Higschool!AU Chapter Three (Part One)
Chapter Three
No one gave better advice than Davey's mom. She had never, ever, ever sent Davey or Joey in the wrong direction. She always knew what to say, even when Davey couldn't voice his concerns.
"You'd still have made your dad so proud," she'd assured him after he came out to her last year.
"But Dad was in the army," Davey had dithered. "He was all muscled and, and manly, and..."
"Honey, you had such a crush on Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid when you were little," his mom had said, ruffling his hair. "Believe me when I tell you he knew, and he didn't care."
So when it takes her exactly two days to drag Davey out of his room and ply him with tea and cookies while Joey's over at a friends', he isn't really surprised.
"Spill, babycakes," she says, handing him a snickerdoodle.
"So you know Freddy?" he asks, swirling a spoon in his tea and watching it cool.
"Your band friend Joey hates?"
"Yup," Davey said. "That one."
"You realized you have a crush on him?" His mother asked calmly, sipping her tea.
"Well, sort of," Davey hedged. "I mean, I knew that a long time ago."
"So what's got you holed up in your room with that jazz CD on repeat?"
"He's sort of slutty." Davey said. "Like, a lot. Really, really slutty. And that's why Joey hates him, because he sort of, uh, hooked up with the entire JV soccer team? Kind of?"
"Ah," his mother said, looking amused. "That would bother him."
"It bothers me," Davey said. "There are some really gross guys on JV. And a lot of them had girlfriends, Mom. I mean, who does that?"
"Still don't see the problem," his mother said, taking a bite of a snickerdoodle and humming happily "Lydia says the feeling's extremely mutual."
"You've been gossiping," Davey said, betrayed. "You knew all of this."
"Davey," his mother said patiently, "I'm your mother who has winged monkeys watching you when your little friends come and visit, of course I knew. But it's nice to have you tell me things."
"I just... I was ashamed," Davey muttered. "He's such a bad, bad choice."
"And that's what's got you so depressed?" His mother asked.
"He kissed me," Davey blurted out. "Like, really laid one on me. And he says he has a crush on me and, and..."
"Oh, my sweet David," his mother laughed. "That's a good thing. Was he a bad kisser? Was that it?"
"Mom," Davey squeaked. His mother just raised an eyebrow. "He was kind of amazing," Davey muttered into his snickerdoodle.
"That's what happens when you kiss someone with experience," his mom said, sighing in reminiscence.
"Mom," Davey howled again. "Can we go back to when you didn't ever even look at a guy before Dad? And I came from a cabbage patch?"
"Of course, of course," she said. "So go on. Why isn't he over here making out with you right now, then?"
"Because I said no," Davey said. "I mean, I told Joey about just liking Freddy and he flipped out, okay? Like not even a little bit, he was full on crazy brother flipping out. I mean, when I first met him he was in love with his straight best friend - and he's a total jerk, by the way. And now four months later he's all in love with me, but that's because I'm like the only person on the planet who hasn't hooked up with him. He's going to, like, use me and leave me like a, a tissue or something, and I like him too much for that. It would hurt."
"It hurts now," his mother said fairly.
"Yeah," Davey said, "but it would hurt more if I thought we were going to be together and then he ran off when someone hot walks past."
"Oh, sweetheart," his mom said, pulling him into a hug. "You're such a little old man. Always were."
"Did I do something wrong?" Davey asked, burying his face in her shoulder, which smelled so comforting and sweet and Mom-like that all his problems seemed suddenly inconsequential. "Am I being stupid?"
"No," his mom said. "If everything you're telling me is true, you made the right decision, you just made it so fast for someone your age."
"I hate it when people say that," Davey said. "It' so stupid. It's not like Joey's rolling in common sense."
"Very true," his mom said, kissing the top of his head. "But you should remember that. You're putting a lot of stock in what Joey's telling you. Remember that if he had his way, you'd have taken a vow of celibacy years ago."
"Yeah," Davey muttered. "Those always work so well."
"Exactly," his mother said. "Have a little fun. Don't just think with your brain. You're fifteen, not fifty."
"Weirdest mom advice ever," Davey said, and reached up to kiss her cheek. "Love you."
"Love you too," his mom said, swatting his butt. "Now stop moping and go do your homework."
- - -
It wasn't the first time he had been rejected per se. He had a tutor once in middle school; a pretty Asian girl who laughed at his jokes and helped him in math. He asked her to a dance, she said no, and they went back to doing problems. And that was all right. He even made a couple of half-joking passes at Dan, that were knocked down pretty brutally, and that was all right. Each time, Freddy laughed and moved on.
Only he couldn't do that with Davey. Because every time he looked at Davey (only in brief glances, when he was absolutely sure there was no chance their eyes would meet), his stomach still slowly turned over.
"This is dumb," Freddy whispered to himself once in band. It was probably partially Davey's fault. He couldn't knock someone down like a normal person. He had to kiss back and then give all sorts of stupid reasons why Freddy and Davey Together wasn't a good idea. All right, some of the reasons weren't so bad - the thing about dropping people and the sluttiness part was justified, and it wasn't as if Freddy had some rational and non-stupid explanation to offer Davey as to why he'd be any different.
But Davey still kissed him back.
Whenever that brief glimmer of hope surfaced, it was immediately shot down by the thought of what Freddy actually did: came around when Davey was alone, and used some vague statement about him missing Freddy to hop over the counter and lick the back of his throat. What had sounded spontaneous and even romantic in Freddy's head was now fast becoming strange and creepy.
But if Freddy was secretly filled with anxiety, he was determined not to show it. So he compensated. In band class, where he was extra obnoxious, in the hallways, where he avoided Davey's gaze if he passed, but his voice automatically shot up to whomever he was talking to.
Even at the basketball game, Freddy compensated. Whenever anyone made a shot - even it was Joey - he was the first at his feet, cheering, when a bad call came, he was the first to jeer and swear loudly. Davey seemed completely uninterested in his antics, just sat between the lesbians talking or watching his brother play.
Nathan had proved a good partner, even if he was unaware of the reason behind Freddy's sudden levity. "Dude," Nathan said, rising to his feet. He tapped Davey on the shoulder excitedly. "Look at her."
Freddy followed Nathan's finger. She was a short, walking with a couple of girlfriends, holding a small bag of popcorn. She had a huge mass of brunette hair, and her breasts - he raised his eyebrows - were some of the best he'd ever seen. Round and firm and barely contained by her top. All of a sudden, she stopped short to point something out to a friend next to her. Her breasts bounced sharply. Freddy gasped. Nathan's drumsticks clattered somewhere on the bleachers.
"Fantastits," Nathan mumbled, awed.
"The breast of the breast," Freddy agreed. "I think I'd switch schools and play basketball for that. Even if track is best."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "But cheerleaders never show up for track meets. Why the fuck is that?"
"I don't know, man." Freddy replied. "Injustice. Hey, is she looking at me?" It was a rhetorical question really, she was checking Freddy out, and not being particularly subtle about it.
"Oh man, she's looking at me," Nathan said, punching Freddy's shoulder excitedly. "Dude, I am so scoring a three pointer."
"She's looking at me, fucktard," Freddy said. "Here, try waving at her." Eagerly, Nathan did as instructed, but she just rolled her eyes until Freddy cuffed the back of his head, which made her grin approvingly.
"This shit is so wasted on you," Nathan said mournfully. "You don't even go for tits anymore." Out of the corner of his eye, Freddy saw Davey shift uneasily, the back of his neck turning bright red.
"Not true," Freddy said recklessly. "Any man could be into those tits. Even the gayest one alive." He heard Davey cough loudly and ignored him.
"So go for it, fucker," Nathan said. "I mean, haven't you been having a total drought since, like, uh, you know?"
"Yeah, this summer," Freddy said. The back of Davey's head was practically quivering with poorly-hidden surprise. "Struck out."
"No time like the present," Nathan said sagely. "Nail that broad."
Brooks High won by a healthy margin, but it was close enough that it was still exciting and not embarrassing when the entire team poured onto the court and started doing victory laps. The cheerleader, whose name was Kristy, luckily had absolutely no hard feelings.
"I'm so glad you came over and talked to me," she said, leaning in an almost ridiculously saccharine impression of schoolgirl innocence. "Your friend was, like, totally gross."
"He's kind of retarded," Freddy said, faking an air of long-held suffering. "Dropped on his head as a child. It makes him feel welcome when I talk to him."
"That is so totally sweet of you," Kristy said, leaning into him so her bubblegum was snapping in his ear, annoyingly loud as her hand started wandering in a thoroughly inappropriate direction. It wasn't as good as Freddy remembered it feeling, but it still felt nice to have someone unfamiliar touching him. "I could totally make it up to you."
"Okay," Freddy said, and just as he was leaning in to kiss those plush, overly-glossed lips he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
"Hey, Freddy, are you...oh," he heard the voice say, and when he turned around there was Davey, bright pink and looking so adorably rejected that Freddy wanted nothing more than to run from Kristy's side and gather Davey in his arms, or something equally ridiculous and re-assuring. Why should it matter, anyway? Davey had rejected him, and Kristy certainly wasn't. So this tiny brunette had tits and Davey didn't. It was still more tiny brunette action than he'd gotten in a while. It wasn't like he didn't have needs or something, just because Davey was some sort of sexless fiend.
"Kristy, this is my friend Davey," he said, stepping away so they could actually see each other, and Kristy gave him a little wave. She looked like she wanted to eat Davey up with a spoon or coo over him, and it sort of made Freddy want to smack her. "He's not retarded," he said finally.
"Uh, thanks," Davey said. "Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for a ride, because Joey wants to go to the afterparty."
"His brother's the point guard," Freddy explained. "Tall? Douchebag? Too many freckles?"
"Your brother is so hot," Kristy said to Davey. "You should tell him that if he ever gets lonely, our cheer squad was watching him."
"Uh, he's...busy," Davey said, looking annoyed. "Anyways, I'll leave you two to, you know, what you were doing."
"I can give you a ride," Freddy said desperately, suddenly far less interested in Kristy now that she'd mentioned he was sloppy seconds to Joey, of all people.
"No, no," Davey said with deceptive innocence. "Kate already offered, it's just kind of out of her way. See you later." He gave Freddy an approximation of a grin and all but ran to Kate and Liz, who were watching Freddy from a distance as if they were planning to rip him limb from limb and feed him to wild dogs.
"Your friend is so adorable," Kristy sighed. "I want to, like, dress him up and buy him cookies."
"He's a lady-killer like that," Freddy said. "Anyways, I should go. Could I have your number and call you or something?"
