Ten Things Franz Hates About Living With Freddy and Davey (And One Reason He Stays) - PG-13
Title: Ten Things Franz Hates About Living With Freddy and Davey (And One Reason He Stays)
Rating: PG-13 for lots and lots of swearing. (Now in two languages and high def!)
Characters/Pairing: Franz, Freddy/Davey
Notes: It's been a quiet summer for you, all three or so readers! Louise and I have been working on the epic story of When Freddy and Davey Go On A Big Gay Roadtrip. (Seriously, it's like probably bigger than the puppy epic, and will have AT LEAST twelve drawings. SO YEAH, IT'S TAKING A WHILE.)
Anyways, while Louise and I were chatting, like we do, we were discussing how despite our love of Freddy and Davey, living with them was probably not as lovely. And then I went "OOH, I COULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT!" So while Louise went to bed, because she has a normal internship and had to actually try to sleep before 2 AM. But I am not part of such plebeian time schedules, and I have internet access all day, so away I typed.
For those of you who care, Franz is Freddy's freshman year roomie, his bestie, an exchange student from Germany, and kind of a massive man-whore. He studies pornography for school. A lot. Originally he was a photographer in The Spectacular from the years Freddy and Davey lived in Berlin, but now... I really have no idea what he does in the AU. Besides watch porn. I also don't really know what he looks like besides that he's blond (I think) and good-looking. Originally he was played by Bradley James, but then it didn't quite fit. Anyone who finds Franz gets a cookie. Anyways, since you've only barely met him, I felt he needed some introduction. So say hi to Franz, everyone! He says hi back. Also, how you doin'?
And, finally, Franz at some point says "mein Schatz" which means "my daring" and "Mach es dir selber" which translates to "go fuck yourself". In case you wanted to know exactly what the German meant.
Reason One:
Franz cannot believe that until he moved in with Freddy and Davey he didn't notice that they seem to be able to be able to preemptively know what the other is going to say. Or more than that, they have their own language with strange, defined rhythms that no other human being can ever hope to infiltrate. Technically, Franz understands everything they say. They aren't the sorts of people who use inside jokes a lot. But Freddy, he's normally incoherent and grumbly. He "uhs" and "uhms" around people a lot, pausing half the time awkwardly and then shooting out words too fast at others. Around Davey, his words are smooth, like pebbles on a beach, like the tides going in and out. He and Davey have a seamless give and take. Like, for instance, when Davey does the food shopping. Franz will come into the kitchen and Freddy will be waving the organic substitute cereal Davey is trying to foist on him.
"Cocoa Puffs, Davey!" He says. "I specifically wrote Cocoa Puffs on the list!"
"Well," Davey says dryly, setting pears out to ripen, "I was going to buy them, but then I realized I wasn't eight years old."
"You know very well I'm cuckoo for Coco Puffs," Freddy says. "I am not cuckoo for Puffins, whatever the hell they are. What is this, you think you can substitute bird mascots on me? Is that it? You think all birds are the same, don't you? You're a bird racist."
Franz never hears Freddy rapidly string together that many words at any other time. The last time he did was in the kitchen a week before when Davey got organic whole-wheat frozen waffles instead of Eggos ("Davey, these things make me want to let go of them.") or something equally painful. Next week, he supposes, Davey will, horror of horrors, bring Freddy to a farmer's market. Perhaps Freddy will finally figure out that the "magic enchiladas" Davey makes are stuffed with tofu. Either way, Franz thinks while he beats a hasty retreat, he plans to not be there.
Reason Two:
It is worse when they don't talk. Sometimes Franz will come home to what he thinks is an empty apartment, and then he will hear it, a murmuring coming from the living room. And when he pokes his head in, Freddy and Davey will be just sitting there. If they were making out or having sex, that would be alright. Before Freddy had constant access to Davey because they were living together, Franz used to walk on them doing just that all the time. But Davey being around all the time means that he and Freddy have time to do the weird things they do now, like sit there, nuzzling into each other's airspace and talking softly about nothing in particular, too busy being enraptured by what, Franz doesn't know. He supposes the feeling of their fingers entwined. Sometimes he catches snatches of the conversations, and they are usually about emotions, like Davey's stress over a paper or Freddy's worry about how old his grandfather looks. It makes Franz feel like he has walked on them far more naked than all those times he walked in on them actually naked.
