Fic: King of the Rodeo

[fluffontop]

King of the Rodeo
(bandslash, ~40,000 words, NC-17)
Disclaimer: fiction
Summary: Everyone works in a mall AU.
Notes: Pete works at Clandestine. Brendon works in the Smoothie Hut. The Ways work at Barnes & Noble. Brian is the Ways' boss. Main pairings are Pete/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, Ryan/Brendon etc. With much thanks to dexwebster and imogenics for beta and read-through. All remaining mistakes are mine!

Jon can set his watch after the Way brothers' coffee runs. They come in once in the morning, once around lunch time, and one more time in the afternoon, always taking their coffees to go to probably, Jon imagines, hide them behind the cash register at Barnes & Noble.

"The Used are playing the Bowl the weekend after next," Mikey says while buying the day's second round of lattes.

Mikey's pretty friendly; Jon sees him around town sometimes and they say hi. He's not entirely sure what Mikey's brother's name is, but Mikey's a pretty cool guy.

"And my roommate's band is playing." He shows Jon a page of listings of bands. Mikey is looking at a free local paper while he waits for Jon to prepare the coffees. His brother would drum his fingers against the pick-up table and stare longingly at Jon's back, Jon knows.

"Cool. What are they called?"

"Pencey Prep. They're good."

"I'll check them out." Jon fits lids on Mikey's cups and hands them across the round pick up table to Mikey, "See you later."

"See you in four and a half hours," Mikey says.

*

At the end of the first semester his second year of college, Pete dropped out to focus on his band, which had been a good plan at the time. A year and a half later, he is still folding clothes for a living.

He used to be semi famous, at least on the scene. The band had been doing well - they had been just there, about to make it, he'd felt it happening under his feet, although he had started working part-time in the mall just to tide himself over until it all took off. All that's left of the band now is an old flyer still taped to the window of The Bowl, which he passes sometimes on his way to the mall.

Pete hates his job; there are a only few things he likes, like how he can start later some days, and the store doesn't have a lunchtime rush the way the coffee bars do, and he can wear jeans to work, as long as the top is sold by Clandestine, but those are the perks.

The job pays enough to keep him in hoodies and music, but not enough for him to move out of his suburban boyroom. He's worked there long enough to have climbed the ladder and the depression helps him to stay put- moving is difficult, sometimes impossible. He goes to work and most days he goes straight home after and watches old movies that he used to like as a kid. There are two beds in his room, but it's been almost a year since there was anyone.

The Clandestine store is outside the mall, facing the street and the parking lot. On his lunch breaks, he goes to a fast food place in the mall where he eats alone, because the staff in the store all liked him better when he wasn't the assistant manager and he liked them better then too. He usually gets a coffee after his burger, and watches the shoppers, and sometimes he goes into Barnes & Noble to browse for books and see if anything catches his interest.

Today, something does.

The guy is tall and slim and crouching on the floor, stacking the lower shelf in the music section; his back is thin and there's a pale strip of skin showing between his belt and t-shirt. When Pete stops, he looks up, but he doesn't smile; he just nods curtly as if he's waiting for Pete to ask him a stupid question. Pete likes him immediately.

"Hi," the guy says, and when he stands up, his knees crack. "Do you want some help?"

His glasses are stuck over his hair which is combed forward, and he has nice eyes, but his face is carefully blank. His name tag says "Michael."

"Wow, I heard that," Pete says, stupidly. The guy raises an eyebrow and Pete fumbles for something else to say. "No thanks. Uh, I'm just looking."

"Okay."

It's been a ridiculously long time since he did anything remotely like flirting. He did it a lot back when he was self-assured and happy, but that was another him. That was the old Pete.

"Mikey," someone says behind them and when Pete turns around the hot Barnes & Noble manager is standing by the fire exit. He's wearing a faded t-shirt and has a pass around his neck, and he's holding a bunch of keys. "When you're done here," he points at Pete, "Could you sign on?"

"Sure," Mikey says. When the manager has disappeared again, he looks at Pete and says, "So, are we done here?"

Pete startles a little. "Uh?"

He doesn't know what to say to that, but then Mikey cracks a smile and his eyes gleam. "Sorry. It was just the way he said it." He gestures after the hot manager.

Mikey seems kind of weird, which Pete really likes.

"Are you sure you don't want me to show you something?" Mikey asks.

Pete almost makes a joke. Almost. The old Pete would have. "No thanks," he just says instead.

"Okay, see you later." Mikey goes over to the cash registers. He bends to fetch a cup of coffee sitting under the counter and he doesn't look over at Pete again.

Pete thinks about how he used to be good at this.

He runs into another shop assistant in the book section, who absolutely must be Mikey's brother, Pete has time to notice, before the guy bumps into him with a trolley and doesn't apologize, just gives Pete a confused look as if he has never seen people before.

*

Brendon thinks that they are probably his age. Maybe they're in college, but they look younger because they come in dressed like everyone did in high school and they sit drinking their frappuccinos on edge of the fountain outside. One time the tall, cute one was even carrying a skateboard. Brendon doesn't think he's even seen a skateboard since he was in high school, which feels like a lifetime ago even though it was only two and half months ago.

"Brendon," William says, rolling his eyes. "Your customers. Clearly."

The people working in the Smoothie Hut are mostly a bit older than him- the younger shift work weekends, and since Brendon isn't going to college he's glad not to mix too much with them.

He's not putting off college, he's just taking a break while he tries to earn some money. Living on his own costs more than he expected, but he can't go home, not yet, not after he left the way he did, which felt empowering for about ten minutes while he was packing.

He smiles at the two regulars. "You should try our new berrylicious summer blend," he tells them brightly, gesturing at the board.

"No," the tall, cute one says with no inflection in his voice, and Brendon knows his name is Ryan, because his friend just said "No, Ryan's getting another smoothie" into the phone while rolling his eyes. Ryan is cute and tall, so Brendon always thinks of him as 'the cute, tall one'. Not that he thinks of him a lot, of course.

"Okay," Brendon shrugs, "But you're missing out. Limited summer edition. It's really yummy."

"Do you have to promote it?" Ryan asks a little dully, like maybe it's a jab or maybe it's a real question. There's no hint of anything on his face. "Do they tell you off if you don't?"

So the truth is that Brendon's got the biggest, most hopeless crush ever on Ryan, which makes him babble on worse than normal.

"I don't get commission or anything," Brendon says, "I wish I did. Though, I'd rather have commission on the tropical smoothies. I'd earn a fortune."

