, Tyson makes Nick smile, and it’s been awhile since a person other than his best friends managed to make him do that for no apparent reason.
“Dance?” he asks, and Tyson hesitates then sighs, but he follows Nick a few steps closer to the packed dance floor.
He looks unsure at first but Nick grins and shouts, “I love this song!” over the music and Tyson ducks his face away for a moment. When he lifts his head again he’s smiling.
“Me too,” he says and mouths along to the words as they start to move in time.
Nick lets the music soak into his skin, lets it move his bones, lets it shake his head. When he opens his eyes, Tyson is watching him, but not laughing at his awesome moves, and it makes Nick smile even harder when Tyson starts throwing himself around in the same way.
They dance all through that song, and into the next, and then Chris is pressing up behind Tyson, grinding against him so that he steps forward, into Nick’s space. And Mike and Bitchy Guy are pressing up behind Nick and there’s nowhere to go but right up against Tyson, thighs brushing, chests bumping.
“Dance-wich!” Chris hollers and Tyson laughs and Nick does too, because it’s fun. Awkward fun, but still fun.
And then a tall, skinny guy appears, grabs Tyson’s hand and tugs him to the side.
“Hey,” the guy says and Tyson looks at him with wide, surprised eyes.
“What’re you doing here?” Tyson asks and the guy gives him a strange look, as if the answer is obvious.
“Looking for you,” he says. “That band you like, I hear they’re playing tonight. Thought I’d come by and save you the trouble of finding me.”
Nick stops dancing. Mike bumps into him a few times before falling still too, resting his hand on Nick’s shoulder.
The guy looks away from Tyson, who hasn’t said anything, and looks at Nick. “Hi,” he says.
“Oh,” Tyson shakes his head, as if clearing it. “Ryan, this is Nick. Nick, Ryan.”
Nick takes the hand that’s offered to him, even though he doesn’t want to. He wants to demand to know who this guy is, and why the fuck he has his hands all over Tyson like he has some right to.
“Hey, you’re in that band, right?” Ryan says. “My friend told me about you. You don’t have a singer, right?”
Nick nods, warily.
“What’s the point, without lyrics?” he asks, and Nick doesn’t know how to answer that. Doesn’t know how to explain that music isn’t just about words you can sing along to.
It’s about the bass line thumping in your chest heavy enough that you can’t feel your own heartbeat any more. It’s a melody that catches at your ears and drags you in, winding its way into your brain and into your veins. It’s a tempo that tells you how to feel, right in that moment. It’s an arrangement of instruments that melt together to create something unique and beautiful and tell a story in different voices. And yeah, it’s about lyrics that hook you in the gut and make you ache and yearn and fly and smile and cry and laugh.
Nick doesn’t explain though. Words have never come easily to him, which is probably why all the sheets of music and demo cassettes under his bed are gathering dust, stacks of melodies and harmonies and thumping bass lines, but no lyrics. Nick thinks feelings in terms of a soaring crescendo or shivering vibrato or the way one key can have you laughing and spinning with your arms outstretched and another can have your heart breaking and tears threatening to spill. And he doesn’t know how to explain what music is about without his guitar in his hands.
Instead he just looks at Ryan until Tyson speaks.
“Ryan’s a poet,” Tyson explains, as if that makes any difference, as if that means anything. There’s a hint of apology in his voice, hesitant smile on his face, but Nick can’t bring himself to smile back.
“Awesome,” Nick says flatly, and Ryan nods coolly and drags Tyson away.
“Fuck,” Chris says, and Bitchy Guy gives Nick a sympathetic look. Nick tries to look like he doesn’t care, and is saved having to exhaust his limited acting skills when a guy stumbles out onto the stage and the room’s focus switches exclusively to him.
“Good evening, boys and girls!” the MC yells and everyone whistles and claps and yells back.
Behind Nick, someone- probably Chris- starts up a ‘Petey! Petey! Petey!’ chant and the guy waits for it to quieten a little before continuing.
“I know what you want!” he shouts. “I know why you’re here. And I think you’re ready for it. Are you ready?”
Nick joins in the chorus of “Fuck yes! Petey! Petey!” and the guy nods, apparently satisfied.
“You guys are fucking hot!” the guy on stage yells. “You’re really hot! But you’re not as hot as… ‘Pretty Boys Named Bren’!”
The room groans and as one turns to leave as the band rush on stage and immediately launch into a song. Nick is swept up by the crowd but he looks back. He sees Bitchy Guy standing still, staring at the band on stage with a strange look on his face. And he sees Tyson and Ryan, still talking by the bar, heads bent in towards each other. He can’t see Tyson’s face, but Ryan is frowning slightly, looking serious.
Nick lets the sea of people carry him outside and tries not let the wave of disappointment -from the lack of Where’s Petey?, from Tyson, from the whole fucking let-down of a night- close over his head.
Chris and Bitchy Guy stumble out into the cold air behind him, and they all head to the van, Mike’s hand warm on the back of Nick’s neck.
“Nick!”
Nick stops and turns around. The others move past him, into the van, but Nick waits for Tyson to get to him.
“Wait for me,” he says. His arms are bare- he’s lost his hoodie somehow since they got into the club, and Nick wonders if Ryan has it, wonders how Tyson left Ryan behind, why he left Ryan behind. Tyson shivers in the cool night air, and Nick hardly hesitates before he shrugs out of his own hoodie and hands it over.
“Thanks,” Tyson says gratefully, and climbs awkwardly into the van as he pulls it on. They sit next to each other, in the back.
“I think I have an idea where Cash might be,” Tyson gives Mike directions and they’re off. Chris has loud music blaring from the front, but Nick doesn’t say anything, even though Tyson keeps glancing across at him.
“That guy your boyfriend?” Nick asks. He doesn’t mean to sound as pissy as he feels, but it comes out that way.
“Yes. No. Not really,” Tyson replies. “It’s complicated.”
“Like me and Gabe,” Nick nods in understanding, and when Tyson laughs there’s a hint of disdain there.
“No, not like you and Gabe. You and Gabe were simple- you liked him, he dumped you after six months of-” He stops himself and looks guilty.
Nick’s desperate to know what Tyson was about to say, what he was hinting at, if it’s what Nick thinks, suspects and has suspected for a long time in a way that makes it feel like something’s slowly been eating through the pit of his stomach. But he doesn’t want to press the point, not again. He rubs his neck absently.
“So, Ryan,” Nick prompts and Tyson sighs.
“My…ex,” Tyson says although he sounds unsure. “He…he was my first real boyfriend, you know? We were together for years. He’s at college now, studying literature. He’s a poet. He’s really smart.”
Nick can’t help but look sceptical.
“He is!” Tyson insists, mouth quirking into a half smile. “He’s a good guy. I guess. Just a bit…intense. And sometimes he doesn’t get me. I’m not sure I am who he thinks I am, you know? But he’s persistent and he’s there and…” Tyson trails off and shrugs, looking uncomfortable. He doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes.
“Oh,” Nick says after a few moments of silence. “Right. Okay then.” He’s not sure what to make of this revelation, not sure if it’s the thought of Tyson having a sort-of boyfriend that’s making him feel suddenly queasy or the speed at which Mike seems to be taking every corner in the city.
“We’re here,” Mike announces, slowing the van to a stop. Nick peers through the window at the Korean Delicatessen.
Tyson gives him a small smile. “With any luck, Cash’ll be inside barfing on the ice cream again.”
“Nice,” Mike says, as Tyson disappears into the store. He turns the music up, and Nick sighs and rests his head against the wall of the van.
“Hey,” Chris says, sitting down beside him.
“Hey,” Nick replies.
“Tonight’s a bit of a mind fuck, eh?”
Nick laughs, but stops when he realises it sounds bitter.
“Not sure it’s all worth it,” he says. “Any of this.”
“You like this guy, right?” Chris asks, and Nick shrugs.
“I dunno. I mean, fuck, that guy he’s with though? Was with, whatever. Do I really want to even think about liking someone who dates people who dress like my grandfather did in his fucking coffin? His type is obviously dreamy intellectuals. That’s not me, Chris.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a type. Or maybe you’re his type and he just doesn’t know it yet.”
Nick smiles without meaning to. “You think?”
Chris shakes his head. “Dude, it’s like Tyler said- ‘Never judge a book by its cover, or who you’re going to love by your lover’. I mean, fuck, you think he’s into people who date guys like Gabe?”
“I don’t just date guys like Gabe,” Nick replies defensively, and Chris smirks.
“My point,” he says. “Thanks for making it.”