Reason Three:
Franz has a lizard. More specifically (because Davey is into specifics, when it comes to animals), he has a bearded gecko. Her name is Leisl, and she is the most beautiful creature on the planet.
Davey does not agree.
"Look, she's a beautiful specimen," he says uneasily, watching her crawl across Franz's shoulders. "And I don't want to kill her. And you don't have to get rid of her. I just find her a little creepy."
"Do not hear him, mein Schatz," Franz coos, running a finger along Leisl's back.
"I know this is hypocritical," Davey went on, "because I watch animals like her on Discovery channel, but I mean, I watch tapeworms there too, and I'm not saying she's a tapeworm, but really, Franz, she smells kind of funny. And she stares at us."
"She loves you," Franz says. "She stares because she loves you."
"When we moved in she dropped her tail," Davey sounds absolutely revolted. "She lost an appendage. And then tried to eat it."
"It is growing back quite well," Franz says, picking her up gently and brandishing her at Davey, who, if his face is any indication, is trying very hard not to recoil. "Her stub, it is quite handsome!"
Davey turns pleading eyes to Freddy, who attempts to look like he's not there as much as possible. "Leisl's the closest I'll ever get to meeting Godzilla," Is his helpless explanation in the face of Davey's pleading eyes.
"I didn't suggest we get rid of her," Davey repeats, "but seriously, Freddy, I'm not making out with you anywhere where that non-blinking cold-blooded cannibal is watching. No offense, Franz. She's the best cannibal gecko in the world."
And that is how Leisl gets regulated to Franz's room.
Then, Davey starts attacking her food supply. "The crickets are crying for mercy," he says, arms akimbo. "You can't keep them in your room in a container that's essentially a death camp. That's cruel. That's like those poor lobsters in the supermarket."
"Mmm," Freddy says, looking up from his Sudoku. "I could really go for a lobster, Davey." Davey just gives Freddy a look that suggests he will not be getting any for at least twenty-four hours.
"Leisl needs them to live!" Franz says, but Davey remains firm, convinced that their chirping is crying for mercy.
"Look," Freddy says uncomfortably, feeding an already-dead cricket to Leisl, who chomps it down with the guava Davey got her as a a conciliatory gesture, since it's usually too expensive for Franz to bother. "Davey...read some books as a kid. Propaganda, really. Like James and the Giant Peach. And The Cricket in Times Square. He really liked that last one."
"I am not familiar with it," Franz says.
"There's a cricket who lives in Times Square... I don't know, I think it's pretty self-explanatory," Freddy shrugs. "He asked me to read it but then I reminded him I have, like, essays to write. Anyways, he does feel kinda bad."
"She scares away my conquests," Franz says sadly, watching Leisl happily decimate several crickets, which now come already dead and take up a mini-fridge in Franz's room. "When we are getting passionate, if they see her, they run."
"Ahah!" Freddy points a finger at Franz, like he's just realized something genius. "But the good ones, they stay."
"True," Franz allows.
"And," Freddy goes on, "you can't be into a lizard watching you do the nasty without being kind of freaky."
"I suppose there is relationship of the kinky, yes," Franz admits.
"You're welcome," Freddy says, extremely gracious.
Reason Four:
The next to fall to prey to Davey's tyrannical regime is Franz's erotic artwork. "It's porn," Davey says.
"You are all fascist Puritans," Franz declares. "And yes, Davey, I know that they are not even remotely related. But the American attitude towards sexually explicit artwork is quite repressive."
"Uh oh," Freddy says from behind his book of Calvin and Hobbes," he's talking like how he writes his essays. You got him mad."
"Look," Davey sighs, "I know you two used to keep your apartment in such ridiculous shape that I only came here because Freddy was whiny -"
"- slander." Freddy interjects.
" - very whiny," Davey continues as if Freddy hadn't spoken. "But honestly, it was a pigsty. And I'd like to have friends over. Or, you know, my mother. I mean, we're all adults here."