Kristy obligingly programmed it into his cell phone, and Freddy gave her a very sloppy, tongued goodbye before driving home alone. And when he pulled up, he deleted her number without a second thought.
- - -
Unlike Joey, Davey liked working at the cafe. It was so easy to fall into a rhythm on a sleepy afternoon, making croissants. There was something comforting about the process : adding the ingredients in the mixing bowls, stirring, kneading the dough, stuffing them into the ovens. Davey and Lydia always fell into a rhythm making them, each handing the other a bowl or a spatula before the other had asked for it.
Davey nearly jumped out of his skin with his mom tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Regina's out front," A worried line creased her forehead. "I don't know if she's accompanied or not, but I thought you should know."
"Thanks," Davey whispered back. Lydia slowed her work, listening. "I'll just keep helping Lydia with these, then."
"No problem," she replied, returning to the front of the cafe.
Lydia impressively managed not to ask him about the exchange for a full thirty seconds, after which she dropped the rolling pin on the counter with a clang and turned around. "Davey," she started.
"Those are nice earrings," Davey said weakly. "Are they real zippers? They are nice."
She self consciously brushed her dangling earrings with the back of her hand, ignoring the comment. "I can't keep this up anymore. I know everything."
"What?" Davey was bewildered. "How did you find-"
"Your mom told me," Lydia cut him off. "I can't believe he kissed you."
Davey rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "Why does everyone have to know?" he moaned. "Why can't you guys gossip about Joey's love life?"
"Yours is juicier," Lydia said flatly. "I don't want to hear about how great Jessica Alba's tits are. I want to hear about you," she pushed him on the chest. "I want to know everything."
"There isn't anything to tell," Davey argued. "He kissed me."
"Bullshit," Lydia said passionately. "Where did he kiss you?"
"On the m - Oh. " Where had they been? Davey remembered Freddy pressing him against some sort of surface. " Um, against the front counter."
Lydia touched the counter, leaving a floury spot. Her eyes were oddly glazed, as if she were picturing it. "Wow. What was it like?"
"You know," Davey turned furiously red. "It was a kiss."
"Don't be such a prude, Davey." Lydia rolled her eyes. "Did you like it?"
Davey didn't have to try to remember, because it was pretty much all he thought about - Freddy's body, his damp hair, the taste of Gatorade… "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It was… nice."
"So what's the deal?" She grinned. "He's cute, he's funny, he makes good mixes," Lydia stuck her hands into the front pocket of her apron. "I admit I might have to break you two up if he wants to come around here and distract you from helping out, but that's to be expected. What's holding you back?"
"He's too… him." Davey frowned. "He gets around, Lydia. It's not even just rumors, I've heard him say it himself. And the way he kissed me," Davey shivered. "It was pretty clear that it wasn't his first or second or even sixtieth time kissing someone like that."
"So?" Lydia frowned.
"He doesn't date. He doesn't even stay interested in people." Davey set a baking pan in the sink with a clang. "I don't want either of us to get hurt."
"Davey," Lydia stopped him, and held his head between her hands sadly. "You're a moron."
"I'm not a moron," Davey said plaintively, pulling away.
"Yes," Lydia nodded firmly. "You're a moron. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Mom says I'm being sensible," He argued. "It's the right thing to do."
Lydia snorted. "Sensible people are never happy. Nor do they ever get any." She poked him in the ribs. "You know how I know you're a total moron?"
"How?" Davey rolled his eyes.
"You just gave me a million half-assed reasons for why you rejected him, and not one of them was 'because I don't want to be with him.'"
"Well," Davey responded cryptically, washing his hands. "I guess sometimes you want isn't the best thing for you."
"You are disgustingly sensible," Lydia scowled. "At this rate, you're never going to get laid. Or if you do, you will be seventy and it will somehow be by accident."
"Lydia," Davey shot her a pained look. She softened.
"At least apologize for being a moron. You could do with some friends your own age," Lydia looked him up and down. "Even if they happen to be attractive, sweet, and interested in you."
"How dare they," Davey replied dryly.
- - -
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD," Freddy yelled, pulling the sheets of his bed over his face. "PLEASE TURN THE LIGHT OFF."
"Oh," Regina clucked her tongue disapprovingly. She flicked off the switch. Freddy listened to her slowly walk, tiptoeing gingerly over the soft carpet of record covers, socks, cleats, and sheets of music that littered his floor. Regina settled herself gently on the edge of his bed, smoothing the sheets with one hand.
"You got back home late last night," She said neutrally.
"Yeah," Freddy's voice replied, from somewhere under the covers. He felt uncomfortable. Regina and Pops usually never asked him about those types of things. "We had a good track meet yesterday. Nathan wanted to celebrate."
"Huh," Regina said. "That's nice."
Freddy rolled his eyes under the sheet.
"It is nice," Regina said, looking at the lump in the bed that was Freddy's head. "I can't help but notice that you hadn't been out in a while. Or if you were, you were always at that cafe."
Freddy froze.
"I was going to ask you to pick up a few things for bridge the next time you dropped off Davey," she continued. "But I noticed that you've been getting home early all this week." She rested an arm on Freddy's head. "What's the matter with you two?"
"Nothing."
"Freddy," Regina prodded lightly. "What happened?"
"No," Freddy said vehemently. "We are not having this conversation. I'm not having this conversation." He threw the covers off of his head and glared at Regina. "But by the way, your advice? Sucks."
"Don't talk like that, dear." Regina chided without heat. "What on earth happened? I thought you were doing so well. Tell me about it."
"I don't want to tell you," Freddy moaned. "You're my grandma, and you already know much too much for your own good. Can't you watch a soap opera or something?"
"I'll make waffles," Regina cajoled.
"Waffles are not that hard," Freddy argued. "I can manage waffles."
"I meant the kind that aren't frozen. The kind with batter that doesn't come out a box and that have actual fruit on top. Oh, I'll even let you put all those disgusting toppings on it: the cream and the nuts and the powdered sugar..."
"All right," Freddy said grudgingly, getting out of bed. He looked at his pajama pants grimly. They were lying on the floor under Regina's chair. "I'm not putting pants on, though. I am either eating waffles in boxers and telling you, or going back to sleep and not telling you anything at all."
"Have it your way," Regina said cheerily, walking up the stairs in her slow, old-lady way while Freddy dithered behind her impatiently.
"I went around the cafe after track practice," Freddy said when they made it into the kitchen, playing with a small pot of potpourri Regina had refilled. Regina hummed and took out ingredients, cracking an egg into a blue mixing bowl. "He usually works with some other people, but he was all alone closing. I guess they bailed out on him."
Regina nodded and measured out a cup of flour. "Go on,"
Freddy crushed a short edge of cinnamon stick in between his fingers. "He wasn't pissed that I was there, so I stuck around and watched him close for a bit. We were, you know, talking about stuff." He trailed off.
Regina looked up. "And? Stop fiddling with the potpourri, Freddy, your hands will smell ridiculous"
Freddy got off of the counter and swept the small pile of crumbs into the trash bin. "Can I lick the spoon?"
Regina raised an eyebrow. "It's waffle batter, dear."
"So?"
She looked at the bowl warily. "It's not like cookie-dough batter. Stop stalling. You were talking?"
Freddy fidgeted. "Yeah, you know. We were talking."
Regina sighed. "Freddy, if you aren't going to tell me--"
"Fine. I kissed him."
"Freddy!" Regina exclaimed, dropping the spoon. "Did he..?"
"No." Freddy said flatly. "Well, yes. He kissed me back and it was great but we stopped. I told him that I was into him and he told me he didn't want to be with me. Since I'm such a cad that I'd probably drop him after a week."
Regina looked at him sadly.
"Don't look at me like that," Freddy said. "You know, the old lady cow eye thing. Stop that. And can I please lick the spoon? I like batter."
"No," his grandmother said, pointedly running hot water over it and washing all the batter down the drain. "You cannot die of salmonella just to get out of this situation."
"That was only a potentially awesome side effect," Freddy said, resting his chin in his hands.
"Well, I think Davey is being very sensible," Regina said, pouring some of the batter into the iron and closing it. "I wish he weren't, for your sake, but I think he's doing exactly the right thing."
"Wait a minute," Freddy said through a mouthful of chocolate chips, "sensible?"
"Yes, Freddy, sensible, and don't speak with your mouth open."
"You're my grandmother," Freddy said accusingly, once he'd swallowed. "You're supposed to be on my side, even though you love him more."
"I do not love him more," Regina said, taking out the first batch of waffles and pouring in a second. "I'm just saying that you've always wanted what you can't have."
"That's not true," Freddy said, knowing full well it was.
"It's just like when you wanted, oh, what was it." Regina dithered a moment, humming thoughtfully before snapping. "Yes, a Furby, you wanted a Furby when you were little."
"I did not," Freddy wailed, trying to forget the three months he'd begged shamelessly.
"Oh, yes you did," his grandmother said. "Every day, every moment you were awake, you begged me and begged me and promised me the sun and the moon if only I would get you a Furby. And then we got you one for Christmas and you were over the moon for an entire week and then I never saw that thing again."
"It was creepy," Freddy said. "It blinked and woke me up and it wouldn't say 'poop' no matter how many times I repeated the word."
"All children's toys are creepy," Regina said, pouring in the third batch. "Your father was obsessed with this band on television, what was it, the Monkees?"
"Dad liked the Monkees?" Freddy said gleefully.
"Oh, yes," Regina said. "Had their posters, their lunchbox, even had little dolls like them."
"Wow," Freddy said gleefully.
"That's not the point," Regina said severely. "My point is, you know you like this boy, and I know you like him more than you care to admit, but Davey has a very good point. Once you get something, you seem to lose interest."
"That's not what its like," Freddy said. "I mean, maybe, sort of, but not this time, okay?"
"I know not this time," Regina said. "But it's Davey who needs convincing, not me, so you'll have to prove to him your interest isn't fleeting."
"And you would suggest?" Freddy asked, watching as Regina piled up the four stacks of chocolate-chip waffles and put them in front of him.
"Prove that it's not fleeting," Regina said, kissing his forehead. "Now, eat up while the chips are still melty."
- - -
Kyle was waiting around next to Davey's locker just before lunch one day, shuffling his feet and glancing at the clock. It was as if he had decided that Davey was finally actually safe and approachable, now that Freddy wasn't hanging all over him."Hey, Kyle," Davey said, opening his locker.
"Hey, Davey," Kyle stammered. "Are you going to GSA today? After school?"
"I think I will," Davey nodded and slammed his locker shut. "Haven't got much homework tonight."
"That's great," Kyle said, breaking out into a smile. "I mean, you know. No one I know is going and I heard they really need people to put up flyers. For the bake sale."