Nick stares at Chris for a long moment. He kind of hopes Chris is right. There’s something about Tyson, something he can’t quite put his finger on, and whenever he thinks he’s getting close, something changes and all of the progress he’s made is lost again. There’s a part of him that just wants to keep trying until he figures it out. He thinks maybe he knows, that maybe it’s familiar to him, like when you get a few bars of music stuck in your head but you can’t remember what song they’re from, and those few bars just play over and over until you figure it out or go insane.
Nick hopes Tyson’s not going to be the unknown earworm that pushes him off the edge.
The door to the van flies open suddenly. Tyson is standing there, clutching a bag of Cheetos and looking wild eyed.
“Cash,” he announces, a little breathlessly, “has been kidnapped by vampires.”
~~~
One look at the spew covered freezer tells Tyson that Cash has already patronised the delicatessen that night. It was a thing he had, a habit, puking in the same places when he was drunk. Tyson was is so used to it now that he just takes in the sight of the poor storekeeper chipping away at it with a sigh. He feels both relieved and anxious. Relieved, because at least Cash is alive and not in too much trouble if he’s managing to find his favourite vomitoria on his own, and anxious because they’ve missed him by at least ten minutes, judging by the frozen solidity of the puke.
Tyson heads straight for the Cheetos. He’s considering whether to get another packet for Nick and the boys (because finding out whether Nick likes Cheetos or not is pretty much a deal breaker, in Tyson’s eyes) when the bell above the door jangles and Gabe walks in.
He glances at the freezer and makes a face, then makes a beeline for Tyson who can’t help it when his legs turn him and walk him down towards the rear of the store.
Gabe hurries after him, the soles of his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor. “Bitch, wait,” he says.
Tyson stops and turns around.
“Hi Gabe,” he says dully.
“Having a good night?” Gabe asks, stopping at a shelf a few feet away from Tyson and pulling a bag of Oreos off the shelf. He opens it and takes one out, carefully twisting it open so he can scoop out the filling. Tyson thinks uncharitable thoughts about how that’s what Gabe does with boys, rips them open and carves out their insides with his teeth.
“We lost Cash,” Tyson says and hates himself a little for being momentarily surprised when Gabe actually looks concerned. Gabe and Cash seem to like each other, after all. And Cash is always telling Tyson Gabe’s not such a bad guy. Tyson rarely listens because he loves Cash, but Cash is an idiot a lot of the time.
“Shit, any idea where he is?”
Tyson shrugs and motions down to the front of the store. “He was here recently. We’ll find him. I have to.”
“We,” Gabe echoes. “So. You and Nick. What’s going on there?”
“So. You and Bill. What’s going on there?” Tyson mimics and Gabe smiles.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he says. “Bill is…a fun guy. Adventurous. If you know what I’m saying.”
“You’ve had a lot of time to explore each other,” Tyson nods. “What with you cheating on Nick with him for the past six months.”
Gabe narrows his eyes. “Does Nick know about that? Because you know that’d only hurt him more, right? Fuck, I did a number on that boy.”
Tyson thinks Gabe sounds almost sorry, and it’s accompanied by another wave of surprise that makes Tyson wonder if he actually knows Gabe at all. And if maybe Cash is right about him.
“Don’t tell him,” Gabe says. Tyson has no intention of telling Nick. He’s pretty sure it would devastate the guy and it’s hard enough work to get him to forget about Gabe as it is, to get his attention solely on Tyson in the vain hope he’ll somehow be convinced that Tyson is worth his time, not Gabe. So he’s not going to tell.
“I’m sorry he’s hurting,” Gabe continues, eating another Oreo in the same way. “But I couldn’t just keep dating him so he’d be happy, you know? He…fuck, he’s kind of intense. Too intense. We were dating for six months. That’s not that long. And he’s choosing his colleges based on where I’m going? That’s too much.”
“Oh,” Tyson says. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Would it have been better to wait until we were at college and I was fucking around on him then? He’s better off with me doing it now. Maybe. He gets a chance with someone else now, right?”
Gabe is giving Tyson a searching look, like he’s trying to figure out what Nick could ever see in Tyson, when he’s had someone like Gabe. Tyson’s been wondering the same thing, and the scrutiny makes him uncomfortable.
“You cheated on him from day one though,” Tyson points out, even though he doesn’t mean to be a bitch. There’s a part of him that wishes Gabe was a complete asshole, is searching for a way to make Gabe the unredeemable bad guy in this whole fucked up maybe-fairy-tale this evening has become. A fairytale about a whole slew of queens, a quest and a pair of princes, one -or maybe both of them- with a spell that could be broken, if only the other could figure out the magic words.
Gabe shrugs. “I never said I was perfect. Maybe I shouldn’t have though. Maybe I should rethink it. I mean, word on the street is you might not be able to give our Nicky what he needs.”
Tyson stares at Gabe and hopes he doesn’t mean what he thinks Gabe means. He clutches at the bag of Cheetos a little too tightly and they pop open. A few fall on the floor and Tyson ignores them but Gabe looks at them pointedly.
“Exactly,” he says, chewing on his Oreo smugly, mouth partially open.
“What is this word on the street?” Tyson demands.
Gabe raises one eyebrow. “You really want me to say it? I hear you have a problem with coming. You shoot the juice before you get it in the caboose. As in, you always arrive at the party early. Too early. Before the events have even really begun.”
Tyson feels the blood rush to his cheeks, staining them red. He wants the floor to swallow him up, to punch Gabe in the face, to kill the person who told Gabe because, fuck, there is such a thing as secrets and he’s pretty sure only one person could have said anything.
“Was Cash on this street?” Tyson asks, voice low and dangerous. “This street where apparently the bonds of friendship are outweighed by the urge to fucking gossip about everything.”
Gabe gives Tyson a sympathetic look. “Hey, we’ve all been there, dude. Fuck, when I was 13? I’d come just from a hot dude looking at me.”
“I’m not 13 though,” Tyson snaps. “I can’t fucking believe Cash. Can’t fucking believe you.”
He storms up to the counter and slams his open bag of Cheetos down. Gabe saunters up and places his Oreos beside them and when the cashier rings them up together, Tyson doesn’t protest, just hands over the money and then elbows Gabe aside to storm back out to the van, chips and malfunctioning dick and all.
Gabe’s phone rings, some cheerily electronic pop song that makes Tyson roll his eyes and wonder what the hell it is Nick and Gabe have in common. He’s opening the door when he hears Gabe say, “Cash, fuck, where are you? Tyson is gonna kill you.”
Tyson lets go of the door handle, storms back over and grabs the phone.
“Where the fuck are you?” he demands. He wants to yell at Cash and tell him he can fucking look after himself if their friendship means so little that he can dish out Tyson’s secrets to whichever ear is willing to listen. But he’s worried too, and he wants to be able to punch Cash in the dick in person, not over the phone.
“Tyson!” Cash yells and Tyson has to hold the phone away from his ear. Gabe laughs.
“Are you mad at me?” Cash asks. “There are vampires here, Ty. Vampires! I think they’re going to eat me. This one has scary teeth. And- ow! Fuck! Quit it! Why’re you punching my phone?”
There’s a scuffling noise and he can hear Cash saying, “Dude, it’s a phone, I wasn’t filming you with it, I swear, ow, no, my phone!” and the line goes dead.
Tyson stares at the phone for a long moment, then tries to call back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” he swears and tosses the phone back to Gabe. He hurries outside, hating the jaunty jingle of the bell as he opens the door. Bill is there, leaning against a lamp post, and he nods at Tyson as he passes, heading around the corner to where the van is parked. He yanks the doors open.
“Cash has been kidnapped by vampires,” he announces.
It probably says something about the sort of night they’re having, or maybe the sort of lives they lead, that everyone blinks at him and then nods, as if that’s a normal thing to say.
“Where?” Bitchy Guy asks, and Tyson shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” he says. “He said there was a vampire with teeth who was going to eat him, and then someone was punching him ‘cos they thought he was filming them or something.”
Nick and Mike exchange a look.
“Bob,” Mike says, and Nick nods.
“Could be,” he says, and reaches out to yank Tyson into the van.
“The Black Parade!” Chris exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. “It’s been too long since we were there. Hot guys in leather and uniforms and shit,” he explains to Tyson.
“You think Cash is there?” he asks, and Mike starts the engine.
“I can pretty much guarantee it,” he says. “Only one place has guys looking like vampires and a dude who gets pissy when his picture is being taken. Fifteen minutes, traffic willing, and you’ll have Cash back.”
The mood is lighter, now they know where Cash is, and Mike and Chris are bickering good naturedly in the front as they drive.
Tyson is too busy avoiding eye contact with Nick and trying not to dwell on what Gabe had said, that he doesn't look up until Mike yells "The Douchenozzles!" at the top of his lungs.