"Of course we are." Franz crosses his arms, extremely affronted. "This I would not leave out if children were around. Who do you think I am?"
"Freddy," Davey begins pointedly, instead of answering, turning to him with pleading eyes. Freddy immediately lifts his book like a deflector shield.
"No," he says. "No. You two always put me in the middle of things. Figure it out on your own."
"Rocks Paper Scissors?" Franz asks. And that is how Franz loses the right to keep his artwork (his nice, framed artwork) anywhere but his room.
"Now my room looks like a seedy motel," Franz says morosely, straightening his favorite picture, a charcoal drawing of, yes, someone giving head, but it's a very artistic rendering. "Leisl and the drawings? It is like I am a fifty year old man with unruly chest hair who lives in his mother's basement. One or the other might be sexy in a quirky way, but both together seem very...unforgivable."
"Please," Freddy says, straightening the black and white portrait of a threesome. "You came up with the rules, you lost, and you'll still get plenty of sex."
"But you will get more."
Freddy looks smug, leaning back to see if the picture is level. "Yeah, I will," he says.
Reason Five:
Franz thought that perhaps when they all lived together he could finally use Davey to break Freddy of all the annoying habits he has, because Davey is the only person Freddy ever listens to. There are a few things Davey and Freddy adjust around each other now that they cohabitate - Freddy starts cleaning his hair out of the shower drain, thank god, and Davey stops leaving half-finished plates of food or ridiculously stinky cups of exotic tea when he wanders off to go compose or do whatever secret genius machinations Davey does. But they seem utterly immune to each other's most annoying traits. Like, for instance, Freddy still cracks his knuckles all the damn time, and Davey doesn't even blink.
"Why do you not make him stop?" He asks Davey when Freddy leaves the room after cracking his entire spine.
"Stop what?" Davey looks up from his crossword, blinking behind his reading glasses.
"He cracks his bones," Franz says. "It is like nails on chalkboards."
"Oh, right," Davey says absently. "Joey does it even more than him, I don't even notice."
Franz makes a note to avoid ever living with Davey's brother. "Make him stop," he begs. "I have tried for years."
"I can't make him do anything," Davey says, fondly exasperated. "I can only make him stop doing things around me. I know perfectly well he keeps doing it when I'm not around."
Franz just shoots Davey a pleading look when Freddy comes back in the room with two steaming mugs. "Here," he says, kissing Davey's temple. "Ginger tea, no milk, no honey, just how you like it." "How Davey likes it" means it's strong and pungent enough to stink up the entire room. With a sigh, Franz puts his bowl of pasta and meatballs to the side. Ginger does not go well with Italian. He shoots Davey a helpless look when Freddy cracks his neck before settling down to his hot cocoa.
"Freddy," Davey tries timidly. "Baby. It really bothers Franz when you crack your joints, so could you, you know... stop?"
"Sure," Freddy says, but that lasts an entire episode of Cash Cab before Freddy is sighing with disappointment at another group who have gotten kicked out on an easy question, cracking his toes as he stretches, and Davey doesn't even blink. Just like he doesn't care when Freddy tunelessly scats in the shower. ("I think it's adorable," Davey says, turning bright pink when Franz complains.)
Davey isn't a saint either. He's a complete fascist when it comes to recycling. (And Franz is German, so he knows better than to use that word lightly.) He actually yells if someone throws out papers or soda cans. He saves all their plastic bottles and lectures them on trash heaps and the preciousness of fossil fuels while he refills them and tells them not to buy new water bottles (or else). Freddy does, too. He keeps the thermostat low in the winter and changes all the light bulbs to energy efficient ones and deposits bottles at the supermarket and goes shopping with reusable bags. ("It's the most passionate Davey gets, when he's all about, you know, green things or things that are fuzzy," Freddy says, when Franz gets tired of Davey glaring daggers at his trashcan full of old papers and complains. "Well, you know," he coughs. "The most that he does in public, anyways.") And he's weirdly OCD about certain things. He gets fussy and quietly irritated when Franz moves the pillows around the living room or has a cold drink from a coffee mug. Freddy also seems to find this deeply endearing.