"Bake sale?" Davey looked confused. "I thought we just had one. The fruitcake thing."
"Yeah," Kyle rocked on his heels. "They made so much money they decided to have another. It's partially your fault," he gave a lopsided smile. "Yours was the best. Kate's was pretty close, but I heard you lent her the recipe, so. Just you."
He's trying to flirt with me, Davey suddenly thought. It was different - mainly more subtle because Kyle wasn't trying to put his head in Davey's lap or steal his food or force him to take strange sexual Cosmo quizzes, but there was the same undercurrent of playfulness running under everything.
"They should have an officer position for me," he joked, after a short silence. "Head baker, or something."
"Fruitcaker, more like." Kyle teased.
"Fruitcaker," Davey snorted. "Then they might as well just call me lead pansy and be done with it."
"You opened yourself up to it," Kyle pointed out. "That fruitcake was really fantastic."
"Thanks," Davey nodded. "My mom's a chef. Her cafe is the Little Lamb, you know, right around here? I help out sometimes."
"That explains it," Kyle nodded. "I'll, um." He turned deep red around his ears. "Have to get that recipe from you sometime. I tried to make one, but it was too awful."
"I'll give you a recipe. It's not hard to make." He grinned. "If Kate can make one, I'm sure you can."
Freddy suddenly came around the corner at breakneck speed, cheeks flushed. He was carrying a large white paper bag in his left hand; a bag that Davey, catching the unmistakable whiff of fried potatoes, guessed was probably filled with contraband off-campus food. He darted through the dense crowd of people, with admittedly impressive dexterity for a boy of his height, weaving in and out rapidly. Less than three seconds after he had slid out of sight, Mr. Watkins, the school's resident administrative guard-dog appeared in pursuit, a walkie-talkie pressed up against his spittled lips, a clipboard clutched by his other hand. A vein in his temple throbbed angrily, sweat dribbling down his forehead.
"That's weird," Kyle said, watching Mr. Watkins hurry away.
"Yeah," Davey echoed. "Weird."
"I mean, what's up with him?" Kyle said, warming up to his subject now that he felt more secure. "He's so, so," he gave a weak-wristed hand wave. Davey had long ago realized that the reason Kyle was so shy and quiet was that the second he started speaking, it became suddenly obvious exactly how gay he was. And he was very gay. "He thinks he's such a badass and he isn't. He just thinks he owns people because he thinks he's just so attractive, and his nose is just gross and, like, huge."
"Really?" Davey said cooly. "Because we're friends, and I think he's pretty good-looking."
"Oh," Kyle turned bright red, which looked ridiculous under his tow-blonde hair. "I didn't realize you two were, you know."
"What?" Davey asked. "We're not, but that doesn't mean..."
"So why do you care?" Kyle asked, leaning up into Davey's face. "I mean, you could have him if you want. You could have anyone if you want, you know."
"I don't, it's, um," Davey felt rather trapped. "Look, Kyle, it's, uh, complicated, okay?"
"Oh," Kyle said, pulling away and retreating into his shy Kyle shell. "So, uh, I didn't know you could put real fruit in fruitcake. I thought it was just candied crap."
"No," Davey said, missing Freddy and the smell of fried potatoes so much his stomach felt like it was seizing, and he sort of hated himself for it. "No, it's got real fruit."
- - -
Freddy had honestly never thought Davey would never, ever, ever show up at the record store - certainly not before the kiss and especially not after. In fact, it sort of became Freddy's favorite private after-jerk off fantasy. He cherished the idea of Davey showing up at the store, of the bell jingling and Davey standing in the doorway, with his tiny happy smile. Of Davey murmuring a hello across the counter, his hand coming up to hold Freddy's face in place and kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, making that soft sighing noise he made when he was happy - and then Freddy usually had to jerk off again.
Dan had become his sounding board for all of his frustrations, because unlike Regina, he didn't offer advice that was both excellent and offered zero immediate payoff. Instead, he'd mostly taken to rolling his eyes or stuffing his earbuds in, but he was clearly listening, since he knew enough to offer endless sarcastic comments, like "If I kissed you, would you whine this much?" and "Hey, would you get off if I put on Rufus Wainwright, or is it just a particular gay pianist?" Freddy had even found him frantically scouring his cell phone for Kristy's number.
So when Freddy looked up at the bell jingling and Davey was standing there cold and pink-cheeked, Freddy got lightheaded and ran into the back where Dan was sorting out new releases.
"He's here," Freddy hissed.
"Well, it's late for Santa," Dan said, "and Hugh Hefner hasn't returned my calls, so..."
"Davey," Freddy hissed, "he's here."
"Wait, is that group of crazy girls still out there? The ones with the too-big coats loitering weirdly in the easy listening section?"
"I don't know," Freddy said. "I was kind of busy with Davey walking in the store."
"Oh you fucker," Dan said. "You want a shoplifting?" He ran out front, frantically counting the money, while Freddy watched him through the door that hadn't closed in Dan's haste.
"Hey," Davey said softly, sidling shyly up to the counter. He was looking left and right, and when he glanced past the back room, Freddy felt his stomach swoop crazily. It was like watching his own personal spank bank in 3-D, and he sort of wanted to die. "Is, uh, Freddy here?"
"Yeah," Dan said, looking at Davey too closely for Freddy's comfort. "He started jerking off in back the second he saw you. Hey, Kennedy," he shouted. "Your boyfriend's asking for you, get your ass out here."
"In a minute," Freddy called back. His voice cracked. Mentally resolving to kill Dan at the first available moment, Freddy grabbed a box of record and the price-tagging gun - probably the lamest subterfuge ever, as the records were already tagged and filed, but it wasn't as if Davey knew that.
To Freddy's horror, Dan was holding Davey's hands, carefully looking over each knuckle carefully. When the door slammed shut behind him, Dan looked cheerfully up at Freddy. "Hey, this kid does have great hands. I thought you were just, you know, ranting or something." He looked Davey up and down quickly. "He's lacking in the tits department, but I like him. He's classy."
"This is Dan," Freddy heard himself say to Davey faintly, resisting the urge to commit homicide in the middle of the store. "He has a disease."
"Hi," Davey said, extricating one of his hands and holding it out politely for a handshake. His lips and cheeks were pink from the cold, his hair neatly tousled from the wind. He looked just the way he had looked after Freddy had kissed him - a little astonished, a little mortified. Freddy bit his tongue.
Dan scoffed and pushed Davey's hand aside. "There's no need for that. Damn, I feel like I already know you. I guess I sort of already do. This one over here," He jerked a thumb towards Freddy. "He thinks the sun shines out of your ass."
"It's a very bad disease he has," Freddy continued faintly. "Maybe even fatal."
"I can see that," Davey nodded.
"Relax, Kennedy." Dan said, holding up his hands defensively. "I'm going to work on my paper, okay?" He pushed his chair towards the end of the counter, opening his laptop, grabbed his earbuds and held up them up. "See? Not listening to you." He put them in and started typing.
"So, uh," Freddy said, turning red. "What brings you here? Looking for a record?"
Davey shrugged, fiddling with the edge of his jacket, embarrassed. "Not really. I thought I'd just, you know. Stop by."
"You came to the right place," Freddy said numbly. "Since, you know, I work here."
"He is so hard right now," Dan said flatly from behind his laptop, loudly enough to make Freddy jump. "Don't blame him for sounding like such a dumbass, Davey."
Freddy picked up the box, dropping it on Dan's lap with as much force as he could manage. "These need to be inventoried. Right now. As far away from here as possible," he hissed.
"Yeah, yeah." Dan rose, closing his laptop and setting it on top. He reached over with his free hand, patting Davey on the shoulder. "Nice to meet you."
"No," Freddy said. "No talking allowed. Just go."
"So," Davey said softly, looking up at Freddy through his lashes, "I didn't know Tourette's was fatal."
"Oh, completely," Freddy said frantically. It probably wasn't, but he was not above using Dan's laptop just to change the wikipedia page to say so. "Dan's, you know, got it bad."
"Yeah, well, according to him, it's you that's got it bad," Davey said, then turned bright red and clapped his hands over his mouth. "Crud," he said, voice muffled.
"Tourette's is contagious," Freddy said soothingly. He was going to need to spend so much time on that wikipedia page. "I find myself saying stupid things all the time." Davey just nodded, his mouth remaining stubbornly shut, even though it was clear he was bursting with a reply to that. "So," Freddy said lightly. "How have you been?"
"Um, okay, I guess," Davey said, looking pathetically grateful for the change of subject. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Because this is...it's weird. You know, between us."
"Yeah," Freddy said regretfully. "It is, isn't it?"
"I meant it, you know, about us being friends," Davey said, looking so earnestly hopeful that Freddy would have agreed to anything just to not break his heart. "I hate that it's weird and I miss you, even though you're kind of a jerk, and Kyle's totally lame and Kate and Liz aren't as funny and Lydia yelled a lot and got me thinking and... you're really my best friend, and I miss you, and I hate that it's so weird. Just because we've got, you know," he made a vague hand gesture, "weird hormone-y feelings."
"Yeah," Freddy said softly. He wished he had weird hormone-y feelings. Well, scratch that, he did have weird hormone-y feelings. He wished he had just weird hormone-y feelings. If he just had weird hormone-y feelings, he would have jerked off a few times thinking about Davey and that would be that. He'd done that with pretty much everyone. He had a stupid crush on Dan when he first started working, which had died when Dan spent an entire shift discussing how being half-white half-Asian made him like a ninja-pirate hybrid. There was that weird two weeks where all he'd wanted out of Chris was for them to get so high that it became a good idea to blow each other. He still would do Lydia, because she was hot and would probably make out with a girl in front of him. And then there was the whole Nathan fiasco this summer, where he and Nathan had both had weird hormone-y feelings at the same time that lasted too long because they were around each other too much, and they'd probably ruined their entire friendship over exploring them. But none of them were like Davey, where there were the weird hormone-y feelings that, instead of separating from the friendship feelings like oil and water like they were supposed to, got all tangled up and huge. And they made Freddy do stupid things, like care more about kissing Davey than having sex with him, or being willing to murder things so long as it would make Davey smile, or feeling pathetic and mopey until Davey entered a room. And then once Davey entered a room, just wanting to do girly things like stroke his hair or, or discuss his feelings. Or something. If Davey wanted him to discuss his feelings, that is. He didn't want to make Davey uncomfortable.
"I just miss hanging out with you," Davey said miserably.
"You could, uh, come over?" Freddy said hopefully. "I mean, I know Regina loves you more than she loves me, and she'd probably bake a bunch of shit."