"Nah," Chris says. "How about the Teabaggers?" He lifts himself up in his seat to thrust his hips back and forth. He nudges Bitchy Guy, who turns back and rolls his eyes at Tyson and Nick.
"Veto!" Mike says. "I want my mom to be able to come and see us play. I don't want her to ask what teabagging is."
Chris gives a dirty laugh. "Your mom already knows what teabagging is. I showed her last night."
Mike reaches across and punches Chris in the arm. "Giant fucking dick," he says, half laughing.
"That's what your mom said," Chris says, "right before she choked it down her throat."
Mike flips Chris off with a good natured grin.
"I don't see what's wrong with the Teabaggers," Chris remarks.
"I just told you," Mike tells him. "Right before I vetoed it."
"I don't see why you get to decide. I have an equal say in this band. In fact, I should have more of a say!"
"Why the fuck do you get more of a say?" Mike demands and Chris looks at him like he's nuts.
"I'm the fucking drummer! I'm the one who keeps you two in time when you're off running about the stage, forgetting about the beat. Ever heard of a tempo, Mike? Tends to help songs not sound shitty."
The van turns a corner, too fast, and Tyson whacks his head on the wall and swears, before the van turns the other way and he goes sliding into Nick.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Tyson snaps, scrambling away from the heat of Nick's side and back to where he'd been sitting. He feels all eyes on him, and his cheeks flush with a cocktail of annoyance and embarrassment. "Every single name you've mentioned is worse than the one you've got now. Which is pretty shitty to start with, you know."
"Well then, Tyson," Mike says, looking back at the road. "What would you call us then?"
Tyson sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He feels on edge from his talk with Gabe and from the knowledge that he's going to have to turn back into Cash's baby sitter in about ten minutes and stop being whoever he might otherwise want to be, even if he doesn't know who that is. Nick has been watching him with a half smile since he got back into the van, a half smile and soft eyes, even now when he's going off at Nick's friends, and it's weird. All Tyson can think about is that if Cash told Gabe, it is really, really possible that Gabe told Nick and Nick's putting two and two together and coming to the realisation that Tyson's the not-even-two pump chump they've probably spent months giggling over together. So band names aren't high on his list of thoughts right now.
"I don't fucking know," he snaps, "You're all such a bunch of cock sucking, motherfucking, suburban all-American fucking rejects that I don't know if there's a name that would accurately sum your shitty band up."
He deflates suddenly, all of his sudden anger evaporating as quickly as it arrives. He feels like a bit of a tool- he's so used to being calm and in control and for it to be Cash, and sometimes Gabe, who acts out and shouts and acts like a dick. He finds he kind of likes it.
When he looks up, Mike is giving him an amused look in the rear-view mirror.
"Uh, sorry," Tyson mumbles.
"No," Chris says. "That's us, baby. A bunch of cocksucking, motherfucking, suburban all-American fucking rejects!"
He and Mike exchange a look.
"I like it," Mike says slowly, and glances into the back of the van. "Nicky?"
Nick raises an eyebrow at Tyson. "You might want to shorten it a little," he suggests. "Not sure all of that would fit on a marquee."
Chris laughs and he and Mike start bickering about just how to shorten it, Bitchy Guy throwing in his opinion every now and then.
"Sorry," Tyson says. "I didn't mean for that to be a suggestion."
Nick shrugs. "I don't really care what the band's called, you know? It's about the music, not titles. Besides, those suggestions you just heard? They're the best either of them have made in the better part of a year."
Tyson can’t help but laugh, and it eases his nerves a little. They exchange a smile, and for a moment Tyson forgets Nick might know about his problem. Then Nick looks away as they slide around another corner and the moment is broken. The doubt seeps back in, and Tyson goes back to sitting and thinking about all the ways he’s going to cause Cash pain. He’s a pretty inventive guy, so he’s only halfway through making a list when the van stops and Mike says, “Everybody out!”
Tyson climbs out of the van, carefully avoiding Nick’s eyes and stares up at a club he’s never seen before. He doesn’t even know where they are, although he’s pretty sure they’re somewhere in the Village.
There’s a guy on the door who laughs and high fives Chris, and then lets them in ahead of the small line of people, ignoring their protests. It makes Tyson smile that, for once, cutting ahead at a New York club isn’t because of who his dad is.
It’s dark inside, and loud rock music is playing. Tyson lets his eyes and ears adjust, but it’s Nick who spots Cash first, placing a hand on Tyson’s arm and pointing.
Cash is standing out like a sore thumb. For one thing, he’s the only guy in the room wearing neon. For another, he’s the only guy in the room who seems to think standing on a table and playing air guitar is a good idea.
Tyson takes a deep breath- he has to remember to not hurt Cash too much, at least not when there are witnesses around- and starts to walk towards him. Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy have disappeared off, presumably to hit up the bar or find friends or something, but Nick is by Tyson’s side.
Tyson’s not sure if this is a good thing- after all, how can he ream Cash out about discussing his…problem, when Nick, the person he doesn’t want to know about it is standing right there.
But when he sees Cash teeter off balance and start to topple, beer bottle still clutched in hand, he’s glad of Nick’s company. Because Nick rushes forwards before Tyson can even process what’s happening.
Nick catches Cash in his arms before he can hit the floor. There’s a hilariously awkward moment -later, when Tyson thinks about it, but not so much at the time- where Nick tries to put Cash down, but Cash clings to Nick like a fucking monkey or something. Nick just laughs and hoists Cash properly into his arms, like Cash is a bride that Nick is about to carry across the threshold.
Tyson is suddenly incredibly jealous of Cash, which is something he’s not been since he was a kid. Despite everything that people love about Cash, Tyson’s never really wanted to be him before. But he can’t help but wish he was in Nick’s arms, even though he’s got a good couple of inches on Nick and it’d probably look ridiculous.
Tyson grins to himself, thinking about how, if Cash knew what he was thinking, he’d pointedly look at Tyson’s crotch and smirk and say “A few inches? You wish,” and it’s enough that when Nick carries Cash over to him, he only wants to throttle Cash a little bit.
“Fuck,” he says, pressing his hand to Cash’s cheek, just briefly. “We need to get you home.”
“Ty,” Cash says, dreamily, staring at Nick who’s looking down at him and grinning. “Ty, your trucker boy saved me! He saved my life, Ty. He has a truck! And a pretty smile. But he needs a trucker hat like Patrick. S!”
Nick laughs and Tyson does too.
“I’m gonna take him out to the van,” Nick says. “Can you round up the guys?” He smiles at Tyson, who nods.
“Thank you,” he says, and Nick shrugs as best he can with Cash in his arms and says, “Anytime,” and then heads for the door.
Tyson watches him leave- it’s a pretty sight and he can’t help it- and then heads towards the bar.
~~~
It happens in slow motion. One moment Cash is rocking out on the table with some pretty sweet moves that even impress Nick, and the next he’s heading towards the floor.
Nick doesn’t even think, just dives forwards and grabs him before he can hit the ground with his face.
“My hero,” Cash murmurs, reaching up to push Nick’s hair out of his eyes.
Nick laughs and carries Cash over to Tyson. He’s not really sure what to say- Tyson’s been acting strange since they drove away from the delicatessen, sliding his eyes in Nick’s direction and looking away. He’d sat huddled in on himself, on the opposite side of the van and okay, it wasn’t like Nick could really complain, but man, those were some mixed signals. It’s confusing and Nick is sick of being confused.
And it’s easy to be confused, when Tyson smiles at him like he’s doing. It’s not the sort of smile you give to someone who’s saved your friend’s life. It’s the sort of smile that makes Nick want to drop Cash and pick Tyson up instead, or maybe to just press him flat against the tabletop and crawl up into his lap.
The thought makes Nick bite his lip, and he zones out for a moment as Tyson talks to Cash, wondering if Tyson always kisses like he did back in the club- the first club, the first kiss- or if it gets even better.
“…He needs a trucker hat like Patrick. S!” Cash is saying, looking up at Nick and Nick can’t help laughing at the whole situation.
“I’m gonna take him out to the van,” Nick tells Tyson, and asks him to find the others.
Tyson smiles and thanks him, and Nick takes Cash outside.
Bitchy Guy is there, leaning against the side of the van with his phone out, typing a message.
“You found him!” he says, with a brilliant smile that Nick is pretty sure can cure cancer or something, slipping his cell back into his pocket.
Nick nods and lets Bitchy Guy open the van door for him. He places Cash down gently, and Cash immediately curls up into a ball and makes a happy sleepy noise.
“You alright?” Nick asks, and Bitchy Guy shrugs.