"See, Davey likes things to be..." Freddy waves his hands around before passing the soccer ball to Franz while they play in the park. "Consistent. Predictable. Doesn't like surprises."
"That is ridiculous," Franz pops the ball in the air and starts bouncing it on his knee. "Surprise parties, he must like. Everyone likes."
"Not Davey," Freddy smiles to himself, secretive and happy. It makes Freddy look somehow both far less handsome and far more approachable. "I wanted to give him one for his seventeenth, but Mary said they tried that for his fifth birthday and he cried."
"So I see why he is with you," Franz snorts. "You are the most predictable man on earth. All Davey ever has to give you is sex and food." He passes the ball to Freddy, who kicks it back and forth between his feet before returning the pass.
"They need to find a way to combine the two," Freddy says in the thoughtful voice he uses when he's convinced he's on the brink of a genius discovery that will save him from having to actually make a decision towards what he'll do with his life. If he could make money being Davey's housewife and/or sex slave, he would probably die happy.
"Good luck with that," Franz says, and punts the ball at Freddy's stupid face.
Reason Six:
Freddy and Davey are exceedingly smug, as a couple, which gets old pretty fast. Sure, Franz thinks, they have a right to be. After all, who really meets their soulmate by literally tripping over them? It's all very Hugh Grant romantic comedy, the entire thing.
But Freddy and Davey have this thing where they think that just because they got lucky, just because they're so special and get to have good sex all the time, means that they have a right to pass judgment on other people and the methods they have to resort to to get off, or the people they resort to getting off with. And since Joey doesn't live with them or they don't know about his one night stands, they obsess over Franz's like it's their favorite soap opera or something. And what's worse, they have a rating system for his one-night stands. They'll get up all early under the pretense of "wanting breakfast" (like Davey ever usually wants breakfast that early) and will smirk knowingly at whoever is fleeing from Franz's room, adjusting their clothes from the night before.
"Seven," Davey says, after what's-her-face from the night before and her barely-there dress are out the door. "Though a nine on the hotness scale, if we're assuming that hot means skanky."
"With Franz, we always assume hot means skanky," Freddy says into his cup of coffee. "But I've seen skankier, I only give her an eight and a half there. And a four on the sex."
"There is no way!" Davey exclaims hotly, waving his healthy-alternative turkey bacon, which Freddy claimed to not eat on principle, but Franz had caught him sneaking it more times than he could count. "Nine point five! You heard them when we came back from he movies, that was porn star moaning!"
"Trust me, Davey, that was his 'compensating so it'll be over soon' moaning," Freddy says darkly. "Plus, no girl gets boob implants like that unless the want guys to be blinded by them enough to not notice how bad they are at sex."
Davey looks repulsed. "Girls do that? Guys fall for that?"
"So innocent," Freddy mutters fondly. "Okay Franz," he says in a normal tone, turning to face him. "Ratings. Go."
"Sex was a three," Franz sighs, stealing the rest of Davey's bacon off of his plate as payment for having to rehash.
"Okay, how is that even possible?" Davey looks exceedingly troubled while he pours his tea. "What does that even feel like? How can you have sex when it's at a three?"
"You two have never had bad sex," Franz says dubiously.
"N- Yes," Freddy starts nodding emphatically. "What about the first time we - "
Davey winces. "Well, yes..."
"That was a four, because we managed to - "
"Ah," Davey nods, and then looks troubled. "No way it gets worse than that and you keep, you know. I mean I didn't..."
"What about the time we tried that thing from the internet with the..." Freddy makes a vague gesture. "It's like that, but without, you know, making up for it."
"Still confused," Davey says.
"I am horny and she was hot!" Franz says, frustrated. "That is how I stayed hard, okay?"
"Yes, but how hot?" Davey asks eagerly.
"Six."
"What?" Freddy and Davey yelp in unison.
"Okay, I'm gay, and I'm insulted on her behalf," Davey says indignantly.
"Fake boobs," Franz sighs. "Look nice, never feel as nice or make up for the problems."
"You know," Freddy says in the same voice he uses whenever he as hearkening back to his Freshman Psychology course, which has convinced him that he had some sort of deep insight to the human condition. "Franz's inability to commit may be due to his unrealistically high expectations."