"Really?" Davey asked, smiling a little. "Would I get to see more pictures?"
"No," Freddy said. "They were all burned. Tragic accident, really."
"I see," Davey said, smiling wider. "I guess I could do that. We could watch a movie, or something."
"Yeah," Freddy said, kind of pathetically excited for arranging what amounted to a play date. "Yeah, whatever you want. Your choice. Even if it's Miss Congeniality."
"Well that makes me feel special," Davey said, full-out beaming.
"You are," Freddy blurted. "I mean, you're, you know, my friend. My really good friend. Maybe my best friend. Or, you know, something."
"Yeah, you're mine too," Davey said. "So, uh, how about a week from tomorrow?"
"Sunday's good," Freddy said. "You'll get Sunday dinner, that way. Regina'll go all out."
"Cool," Davey said. "I'll, uh, see you in band Monday?"
"Yeah," Freddy said. "Band Monday."
"Alright," Davey said, turning and waving. "Bye. And tell Dan I'm really sorry about his fatal condition."
"Will do," Freddy said, shamelessly staring at Davey's amazing, if rather flat, ass as he left the store.
"Ooooooh," Dan said behind him, "he likes you."
"Does not," Freddy said. "We've been over this."
"Well, he likes you and he's retarded, or something," Dan said. "I don't know. Either that, or he's secretly missing his dick."
"He is not missing his dick," Freddy said firmly. "I very clearly felt it when we made out. Also, he's a genius."
"You're both fucking retarded," Dan said tragically. "It's the only explanation"
"Go inventory," Freddy said, throwing the price gun at Dan's chest. "Now."
- - -
"So," Freddy said awkwardly, behind Davey on the staircase. "This is my room."
The word room seemed somehow inaccurate. Lair was probably better, but it sounded lame and creepy. At some point, Freddy's grandparents and him mutually agreed that if Freddy wanted to stay out all night and come creeping back late, or let Nathan and Chris hook up their amps and play, or if he wanted to practice trumpet in the wee hours of the morning - that was fine, but he needed someplace to do it. The basement downstairs ended up being that.
The walls were painted a deep red, and covered in posters - mostly jazz stars, Duke Ellington, George Gershwin at the piano, Louis Armstrong - all bought from the record store. Freddy had made sure to clean up beforehand, stuffing the odd of assortment of clothes and papers that usually littered his floor, into his closet. The carpet looked suspiciously as if Regina had been in there and had had a good vacuum while he was at work.
Davey was gaping at the centerpiece of Freddy's room, a giant mahogany four poster bed in front of the television, made up with dark blue sheets. The maker had varnished it to a beautiful deep brown shade. Over it, Freddy had hung a massive poster of Chet Baker, hiding his face in his trumpet, that Dan had given him for his birthday along with a box of kleenex and a small tube of lotion.
"You like it?" Freddy smiled smugly. "Pops made I made it together a few summers ago."
Davey laughed. "It looks like a little girl's dream. You know, a big princessy four poster. It just needs a pink canopy."
"Hey," Freddy said petulantly. "My bed is a man's bed. It needs no canopy."
"Whatever you say," Davey said. He walked down the staircase, flinging himself onto Freddy's bed. Freddy felt his stomach lurch slightly. Everything about that night had been suspiciously natural. Regina hadn't shown him any more pictures, Pops hadn't said anything embarrassing. It was the polar opposite of what had happened at the record store. While Freddy realized that he had missed Davey a lot more than he had thought, there still was a lingering awkwardness over everything, perceptible only to him.
"You want some?" He said, offering Davey the bowl of popcorn.
"Nope," Davey sighed. "I'm stuffed. I thought your grandmother was never going to stop putting food on my plate."
"She never does that to me," Freddy complained. "She always tells me to stop stuffing my face or I'll make myself sick. I told you, she likes you more than me."
"I like her," Davey agreed. "Even if I'm going to have to roll myself home tonight. Your grandpa was cool too. Did he really mean it about the piano bench?"
"Yeah," Freddy nodded. "Only I wouldn't take him up on it. Pops'll have you in his studio for hours, sitting on pieces of wood and filling out surveys on which suits your ass best." He kneeled by the TV, setting the bowl of popcorn neatly on the floor. "What did you bring?"
Davey rooted around in his knapsack for a few moments, before pulling out a movie and tossing it over to Freddy. "The Princess Bride. You'll love it."
Freddy glanced at the cover. "Somehow, with that title, I doubt that."
"You said I could choose, didn't you?"
Freddy looked at Davey disparagingly. "Yeah, but I thought you'd choose something else. Look," He pulled out a rental case. "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. It's got Angelina Jolie in it."
"Ugh," Davey replied, scrunching up his nose. "Joey rented that last week. It sucks."
Freddy looked confused. "But it's got Angelina Jolie in it."
"You said I could choose," Davey replied, crossing his arms. "We can watch Tomb Raider or whatever next time, okay? I want to watch The Princess Bride. And pass the popcorn."
"All right," Freddy said, mollified by the faint promise of a next time. He handed the bowl of popcorn up to Davey, who, instead of climbing of the bed and crouching in front of the TV, grabbed a pillow and turned towards the foot of the bed, watching the opening credits on his bent elbows.
Freddy got up and settled down next to him, painfully careful to make sure that none of their limbs touched. Davey seemed completely unaware of everything, preferring to shovel popcorn into his mouth while some lame little boy (off of that horrible show The Wonder Years, which Freddy never watched, but Regina and probably Davey did) bitched to his grandfather about not feeling well.
"This better get better, Davey," Freddy groaned. Davey threw a kernel at the side of his face and smiled.
"I can't believe you haven't seen this," he said. "This is a classic, okay? Even Joey likes this movie. There's, there's swashbuckling."
"I swashed your mom's buckles," Freddy said darkly, grabbing a handful of popcorn, watching as a blond chick orders around a guy who, okay, is kind of cute, but not as cute as Davey's starry-eyed expression every time he says 'as you wish'.
"I had such a crush on him through all of middle school," Davey sighed. "He's so hot."
"He's an idiot," Freddy said dismissively. "Who has a crush on some dumbass chick that orders you around and doesn't even call you by your name? And then she, what, wakes up one day and decides she loves him too? That makes no fucking sense." Davey sighed, pausing and turning to Freddy.
"Are you going to be like this the entire movie?" He asked plaintively. "This is my favorite movie, okay?"
"But it doesn't make sense," Freddy said. "Obviously whoever wrote it has never been in love, okay? Because that is not how this shit works."
"Uh huh," Davey said, "and I suppose you know, because you're such an expert."
"Well, I'm enough of an expert to know that this is crap," Freddy said, gesturing at his television. "True love isn't, like, shoveling manure and then running off to be a pirate, okay? It's about stuff like liking the person and being nice to them, or them being nice to you, or having stuff in common, and then when you don't, making compromises, like letting them put on their iPod even though you don't really like their music because you think it's cute when they sing along." Davey froze next to him, staring at Freddy as if he'd just grown another head or admitted to having an extremely rare venereal disease.
"You think I'm cute when I sing along?" he asked finally, his eyes huge and vulnerable.
"Uh, kind of," Freddy muttered. "I mean, sometimes its okay. I wasn't talking about you, though. I was talking about, like, stuff. In general."
"Am I in general?" Davey asked.
"Sometimes?" Freddy said, bewildered. He had no idea what Davey was talking about, and he really was trying to concentrate, but it was sort of difficult when Davey's face was so close to his and he could taste the pecan pie on his breath from dessert. And then Davey kissed him, and it was sort of impossible to think at all. Because Davey's mouth was still barely on his, it was soft and nervous and pressing lightly like he had no idea what he was doing, and somehow that made it about ten billion times hotter. Because this was Davey, so much more like Davey than when he'd kissed him in the bakery and Davey just sort of held on and made little noises. This was gentle and questioning and weirdly chaste. Freddy didn't think he'd kissed anyone like this since he was in middle school, except he was pretty sure it was never this good in middle school. Maybe the problem was that he'd only kissed girls in middle school, and then by time he kissed guys they were at that stage where they were overconfident, where they just stuck their tongue in and went for it. And seriously, if Davey just wanted to stick his tongue in and go for it, Freddy absolutely would not complain, but it wouldn't be quite so perfectly Davey of a kiss, with Davey's mouth and lips and oh god, his hands, his hands were on Freddy's face. Davey's hands. The hands he had literally spent hours jerking off too were stroking at his cheeks and curling behind his ears and running through his hair, and fuck that, if Freddy didn't taste more of Davey, he was going to die. Groaning, he leaned into the kiss, using his weight to push Davey down on the bed so he could kiss run his hands all over him. Davey must have been ticklish, because he made that tiny squeaking noise in Freddy's mouth and shivered under his curious fingers, shifting his weight. His shoulder must have hit the remote when he moved, because all of a sudden the movie blared back on, and Davey jerked away under him, swallowing hard.
"Oh," Davey said in a tiny, clear voice, "oh, fuck."
"You swore," Freddy said stupidly.
"Yup," Davey said, his fingers still flexing against Freddy's face. "Yup. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."
"You never swear," Freddy said.
"Well I never do stuff like this either," Davey said. He wriggled out from under Freddy and sat up, stopping the movie and burying his head in his hands. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this," he muttered.
"You could keep doing it," Freddy suggested helpfully. "You know, if you wanted to. You want to, right?"
"You know that's not the issue," Davey said wearily. "The issue is this isn't going to work, and so I shouldn't have done it."
"I really, really, really don't mind," Freddy said sincerely. "I seriously don't think you understand how little I mind."
"Yeah, well I mind," Davey said, finally looking angry. "Because funnily enough, I'm not okay with leading people on."
"You can lead me on," Freddy said, aware that he was on the verge of pathetic begging and not really caring. He could pathetically beg, if that's what Davey wanted. If Davey wanted, he would pathetically beg for the rest of his life. "Seriously."
"I really can't," Davey said, leaning over and gathering his things. He picked up the DVD case, looked at it, and then sighed, dropping it on Freddy's bedspread. "You keep it," he said, shouldering his bag. "I've got the whole thing memorized anyways."
"Davey," Freddy said, sitting up and reaching out, "you don't have to go, seriously..."
"I should," Davey said, smiling tightly. "This was a stupid idea and one of us is going to get hurt."
"But I don't care," Freddy said passionately. "I don't care, because it can't hurt more okay?"
"It could," Davey said softly, looking like he was going to cry. "And it will. So I'll...I'll see you in band tomorrow."
"Okay," Freddy said. His voice sounded distant, hollow, and not much like his own voice at all.
"Bye," Davey said, and when he closed the basement door it sounded final.