From the other counter, he can see William look over as if to say what are you doing? and when Ryan doesn't answer, Brendon feels a little stupid.

He always manages to put off kids his own age for some reason, he reflects a little sadly after his shift, as he watches himself in the mirror in the staff bathroom. In high school, he wasn't popular, even though he tried hard, but he wasn't bullied or beaten up; he was mostly just ignored, and he never figured it out. He thinks maybe it's the church-thing. Maybe things will get better now that he's out, and out, and living on his own.

So far, it's been pretty stressful being in charge of how he wants to live his life. He's been living in his crappy little apartment for a few months now and he's been working full-time at the Smoothie Hut for most of the time. Usually he doesn't have time for much more than sleeping and working and trying to figure out how to get rid of the stuff that seems to be growing along the rim of the tub and getting used to eating dinner alone. He's pretty resigned to the fact that this summer isn't going to turn all his fantasies into reality.

Today he's off pretty early; it's not even 2 pm when he goes to get his bag from the office. The back door is open and he can smell the hot asphalt from outside. The dumpster stinks and his car has probably heated up like an oven.

As he pulls the apron over his head, he hears familiar voices.

"You're going to O.D. on fucking strawberries," someone says. Brendon recognizes Ryan's friend's voice. He can almost hear the guy roll his eyes again, "You know, maybe you should try actually talking to him instead."

"Fuck off," he hears Ryan say, and Brendon's heart immediately sinks. He thinks, shit, shit no, because this happens all the fucking time. After months of working with William, Brendon is used to it. Ryan is going to turn out to have a crush on William, and now Brendon is going to have to watch that for the rest of the summer.

And it's really unfair, because William-who is dating a really hot, cool artist-musician type guy-gets more guys after him than he can handle while Brendon, who has a hole the size of a planet in his life where someone could fit in, never gets anyone. Sometimes, Brendon wants to staple a photo of Travis above the bar to save them and himself the hassle, because William's pretty crazy about this one.

He waits until their voices have disappeared before he leaves. He pulls his bag over his head, across his shoulder, and digs for his keys and forces himself not to think about it. He knows he shouldn't let shit like that get him down. After all, he's got this independence thing going: he's got a job, a car and a place to live and he eats fantastically healthily, considering-gallons of fruit a day. And he was seventeen before he even thought about guys, so he should be able to go one fucking summer without. Although obviously the truth is that he thought about guys before he was 17, the difference is that back then he never acknowledged it to himself, which nowadays he does - fuck lot of good that does him.

But all in all, things are okay; he isn't unhappy; he's not anything really. He's kind of excited about his life, even though he's not sure where it's heading. Right now he's thinking maybe hairdressing school.

*

"Need help?" someone asks behind him and when Brendon turns around, the manager of Barnes & Noble is walking towards him. Brendon recognized him from when he first moved out and went into the mall to check for jobs. Barnes & Noble was the first place he asked in.

The parking lot is hot and the sky is looking dark and thunderous and of course his car decided to die today. "Yeah," he says, "It won't start. I don't know what's wrong." He doesn't know anything about cars. He was hoping there would be smoke or an obvious leak, but there's nothing to help him figure out why it won't start.

"Has it been running okay?" the guy asks. Brendon sees the staff pass around his neck. It says "Brian" and has a small photo ID.

Brendon nods. For a second hand heap of metal, it's been running fine.

"Okay, well, I don't know much about cars, but I know a good mechanic. I could tow you," Brian offers
"Um, I can't afford a mechanic," Brendon admits. Whatever it costs, he's sure it's going to be more than what he paid his cousin for the car.

Brian gives him and his car an assessing look. "Okay, sure," he says. Then, "Sorry, dude. I'll give you a ride home, if you want."

Brendon hesitates. "Uh, if it's not too much trouble. Thank you."

Brian shakes his head. "No problem. Come on."

Brendon follows him across the parking lot. Brian's car is a blue pick-up and nicer than Brendon's but, then, most cars are. When he jumps into the passenger seat, blissfully cool air blows across his legs as soon as Brian turns the ignition.

"Thanks," Brendon says.

"It's no problem," Brian says again, He gazes through the windscreen at the sky. "Looks like it might rain. That'd be a bitch to be caught in."

Brendon nods. "Yeah. I really appreciate it."

They pull out of the parking space and Brendon thinks that the sky has an almost green tint to it over by the horizon. He wonders if his apartment would be able to withstand a tornado. He decides it's unlikely. His only option would probably be to go down and sit in the lobby, which has a huge glass-paned door that doesn't lock.

"You work at Barnes & Noble?" he says and points at Brian's chest.

Brian looks down as if he didn't realize the staff pass was still around his neck and then he tucks it under his shirt, "I always forget about it. Thanks." He smiles at Brendon as he turns out of the parking lot.

"I work at The Smoothie Hut," Brendon says.

"Right." Brian looks like he doesn't have a clue what that is.

"Come by sometime and I will give you a free smoothie. They're good."

"Thanks." Brian looks skeptical, but he nods.

Brendon used to like smoothies before he started working at the Hut, but he's getting pretty sick of them now. Sometimes he thinks it might be nice to work with something else, like books, or shoes, or fishing equipment. Anything.

He tries not to think about what to do if he doesn't get his car fixed, putting it off until he's home and not so sweaty and hungry anymore.

"Barnes & Noble is open late on Thursdays, right?" he asks.

"Yeah." Brian nods. He's peering through the windscreen at the sky again. "I'm just going home quickly. I have to go back in again."

He slows down and turns off the highway, and Brendon tells him where to turn. Brian seems to know Brendon's neighborhood pretty well, better than Brendon does. When Brendon first moved in, he got lost three times trying to find his street, which looked like every other run-down street in the area.

"Just here to the left," he says when they are nearing his apartment.

Just as they pull up, the skies open.

"Wow," Brian says.

The rain immediately obscures the windscreen and the interior of the car gets darker. The cool air is still running, and Brendon suddenly doesn't want to get out. He wants to stay in the car for a while with someone else driving.

"Yeah, wow," he says. He forces his legs to move. When he opens the door, the rain immediately soaks the side of his sneakers and his jeans. "Thank you so much for the ride."

He waves at Brian and slams the door shut. The rain is drizzling down his back as he hurries up the paved steps towards his building. It's the first really bad weather since he moved in and he's a little worried he'll discover some leak or crack or block. He'll have to hang his jeans over the radiator as soon as he gets in, because he needs to wear them tomorrow.