"Ooh," Davey looks exceedingly impressed. "That's actually... surprisingly astute."
"Thank you," Freddy says, leaning in to give Davey a kiss which Davey latches onto, locking his fingers in Freddy's t-shirt and smiling slightly.
"I do not have high expectations!" Franz says loudly, before this degenerated into a prolonged soppy makeout. Again.
Freddy pulls back reluctantly, still holding Davey close. "You have very high expectations," he sighs. "Remember Tiffany? Gina? Alec? Brad? Kat? M-"
"I do not have high expectations," Franz repeats. "Here is what I would like, someone physically attractive who I continue to be interested in having good sex with, and also I can perhaps enjoy in the light of day."
"Yes, but what that means to normal people and what that means to you are, like, five different things," Freddy says, taking another sip from his mug. "I mean, Gina was sort of funny-looking, I agree," Davey makes the same disapproving noise he makes whenever Franz and Freddy start objectifying people in front of him, "and Brad was about as interesting as a watching paint dry, but everyone else has been pretty damn great."
"Well maybe it's not so bad," Davey says softly, placating, laying his hand on Freddy's arm. "I mean, I'm picky, and I found you, didn't I?"
Freddy's face softens so much it's almost unrecognizable, and Franz feels suddenly deeply guilty, like how other people must feel when they see someone else naked or having sex. Franz usually just wants to join in, study, or provide commentary. Or do all three at once. But when Freddy and Davey look at each other like that, it doesn't matter that they're both pretty damn attractive, he'd rather take his eyes out with a rusty spoon than stick around.
"Yeah," Freddy says roughly, putting his mug down on the counter so he can hold onto Davey with both hands. "Yeah, you did. It's too bad I've got such low expectations, or - ow!" He yelps, rubbing his arm where Davey had pinched him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Davey says, his eyes wide. "I must not have heard you, maybe you can find someone who's worthy of somebody with taste and standards, I bet they could get that looked into."
"Oh," Freddy's grin turns lewd, focused, "I'll look into it alright..."
"Mach es dir selber," Franz swears, stomping off to his room with his bowl of Puffins as Freddy and Davey degenerate into uselessness. He slams the door shut, but even through it he can hear giggling and thwacking noises, and then the quiet punctuated only by breathy moans that meant Freddy and Davey would probably move to their room soon and be completely useless for the rest of the day. With a sigh, he feeds a curious Leisl, puts the abandoned underwear from last night's girl in his box of discarded clothing from former conquests, and then dumps out his too-soggy cereal.
He's far too nauseated to eat now, to be quite honest.
Reason Seven:
Franz is sitting watching a movie with his girlfriend of the month, Allison, when Davey comes out of his room all dressed up and looking vaguely irritated about it.
"What the hell are you wearing?" Franz asks.
"It's a tie," Davey says grumpily, tugging at it. "I thought you'd recognize it. I know for a fact they have ties in Germany." Allison giggles and Franz glares at Davey. "Freddy insisted for our date tonight," Davey says, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button.
"What, for eating burgers or sushi?"
"Nah, some fancy French restaurant... Les Nomades." Davey shrugs. "Regina and Alex went there and it was apparently one of the best meals they ever ate, so they gave Freddy and me an open check for Christmas. And Freddy forgot about it until now."
"Sounds... fantastic," Franz says flatly.
"Hey, I'm all for the food," Davey sighs, sitting down in the overstuffed armchair and stretching out, like he is already exhausted beyond his human capacity. "It's the stupid dress code I have a problem with. I'm just glad there's no way Freddy can get away with his fedora there."
"Where is Freddy, anyways?" Allison asks, pausing the movie so she can listen.
"He kicked me out," Davey looks torn between disgust and fondness. "He wants to get all prettied up without me seeing him so it's a surprise. Even though I've seen him like this a billion times."
"That's sweet," Allison sighs. "How long have you two been going out?"
"Almost... Christ..." Davey rubs his hand over his eyes. "This March is seven years."
"Forever, basically," Franz says. "They are married. It is disgusting."
"I think it's darling," Allison says reproachfully.