“It’s a strange night,” he says, quietly. “Saw an old friend I didn’t expect to see. Made me think.”
Nick nods. “Yeah, I get that.” He wonders who Bitchy Guy’s friend is, where he’d run into them on this madcap labyrinth adventure through New York City. He’s been so caught up in Gabe and Tyson and the hunt for Cash that he’s not been paying much attention to the others. He’s not even checked what sort of night they’re having and judging by Bitchy Guy not being inside the club, it’s probably not going the way Chris had planned.
They both fall quiet. Bitchy Guy’s phone beeps, but he leaves it in his pocket and stares at the ground.
“Hi.”
A pair of booted feet appear in front of Nick on the sidewalk and he looks up, taking in the skinny jeans, the stripy shirt, the tousled hair. The guy is cute, and he’s staring at Nick kind of intensely.
“You two not coming inside?” he asks, and Nick and Bitchy Guy exchange a look. Bitchy Guy smirks, and doesn’t answer so Nick shrugs.
“Nah, we’re just waiting for some friends,” he explains.
“You should come inside,” the guy tries again. “It’s a good club. My brother owns it.”
Nick nods. “It is a good club,” he agrees. “But maybe some other time.”
“Oh,” the guy says. “Are you, uh, here with someone?” His eyes flick to Bitchy Guy and then back to Nick’s face. It’s a strange kind of lost intensity in his eyes that makes Nick smile and want to give the guy a hug. But he’s posed an interesting question, one Nick’s not sure he can answer.
Is he with someone tonight? Is he with Tyson, complete with mixed signals and baggage of exes and secrets that he knows Tyson is keeping, from the way he closes his mouth around words that are trying to escape every now and again when they talk. Is he still with Gabe in his head, even though Gabe doesn’t want to be together anymore? Or is he by himself?
He looks over at Bitchy Guy, who tilts his head to the side and stares at Nick, as if to say ‘what’re you looking at me for?’ And he’s right, because the only person who can answer is Nick himself. And maybe Tyson. But in Tyson’s absence Nick looks up at the cute guy.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I’m here with someone.”
The guy nods. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good night, you two.”
He wanders into the club and Nick looks over at Bitchy Guy. Neither of them say anything for a moment, then the laughter trickles out of them until they’re bent double with it.
It’s funny, and it’s not, but it feels good. Both the laughing, and the decision Nick’s made, or at least trying to make. Bitchy Guy seems more relaxed too, some of the tension in his slightly hunched shoulders lifting a little.
They laugh together, and they’re still laughing when Chris, Mike and Tyson walk over to them.
“Ready to find Petey?” Chris asks, casting his eyes towards Bitchy Guy. He seems unsure, but Bitchy Guy lifts his head and smiles at Chris.
“I think we’re going to take Cash home,” Nick says and Tyson gives him a grateful look.
Mike starts the van engine. “Back to the truck then,” he says and they head off.
Cash settles himself with his head in Tyson’s lap. “I don’t feel good,” he complains, and wipes his face against Tyson’s tight pants.
“Gross,” Nick says, and Tyson grins.
“Yup,” he says. “But sometimes that’s friendship.”
Nick glances towards Mike and Chris up front and thinks of all the dumb, weird, messy shit they’ve got up to together. He smiles.
“Hold this,” Cash says, pulling his gum out of his mouth. When Tyson doesn’t take it he waves his arm around. “Taaaaaaaake it. Take it. Just fucking take my gumizzle.”
Tyson sighs and rolls his eyes, but he takes the gum. He looks at it for a moment then shoves it into his mouth, which Nick thinks is a pretty brave thing to do, all things considered.
“I hear you’re going to UCSF,” Tyson says out of nowhere, and Nick starts a little. He wonders if Tyson thinks he’s a little bitch for wanting to go to the school Gabe had chosen, but Tyson doesn’t look like he’s mocking Nick at all, just starting a conversation.
“Yeah,” he nods. “That was the plan. I think…maybe that’s changed now though. I got into Berklee College of Music too. Reckon that’ll suit me better.”
Tyson looks at him in surprise. “You know, I got into Northeastern too. If I went, I’d just be down the block. Don’t look so surprised,” he adds, when Nick raises a surprised eyebrow. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
Nick grins. “It’d be nice to know someone there,” he says, knocking his shoulders against Tyson’s accidentally as the van comes to a sudden halt. “You think maybe-”
“What the fucking fuck?” Chris exclaims from the front seat. Nick looks up, and spots what’s pissed Chris off through the windshield.
Tyson sees too.
And Gabe sees them. He leans back on the hood of Nick’s truck and waves.
Nick bites his lip. “Um,” he says. He looks out the window, then at Chris, who looks livid. He shifts his gaze instantly to Mike, who looks annoyed then on to Bitchy Guy, who shakes his head ever so slightly. Nick’s running out of places to look that aren’t Tyson so he looks down at Cash, who has drool- or something worse- seeping out of the corner of his mouth.
“You should go,” Tyson says. His voice is flat and when Nick finally looks at him, Tyson is looking away, at the wall of the van.
“No,” Mike is turned around in his seat, glaring at Nick.
Nick looks at Cash again.
“But…how’re you going to get home?” he asks Tyson.
“Nicky!” Chris admonishes, but Tyson shrugs.
“You guys can take us still, right?” he says and Mike sighs, but nods. “There you go then. Go and take care of Gabe.”
Nick looks at Tyson. He looks at Cash, then at Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy, then back to Tyson again. Then he looks over at Gabe.
“Okay,” he says, ignoring the universal look of disappointment on their faces. He knows he’s probably making the biggest mistake of the so far 18 years of his life but he has to know. He has to talk to Gabe and not feel anything, to not want to tear his heart out and hand it over on a platter. Has to be sure it’s really over.
On to Part 3.
Nick regrets asking about Gabe the moment the words are out of his mouth, but he can’t seem to stop with the questions. He can see Tyson closing himself off, turning away, but he can’t help it.
It’s so fucking frustrating. He just wants to know why, know what he’s done, know why Gabe’s with this new guy and not with him.
He regrets asking even more when they fight about it, because it’s all dumb and none of it means anything, it’s just words, designed to hurt. And then he really regrets it when Tyson punches him hard in the dick, pain making Nick bend double, before storming off.
That’s when his phone rings.
“Fucking fantastic evening,” Nick says when he can form thoughts other than ‘ohfuckfuckfuckthathurts’ and Mike laughs.
“Great, that sounds great,” he says, voice strained.
Nick is instantly suspicious. “What?”
“Don’t freak out or anything. But we lost your drunken dude.”
“What?”
“Cash. We lost Cash.”
“How the fuck did you manage to lose him?” Nick demands. He looks over at where Tyson is still trying to hail a cab, phone held to his ear.
“We stopped for hotdogs!” Mike explains. “When we got back, he’d run off. Guess he wasn’t hungry?”
“This is not cool, Mike. Not cool. And it’s not funny either.”
“I know. Look, tell me where you are, we’ll come and get you and then we’ll find him. Okay? I promise.”
Nick gives him their location and hangs up. Tyson has his back to him and Nick’s almost afraid of another punch to the dick when he taps him on the shoulder.
“They lost Cash,” Nick says and Tyson stares at him for a long moment. He snaps his phone shut and it’s loud in the silence between them, despite the bustling street noises going on all around them.
“What do you mean, they lost Cash?” Tyson yells and Nick winces.
“Um, I don’t know.”
“You said he’d be safe with them,” Tyson says, accusingly, and flips open his phone again. He hits speed dial and taps his foot impatiently as it rings.
“Come on, come on,” he mutters to himself. Nick stands there helplessly as Tyson’s frown deepens. “Come on, you motherfucker, pick up your phone.”
When it goes to answer phone, he hangs up and tries again. He doesn’t look at Nick and Nick just stands and watches him try again and again, until the others show up with the van.
“Welcome to mobile lost and found” Chris greets them brightly as he slides open the door to let them in. “Woo!”
“Except it’s kinda more lost, less found. Right now,” Mike offers an apologetic look that Tyson ignores.
“Gonna have ourselves a search party!” Chris adds, climbing back into the front seat.
Tyson narrows his eyes at Nick, who shrugs. “Any excuse for a party?” Nick says weakly.
Tyson elbows him out of the way and aims his glare at Chris as he climbs into the van. “How do you lose a whole fucking person?”
Mike offers him an apologetic look. “We’ll find him. He’ll head to Port Authority, right? Try and get home?”
Nick sits down beside Tyson, who gets up and slides over to the other side of the van. “Yeah,” he says tersely, and folds his arms across his chest.