As he runs up the steps, he thinks about Ryan, caught in the rain, wet and sulky.

*

That night, Andy and Joe hook up while Pete is in the car with them, which is really kind of disrespectful. He's right there in the backseat when it starts and it's so not what he needs right then.

It's also a fucking shitty thing to do, because Pete's always been into Joe; not all the time-they've known each other a bit too long and Joe can be an asshole and he's not really Pete's type-but sometimes when he's had a shitty day at work and everyone is hooking up around him and he has been up thinking about how his life is slipping away, Joe is completely his type.

Fuck them, Pete thinks and gets out of the car. They can be as happy as they fucking want to be. He can see them through the windows and he flips them off.

The heat has broken, and it's raining when he walks up the slope that leads down to the highway and the Wal-Mart across, drizzle at first, but then heavier and harder, sliding down the back of his jeans where the sweatshirt rides up. It's all he fucking needs. He pulls up the zipper of his hoodie and hunches his shoulders, skidding a bit as he makes it down the hill to the bottom and the curb.

The Gap is at the beginning of the mall. There's a Sears next to it, and at the bottom Barnes & Noble stretches over two floors. His own store is closed, but Barnes & Noble is still open for about an hour, because they have a late night opening, so he can have a look in the music department and wait out the rain, and maybe find something to make the rest of the night better or at least tolerable.

He only remembers about Mikey when he sees him in one of the aisles stacking CDs again. The place is pretty empty and he's the only shop assistant in the music department. Pete pulls a hand through his hair.

"Working late?" he asks and Mikey looks up.

"Yep."

"I work at Clandestine," Pete says.

"Okay." Mikey raises an eyebrow. Then he says, "I think I know that store."

"It's mostly clothes."

Pete thinks he can see Mikey hide a smile, which is probably because Pete is soaking wet and stuttering a little. He's drunk too, because Joe brought some wine coolers and it was a shitty night, so Pete downed as many as he could while he watched Joe and Andy flirt.

He used to be straight edge when he was 15 and in an angry band, but when everything else crumbled, his resolve went away, and he's okay with being back on the wagon. He was never that much of a drinker in his teens anyway; he had a few humiliating moments of puking in people's gardens, but he's older now. He can stand humiliation better.

"I like your shirt," Mikey says then. "Your store?"

"Thanks, uh, no," Pete says. "The belt is. I mean... but not the shirt."

"Okay. Where did you buy it?"

"I don't remember. It's old."

"Mikey," someone says and when Pete looks over the hot manager is standing in the doorway marked 'Staff only'. He's always holding keys, Pete thinks. "We're closing."

"Yep," Mikey says.

Pete realizes he's probably looking pretty stupid just standing there not really browsing. He looks down at the CDs under his fingers. The covers all seem kind of blurry. He fishes out one-anything. "I'm taking this one."

"That's pretty good." Mikey gets up from where he's crouching on the floor.

"Someone recommended it to me."

As Pete follows Mikey over to the counter, he tries to think of a way to keep the conversation going.

"So even your manager calls you Mikey?" he asks. He nods at Mikey's name tag.

Mikey looks down, and then quickly unpins it from his shirt. "Yeah." He shrugs. "I don't mind. It's probably 'cause my brother works here. No one calls me Michael." He adjusts his glasses and looks at Pete. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Pete," Pete says and stupidly presses a hand to his own chest.

"Here. You should check this out." Mikey puts a flyer in Pete's bag. "It's at The Bowl. The Used are playing."

"Cool," Pete says. He hasn't been to the Bowl in six months.

The old Pete would ask what Mikey was doing tonight and try to tag along, but the new Pete just pays for his CD.

"I gave you my discount," Mikey says and hands Pete the bag, "As you're the last customer of the day."

"Thanks," Pete says.

"You can do the same for me some time." Mikey gives him a quick, crooked smile and Pete doesn't tell him he's the assistant manager.

Mikey bends to fetch a cup of coffee from under the counter. "Gerard's giving me a lift," he says then. "If you want to hang around, we can drop you off. It's still raining."

Pete tries not to let the jolt of excitement show. "Where do you live?" he asks, hesitantly. "I mean, as long as it's not out of the way for you."

Mikey shrugs. "Nah. He has to drop me off at my place anyway then go all the way back here." Mikey grins, "He still lives at home."

Pete doesn't say me too, he just nods.

He trails behind Mikey through the 'Staff only' exit as Mikey gets his jacket and pops his head into the office to tell his manager he's off and to tell Gerard he's going to wait outside, and then he says, "come on," to Pete and they exit.

Outside, Mikey lights a cigarette and watches Pete with a small smile playing on his lips while they huddle under the small roof. It's still raining, and the parking lot is mostly empty. Pete thinks it's pretty nice to stand there with the rain smattering above them and the last traces of sunset still streak the sky.

They talk about music while they wait and Pete tries to think of a way to ask for Mikey's number. He's not even sure if Mikey's gay, although a part of him is really sure.

Then the door slams open and Mikey's brother comes stumbling out. He says, "Hey," then frowns when he sees Pete. "Hi."

"We're giving Pete a lift home," Mikey says.

Pete can see that Gerard looks annoyed, but all he says is, "Fuck, it's raining," as he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up, hunching his shoulders, and doesn't look at Pete.

In the car, Gerard lights up a cigarette. The backseat is full of magazines and wrappers and empty coke cans and tattered blanket and, randomly, a stuffed toy heart. Mikey gets into the back with Pete and Gerard backs out of the parking space with all the grace of someone who doesn't drive very often, and they almost hit a few cars as he u-turns to the nearest exit.

Mikey doesn't seem to notice. It's all a little weird; Pete isn't sure how he went from not being able to flirt to sitting next to Mikey in the back of their car.

Gerard is still smoking; but the car is stinking pretty badly anyway. Pete feels a little drunk again suddenly as they hit a few bumps.

"Thanks," he says and Gerard nods at him in the rearview mirror.

"Where do you want us to drop you?" Mikey asks.

"Uh," Pete says. "The Wal-Mart-side of the park is fine."

Gerard grumbles and Pete has a feeling it's out of their way, but Mikey says "that's fine" and Gerard doesn't say anything, just ashes into an old coffee cup in the holder beside him and narrowly escapes riding up on the curb.

"So, I don't think I've seen your band for ages, do you still play?" Mikey asks then, quite suddenly.

Pete blinks, "Um, no. We - do you mean Arma?"

Mikey nods. "Yeah."

"No, we broke up over a year ago."