Part Two
No one gave better advice than Davey's mom. She had never, ever, ever sent Davey or Joey in the wrong direction. She always knew what to say, even when Davey couldn't voice his concerns.
"You'd still have made your dad so proud," she'd assured him after he came out to her last year.
"But Dad was in the army," Davey had dithered. "He was all muscled and, and manly, and..."
"Honey, you had such a crush on Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid when you were little," his mom had said, ruffling his hair. "Believe me when I tell you he knew, and he didn't care."
So when it takes her exactly two days to drag Davey out of his room and ply him with tea and cookies while Joey's over at a friends', he isn't really surprised.
"Spill, babycakes," she says, handing him a snickerdoodle.
"So you know Freddy?" he asks, swirling a spoon in his tea and watching it cool.
"Your band friend Joey hates?"
"Yup," Davey said. "That one."
"You realized you have a crush on him?" His mother asked calmly, sipping her tea.
"Well, sort of," Davey hedged. "I mean, I knew that a long time ago."
"So what's got you holed up in your room with that jazz CD on repeat?"
"He's sort of slutty." Davey said. "Like, a lot. Really, really slutty. And that's why Joey hates him, because he sort of, uh, hooked up with the entire JV soccer team? Kind of?"
"Ah," his mother said, looking amused. "That would bother him."
"It bothers me," Davey said. "There are some really gross guys on JV. And a lot of them had girlfriends, Mom. I mean, who does that?"
"Still don't see the problem," his mother said, taking a bite of a snickerdoodle and humming happily "Lydia says the feeling's extremely mutual."
"You've been gossiping," Davey said, betrayed. "You knew all of this."
"Davey," his mother said patiently, "I'm your mother who has winged monkeys watching you when your little friends come and visit, of course I knew. But it's nice to have you tell me things."
"I just... I was ashamed," Davey muttered. "He's such a bad, bad choice."
"And that's what's got you so depressed?" His mother asked.
"He kissed me," Davey blurted out. "Like, really laid one on me. And he says he has a crush on me and, and..."
"Oh, my sweet David," his mother laughed. "That's a good thing. Was he a bad kisser? Was that it?"
"Mom," Davey squeaked. His mother just raised an eyebrow. "He was kind of amazing," Davey muttered into his snickerdoodle.
"That's what happens when you kiss someone with experience," his mom said, sighing in reminiscence.
"Mom," Davey howled again. "Can we go back to when you didn't ever even look at a guy before Dad? And I came from a cabbage patch?"
"Of course, of course," she said. "So go on. Why isn't he over here making out with you right now, then?"
"Because I said no," Davey said. "I mean, I told Joey about just liking Freddy and he flipped out, okay? Like not even a little bit, he was full on crazy brother flipping out. I mean, when I first met him he was in love with his straight best friend - and he's a total jerk, by the way. And now four months later he's all in love with me, but that's because I'm like the only person on the planet who hasn't hooked up with him. He's going to, like, use me and leave me like a, a tissue or something, and I like him too much for that. It would hurt."
"It hurts now," his mother said fairly.
"Yeah," Davey said, "but it would hurt more if I thought we were going to be together and then he ran off when someone hot walks past."
"Oh, sweetheart," his mom said, pulling him into a hug. "You're such a little old man. Always were."
"Did I do something wrong?" Davey asked, burying his face in her shoulder, which smelled so comforting and sweet and Mom-like that all his problems seemed suddenly inconsequential. "Am I being stupid?"
"No," his mom said. "If everything you're telling me is true, you made the right decision, you just made it so fast for someone your age."
"I hate it when people say that," Davey said. "It' so stupid. It's not like Joey's rolling in common sense."
"Very true," his mom said, kissing the top of his head. "But you should remember that. You're putting a lot of stock in what Joey's telling you. Remember that if he had his way, you'd have taken a vow of celibacy years ago."
"Yeah," Davey muttered. "Those always work so well."
"Exactly," his mother said. "Have a little fun. Don't just think with your brain. You're fifteen, not fifty."
"Weirdest mom advice ever," Davey said, and reached up to kiss her cheek. "Love you."
"Love you too," his mom said, swatting his butt. "Now stop moping and go do your homework."
- - -
It wasn't the first time he had been rejected per se. He had a tutor once in middle school; a pretty Asian girl who laughed at his jokes and helped him in math. He asked her to a dance, she said no, and they went back to doing problems. And that was all right. He even made a couple of half-joking passes at Dan, that were knocked down pretty brutally, and that was all right. Each time, Freddy laughed and moved on.
Only he couldn't do that with Davey. Because every time he looked at Davey (only in brief glances, when he was absolutely sure there was no chance their eyes would meet), his stomach still slowly turned over.
"This is dumb," Freddy whispered to himself once in band. It was probably partially Davey's fault. He couldn't knock someone down like a normal person. He had to kiss back and then give all sorts of stupid reasons why Freddy and Davey Together wasn't a good idea. All right, some of the reasons weren't so bad - the thing about dropping people and the sluttiness part was justified, and it wasn't as if Freddy had some rational and non-stupid explanation to offer Davey as to why he'd be any different.
But Davey still kissed him back.
Whenever that brief glimmer of hope surfaced, it was immediately shot down by the thought of what Freddy actually did: came around when Davey was alone, and used some vague statement about him missing Freddy to hop over the counter and lick the back of his throat. What had sounded spontaneous and even romantic in Freddy's head was now fast becoming strange and creepy.
But if Freddy was secretly filled with anxiety, he was determined not to show it. So he compensated. In band class, where he was extra obnoxious, in the hallways, where he avoided Davey's gaze if he passed, but his voice automatically shot up to whomever he was talking to.
Even at the basketball game, Freddy compensated. Whenever anyone made a shot - even it was Joey - he was the first at his feet, cheering, when a bad call came, he was the first to jeer and swear loudly. Davey seemed completely uninterested in his antics, just sat between the lesbians talking or watching his brother play.
Nathan had proved a good partner, even if he was unaware of the reason behind Freddy's sudden levity. "Dude," Nathan said, rising to his feet. He tapped Davey on the shoulder excitedly. "Look at her."
Freddy followed Nathan's finger. She was a short, walking with a couple of girlfriends, holding a small bag of popcorn. She had a huge mass of brunette hair, and her breasts - he raised his eyebrows - were some of the best he'd ever seen. Round and firm and barely contained by her top. All of a sudden, she stopped short to point something out to a friend next to her. Her breasts bounced sharply. Freddy gasped. Nathan's drumsticks clattered somewhere on the bleachers.
"Fantastits," Nathan mumbled, awed.
"The breast of the breast," Freddy agreed. "I think I'd switch schools and play basketball for that. Even if track is best."
"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "But cheerleaders never show up for track meets. Why the fuck is that?"
"I don't know, man." Freddy replied. "Injustice. Hey, is she looking at me?" It was a rhetorical question really, she was checking Freddy out, and not being particularly subtle about it.
"Oh man, she's looking at me," Nathan said, punching Freddy's shoulder excitedly. "Dude, I am so scoring a three pointer."
"She's looking at me, fucktard," Freddy said. "Here, try waving at her." Eagerly, Nathan did as instructed, but she just rolled her eyes until Freddy cuffed the back of his head, which made her grin approvingly.
"This shit is so wasted on you," Nathan said mournfully. "You don't even go for tits anymore." Out of the corner of his eye, Freddy saw Davey shift uneasily, the back of his neck turning bright red.
"Not true," Freddy said recklessly. "Any man could be into those tits. Even the gayest one alive." He heard Davey cough loudly and ignored him.
"So go for it, fucker," Nathan said. "I mean, haven't you been having a total drought since, like, uh, you know?"
"Yeah, this summer," Freddy said. The back of Davey's head was practically quivering with poorly-hidden surprise. "Struck out."
"No time like the present," Nathan said sagely. "Nail that broad."
Brooks High won by a healthy margin, but it was close enough that it was still exciting and not embarrassing when the entire team poured onto the court and started doing victory laps. The cheerleader, whose name was Kristy, luckily had absolutely no hard feelings.
"I'm so glad you came over and talked to me," she said, leaning in an almost ridiculously saccharine impression of schoolgirl innocence. "Your friend was, like, totally gross."
"He's kind of retarded," Freddy said, faking an air of long-held suffering. "Dropped on his head as a child. It makes him feel welcome when I talk to him."
"That is so totally sweet of you," Kristy said, leaning into him so her bubblegum was snapping in his ear, annoyingly loud as her hand started wandering in a thoroughly inappropriate direction. It wasn't as good as Freddy remembered it feeling, but it still felt nice to have someone unfamiliar touching him. "I could totally make it up to you."
"Okay," Freddy said, and just as he was leaning in to kiss those plush, overly-glossed lips he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
"Hey, Freddy, are you...oh," he heard the voice say, and when he turned around there was Davey, bright pink and looking so adorably rejected that Freddy wanted nothing more than to run from Kristy's side and gather Davey in his arms, or something equally ridiculous and re-assuring. Why should it matter, anyway? Davey had rejected him, and Kristy certainly wasn't. So this tiny brunette had tits and Davey didn't. It was still more tiny brunette action than he'd gotten in a while. It wasn't like he didn't have needs or something, just because Davey was some sort of sexless fiend.
"Kristy, this is my friend Davey," he said, stepping away so they could actually see each other, and Kristy gave him a little wave. She looked like she wanted to eat Davey up with a spoon or coo over him, and it sort of made Freddy want to smack her. "He's not retarded," he said finally.
"Uh, thanks," Davey said. "Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for a ride, because Joey wants to go to the afterparty."
"His brother's the point guard," Freddy explained. "Tall? Douchebag? Too many freckles?"
"Your brother is so hot," Kristy said to Davey. "You should tell him that if he ever gets lonely, our cheer squad was watching him."
"Uh, he's...busy," Davey said, looking annoyed. "Anyways, I'll leave you two to, you know, what you were doing."
"I can give you a ride," Freddy said desperately, suddenly far less interested in Kristy now that she'd mentioned he was sloppy seconds to Joey, of all people.
"No, no," Davey said with deceptive innocence. "Kate already offered, it's just kind of out of her way. See you later." He gave Freddy an approximation of a grin and all but ran to Kate and Liz, who were watching Freddy from a distance as if they were planning to rip him limb from limb and feed him to wild dogs.
"Your friend is so adorable," Kristy sighed. "I want to, like, dress him up and buy him cookies."
"He's a lady-killer like that," Freddy said. "Anyways, I should go. Could I have your number and call you or something?"
Kristy obligingly programmed it into his cell phone, and Freddy gave her a very sloppy, tongued goodbye before driving home alone. And when he pulled up, he deleted her number without a second thought.