“Onwards, in search of Cash!” Chris declares, and Bitchy Guy laughs. Tyson does not. Nick sits and tries not to stare at Tyson too much.
“I can’t believe we’re going to miss Where’s Petey?” Tyson says to himself loud enough for the rest of the van to hear, and Mike slams on the brakes.
“Where’s Petey? Where’s Where’s Petey?”
“Brooklyn Pool, supposedly,” Nick says and Mike stares at him like he’s insane.
“Why are we heading to fucking Port Authority when Petey is in Brooklyn?” he asks, and Bitchy Guy nods his agreement.
“Uh, because you lost Cash?” Nick reminds them. “Fuck, guys, can we change the habit of a lifetime and not act like complete assholes until we find the kid?”
“Yes mom,” Chris mutters and Mike steers them towards Port Authority. Nick sits across from Tyson in the back, neither of them talking, while the others argue over what radio station to listen to on the way.
“Look,” Bitchy Guy says, when they get there and look up at the departure board. “The last bus to Englewood has left already. He was probably on that.”
Tyson shakes his head. “We don’t know he was on it. Let me call him again.”
This time Cash answers. Nick is standing close enough that he can hear what he says.
“Tyson? Tyson? I threw up! And I lost my gum!” And then the phone goes dead.
Tyson stares at the phone and then dials again, but it just rings out.
“Fuck,” he says.
“Did you hear that music?” Chris asks. “Wherever he is, there’s music.”
Mike nods. “He’s probably already at Brooklyn Pool, having an awesome time while we chase him around the city. Come on, it won’t hurt to try.”
Tyson looks at Nick, who tries to give a neutral face, but he’d really like to see Where’s Petey? It’s the reason he’s out tonight, and so far it hasn’t turned out the way he’d planned, what with Gabe’s new boy and meeting Tyson and getting punched in the dick and losing an entire person. Where’s Petey? would make it better. Where’s Petey? always made things better. Music always made things better.
Tyson sighs. “Let’s go,” he says, and Chris whoops with glee and throws one arm around Tyson’s neck and one around Bitchy Guy’s and leads them towards the exit.
There’s a line outside Brooklyn Pool, but Tyson walks straight up to the bouncer who smiles at him and says hi. Tyson ushers them all in ahead of him, but Nick holds back once they’re inside, vaguely aware of Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy fanning out across the room.
“Is that ‘cos of your dad?” he asks, nodding back towards the entrance, and Tyson narrows his eyes a little.
“Why would you think that?”
Nick shrugs. “The guy at the Mercury Lounge. He mentioned your dad and, well, I’m pretty sure you weren’t on The Real World or You Tube or anything and so…Who’s your dad?”
Tyson looks uncomfortable. “The guy that fucks my mom,” he says. “It’s not important. Look, I’ve got to go and find Cash.”
The opening bars of something with a decent beat fill the crowded room and Nick doesn’t want Tyson to walk away. As complicated as everything feels, Tyson makes Nick smile, and it’s been awhile since a person other than his best friends managed to make him do that for no apparent reason.
“Dance?” he asks, and Tyson hesitates then sighs, but he follows Nick a few steps closer to the packed dance floor.
He looks unsure at first but Nick grins and shouts, “I love this song!” over the music and Tyson ducks his face away for a moment. When he lifts his head again he’s smiling.
“Me too,” he says and mouths along to the words as they start to move in time.
Nick lets the music soak into his skin, lets it move his bones, lets it shake his head. When he opens his eyes, Tyson is watching him, but not laughing at his awesome moves, and it makes Nick smile even harder when Tyson starts throwing himself around in the same way.
They dance all through that song, and into the next, and then Chris is pressing up behind Tyson, grinding against him so that he steps forward, into Nick’s space. And Mike and Bitchy Guy are pressing up behind Nick and there’s nowhere to go but right up against Tyson, thighs brushing, chests bumping.
“Dance-wich!” Chris hollers and Tyson laughs and Nick does too, because it’s fun. Awkward fun, but still fun.
And then a tall, skinny guy appears, grabs Tyson’s hand and tugs him to the side.
“Hey,” the guy says and Tyson looks at him with wide, surprised eyes.
“What’re you doing here?” Tyson asks and the guy gives him a strange look, as if the answer is obvious.
“Looking for you,” he says. “That band you like, I hear they’re playing tonight. Thought I’d come by and save you the trouble of finding me.”
Nick stops dancing. Mike bumps into him a few times before falling still too, resting his hand on Nick’s shoulder.
The guy looks away from Tyson, who hasn’t said anything, and looks at Nick. “Hi,” he says.
“Oh,” Tyson shakes his head, as if clearing it. “Ryan, this is Nick. Nick, Ryan.”
Nick takes the hand that’s offered to him, even though he doesn’t want to. He wants to demand to know who this guy is, and why the fuck he has his hands all over Tyson like he has some right to.
“Hey, you’re in that band, right?” Ryan says. “My friend told me about you. You don’t have a singer, right?”
Nick nods, warily.
“What’s the point, without lyrics?” he asks, and Nick doesn’t know how to answer that. Doesn’t know how to explain that music isn’t just about words you can sing along to.
It’s about the bass line thumping in your chest heavy enough that you can’t feel your own heartbeat any more. It’s a melody that catches at your ears and drags you in, winding its way into your brain and into your veins. It’s a tempo that tells you how to feel, right in that moment. It’s an arrangement of instruments that melt together to create something unique and beautiful and tell a story in different voices. And yeah, it’s about lyrics that hook you in the gut and make you ache and yearn and fly and smile and cry and laugh.
Nick doesn’t explain though. Words have never come easily to him, which is probably why all the sheets of music and demo cassettes under his bed are gathering dust, stacks of melodies and harmonies and thumping bass lines, but no lyrics. Nick thinks feelings in terms of a soaring crescendo or shivering vibrato or the way one key can have you laughing and spinning with your arms outstretched and another can have your heart breaking and tears threatening to spill. And he doesn’t know how to explain what music is about without his guitar in his hands.
Instead he just looks at Ryan until Tyson speaks.
“Ryan’s a poet,” Tyson explains, as if that makes any difference, as if that means anything. There’s a hint of apology in his voice, hesitant smile on his face, but Nick can’t bring himself to smile back.
“Awesome,” Nick says flatly, and Ryan nods coolly and drags Tyson away.
“Fuck,” Chris says, and Bitchy Guy gives Nick a sympathetic look. Nick tries to look like he doesn’t care, and is saved having to exhaust his limited acting skills when a guy stumbles out onto the stage and the room’s focus switches exclusively to him.
“Good evening, boys and girls!” the MC yells and everyone whistles and claps and yells back.
Behind Nick, someone- probably Chris- starts up a ‘Petey! Petey! Petey!’ chant and the guy waits for it to quieten a little before continuing.
“I know what you want!” he shouts. “I know why you’re here. And I think you’re ready for it. Are you ready?”
Nick joins in the chorus of “Fuck yes! Petey! Petey!” and the guy nods, apparently satisfied.
“You guys are fucking hot!” the guy on stage yells. “You’re really hot! But you’re not as hot as… ‘Pretty Boys Named Bren’!”
The room groans and as one turns to leave as the band rush on stage and immediately launch into a song. Nick is swept up by the crowd but he looks back. He sees Bitchy Guy standing still, staring at the band on stage with a strange look on his face. And he sees Tyson and Ryan, still talking by the bar, heads bent in towards each other. He can’t see Tyson’s face, but Ryan is frowning slightly, looking serious.
Nick lets the sea of people carry him outside and tries not let the wave of disappointment -from the lack of Where’s Petey?, from Tyson, from the whole fucking let-down of a night- close over his head.
Chris and Bitchy Guy stumble out into the cold air behind him, and they all head to the van, Mike’s hand warm on the back of Nick’s neck.
“Nick!”
Nick stops and turns around. The others move past him, into the van, but Nick waits for Tyson to get to him.
“Wait for me,” he says. His arms are bare- he’s lost his hoodie somehow since they got into the club, and Nick wonders if Ryan has it, wonders how Tyson left Ryan behind, why he left Ryan behind. Tyson shivers in the cool night air, and Nick hardly hesitates before he shrugs out of his own hoodie and hands it over.
“Thanks,” Tyson says gratefully, and climbs awkwardly into the van as he pulls it on. They sit next to each other, in the back.
“I think I have an idea where Cash might be,” Tyson gives Mike directions and they’re off. Chris has loud music blaring from the front, but Nick doesn’t say anything, even though Tyson keeps glancing across at him.
“That guy your boyfriend?” Nick asks. He doesn’t mean to sound as pissy as he feels, but it comes out that way.
“Yes. No. Not really,” Tyson replies. “It’s complicated.”