Pete's a little surprised, because he doesn't remember ever seeing Mikey in the clubs, but they were pretty big on the scene, so he assumes it's possible that Mikey knows him even if he doesn't know Mikey.

"I saw you guys a few times," Mikey says, as if he knows what Pete is thinking. "And your poster was on the wall at this place I interned at for, like, a month or something. I recognized you." He smiles.

"Left or right?" Gerard says from the front seat.

"Uh," Pete looks away from Mikey, "Uh, right."

He falls against Mikey when Gerard makes a sharp turn. Mikey grabs a hold of the head rest in front of him, but he leans a fraction towards Pete and they're suddenly sitting a little closer.

"So, do you have a new band?" Mikey asks.

Pete shakes his head. "No, not yet. I mean - I won't have time right now. I might go back to college. I dropped out when we got signed, but."

"That's a shame. You guys were good," Mikey says.

"Thanks." It's weird talking about the scene again. It feels like it was a lifetime ago, like Mikey is talking to the wrong Pete.

Mikey's phone rings while Pete's trying to think of something else to say. He answers it with a "Yeah?" Then he says, "We'll be there in ten minutes." When he hangs up, he leans across the seats and says, "Frank's wondering if you're coming up too," to his brother.

Gerard flinches, Pete notices. "No," he mumbles, "No, I have to - and the car."

Pete thinks he can see Mikey roll his eyes. "Fine," he says then he turns back to Pete. "It was cool to see you again," and then, after a beat, he says, "Hey, I could take your number, we could hang out some time."

Pete blinks, because Mikey makes it seem so easy. As he watches Mikey program Pete's number it into his phone, he thinks that maybe it's not that nerve-racking to ask for someone's number when you don't think they're cute. But then Mikey looks up and meets his eyes and says, "So, is it okay if I call you?" and he lowers his voice when he says it, and it is suddenly so clear what he is really asking that Pete almost gasps.

He nods, "Yeah."

Mikey smiles. "Cool."

"Fucking shit," Gerard says from the front seat and the car jolts.

*

Jon can see the bagel place, the fountain, the Krispy Kreme and the Tropical Smoothie Hut from behind the counter. It's pretty much the most boring view ever. Sometimes he wishes he worked in the Starbucks across the street instead, because there at least you can see the sky and occasionally famous people, while no one famous or half-interesting ever comes into the Starbucks in the mall, only teenagers and middle class families and people he went to high school with.

He's not in a good mood today. That morning he woke up in his jeans to find that his phone was full of messages from some guy he doesn't think he even knows, each message getting increasingly more desperate as the night wore on. Jon usually doesn't mind it when guys call him to hook up, but this morning he just felt tired, sort of weary and irritated, thinking Jesus, fucking what?

"I think I need more women in my life," William says and Jon looks up.

"Women?"

William used to work in Starbucks with Jon, and before that in The Gap a bit further down in the mall, and probably somewhere else too before that, but now he blends smoothies for a living. They're still good friends and spend their breaks at each other's work. Jon really likes William; he can be really sweet, at least to his friends, and thankfully they haven't slept together.

"Yeah." William says with a nod, "I want a girlfriend. You know, like you have Greta."

"You can borrow her if you want," Jon offers.

"No, no," William grimaces, "She's all in love with me, it wouldn't work."

As far as Jon knows, Greta hasn't once expressed an interest in William, but she does have a history of getting pathetically into most of Jon's other friends, so Jon can maybe see why William would assume.

"I want someone to talk to," William explains, "You can't talk to men," He reached across the bar and takes Jon's hand, "Of course, I don't consider you a man." Jon makes a face and twists his hand out of William's grip and William laughs. "I just need to find someone who doesn't want to sleep with me," William continues, sighing a little. "I get laid as much as I could ever wish nowadays."

"I know," Jon says curtly, because he does. In detail.

"Did I tell you about last night?" William says and takes a sip of his espresso. "Travis came over and we fucked on the couch."

Jon groans. "Great," he mutters.

"It was." William nods, but there's a small frown between his eyes that catches Jon's attention. "I came, of course, but then about a minute later or so I think I came again while he was inside me. Only I didn't shoot, obviously. But it was... kind of intense."

"That's 6.98," Jon says to the lady in line.

When she's paid for her lattes, Jon turns back to William. "So what are you saying, that you won the boyfriend lottery?"

"Yeah," William nods, but the frown hasn't completely gone away. "He's amazing. It's the perk of having a creative boyfriend, I guess."

"The multiple orgasms?"

"Yeah," he laughs, "And the inventiveness. No day's the same."

Jon looks at William's face and the way he pushes a strand of hair back almost nervously as he speaks. "You're so in love with him," he mutters.

William nods. "Head over heels," he says softly, but he looks happier than any of the other times he's said it, and Jon thinks, huh. Maybe this time he really is. He wonders how Travis feels about William.

Jon likes his job-as well as you can like working at Starbucks. It pays the rent and food and gas, and his life. He's pretty happy. He likes his little studio apartment with the cracked window frames that you have to kick or hit with the spine of a book before you can open them; and he likes going out with friends and sleeping around and walking home by himself as the sun rises; he likes the photographs he has taped to the wall from all of his roadtrips to California and from Chicago to Las Vegas last summer. Although sometimes nowadays he stands looking at them thinking there's something missing.

While he wipes the counter, William peers at him. "Listen, we need to fix you up with a boyfriend. You need some good loving too."

"Thanks," Jon says, "But I'm good. I get laid as much as I could ever wish to too."

William sighs, "You poor misguided manslut. It's so sad how you are lost in a sea of meaningless sexual encounters like this. You'll wake up soon and realize there's more to life than hook-ups with strangers."

"You used to keep a score card," Jon says.

William winks. "I still do."

But the sad thing is that there was a bit of truth in what William is saying. Jon can't help thinking how he has sort of woken up lately. He checks his phone to make sure that the guy isn't still interested in the light of day, which, unsurprisingly, he doesn't seem to be.

He's not sure what's going on. He shouldn't be bored of meaningless sex with boring people and waking up in his jeans, choked by his own necklace, well-fucked and fucked up, not yet. He's only 21.

*

When Pete wakes up the next morning, he feels sick. His hair is still damp and his head hurts like something deep inside it is rubbing together, setting off sparks behind his eye. "Fuck," he says and goes downstairs to get some coffee.

His mom leaves the coffee maker on for him when she leaves in the morning. His dad leaves first, then his mom, then, around nine thirty, he does. The store opens at ten.