- - -
Unlike Joey, Davey liked working at the cafe. It was so easy to fall into a rhythm on a sleepy afternoon, making croissants. There was something comforting about the process : adding the ingredients in the mixing bowls, stirring, kneading the dough, stuffing them into the ovens. Davey and Lydia always fell into a rhythm making them, each handing the other a bowl or a spatula before the other had asked for it.
Davey nearly jumped out of his skin with his mom tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Regina's out front," A worried line creased her forehead. "I don't know if she's accompanied or not, but I thought you should know."
"Thanks," Davey whispered back. Lydia slowed her work, listening. "I'll just keep helping Lydia with these, then."
"No problem," she replied, returning to the front of the cafe.
Lydia impressively managed not to ask him about the exchange for a full thirty seconds, after which she dropped the rolling pin on the counter with a clang and turned around. "Davey," she started.
"Those are nice earrings," Davey said weakly. "Are they real zippers? They are nice."
She self consciously brushed her dangling earrings with the back of her hand, ignoring the comment. "I can't keep this up anymore. I know everything."
"What?" Davey was bewildered. "How did you find-"
"Your mom told me," Lydia cut him off. "I can't believe he kissed you."
Davey rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "Why does everyone have to know?" he moaned. "Why can't you guys gossip about Joey's love life?"
"Yours is juicier," Lydia said flatly. "I don't want to hear about how great Jessica Alba's tits are. I want to hear about you," she pushed him on the chest. "I want to know everything."
"There isn't anything to tell," Davey argued. "He kissed me."
"Bullshit," Lydia said passionately. "Where did he kiss you?"
"On the m - Oh. " Where had they been? Davey remembered Freddy pressing him against some sort of surface. " Um, against the front counter."
Lydia touched the counter, leaving a floury spot. Her eyes were oddly glazed, as if she were picturing it. "Wow. What was it like?"
"You know," Davey turned furiously red. "It was a kiss."
"Don't be such a prude, Davey." Lydia rolled her eyes. "Did you like it?"
Davey didn't have to try to remember, because it was pretty much all he thought about - Freddy's body, his damp hair, the taste of Gatorade… "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "It was… nice."
"So what's the deal?" She grinned. "He's cute, he's funny, he makes good mixes," Lydia stuck her hands into the front pocket of her apron. "I admit I might have to break you two up if he wants to come around here and distract you from helping out, but that's to be expected. What's holding you back?"
"He's too… him." Davey frowned. "He gets around, Lydia. It's not even just rumors, I've heard him say it himself. And the way he kissed me," Davey shivered. "It was pretty clear that it wasn't his first or second or even sixtieth time kissing someone like that."
"So?" Lydia frowned.
"He doesn't date. He doesn't even stay interested in people." Davey set a baking pan in the sink with a clang. "I don't want either of us to get hurt."
"Davey," Lydia stopped him, and held his head between her hands sadly. "You're a moron."
"I'm not a moron," Davey said plaintively, pulling away.
"Yes," Lydia nodded firmly. "You're a moron. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Mom says I'm being sensible," He argued. "It's the right thing to do."
Lydia snorted. "Sensible people are never happy. Nor do they ever get any." She poked him in the ribs. "You know how I know you're a total moron?"
"How?" Davey rolled his eyes.
"You just gave me a million half-assed reasons for why you rejected him, and not one of them was 'because I don't want to be with him.'"
"Well," Davey responded cryptically, washing his hands. "I guess sometimes you want isn't the best thing for you."
"You are disgustingly sensible," Lydia scowled. "At this rate, you're never going to get laid. Or if you do, you will be seventy and it will somehow be by accident."
"Lydia," Davey shot her a pained look. She softened.
"At least apologize for being a moron. You could do with some friends your own age," Lydia looked him up and down. "Even if they happen to be attractive, sweet, and interested in you."
"How dare they," Davey replied dryly.
- - -
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD," Freddy yelled, pulling the sheets of his bed over his face. "PLEASE TURN THE LIGHT OFF."
"Oh," Regina clucked her tongue disapprovingly. She flicked off the switch. Freddy listened to her slowly walk, tiptoeing gingerly over the soft carpet of record covers, socks, cleats, and sheets of music that littered his floor. Regina settled herself gently on the edge of his bed, smoothing the sheets with one hand.
"You got back home late last night," She said neutrally.
"Yeah," Freddy's voice replied, from somewhere under the covers. He felt uncomfortable. Regina and Pops usually never asked him about those types of things. "We had a good track meet yesterday. Nathan wanted to celebrate."
"Huh," Regina said. "That's nice."
Freddy rolled his eyes under the sheet.
"It is nice," Regina said, looking at the lump in the bed that was Freddy's head. "I can't help but notice that you hadn't been out in a while. Or if you were, you were always at that cafe."
Freddy froze.
"I was going to ask you to pick up a few things for bridge the next time you dropped off Davey," she continued. "But I noticed that you've been getting home early all this week." She rested an arm on Freddy's head. "What's the matter with you two?"
"Nothing."
"Freddy," Regina prodded lightly. "What happened?"
"No," Freddy said vehemently. "We are not having this conversation. I'm not having this conversation." He threw the covers off of his head and glared at Regina. "But by the way, your advice? Sucks."
"Don't talk like that, dear." Regina chided without heat. "What on earth happened? I thought you were doing so well. Tell me about it."
"I don't want to tell you," Freddy moaned. "You're my grandma, and you already know much too much for your own good. Can't you watch a soap opera or something?"
"I'll make waffles," Regina cajoled.
"Waffles are not that hard," Freddy argued. "I can manage waffles."
"I meant the kind that aren't frozen. The kind with batter that doesn't come out a box and that have actual fruit on top. Oh, I'll even let you put all those disgusting toppings on it: the cream and the nuts and the powdered sugar..."
"All right," Freddy said grudgingly, getting out of bed. He looked at his pajama pants grimly. They were lying on the floor under Regina's chair. "I'm not putting pants on, though. I am either eating waffles in boxers and telling you, or going back to sleep and not telling you anything at all."
"Have it your way," Regina said cheerily, walking up the stairs in her slow, old-lady way while Freddy dithered behind her impatiently.
"I went around the cafe after track practice," Freddy said when they made it into the kitchen, playing with a small pot of potpourri Regina had refilled. Regina hummed and took out ingredients, cracking an egg into a blue mixing bowl. "He usually works with some other people, but he was all alone closing. I guess they bailed out on him."
Regina nodded and measured out a cup of flour. "Go on,"
Freddy crushed a short edge of cinnamon stick in between his fingers. "He wasn't pissed that I was there, so I stuck around and watched him close for a bit. We were, you know, talking about stuff." He trailed off.
Regina looked up. "And? Stop fiddling with the potpourri, Freddy, your hands will smell ridiculous"
Freddy got off of the counter and swept the small pile of crumbs into the trash bin. "Can I lick the spoon?"
Regina raised an eyebrow. "It's waffle batter, dear."
"So?"
She looked at the bowl warily. "It's not like cookie-dough batter. Stop stalling. You were talking?"
Freddy fidgeted. "Yeah, you know. We were talking."
Regina sighed. "Freddy, if you aren't going to tell me--"
"Fine. I kissed him."
"Freddy!" Regina exclaimed, dropping the spoon. "Did he..?"
"No." Freddy said flatly. "Well, yes. He kissed me back and it was great but we stopped. I told him that I was into him and he told me he didn't want to be with me. Since I'm such a cad that I'd probably drop him after a week."
Regina looked at him sadly.
"Don't look at me like that," Freddy said. "You know, the old lady cow eye thing. Stop that. And can I please lick the spoon? I like batter."
"No," his grandmother said, pointedly running hot water over it and washing all the batter down the drain. "You cannot die of salmonella just to get out of this situation."
"That was only a potentially awesome side effect," Freddy said, resting his chin in his hands.
"Well, I think Davey is being very sensible," Regina said, pouring some of the batter into the iron and closing it. "I wish he weren't, for your sake, but I think he's doing exactly the right thing."
"Wait a minute," Freddy said through a mouthful of chocolate chips, "sensible?"
"Yes, Freddy, sensible, and don't speak with your mouth open."
"You're my grandmother," Freddy said accusingly, once he'd swallowed. "You're supposed to be on my side, even though you love him more."
"I do not love him more," Regina said, taking out the first batch of waffles and pouring in a second. "I'm just saying that you've always wanted what you can't have."
"That's not true," Freddy said, knowing full well it was.
"It's just like when you wanted, oh, what was it." Regina dithered a moment, humming thoughtfully before snapping. "Yes, a Furby, you wanted a Furby when you were little."
"I did not," Freddy wailed, trying to forget the three months he'd begged shamelessly.
"Oh, yes you did," his grandmother said. "Every day, every moment you were awake, you begged me and begged me and promised me the sun and the moon if only I would get you a Furby. And then we got you one for Christmas and you were over the moon for an entire week and then I never saw that thing again."
"It was creepy," Freddy said. "It blinked and woke me up and it wouldn't say 'poop' no matter how many times I repeated the word."
"All children's toys are creepy," Regina said, pouring in the third batch. "Your father was obsessed with this band on television, what was it, the Monkees?"
"Dad liked the Monkees?" Freddy said gleefully.
"Oh, yes," Regina said. "Had their posters, their lunchbox, even had little dolls like them."
"Wow," Freddy said gleefully.
"That's not the point," Regina said severely. "My point is, you know you like this boy, and I know you like him more than you care to admit, but Davey has a very good point. Once you get something, you seem to lose interest."
"That's not what its like," Freddy said. "I mean, maybe, sort of, but not this time, okay?"
"I know not this time," Regina said. "But it's Davey who needs convincing, not me, so you'll have to prove to him your interest isn't fleeting."
"And you would suggest?" Freddy asked, watching as Regina piled up the four stacks of chocolate-chip waffles and put them in front of him.
"Prove that it's not fleeting," Regina said, kissing his forehead. "Now, eat up while the chips are still melty."
- - -
Kyle was waiting around next to Davey's locker just before lunch one day, shuffling his feet and glancing at the clock. It was as if he had decided that Davey was finally actually safe and approachable, now that Freddy wasn't hanging all over him."Hey, Kyle," Davey said, opening his locker.
"Hey, Davey," Kyle stammered. "Are you going to GSA today? After school?"
"I think I will," Davey nodded and slammed his locker shut. "Haven't got much homework tonight."
"That's great," Kyle said, breaking out into a smile. "I mean, you know. No one I know is going and I heard they really need people to put up flyers. For the bake sale."