“Like me and Gabe,” Nick nods in understanding, and when Tyson laughs there’s a hint of disdain there.
“No, not like you and Gabe. You and Gabe were simple- you liked him, he dumped you after six months of-” He stops himself and looks guilty.
Nick’s desperate to know what Tyson was about to say, what he was hinting at, if it’s what Nick thinks, suspects and has suspected for a long time in a way that makes it feel like something’s slowly been eating through the pit of his stomach. But he doesn’t want to press the point, not again. He rubs his neck absently.
“So, Ryan,” Nick prompts and Tyson sighs.
“My…ex,” Tyson says although he sounds unsure. “He…he was my first real boyfriend, you know? We were together for years. He’s at college now, studying literature. He’s a poet. He’s really smart.”
Nick can’t help but look sceptical.
“He is!” Tyson insists, mouth quirking into a half smile. “He’s a good guy. I guess. Just a bit…intense. And sometimes he doesn’t get me. I’m not sure I am who he thinks I am, you know? But he’s persistent and he’s there and…” Tyson trails off and shrugs, looking uncomfortable. He doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes.
“Oh,” Nick says after a few moments of silence. “Right. Okay then.” He’s not sure what to make of this revelation, not sure if it’s the thought of Tyson having a sort-of boyfriend that’s making him feel suddenly queasy or the speed at which Mike seems to be taking every corner in the city.
“We’re here,” Mike announces, slowing the van to a stop. Nick peers through the window at the Korean Delicatessen.
Tyson gives him a small smile. “With any luck, Cash’ll be inside barfing on the ice cream again.”
“Nice,” Mike says, as Tyson disappears into the store. He turns the music up, and Nick sighs and rests his head against the wall of the van.
“Hey,” Chris says, sitting down beside him.
“Hey,” Nick replies.
“Tonight’s a bit of a mind fuck, eh?”
Nick laughs, but stops when he realises it sounds bitter.
“Not sure it’s all worth it,” he says. “Any of this.”
“You like this guy, right?” Chris asks, and Nick shrugs.
“I dunno. I mean, fuck, that guy he’s with though? Was with, whatever. Do I really want to even think about liking someone who dates people who dress like my grandfather did in his fucking coffin? His type is obviously dreamy intellectuals. That’s not me, Chris.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a type. Or maybe you’re his type and he just doesn’t know it yet.”
Nick smiles without meaning to. “You think?”
Chris shakes his head. “Dude, it’s like Tyler said- ‘Never judge a book by its cover, or who you’re going to love by your lover’. I mean, fuck, you think he’s into people who date guys like Gabe?”
“I don’t just date guys like Gabe,” Nick replies defensively, and Chris smirks.
“My point,” he says. “Thanks for making it.”
Nick stares at Chris for a long moment. He kind of hopes Chris is right. There’s something about Tyson, something he can’t quite put his finger on, and whenever he thinks he’s getting close, something changes and all of the progress he’s made is lost again. There’s a part of him that just wants to keep trying until he figures it out. He thinks maybe he knows, that maybe it’s familiar to him, like when you get a few bars of music stuck in your head but you can’t remember what song they’re from, and those few bars just play over and over until you figure it out or go insane.
Nick hopes Tyson’s not going to be the unknown earworm that pushes him off the edge.
The door to the van flies open suddenly. Tyson is standing there, clutching a bag of Cheetos and looking wild eyed.
“Cash,” he announces, a little breathlessly, “has been kidnapped by vampires.”
~~~
One look at the spew covered freezer tells Tyson that Cash has already patronised the delicatessen that night. It was a thing he had, a habit, puking in the same places when he was drunk. Tyson was is so used to it now that he just takes in the sight of the poor storekeeper chipping away at it with a sigh. He feels both relieved and anxious. Relieved, because at least Cash is alive and not in too much trouble if he’s managing to find his favourite vomitoria on his own, and anxious because they’ve missed him by at least ten minutes, judging by the frozen solidity of the puke.
Tyson heads straight for the Cheetos. He’s considering whether to get another packet for Nick and the boys (because finding out whether Nick likes Cheetos or not is pretty much a deal breaker, in Tyson’s eyes) when the bell above the door jangles and Gabe walks in.
He glances at the freezer and makes a face, then makes a beeline for Tyson who can’t help it when his legs turn him and walk him down towards the rear of the store.
Gabe hurries after him, the soles of his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor. “Bitch, wait,” he says.
Tyson stops and turns around.
“Hi Gabe,” he says dully.
“Having a good night?” Gabe asks, stopping at a shelf a few feet away from Tyson and pulling a bag of Oreos off the shelf. He opens it and takes one out, carefully twisting it open so he can scoop out the filling. Tyson thinks uncharitable thoughts about how that’s what Gabe does with boys, rips them open and carves out their insides with his teeth.
“We lost Cash,” Tyson says and hates himself a little for being momentarily surprised when Gabe actually looks concerned. Gabe and Cash seem to like each other, after all. And Cash is always telling Tyson Gabe’s not such a bad guy. Tyson rarely listens because he loves Cash, but Cash is an idiot a lot of the time.
“Shit, any idea where he is?”
Tyson shrugs and motions down to the front of the store. “He was here recently. We’ll find him. I have to.”
“We,” Gabe echoes. “So. You and Nick. What’s going on there?”
“So. You and Bill. What’s going on there?” Tyson mimics and Gabe smiles.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he says. “Bill is…a fun guy. Adventurous. If you know what I’m saying.”
“You’ve had a lot of time to explore each other,” Tyson nods. “What with you cheating on Nick with him for the past six months.”
Gabe narrows his eyes. “Does Nick know about that? Because you know that’d only hurt him more, right? Fuck, I did a number on that boy.”
Tyson thinks Gabe sounds almost sorry, and it’s accompanied by another wave of surprise that makes Tyson wonder if he actually knows Gabe at all. And if maybe Cash is right about him.
“Don’t tell him,” Gabe says. Tyson has no intention of telling Nick. He’s pretty sure it would devastate the guy and it’s hard enough work to get him to forget about Gabe as it is, to get his attention solely on Tyson in the vain hope he’ll somehow be convinced that Tyson is worth his time, not Gabe. So he’s not going to tell.
“I’m sorry he’s hurting,” Gabe continues, eating another Oreo in the same way. “But I couldn’t just keep dating him so he’d be happy, you know? He…fuck, he’s kind of intense. Too intense. We were dating for six months. That’s not that long. And he’s choosing his colleges based on where I’m going? That’s too much.”
“Oh,” Tyson says. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Would it have been better to wait until we were at college and I was fucking around on him then? He’s better off with me doing it now. Maybe. He gets a chance with someone else now, right?”
Gabe is giving Tyson a searching look, like he’s trying to figure out what Nick could ever see in Tyson, when he’s had someone like Gabe. Tyson’s been wondering the same thing, and the scrutiny makes him uncomfortable.
“You cheated on him from day one though,” Tyson points out, even though he doesn’t mean to be a bitch. There’s a part of him that wishes Gabe was a complete asshole, is searching for a way to make Gabe the unredeemable bad guy in this whole fucked up maybe-fairy-tale this evening has become. A fairytale about a whole slew of queens, a quest and a pair of princes, one -or maybe both of them- with a spell that could be broken, if only the other could figure out the magic words.
Gabe shrugs. “I never said I was perfect. Maybe I shouldn’t have though. Maybe I should rethink it. I mean, word on the street is you might not be able to give our Nicky what he needs.”
Tyson stares at Gabe and hopes he doesn’t mean what he thinks Gabe means. He clutches at the bag of Cheetos a little too tightly and they pop open. A few fall on the floor and Tyson ignores them but Gabe looks at them pointedly.
“Exactly,” he says, chewing on his Oreo smugly, mouth partially open.
“What is this word on the street?” Tyson demands.
Gabe raises one eyebrow. “You really want me to say it? I hear you have a problem with coming. You shoot the juice before you get it in the caboose. As in, you always arrive at the party early. Too early. Before the events have even really begun.”
Tyson feels the blood rush to his cheeks, staining them red. He wants the floor to swallow him up, to punch Gabe in the face, to kill the person who told Gabe because, fuck, there is such a thing as secrets and he’s pretty sure only one person could have said anything.
“Was Cash on this street?” Tyson asks, voice low and dangerous. “This street where apparently the bonds of friendship are outweighed by the urge to fucking gossip about everything.”
Gabe gives Tyson a sympathetic look. “Hey, we’ve all been there, dude. Fuck, when I was 13? I’d come just from a hot dude looking at me.”
“I’m not 13 though,” Tyson snaps. “I can’t fucking believe Cash. Can’t fucking believe you.”