His jacket is hanging over a chair, reminding him why last night would be worth getting pneumonia. He gets his phone from the pocket and checks it, a bit stupidly. It's only been ten and half hours.

*

"I'm off the market," he announces as he walks into the store, because that's what he used to say whenever he met someone promising, back when a lot of people cared, "Sorry, everyone."

"It's a sad day," Gabe says, "A great loss for us all."

The hoodie Gabe has on over the staff shirt isn't Clandestine and Pete will have to tell him to take it off, which is Gabe's way to make him feel like the asshole assistant manager, and sometimes he's sure that Gabe does it on purpose.

"Who is the lucky girl?" Gabe asks, then blinks and adds, "I mean, guy. Girl. Pete, how fucking long have I known you, I don't even know which way you like it, you eunuch."

Pete thinks, Mikey Way has my number. "We're opening, you have to take this off," he says and tugs a little at Gabe's hood.

"Are you hitting on me, sir?" Gabe asks, and unzips sort of demonstratively.

When they have counted out the cash and opened the shutter, Pete looks at the wall planner. "Who is in this morning?"

"Vicky," Gabe says, "She called me earlier. She's somewhere downtown, but she's on her way."

"She should have called me," Pete mumbles.

"You look pretty today," Gabe says, "Is it because of the sex? Your complexion is good. Did you get a facial or something?"

Pete shakes his head, then rolls his eyes. "I just gave him my number."

"Wow, that's really interesting," Gabe says.

"He's works in Barnes & Noble," Pete adds and Gabe's eyes light up.

"Oh, really? So he's--wait," Gabe blinks, "It's not the hot manager, right?"

Pete snorts, "No, of course not. If that guy's single, I'll let you take a photo of my dick and put it on the staff notice board."

*

"What the fuck, Urie," William says when Brendon walks into the Smoothie Hut later that morning while Jon is sitting at the counter, chatting his break away.

"Um, what?" Brendon says, a little nervously. He's ten minutes late and he looks like he's been running.

"Just that someone said they saw you get a lift with the fucking Barnes & Noble manager yesterday. What the fuck is that about?"

"Uh," Brendon says, "My car broke down. He came by and asked if I needed a ride."

"No, no," William says, "No, no. Stuff like that only happens in good pornos."

Jon laughs, "That would make a good porno." He sees Brendon turn a little red.

"It wasn't - my car is really dead." Brendon frowns. "I didn't know you guys know him?"

"Brian's the hottest guy in the mall," Williams says, matter-of-factly. And it pretty much is a fact, Jon thinks. Everyone knows about the hot manager at Barnes & Noble.

Brendon nods, "Sure, I mean, yeah, he's cute -"

William rolls his eyes. "Look, Brian isn't cute. I'm cute. Jon here is cute, maybe even verging on hot - "

"Thanks," Jon says.

"And you're sort of cute, I guess, in an Amish way, but Brian is the dictionary definition of hot. First of all," William starts counting off on his fingers, "He's older, what do we think? 30? So that means he's experienced. And he's got a nice body. And he seems like a nice guy, except he's also got all those badboy tattoos. So, cute, no. Hot, oh my god yes."

"Right," Brendon says, a little deflated.

"William has a boyfriend," Jon says, "In case that wasn't clear."

*

"Do you know what I hate most about gay guys?" Jon says. "Whenever you go home with any of them, they all automatically assume it's because they're so fucking gorgeous you just can't help yourself."

"Do you know what I hate about straight guys?" Greta says, "Whenever you sleep with any of them, they all automatically assume it's because they played the game right and somehow managed to fool you into bed."

They're sitting on the grass outside the mall. Jon's drinking a frappuccino and Greta has a tropical smoothie.

"Yeah, okay, you win," Jon concedes.

"I always win this game," Greta says, sadly.

Jon sighs and looks up at the sky. It doesn't look like it will rain today. William isn't working today so he's having his lunch outside.

His phone beeps, and when he gets it out and checks the display, he huffs out a surprised breath.

Greta looks over, "Who is it?"

"It's um," Jon frowns, "It's a friend of mine. We-I haven't seen him for ages."

"Aw," Greta says, uninterestedly.

Jon stares at the message. He can't believe Tom is texting him again, just like that. They were best friends all through high school, but then they lost touch and it's been almost two years since they saw each other.

Tom's text says, Hey, buddy its Tom. how you been? Is this still your number? which is a bit of a dumb message but very Tom.

"Wow, I can't believe it," Jon says, "We were friends since we were, like, born, but we lost touch, kind of. He went to college and, I don't know."

Greta frowns. "Why is he texting you now?"

"I don't know."

The way he sees it, Tom dumped him when Jon dropped out of college. To be fair, Jon got busy working and roadtripping, but they were fucking best friends, that shouldn't have made a difference. He's still a little hurt. He's not sure he should get this excited over Tom's message.

He texts back: How you been. Been ages! are you still in chicago?

"Is he cute?" Greta asks.

Jon thinks about it. Tom is pretty cute, but Jon's not sure if girls think so. Tom never really dated in high school or even his first year of college. Or maybe he did, he just never introduced any of them to Jon.

"Is he straight?" Greta asks.

Jon nods. Tom never had a problem with Jon being gay, though they never really talked about it. It only occurs to him now that Tom might have felt like Jon ditched him for his new world and his new friends, but it's typical of Tom not to bring it up.

Greta looks vaguely more interested. "We should go out some time, we could bring him to Angels."

Jon's phone beeps again. I'm in chicago. You still around?

Jon puts his drink on the ground and stands up. "I have to go," he says.

"Honey, you still have four hours left of your shift," Greta says.

"I just got violently sick," Jon says.

*

Tom is kind of cute, actually. Jon finds it easier to be objective about it when they haven't seen each other for two years.

They hug warmly by the bus station. It's nice to see Tom again. Jon realizes just how much he's missed Tom when he puts his arms around him while people are pushing past them; he looks exactly the same, and he smells the same. He must have graduated by now, Jon thinks. He must be ready to get a job in finance or business administration or whatever kind of job you get with that degree. But he's wearing flip flops and worn-out jeans and a ratty scarf, which makes Jon happy for some reason.

When they break apart, Tom says, "You look the same."

"So do you," Jon says, truthfully, not adding that he had expected Tom to look really different. There's a bag by Tom's feet, Jon notices then. "Are you moving or something?" he asks, nudging it with his toe.

Tom shrugs, "Maybe. I've been moving around a little, taking photographs and shit."

Jon feels warm at that. It's exactly what he missed. "You've started doing that again? That's cool."