"Bake sale?" Davey looked confused. "I thought we just had one. The fruitcake thing."
"Yeah," Kyle rocked on his heels. "They made so much money they decided to have another. It's partially your fault," he gave a lopsided smile. "Yours was the best. Kate's was pretty close, but I heard you lent her the recipe, so. Just you."
He's trying to flirt with me, Davey suddenly thought. It was different - mainly more subtle because Kyle wasn't trying to put his head in Davey's lap or steal his food or force him to take strange sexual Cosmo quizzes, but there was the same undercurrent of playfulness running under everything.
"They should have an officer position for me," he joked, after a short silence. "Head baker, or something."
"Fruitcaker, more like." Kyle teased.
"Fruitcaker," Davey snorted. "Then they might as well just call me lead pansy and be done with it."
"You opened yourself up to it," Kyle pointed out. "That fruitcake was really fantastic."
"Thanks," Davey nodded. "My mom's a chef. Her cafe is the Little Lamb, you know, right around here? I help out sometimes."
"That explains it," Kyle nodded. "I'll, um." He turned deep red around his ears. "Have to get that recipe from you sometime. I tried to make one, but it was too awful."
"I'll give you a recipe. It's not hard to make." He grinned. "If Kate can make one, I'm sure you can."
Freddy suddenly came around the corner at breakneck speed, cheeks flushed. He was carrying a large white paper bag in his left hand; a bag that Davey, catching the unmistakable whiff of fried potatoes, guessed was probably filled with contraband off-campus food. He darted through the dense crowd of people, with admittedly impressive dexterity for a boy of his height, weaving in and out rapidly. Less than three seconds after he had slid out of sight, Mr. Watkins, the school's resident administrative guard-dog appeared in pursuit, a walkie-talkie pressed up against his spittled lips, a clipboard clutched by his other hand. A vein in his temple throbbed angrily, sweat dribbling down his forehead.
"That's weird," Kyle said, watching Mr. Watkins hurry away.
"Yeah," Davey echoed. "Weird."
"I mean, what's up with him?" Kyle said, warming up to his subject now that he felt more secure. "He's so, so," he gave a weak-wristed hand wave. Davey had long ago realized that the reason Kyle was so shy and quiet was that the second he started speaking, it became suddenly obvious exactly how gay he was. And he was very gay. "He thinks he's such a badass and he isn't. He just thinks he owns people because he thinks he's just so attractive, and his nose is just gross and, like, huge."
"Really?" Davey said cooly. "Because we're friends, and I think he's pretty good-looking."
"Oh," Kyle turned bright red, which looked ridiculous under his tow-blonde hair. "I didn't realize you two were, you know."
"What?" Davey asked. "We're not, but that doesn't mean..."
"So why do you care?" Kyle asked, leaning up into Davey's face. "I mean, you could have him if you want. You could have anyone if you want, you know."
"I don't, it's, um," Davey felt rather trapped. "Look, Kyle, it's, uh, complicated, okay?"
"Oh," Kyle said, pulling away and retreating into his shy Kyle shell. "So, uh, I didn't know you could put real fruit in fruitcake. I thought it was just candied crap."
"No," Davey said, missing Freddy and the smell of fried potatoes so much his stomach felt like it was seizing, and he sort of hated himself for it. "No, it's got real fruit."
- - -
Freddy had honestly never thought Davey would never, ever, ever show up at the record store - certainly not before the kiss and especially not after. In fact, it sort of became Freddy's favorite private after-jerk off fantasy. He cherished the idea of Davey showing up at the store, of the bell jingling and Davey standing in the doorway, with his tiny happy smile. Of Davey murmuring a hello across the counter, his hand coming up to hold Freddy's face in place and kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, making that soft sighing noise he made when he was happy - and then Freddy usually had to jerk off again.
Dan had become his sounding board for all of his frustrations, because unlike Regina, he didn't offer advice that was both excellent and offered zero immediate payoff. Instead, he'd mostly taken to rolling his eyes or stuffing his earbuds in, but he was clearly listening, since he knew enough to offer endless sarcastic comments, like "If I kissed you, would you whine this much?" and "Hey, would you get off if I put on Rufus Wainwright, or is it just a particular gay pianist?" Freddy had even found him frantically scouring his cell phone for Kristy's number.
So when Freddy looked up at the bell jingling and Davey was standing there cold and pink-cheeked, Freddy got lightheaded and ran into the back where Dan was sorting out new releases.
"He's here," Freddy hissed.
"Well, it's late for Santa," Dan said, "and Hugh Hefner hasn't returned my calls, so..."
"Davey," Freddy hissed, "he's here."
"Wait, is that group of crazy girls still out there? The ones with the too-big coats loitering weirdly in the easy listening section?"
"I don't know," Freddy said. "I was kind of busy with Davey walking in the store."
"Oh you fucker," Dan said. "You want a shoplifting?" He ran out front, frantically counting the money, while Freddy watched him through the door that hadn't closed in Dan's haste.
"Hey," Davey said softly, sidling shyly up to the counter. He was looking left and right, and when he glanced past the back room, Freddy felt his stomach swoop crazily. It was like watching his own personal spank bank in 3-D, and he sort of wanted to die. "Is, uh, Freddy here?"
"Yeah," Dan said, looking at Davey too closely for Freddy's comfort. "He started jerking off in back the second he saw you. Hey, Kennedy," he shouted. "Your boyfriend's asking for you, get your ass out here."
"In a minute," Freddy called back. His voice cracked. Mentally resolving to kill Dan at the first available moment, Freddy grabbed a box of record and the price-tagging gun - probably the lamest subterfuge ever, as the records were already tagged and filed, but it wasn't as if Davey knew that.
To Freddy's horror, Dan was holding Davey's hands, carefully looking over each knuckle carefully. When the door slammed shut behind him, Dan looked cheerfully up at Freddy. "Hey, this kid does have great hands. I thought you were just, you know, ranting or something." He looked Davey up and down quickly. "He's lacking in the tits department, but I like him. He's classy."
"This is Dan," Freddy heard himself say to Davey faintly, resisting the urge to commit homicide in the middle of the store. "He has a disease."
"Hi," Davey said, extricating one of his hands and holding it out politely for a handshake. His lips and cheeks were pink from the cold, his hair neatly tousled from the wind. He looked just the way he had looked after Freddy had kissed him - a little astonished, a little mortified. Freddy bit his tongue.
Dan scoffed and pushed Davey's hand aside. "There's no need for that. Damn, I feel like I already know you. I guess I sort of already do. This one over here," He jerked a thumb towards Freddy. "He thinks the sun shines out of your ass."
"It's a very bad disease he has," Freddy continued faintly. "Maybe even fatal."
"I can see that," Davey nodded.
"Relax, Kennedy." Dan said, holding up his hands defensively. "I'm going to work on my paper, okay?" He pushed his chair towards the end of the counter, opening his laptop, grabbed his earbuds and held up them up. "See? Not listening to you." He put them in and started typing.
"So, uh," Freddy said, turning red. "What brings you here? Looking for a record?"
Davey shrugged, fiddling with the edge of his jacket, embarrassed. "Not really. I thought I'd just, you know. Stop by."
"You came to the right place," Freddy said numbly. "Since, you know, I work here."
"He is so hard right now," Dan said flatly from behind his laptop, loudly enough to make Freddy jump. "Don't blame him for sounding like such a dumbass, Davey."
Freddy picked up the box, dropping it on Dan's lap with as much force as he could manage. "These need to be inventoried. Right now. As far away from here as possible," he hissed.
"Yeah, yeah." Dan rose, closing his laptop and setting it on top. He reached over with his free hand, patting Davey on the shoulder. "Nice to meet you."
"No," Freddy said. "No talking allowed. Just go."
"So," Davey said softly, looking up at Freddy through his lashes, "I didn't know Tourette's was fatal."
"Oh, completely," Freddy said frantically. It probably wasn't, but he was not above using Dan's laptop just to change the wikipedia page to say so. "Dan's, you know, got it bad."
"Yeah, well, according to him, it's you that's got it bad," Davey said, then turned bright red and clapped his hands over his mouth. "Crud," he said, voice muffled.
"Tourette's is contagious," Freddy said soothingly. He was going to need to spend so much time on that wikipedia page. "I find myself saying stupid things all the time." Davey just nodded, his mouth remaining stubbornly shut, even though it was clear he was bursting with a reply to that. "So," Freddy said lightly. "How have you been?"
"Um, okay, I guess," Davey said, looking pathetically grateful for the change of subject. "I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Because this is...it's weird. You know, between us."
"Yeah," Freddy said regretfully. "It is, isn't it?"
"I meant it, you know, about us being friends," Davey said, looking so earnestly hopeful that Freddy would have agreed to anything just to not break his heart. "I hate that it's weird and I miss you, even though you're kind of a jerk, and Kyle's totally lame and Kate and Liz aren't as funny and Lydia yelled a lot and got me thinking and... you're really my best friend, and I miss you, and I hate that it's so weird. Just because we've got, you know," he made a vague hand gesture, "weird hormone-y feelings."
"Yeah," Freddy said softly. He wished he had weird hormone-y feelings. Well, scratch that, he did have weird hormone-y feelings. He wished he had just weird hormone-y feelings. If he just had weird hormone-y feelings, he would have jerked off a few times thinking about Davey and that would be that. He'd done that with pretty much everyone. He had a stupid crush on Dan when he first started working, which had died when Dan spent an entire shift discussing how being half-white half-Asian made him like a ninja-pirate hybrid. There was that weird two weeks where all he'd wanted out of Chris was for them to get so high that it became a good idea to blow each other. He still would do Lydia, because she was hot and would probably make out with a girl in front of him. And then there was the whole Nathan fiasco this summer, where he and Nathan had both had weird hormone-y feelings at the same time that lasted too long because they were around each other too much, and they'd probably ruined their entire friendship over exploring them. But none of them were like Davey, where there were the weird hormone-y feelings that, instead of separating from the friendship feelings like oil and water like they were supposed to, got all tangled up and huge. And they made Freddy do stupid things, like care more about kissing Davey than having sex with him, or being willing to murder things so long as it would make Davey smile, or feeling pathetic and mopey until Davey entered a room. And then once Davey entered a room, just wanting to do girly things like stroke his hair or, or discuss his feelings. Or something. If Davey wanted him to discuss his feelings, that is. He didn't want to make Davey uncomfortable.
"I just miss hanging out with you," Davey said miserably.
"You could, uh, come over?" Freddy said hopefully. "I mean, I know Regina loves you more than she loves me, and she'd probably bake a bunch of shit."