He storms up to the counter and slams his open bag of Cheetos down. Gabe saunters up and places his Oreos beside them and when the cashier rings them up together, Tyson doesn’t protest, just hands over the money and then elbows Gabe aside to storm back out to the van, chips and malfunctioning dick and all.
Gabe’s phone rings, some cheerily electronic pop song that makes Tyson roll his eyes and wonder what the hell it is Nick and Gabe have in common. He’s opening the door when he hears Gabe say, “Cash, fuck, where are you? Tyson is gonna kill you.”
Tyson lets go of the door handle, storms back over and grabs the phone.
“Where the fuck are you?” he demands. He wants to yell at Cash and tell him he can fucking look after himself if their friendship means so little that he can dish out Tyson’s secrets to whichever ear is willing to listen. But he’s worried too, and he wants to be able to punch Cash in the dick in person, not over the phone.
“Tyson!” Cash yells and Tyson has to hold the phone away from his ear. Gabe laughs.
“Are you mad at me?” Cash asks. “There are vampires here, Ty. Vampires! I think they’re going to eat me. This one has scary teeth. And- ow! Fuck! Quit it! Why’re you punching my phone?”
There’s a scuffling noise and he can hear Cash saying, “Dude, it’s a phone, I wasn’t filming you with it, I swear, ow, no, my phone!” and the line goes dead.
Tyson stares at the phone for a long moment, then tries to call back, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” he swears and tosses the phone back to Gabe. He hurries outside, hating the jaunty jingle of the bell as he opens the door. Bill is there, leaning against a lamp post, and he nods at Tyson as he passes, heading around the corner to where the van is parked. He yanks the doors open.
“Cash has been kidnapped by vampires,” he announces.
It probably says something about the sort of night they’re having, or maybe the sort of lives they lead, that everyone blinks at him and then nods, as if that’s a normal thing to say.
“Where?” Bitchy Guy asks, and Tyson shakes his head.
“I don’t know,” he says. “He said there was a vampire with teeth who was going to eat him, and then someone was punching him ‘cos they thought he was filming them or something.”
Nick and Mike exchange a look.
“Bob,” Mike says, and Nick nods.
“Could be,” he says, and reaches out to yank Tyson into the van.
“The Black Parade!” Chris exclaims, throwing his arms in the air. “It’s been too long since we were there. Hot guys in leather and uniforms and shit,” he explains to Tyson.
“You think Cash is there?” he asks, and Mike starts the engine.
“I can pretty much guarantee it,” he says. “Only one place has guys looking like vampires and a dude who gets pissy when his picture is being taken. Fifteen minutes, traffic willing, and you’ll have Cash back.”
The mood is lighter, now they know where Cash is, and Mike and Chris are bickering good naturedly in the front as they drive.
Tyson is too busy avoiding eye contact with Nick and trying not to dwell on what Gabe had said, that he doesn't look up until Mike yells "The Douchenozzles!" at the top of his lungs.
"Nah," Chris says. "How about the Teabaggers?" He lifts himself up in his seat to thrust his hips back and forth. He nudges Bitchy Guy, who turns back and rolls his eyes at Tyson and Nick.
"Veto!" Mike says. "I want my mom to be able to come and see us play. I don't want her to ask what teabagging is."
Chris gives a dirty laugh. "Your mom already knows what teabagging is. I showed her last night."
Mike reaches across and punches Chris in the arm. "Giant fucking dick," he says, half laughing.
"That's what your mom said," Chris says, "right before she choked it down her throat."
Mike flips Chris off with a good natured grin.
"I don't see what's wrong with the Teabaggers," Chris remarks.
"I just told you," Mike tells him. "Right before I vetoed it."
"I don't see why you get to decide. I have an equal say in this band. In fact, I should have more of a say!"
"Why the fuck do you get more of a say?" Mike demands and Chris looks at him like he's nuts.
"I'm the fucking drummer! I'm the one who keeps you two in time when you're off running about the stage, forgetting about the beat. Ever heard of a tempo, Mike? Tends to help songs not sound shitty."
The van turns a corner, too fast, and Tyson whacks his head on the wall and swears, before the van turns the other way and he goes sliding into Nick.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Tyson snaps, scrambling away from the heat of Nick's side and back to where he'd been sitting. He feels all eyes on him, and his cheeks flush with a cocktail of annoyance and embarrassment. "Every single name you've mentioned is worse than the one you've got now. Which is pretty shitty to start with, you know."
"Well then, Tyson," Mike says, looking back at the road. "What would you call us then?"
Tyson sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He feels on edge from his talk with Gabe and from the knowledge that he's going to have to turn back into Cash's baby sitter in about ten minutes and stop being whoever he might otherwise want to be, even if he doesn't know who that is. Nick has been watching him with a half smile since he got back into the van, a half smile and soft eyes, even now when he's going off at Nick's friends, and it's weird. All Tyson can think about is that if Cash told Gabe, it is really, really possible that Gabe told Nick and Nick's putting two and two together and coming to the realisation that Tyson's the not-even-two pump chump they've probably spent months giggling over together. So band names aren't high on his list of thoughts right now.
"I don't fucking know," he snaps, "You're all such a bunch of cock sucking, motherfucking, suburban all-American fucking rejects that I don't know if there's a name that would accurately sum your shitty band up."
He deflates suddenly, all of his sudden anger evaporating as quickly as it arrives. He feels like a bit of a tool- he's so used to being calm and in control and for it to be Cash, and sometimes Gabe, who acts out and shouts and acts like a dick. He finds he kind of likes it.
When he looks up, Mike is giving him an amused look in the rear-view mirror.
"Uh, sorry," Tyson mumbles.
"No," Chris says. "That's us, baby. A bunch of cocksucking, motherfucking, suburban all-American fucking rejects!"
He and Mike exchange a look.
"I like it," Mike says slowly, and glances into the back of the van. "Nicky?"
Nick raises an eyebrow at Tyson. "You might want to shorten it a little," he suggests. "Not sure all of that would fit on a marquee."
Chris laughs and he and Mike start bickering about just how to shorten it, Bitchy Guy throwing in his opinion every now and then.
"Sorry," Tyson says. "I didn't mean for that to be a suggestion."
Nick shrugs. "I don't really care what the band's called, you know? It's about the music, not titles. Besides, those suggestions you just heard? They're the best either of them have made in the better part of a year."
Tyson can’t help but laugh, and it eases his nerves a little. They exchange a smile, and for a moment Tyson forgets Nick might know about his problem. Then Nick looks away as they slide around another corner and the moment is broken. The doubt seeps back in, and Tyson goes back to sitting and thinking about all the ways he’s going to cause Cash pain. He’s a pretty inventive guy, so he’s only halfway through making a list when the van stops and Mike says, “Everybody out!”
Tyson climbs out of the van, carefully avoiding Nick’s eyes and stares up at a club he’s never seen before. He doesn’t even know where they are, although he’s pretty sure they’re somewhere in the Village.
There’s a guy on the door who laughs and high fives Chris, and then lets them in ahead of the small line of people, ignoring their protests. It makes Tyson smile that, for once, cutting ahead at a New York club isn’t because of who his dad is.
It’s dark inside, and loud rock music is playing. Tyson lets his eyes and ears adjust, but it’s Nick who spots Cash first, placing a hand on Tyson’s arm and pointing.
Cash is standing out like a sore thumb. For one thing, he’s the only guy in the room wearing neon. For another, he’s the only guy in the room who seems to think standing on a table and playing air guitar is a good idea.
Tyson takes a deep breath- he has to remember to not hurt Cash too much, at least not when there are witnesses around- and starts to walk towards him. Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy have disappeared off, presumably to hit up the bar or find friends or something, but Nick is by Tyson’s side.
Tyson’s not sure if this is a good thing- after all, how can he ream Cash out about discussing his…problem, when Nick, the person he doesn’t want to know about it is standing right there.
But when he sees Cash teeter off balance and start to topple, beer bottle still clutched in hand, he’s glad of Nick’s company. Because Nick rushes forwards before Tyson can even process what’s happening.
Nick catches Cash in his arms before he can hit the floor. There’s a hilariously awkward moment -later, when Tyson thinks about it, but not so much at the time- where Nick tries to put Cash down, but Cash clings to Nick like a fucking monkey or something. Nick just laughs and hoists Cash properly into his arms, like Cash is a bride that Nick is about to carry across the threshold.
Tyson is suddenly incredibly jealous of Cash, which is something he’s not been since he was a kid. Despite everything that people love about Cash, Tyson’s never really wanted to be him before. But he can’t help but wish he was in Nick’s arms, even though he’s got a good couple of inches on Nick and it’d probably look ridiculous.