Tom stopped pursuing photography when he started college and changed his major to business or accountancy or something, which was all wrong in Jon's head. Tom was always the one who enthusiastically came along when Jon wanted to sleep outside or wanted them to try to be vegetarians or start a band. But then they grew up and Tom stopped talking about being a photographer and Jon stopped believing in romance, or something. At least romance that stretched beyond the sun rising and everyone recovering from their orgasms.

"It's great to see you, man," he says, which isn't all he wants to say but will have to be. For now.

"It's good seeing you too," Tom says.

They go for a coffee. Tom's bag seems sort of heavy.

"So, have you graduated now?" Jon asks when they've sat down.

Tom shrugs, "Yeah. Well, I changed my major again. Photography."

Jon feels his face break out in a huge smile before he can stop himself. "Cool," he says.

Tom glances over at Jon, but doesn't say anything about the way he's grinning. "What about you?" he just asks.

Jon shrugs, "Taking some time out. I've been travelling. I work at the mall."

Tom nods, and looks like he's trying to smile. "That's great."

"Yeah." Jon feels like he should add something, it's been two years since they saw each other and he must have something else going on, but he doesn't really do anything but work and go out and hang with his friends and hook up. "I've got an apartment over there," he says, pointing down past the end of the arcade.

Tom raises an eyebrow, "That's great."

"It's just a studio."

"Still. Better than a fucking dorm room," Tom says.

Jon glances down at his bag again. "Where are you staying? You can stay with me, if you want. It's small, but it'll fit you too."

Tom's eyes flicker. He bites his lip. Jon thinks about how they were fucking best friends forever and never had any trouble asking each other for favors, sometimes huge favors. Jon almost got arrested for Tom once. Tom once saved his life.

"That's--that's great of you to offer. I was going to stay for a bit, at a hotel. But if you're sure - "

"Get your bag. I'll show you the place," Jon says and finishes his coffee.

"Wait, let me just take a picture of you," Tom says, fumbling with the zipper to his bag. "The sky's perfect."

*

Mikey doesn't call that weekend. He doesn't call the following week either. He doesn't call on Friday, which would have been a good day for a first date. Pete checks that there are no missed calls or that his phone isn't set to voicemail and that there's service. Mikey doesn't call that weekend.

"You look glum," his mom comments on Monday when Pete comes down earlier than normal for breakfast and an early shift.

He's not really glum, he thinks. He's 24 and he hasn't had a date in 8 months and he lives in his old boyhood room above his parents' bedroom. "I'm okay," he says, "Just a little tired."

Pete opens the store and fills in some paperwork and divides the schedule and drags a box of green and blue t-shirts out on to the store floor; it's only 11 am, and he's only managed an hour and a half of not being depressed.

"You look fucking tired," Victoria remarks.

She's a pretty good friend, at least job-wise. They don't hang out or anything, but they spend eight hours a day together without getting sick of each other and he knows about her asshole boyfriend who only comes over when he wants to have sex, so Pete would say they're relatively intimate.

"The guy didn't call me back," he mumbles as he rings up a price check. "The Barnes & Noble guy."

"Really?" she says, with an appropriate amount of sympathy.

"Yeah. I'll get over it." Pete sighs, "It's just... He's my type. I mean, I don't know him, he might be an asshole, but it's just that he's exactly what I go for." Mikey is tall and slim and has nice as and a hint of mystery about him and Pete was pretty smitten.

"He's obviously an asshole," Victoria says helpfully, "I hate when guys do that. Don't say you're going to call and then don't. Just don't say anything then. Is that so hard?"

"Yeah," Pete sighs, "Asshole."

A customer comes in and wants to exchange 89 bucks' worth of clothes untagged with no proof of purchase and Pete gets busy being the assistant manager.

*

"Do you think they're together?" William asks when Ryan and Spencer have ordered their smoothies and sat down, not completely out of earshot.

Brendon feels himself redden. "I don't know," he mumbles.

He knows his crush on Ryan is getting pathetic, because obviously he has been wondering if Spencer and Ryan are a couple. He has imagined them in their dorm room after a night of studying, suddenly realizing their feelings for each other and falling into one of their tiny beds together. Or on the floor.

"I don't think they are," William reflects, looking thoughtfully at Ryan's ass, "They don't give off the vibe." He points at Ryan. "The tall one is definitely gay. I mean, the hats."

"I don't know," Brendon says again.

A part of him wishes he could have a crush on someone like Brian instead, someone nice and safe and unattainable, because that would at least be easier than crushing on some lanky college kid he isn't even sure why he likes. Ryan isn't that nice. And probably not unattainable. He never comes in with anyone who isn't Spencer.

Ten minutes after they have sat down, Spencer and Ryan start fighting. Brendon knows he shouldn't watch or feel a flutter of happiness. Hypothetically, he knows that.

It's not really a fight anyway, but they're clearly annoyed with each other. Spencer says something which Ryan doesn't reply to and after a few moments of silent glaring, Spencer grabs his bag and stands up and leaves with an angry jerk of his head.

"Here's your chance," William says, and nudges Brendon in the side.

Brendon pushes his hand away.

"Come on," William urges, "Go talk to him. Offer him your virginity."

"I'm not a virgin," Brendon protests.

William pats him encouragingly on the shoulder. "Yeah, but maybe he hasn't heard the rumor that you fucked the hot Barnes & Noble manager in the backseat of his car." When Brendon turns to stare at him, William shrugs. "There's always the chance, right?"

*

When Brendon's shift ends, Ryan is still there, sitting by the window with his empty smoothie, which has been empty for a while. After Spencer left, Ryan has been staring out of the window, sometimes sneering at something Brendon can't see, sometimes looking down at the local music zine he has opened on the table. His shoulders are a little hunched.

Brendon takes off his apron and gets ready to walk out to the back, but William stops him, smoothly, hooking one foot around Brendon's ankle without really looking up. Brendon's head is a little mushy after 6 hours of, well, mush, and William doesn't say anything, just applies pressure with his foot and inclines his head a fraction towards Ryan, and Brendon thinks about it until William rolls his eyes. It's all incredibly smooth, Brendon thinks, no one would know what William was saying even if they looked right at the two of them.

Since it's late and he's tired, he decides not to try to fight William and instead walks around the counter toward the front exit, just past Ryan.

"Hey," he says, stopping where Ryan is sitting, as if he's just seen him. "How's it going? Are you enjoying your smoothie?"