"Really?" Davey asked, smiling a little. "Would I get to see more pictures?"
"No," Freddy said. "They were all burned. Tragic accident, really."
"I see," Davey said, smiling wider. "I guess I could do that. We could watch a movie, or something."
"Yeah," Freddy said, kind of pathetically excited for arranging what amounted to a play date. "Yeah, whatever you want. Your choice. Even if it's Miss Congeniality."
"Well that makes me feel special," Davey said, full-out beaming.
"You are," Freddy blurted. "I mean, you're, you know, my friend. My really good friend. Maybe my best friend. Or, you know, something."
"Yeah, you're mine too," Davey said. "So, uh, how about a week from tomorrow?"
"Sunday's good," Freddy said. "You'll get Sunday dinner, that way. Regina'll go all out."
"Cool," Davey said. "I'll, uh, see you in band Monday?"
"Yeah," Freddy said. "Band Monday."
"Alright," Davey said, turning and waving. "Bye. And tell Dan I'm really sorry about his fatal condition."
"Will do," Freddy said, shamelessly staring at Davey's amazing, if rather flat, ass as he left the store.
"Ooooooh," Dan said behind him, "he likes you."
"Does not," Freddy said. "We've been over this."
"Well, he likes you and he's retarded, or something," Dan said. "I don't know. Either that, or he's secretly missing his dick."
"He is not missing his dick," Freddy said firmly. "I very clearly felt it when we made out. Also, he's a genius."
"You're both fucking retarded," Dan said tragically. "It's the only explanation"
"Go inventory," Freddy said, throwing the price gun at Dan's chest. "Now."
- - -
"So," Freddy said awkwardly, behind Davey on the staircase. "This is my room."
The word room seemed somehow inaccurate. Lair was probably better, but it sounded lame and creepy. At some point, Freddy's grandparents and him mutually agreed that if Freddy wanted to stay out all night and come creeping back late, or let Nathan and Chris hook up their amps and play, or if he wanted to practice trumpet in the wee hours of the morning - that was fine, but he needed someplace to do it. The basement downstairs ended up being that.
The walls were painted a deep red, and covered in posters - mostly jazz stars, Duke Ellington, George Gershwin at the piano, Louis Armstrong - all bought from the record store. Freddy had made sure to clean up beforehand, stuffing the odd of assortment of clothes and papers that usually littered his floor, into his closet. The carpet looked suspiciously as if Regina had been in there and had had a good vacuum while he was at work.
Davey was gaping at the centerpiece of Freddy's room, a giant mahogany four poster bed in front of the television, made up with dark blue sheets. The maker had varnished it to a beautiful deep brown shade. Over it, Freddy had hung a massive poster of Chet Baker, hiding his face in his trumpet, that Dan had given him for his birthday along with a box of kleenex and a small tube of lotion.
"You like it?" Freddy smiled smugly. "Pops made I made it together a few summers ago."
Davey laughed. "It looks like a little girl's dream. You know, a big princessy four poster. It just needs a pink canopy."
"Hey," Freddy said petulantly. "My bed is a man's bed. It needs no canopy."
"Whatever you say," Davey said. He walked down the staircase, flinging himself onto Freddy's bed. Freddy felt his stomach lurch slightly. Everything about that night had been suspiciously natural. Regina hadn't shown him any more pictures, Pops hadn't said anything embarrassing. It was the polar opposite of what had happened at the record store. While Freddy realized that he had missed Davey a lot more than he had thought, there still was a lingering awkwardness over everything, perceptible only to him.
"You want some?" He said, offering Davey the bowl of popcorn.
"Nope," Davey sighed. "I'm stuffed. I thought your grandmother was never going to stop putting food on my plate."
"She never does that to me," Freddy complained. "She always tells me to stop stuffing my face or I'll make myself sick. I told you, she likes you more than me."
"I like her," Davey agreed. "Even if I'm going to have to roll myself home tonight. Your grandpa was cool too. Did he really mean it about the piano bench?"
"Yeah," Freddy nodded. "Only I wouldn't take him up on it. Pops'll have you in his studio for hours, sitting on pieces of wood and filling out surveys on which suits your ass best." He kneeled by the TV, setting the bowl of popcorn neatly on the floor. "What did you bring?"
Davey rooted around in his knapsack for a few moments, before pulling out a movie and tossing it over to Freddy. "The Princess Bride. You'll love it."
Freddy glanced at the cover. "Somehow, with that title, I doubt that."
"You said I could choose, didn't you?"
Freddy looked at Davey disparagingly. "Yeah, but I thought you'd choose something else. Look," He pulled out a rental case. "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. It's got Angelina Jolie in it."
"Ugh," Davey replied, scrunching up his nose. "Joey rented that last week. It sucks."
Freddy looked confused. "But it's got Angelina Jolie in it."
"You said I could choose," Davey replied, crossing his arms. "We can watch Tomb Raider or whatever next time, okay? I want to watch The Princess Bride. And pass the popcorn."
"All right," Freddy said, mollified by the faint promise of a next time. He handed the bowl of popcorn up to Davey, who, instead of climbing of the bed and crouching in front of the TV, grabbed a pillow and turned towards the foot of the bed, watching the opening credits on his bent elbows.
Freddy got up and settled down next to him, painfully careful to make sure that none of their limbs touched. Davey seemed completely unaware of everything, preferring to shovel popcorn into his mouth while some lame little boy (off of that horrible show The Wonder Years, which Freddy never watched, but Regina and probably Davey did) bitched to his grandfather about not feeling well.
"This better get better, Davey," Freddy groaned. Davey threw a kernel at the side of his face and smiled.
"I can't believe you haven't seen this," he said. "This is a classic, okay? Even Joey likes this movie. There's, there's swashbuckling."
"I swashed your mom's buckles," Freddy said darkly, grabbing a handful of popcorn, watching as a blond chick orders around a guy who, okay, is kind of cute, but not as cute as Davey's starry-eyed expression every time he says 'as you wish'.
"I had such a crush on him through all of middle school," Davey sighed. "He's so hot."
"He's an idiot," Freddy said dismissively. "Who has a crush on some dumbass chick that orders you around and doesn't even call you by your name? And then she, what, wakes up one day and decides she loves him too? That makes no fucking sense." Davey sighed, pausing and turning to Freddy.
"Are you going to be like this the entire movie?" He asked plaintively. "This is my favorite movie, okay?"
"But it doesn't make sense," Freddy said. "Obviously whoever wrote it has never been in love, okay? Because that is not how this shit works."
"Uh huh," Davey said, "and I suppose you know, because you're such an expert."
"Well, I'm enough of an expert to know that this is crap," Freddy said, gesturing at his television. "True love isn't, like, shoveling manure and then running off to be a pirate, okay? It's about stuff like liking the person and being nice to them, or them being nice to you, or having stuff in common, and then when you don't, making compromises, like letting them put on their iPod even though you don't really like their music because you think it's cute when they sing along." Davey froze next to him, staring at Freddy as if he'd just grown another head or admitted to having an extremely rare venereal disease.
"You think I'm cute when I sing along?" he asked finally, his eyes huge and vulnerable.
"Uh, kind of," Freddy muttered. "I mean, sometimes its okay. I wasn't talking about you, though. I was talking about, like, stuff. In general."
"Am I in general?" Davey asked.
"Sometimes?" Freddy said, bewildered. He had no idea what Davey was talking about, and he really was trying to concentrate, but it was sort of difficult when Davey's face was so close to his and he could taste the pecan pie on his breath from dessert. And then Davey kissed him, and it was sort of impossible to think at all. Because Davey's mouth was still barely on his, it was soft and nervous and pressing lightly like he had no idea what he was doing, and somehow that made it about ten billion times hotter. Because this was Davey, so much more like Davey than when he'd kissed him in the bakery and Davey just sort of held on and made little noises. This was gentle and questioning and weirdly chaste. Freddy didn't think he'd kissed anyone like this since he was in middle school, except he was pretty sure it was never this good in middle school. Maybe the problem was that he'd only kissed girls in middle school, and then by time he kissed guys they were at that stage where they were overconfident, where they just stuck their tongue in and went for it. And seriously, if Davey just wanted to stick his tongue in and go for it, Freddy absolutely would not complain, but it wouldn't be quite so perfectly Davey of a kiss, with Davey's mouth and lips and oh god, his hands, his hands were on Freddy's face. Davey's hands. The hands he had literally spent hours jerking off too were stroking at his cheeks and curling behind his ears and running through his hair, and fuck that, if Freddy didn't taste more of Davey, he was going to die. Groaning, he leaned into the kiss, using his weight to push Davey down on the bed so he could kiss run his hands all over him. Davey must have been ticklish, because he made that tiny squeaking noise in Freddy's mouth and shivered under his curious fingers, shifting his weight. His shoulder must have hit the remote when he moved, because all of a sudden the movie blared back on, and Davey jerked away under him, swallowing hard.
"Oh," Davey said in a tiny, clear voice, "oh, fuck."
"You swore," Freddy said stupidly.
"Yup," Davey said, his fingers still flexing against Freddy's face. "Yup. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."
"You never swear," Freddy said.
"Well I never do stuff like this either," Davey said. He wriggled out from under Freddy and sat up, stopping the movie and burying his head in his hands. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this," he muttered.
"You could keep doing it," Freddy suggested helpfully. "You know, if you wanted to. You want to, right?"
"You know that's not the issue," Davey said wearily. "The issue is this isn't going to work, and so I shouldn't have done it."
"I really, really, really don't mind," Freddy said sincerely. "I seriously don't think you understand how little I mind."
"Yeah, well I mind," Davey said, finally looking angry. "Because funnily enough, I'm not okay with leading people on."
"You can lead me on," Freddy said, aware that he was on the verge of pathetic begging and not really caring. He could pathetically beg, if that's what Davey wanted. If Davey wanted, he would pathetically beg for the rest of his life. "Seriously."
"I really can't," Davey said, leaning over and gathering his things. He picked up the DVD case, looked at it, and then sighed, dropping it on Freddy's bedspread. "You keep it," he said, shouldering his bag. "I've got the whole thing memorized anyways."
"Davey," Freddy said, sitting up and reaching out, "you don't have to go, seriously..."
"I should," Davey said, smiling tightly. "This was a stupid idea and one of us is going to get hurt."
"But I don't care," Freddy said passionately. "I don't care, because it can't hurt more okay?"
"It could," Davey said softly, looking like he was going to cry. "And it will. So I'll...I'll see you in band tomorrow."
"Okay," Freddy said. His voice sounded distant, hollow, and not much like his own voice at all.
"Bye," Davey said, and when he closed the basement door it sounded final.
Part Two