Tyson grins to himself, thinking about how, if Cash knew what he was thinking, he’d pointedly look at Tyson’s crotch and smirk and say “A few inches? You wish,” and it’s enough that when Nick carries Cash over to him, he only wants to throttle Cash a little bit.
“Fuck,” he says, pressing his hand to Cash’s cheek, just briefly. “We need to get you home.”
“Ty,” Cash says, dreamily, staring at Nick who’s looking down at him and grinning. “Ty, your trucker boy saved me! He saved my life, Ty. He has a truck! And a pretty smile. But he needs a trucker hat like Patrick. S!”
Nick laughs and Tyson does too.
“I’m gonna take him out to the van,” Nick says. “Can you round up the guys?” He smiles at Tyson, who nods.
“Thank you,” he says, and Nick shrugs as best he can with Cash in his arms and says, “Anytime,” and then heads for the door.
Tyson watches him leave- it’s a pretty sight and he can’t help it- and then heads towards the bar.
~~~
It happens in slow motion. One moment Cash is rocking out on the table with some pretty sweet moves that even impress Nick, and the next he’s heading towards the floor.
Nick doesn’t even think, just dives forwards and grabs him before he can hit the ground with his face.
“My hero,” Cash murmurs, reaching up to push Nick’s hair out of his eyes.
Nick laughs and carries Cash over to Tyson. He’s not really sure what to say- Tyson’s been acting strange since they drove away from the delicatessen, sliding his eyes in Nick’s direction and looking away. He’d sat huddled in on himself, on the opposite side of the van and okay, it wasn’t like Nick could really complain, but man, those were some mixed signals. It’s confusing and Nick is sick of being confused.
And it’s easy to be confused, when Tyson smiles at him like he’s doing. It’s not the sort of smile you give to someone who’s saved your friend’s life. It’s the sort of smile that makes Nick want to drop Cash and pick Tyson up instead, or maybe to just press him flat against the tabletop and crawl up into his lap.
The thought makes Nick bite his lip, and he zones out for a moment as Tyson talks to Cash, wondering if Tyson always kisses like he did back in the club- the first club, the first kiss- or if it gets even better.
“…He needs a trucker hat like Patrick. S!” Cash is saying, looking up at Nick and Nick can’t help laughing at the whole situation.
“I’m gonna take him out to the van,” Nick tells Tyson, and asks him to find the others.
Tyson smiles and thanks him, and Nick takes Cash outside.
Bitchy Guy is there, leaning against the side of the van with his phone out, typing a message.
“You found him!” he says, with a brilliant smile that Nick is pretty sure can cure cancer or something, slipping his cell back into his pocket.
Nick nods and lets Bitchy Guy open the van door for him. He places Cash down gently, and Cash immediately curls up into a ball and makes a happy sleepy noise.
“You alright?” Nick asks, and Bitchy Guy shrugs.
“It’s a strange night,” he says, quietly. “Saw an old friend I didn’t expect to see. Made me think.”
Nick nods. “Yeah, I get that.” He wonders who Bitchy Guy’s friend is, where he’d run into them on this madcap labyrinth adventure through New York City. He’s been so caught up in Gabe and Tyson and the hunt for Cash that he’s not been paying much attention to the others. He’s not even checked what sort of night they’re having and judging by Bitchy Guy not being inside the club, it’s probably not going the way Chris had planned.
They both fall quiet. Bitchy Guy’s phone beeps, but he leaves it in his pocket and stares at the ground.
“Hi.”
A pair of booted feet appear in front of Nick on the sidewalk and he looks up, taking in the skinny jeans, the stripy shirt, the tousled hair. The guy is cute, and he’s staring at Nick kind of intensely.
“You two not coming inside?” he asks, and Nick and Bitchy Guy exchange a look. Bitchy Guy smirks, and doesn’t answer so Nick shrugs.
“Nah, we’re just waiting for some friends,” he explains.
“You should come inside,” the guy tries again. “It’s a good club. My brother owns it.”
Nick nods. “It is a good club,” he agrees. “But maybe some other time.”
“Oh,” the guy says. “Are you, uh, here with someone?” His eyes flick to Bitchy Guy and then back to Nick’s face. It’s a strange kind of lost intensity in his eyes that makes Nick smile and want to give the guy a hug. But he’s posed an interesting question, one Nick’s not sure he can answer.
Is he with someone tonight? Is he with Tyson, complete with mixed signals and baggage of exes and secrets that he knows Tyson is keeping, from the way he closes his mouth around words that are trying to escape every now and again when they talk. Is he still with Gabe in his head, even though Gabe doesn’t want to be together anymore? Or is he by himself?
He looks over at Bitchy Guy, who tilts his head to the side and stares at Nick, as if to say ‘what’re you looking at me for?’ And he’s right, because the only person who can answer is Nick himself. And maybe Tyson. But in Tyson’s absence Nick looks up at the cute guy.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I’m here with someone.”
The guy nods. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good night, you two.”
He wanders into the club and Nick looks over at Bitchy Guy. Neither of them say anything for a moment, then the laughter trickles out of them until they’re bent double with it.
It’s funny, and it’s not, but it feels good. Both the laughing, and the decision Nick’s made, or at least trying to make. Bitchy Guy seems more relaxed too, some of the tension in his slightly hunched shoulders lifting a little.
They laugh together, and they’re still laughing when Chris, Mike and Tyson walk over to them.
“Ready to find Petey?” Chris asks, casting his eyes towards Bitchy Guy. He seems unsure, but Bitchy Guy lifts his head and smiles at Chris.
“I think we’re going to take Cash home,” Nick says and Tyson gives him a grateful look.
Mike starts the van engine. “Back to the truck then,” he says and they head off.
Cash settles himself with his head in Tyson’s lap. “I don’t feel good,” he complains, and wipes his face against Tyson’s tight pants.
“Gross,” Nick says, and Tyson grins.
“Yup,” he says. “But sometimes that’s friendship.”
Nick glances towards Mike and Chris up front and thinks of all the dumb, weird, messy shit they’ve got up to together. He smiles.
“Hold this,” Cash says, pulling his gum out of his mouth. When Tyson doesn’t take it he waves his arm around. “Taaaaaaaake it. Take it. Just fucking take my gumizzle.”
Tyson sighs and rolls his eyes, but he takes the gum. He looks at it for a moment then shoves it into his mouth, which Nick thinks is a pretty brave thing to do, all things considered.
“I hear you’re going to UCSF,” Tyson says out of nowhere, and Nick starts a little. He wonders if Tyson thinks he’s a little bitch for wanting to go to the school Gabe had chosen, but Tyson doesn’t look like he’s mocking Nick at all, just starting a conversation.
“Yeah,” he nods. “That was the plan. I think…maybe that’s changed now though. I got into Berklee College of Music too. Reckon that’ll suit me better.”
Tyson looks at him in surprise. “You know, I got into Northeastern too. If I went, I’d just be down the block. Don’t look so surprised,” he adds, when Nick raises a surprised eyebrow. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
Nick grins. “It’d be nice to know someone there,” he says, knocking his shoulders against Tyson’s accidentally as the van comes to a sudden halt. “You think maybe-”
“What the fucking fuck?” Chris exclaims from the front seat. Nick looks up, and spots what’s pissed Chris off through the windshield.
Tyson sees too.
And Gabe sees them. He leans back on the hood of Nick’s truck and waves.
Nick bites his lip. “Um,” he says. He looks out the window, then at Chris, who looks livid. He shifts his gaze instantly to Mike, who looks annoyed then on to Bitchy Guy, who shakes his head ever so slightly. Nick’s running out of places to look that aren’t Tyson so he looks down at Cash, who has drool- or something worse- seeping out of the corner of his mouth.
“You should go,” Tyson says. His voice is flat and when Nick finally looks at him, Tyson is looking away, at the wall of the van.
“No,” Mike is turned around in his seat, glaring at Nick.
Nick looks at Cash again.
“But…how’re you going to get home?” he asks Tyson.
“Nicky!” Chris admonishes, but Tyson shrugs.
“You guys can take us still, right?” he says and Mike sighs, but nods. “There you go then. Go and take care of Gabe.”
Nick looks at Tyson. He looks at Cash, then at Mike and Chris and Bitchy Guy, then back to Tyson again. Then he looks over at Gabe.
“Okay,” he says, ignoring the universal look of disappointment on their faces. He knows he’s probably making the biggest mistake of the so far 18 years of his life but he has to know. He has to talk to Gabe and not feel anything, to not want to tear his heart out and hand it over on a platter. Has to be sure it’s really over.
On to Part 3.