Ryan looks up. His pretty mouth is curved downwards. "It's okay," he says.

He doesn't offer up anything else and Brendon weighs on his feet, not sure what to do.

"Where's Spencer?" he asks finally.

Ryan shrugs. "Somewhere. We're not conjoined twins," he says flatly.

He goes back to reading. But then, just as Brendon is ready to admit defeat and leave, Ryan glances up again and asks, unprompted, "So, have you finished work now?"

For a moment, Brendon is surprised and can only nod. "Yes. I'm going home," he says then and when Ryan nods, he gets a little braver and adds, while rolling his eyes, "Finally. Man, seven hours of serving annoying customers fucking Berrylicious smoothies."

"Sorry," Ryan said.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean you- " Brendon panics slightly, and stammers, "I meant- tourists. You guys are cool."

"Okay," Ryan says.

Over at the counter, Brendon can see William giving him an incredibly sarcastic thumbs-up.

He decides to leave before he makes it even worse, even though he's not sure how he could unless he starts dancing on the tables and singing "You've Lost That Loving Feeling" to Ryan.

"Well, I'll see you later," he mumbles.

Ryan suddenly looks up, right at him, his big, dark eyes meeting Brendon's inquiringly, as he asks, "Are you going to the Bowl this weekend? The Used are playing."

Brendon isn't expecting it and doesn't know what to answer for a moment. Then he shakes his head, "Uh, no. My car's in the shop."

The truth is that he doesn't know who The Used are or which day this weekend they're playing or exactly what "The Bowl" is, but in an uncharacteristically good move he decides not to ask Ryan.

Ryan shrugs, "Okay, but you should come. They're good. I can email you their schedule, if you want."

"Great," Brendon says. "That'd be fantastic. I'll give you my email."

He watches as Ryan writes down the address on a corner of the magazine and actually feels sweat breaking out on his neck. He doesn't dare to glance over at William by the counter.

Ryan rips the piece of paper off and folds it into his bag.

"See you there then, maybe," Ryan says and goes back to reading his zine.

"Yeah, sure." Brendon hesitates for a second before he turns away and heads out of the store. He's feeling sort of red and out of breath and a little stupid, but also elated.

On the bus ride home, he can't stop grinning like a fool. The view of the city roll past outside the window and suddenly it feels like it's his. He lives here.

When he gets home, he makes macaroni and cheese and then he sits in the opened living room window for a while, letting his skin be warmed up by the sunset. He thinks about his life and the future and the city and he feels more hopeful, more excited, like there are so many possibilities, so much to explore, all laid out in front of him. And Ryan has his email address written on the corner of a local music zine in his sequined bag.

*

"We're open till 7 tonight," Gabe says into the phone and makes a face at Victoria. He's playing with the zipper on his purple hoodie. It's sort of an innocuous thing to do, but it's sexy at the same time, because it's unconscious and the top of his t-shirt is caught in the zipper and gets pulled down with each tug, exposing his collarbone, and Victoria really, really needs a boyfriend.

It's just because he's the only nice, straight guy in her life right now. If it wasn't for the dry-spell of decent men maybe she wouldn't find Gabe half as interesting. She hasn't been on a date in six months, which was with a guy who her friend thought would be perfect for her, and who told her he had a girlfriend while they were ordering starters and asked her back to his place after. He's broken up with his girlfriend now, but they don't really go on dates, because he's too busy, so usually he calls when he's off work and comes around and sometimes even stays till the morning.

"If you have the receipt and the item hasn't been worn," Gabe says and rolls his eyes. He taps her shin with his foot as he talks, and when she looks over, he just smiles. They're good friends; they work together most days and they talk about stuff - not just work stuff, but about feelings. She knows that he wants to do something creative and fun with his life and that he's currently single, at least on weekdays.

She wishes she didn't have a crush on someone at work, but on the other hand, on really boring, long days, it helps make things less dull. Sometimes Gabe starts dancing in the middle of the shop floor, pushing his shirt up, and showing off the muscles on his stomach and the happy trail of hair under his bellybutton.

"Okay, fine, no problem," he says, and hangs up. He rolls his eyes, "This job would be so much better if it wasn't for the customers," he says.

Victoria nods. "There should be two floors, and they should make requests through a microphone, then we'd slide it down to them on a chute."

"And at least we'd be allowed to wear our own clothes." Gabe tugs at the shirt he's wearing. "How much do models get paid to wear a store's clothes anyway? We should have a cut."

Victoria laughs, "We're not models. If we were they could force us to work out."

"Hey, we're tall and good-looking. We should get model fees." He slides an arm around her waist, hand big and warm against her back.

The thing is, she doesn't need a boyfriend right now. She has a job and a room in a decent enough apartment with nice enough roommates and she might try to save up enough to go travelling, maybe to India. Also, unrequited crushes at work are just sad. Gabe once said something about how she is a nice person and he likes how he can talk to her about things, which she knows from high school means he's absolutely not attracted to her at all. So there's that.

When Tim comes in that afternoon, Gabe turns and hollers, "Vicky, your boyfriend is here," which isn't the perfect thing to say around Tim.

She hopes he didn't hear it and goes back to the small office to get her jacket.

Pete is sitting by the desk, filling out some papers. His shoulders are hunched. Pete can be nice, but he's been moping lately. "Tim's here," she says.

Pete knows about her and Tim and the whatever they are, so when he looks up, she grimaces quickly and knows that he gets it.

"Right." He raises an eyebrow and she thinks he almost smiles, which would be the first time this week. "Have fun," he says.

In the car, Tim ask her if she's been telling people she works with that they're dating, and he seems concerned, as if it matters, as if the people she works with care whether he's single or not.

"Gabe's just being, Gabe," she explains. "I don't tell them you're my boyfriend."

When they go to Taco Bell, Tim still looks perturbed. And while they walk back to the car with their take-out, he says, just slowly enough to be insulting, "Like I said before, Vicky, I'm not into having a relationship right now."

"I'm not looking for a relationship either," she says, which isn't a lie, but isn't exactly the truth either.

Whenever they have this conversation she wants to ask him how he can be so sure that they won't start to like each other if they actually get to know each other. Granted, he seems sort of dull, but who knows.

"I like hanging out with you," he explains, as they head for her place, "But if you want us to be all lovey-dovey..."

"Lovey-dovey?" she asks

He gestures vaguely, "You know what I mean."

"Kinda," she says, and thinks about the fucking dry-spell that is her life.

They go by the store on the corner to pick up some drinks and candy before they get to her apartment.

"Do you want a beer?" she asks and he shakes his head.

"I'm going to play football with the guys later," he says.

She notices that he almost says "after".

The next day, she's late for work. Her roommates tease her about hearing them through the wall, and it wouldn't be half as embarrassing if Tim stayed around to the morning to take some of the flack as well. He can be really sweet, and she's really attracted to him, but even if they don't end up getting married, it would be nice if they could have a laugh after the sex as well as before, because, god, sometimes you really need to.

I'm on my way, she texts to Gabe's phone.

Just as she is walking across the parking lot, her phone beeps and she flips it open, expecting a sarcastic reply from Gabe, but it's from Tim: Vicky, I don’t think this is working, lets talk. keep your phone on. I'll call.

She stops and reads it again, then heads to work.

"You're late," Pete says.

"Yeah." She puts her bag and jacket in the back office and feels a little sad, and a lot annoyed. The world is full of assholes.

She hands Pete her phone and lets him read the message. "What does that mean? You're breaking up?" he asks.

She shrugs, "We weren't together. But one of you guys called him my boyfriend yesterday and apparently he can't get over it."

"That really sucks," Pete mumbles and hands back her phone. "It wasn't me."

"Yeah," she says.

When Gabe comes back from his lunch break, he comes up behind her and pinches her side. He's eating the last of a veggie wrap and is drinking a coke, and he has on ridiculous sunglasses. "Late again," he teases. "Making sweet morning love?"

"Traffic," she says.

When she has finished folding shirts and goes back to the office with the empty box, she has a missed call and a voice mail on her phone, both from Tim. Reluctantly, she listens to the voice mail. His tone is a little short, but he asks her to call him back and his voice goes softer towards the end, as if he remembers that she must be very upset.

It's true that she's a little upset. It's not nice to be dumped, in general, and in particular not for being a deluded and desperate headcase when all she did was ask if he wanted to have a beer, stay the night-and not every night, just occasionally.

While she's looking down at her phone in her hand, as if it will give her all the answers, Gabe comes out, clutching a pack of cigarettes, and stops when he sees her. "Hey, I'm going to take a smoke break," he says.

"Sure," she says, and covers the phone with her hand.

She waits until Gabe has disappeared out into the small courtyard behind the shop and closed the fire exit door before she calls Tim back.

"I thought you weren't answering your phone," he says when he picks up.

"Why?"

"Because you're mad at me." He sighs, like she's being difficult.

"No, I don't hear it ring when I'm working," she says. She wonders if he thinks that she was screening his calls, angry and tearful.

"So, we should talk," he starts.

"I can't now," she repeats, "I'm at work."

"Vicky," he continues anyway. "I think I was honest with you from the start and I feel like maybe you thought that I would change my mind, but - "

"Really, I can't talk right now," she says.

She can hear him sigh. "Okay, I tell you what," he says flatly, "I just wanted to be a decent guy here and call you, but why don't you give me a call when you - "

She hangs up in his ear. She's never hung up on someone before, and it feels weird, because it's a very rude thing to do. Confrontational. She wonders how she would feel if he hung up on her while they were talking, but on the other hand, she wouldn't be telling him that he was being clingy and deluded.

She is still staring at her phone when Gabe comes back from his break. "Hey," he says.

The phone rings in her hand and she jumps.

She doesn't answer it and Gabe looks at her as she clutches it in her hand. A ringing phone is really hard to ignore. She presses the green key then the red and it stops.

Gabe raises an eyebrow. "You're not answering?"

She grimaces.

"Who is it?"

"Tim," she admits.

The phone rings again. She really wishes she didn't have "Let's Get It On" as her ringtone.

Gabe frowns, and then he walks up to her, picks the phone out of her hand and answers it with a "She doesn't want to talk to you, dickwad," and hangs up.

He hands her back the phone and grins. She looks at him a little incredulously, because she would never pick up someone else's phone and shout at their boyfriend-or-whatever, but Gabe doesn't give a fuck and no wonder she has a little crush on him.

"Do you want a cigarette?" he asks and holds out the pack.

She nods, "Okay."

They usually can't take a break at the same time, but Gabe shouts, "Pete, Vicky's having a personal crisis, I'm just taking her outside for a bit."

Pete's sticks his head around the corner, "Are you okay?" he asks and looks concerned. Sometimes he's really great. She nods, but not too emphatically, and he says, "Okay, take a break. Let me know if you want to go home."

Gabe still has an arm around her shoulder as he opens the fire exit door again and they go out to the small cemented yard which holds the dumpster and a small loading area. The sun has sunk behind the building, so the small space is shadowed and a little chilly.

Gabe lights a cigarette and hands it to her.

"Thanks." She doesn't really smoke, but it's something to do. It's better than just holding the phone.

"Did you break up with him?" he asks.

She shakes her head, then shrugs. "We weren't actually together. Not for real, you know. He said-I guess he doesn't want to do that anymore either."

"Dick," Gabe says.

"Yeah. It's your fault a little bit."

His eyes gleam. "My fault?"

"You called him my boyfriend yesterday. That sort of kicked it off."

Gabe splays his hands, "Well, what can I say, I'm used being the reason people break up. Although never by implying that they should be together."

"Yeah, well, he's a weird guy."

"He's obviously a dick," Gabe says again.

He flicks ash on the ground and plays with the zipper of his hoodie.

"Yeah," Victoria says.

She takes a careful drag of her cigarette. She's not very good at smoking.

"Hey, how about I take you out after?" Gabe nudges her with his foot. "Get your mind off the loser?"

"Okay. Sounds great."

They sit outside for a few minutes more and she feels better when they go back inside again. Pete lets her sit and tags shirts for a while, which is really sweet of him, and five minutes before closing, Gabe sticks his head around the corner and says, "You still up for tonight?"

She nods. "Are you asking Pete too?"

"I don't think he'll want to come out with us," Gabe says and rolls his eyes, "He's still moping."

"Gabe," Pete shouts from the front of the store, "You need to help me close."

"Ask him." Victoria shrugs, even though she sort of wants it to be just her and Gabe.

But not because it would make it a date-they've been out just the two of them before and it's usually pretty much the opposite of a date: Gabe hits on girls, tells her rude stories about past hook-ups, and sometimes she has a feeling that he treats her like a buddy more than he does Pete. Even though she's almost sure that Pete doesn't have a crush on Gabe.

"Gabe," Pete shouts again, wearily, "Come on. The shutters."

"I won't ask him," Gabe says, and disappears back out to the front again.

Part 2