"What's sweet?" Freddy asks, coming out of the bedroom. He's in his suit and tie, his hair is all combed down and wet, and he's nervously fiddling with his ears. He's not even wearing his gallons of cologne, probably because Davey forbade him.
"You," Davey grins, getting up to comb down a few curls that are struggling for freedom. "Stop fussing with your ears, they're lovely."
"So was your tie," Freddy says, re-tightening it sternly. "What is your deal with it?"
"It's strangling me," Davey whines. "Why can't I just wear my nice sweater?"
"Because you know how much I love you in ties," Freddy murmurs, low and intimate against Davey's neck before he presses a kiss against Davey's throat. Franz pointedly looks at the ceiling until they're done.
"Okay, kids," Davey says, pulling back. He is bright-eyed and flushed, grinning with almost manic wideness. "We're off. Don't wait up for us."
"Yes, yes, our teeth will be brushed and we will be in bed at eight." Franz says, waving them out the door. There is silence for a moment, and then Allison lets out a dreamy sigh.
"They're so cute," she coos.
"They have their moments," Franz says. "Want to start the movie again?"
"I mean," Allison sighs, looking up at Franz through her eyelashes, "do you think we'll be that cute?" And that is when Franz feels the cold fingers of dread.
Despite Freddy and Davey's orders, Franz does wait up for them, sulking in the dark. They don't come back until almost midnight, laughing softly and stopping every five seconds to kiss.
"Let me put away the leftovers," Davey whispers, pulling away and opening the refrigerator. He looks flushed and maybe a little tipsy in the dim light. "Franz is going to love those sweetbreads. And don't even try with some smooth come-on line."
"But Davey," Freddy sing-songs, coming behind him and nuzzling into his neck, "You're my sweet, sweet..."
Davey laughs, loud and clear, putting down the containers to wind his arms around Freddy's neck, which is all Franz sees before Davey kicks the refrigerator closed. Then it's all dark again and Freddy and Davey sound like they're really getting hot and heavy, so Franz thinks it's a good idea to intervene there, flipping the light on and clearing his throat loudly.
"Fucking Christ," Freddy swears, blinking and squinting. "What the hell, you asshole?"
"I thought you'd be in your room with Allison," Davey says, bright red and still clinging to Freddy like he is the last thing that makes sense in this scenario, and when Freddy is the only thing that makes sense, clearly the situation is blown to hell.
"Yeah, funny thing," Franz grinds out, "you lost me another lay."
"Oh, no," Davey says sadly, going to sit down on the couch. Freddy follows him like an obedient puppy. An obedient, sexually frustrated puppy.
"You just had to show off," Franz says, pacing and gesticulating wildly. He's had a very long time to build up a head of steam, and he's pissed. "Had to act all lovey-dovey so my girlfriend is wanting to have the talk about if we would be cute in rockers on a porch together. We had been on dates for three weeks and everything is fantastic, and then she meets you two and becomes a clingy nightmare. And she was great in bed! Do you know she enjoyed giving me blowjobs?"
"Well now I wish I didn't," Freddy mutters.
"That is like a meeting with a rare and magical unicorn!" Franz points dramatically at Freddy. "It is like a meeting with one and then you have sex with it."
"So, um," Davey raises his hand meekly, as if he's in class. "If you enjoyed having sex with, um, your unicorn so much, why not stay with her?"
"Three weeks!" Franz flails. "Three weeks and she stops a movie with Sandra Bullock - and it is not that Crash movie - and asks me honestly if she can see us grow old together!"
"I think the real problem started when you agreed to watch Miss Congeniality," Freddy says. "That's, like, asking for failure and awkward questions. So if you think about it, it's really not our fault at all."
"Really?" Davey asks, turning to him. "You're really going for the 'blame Sandra Bullock' approach. Really? Because I sort of feel like we should leave her out of this right now."
"Well," Freddy says, "if the chin fits..."
"See this?" Franz points between them. "This exactly! Stop this immediately!"
"Stop what?" Davey blinks. "Talking?"
"Oh Christ," Franz groans, burying his face in his hands. He is doomed to never get consistently laid ever, ever again.
Reason Eight:
The only qualm Franz has ever had about coming to college in America was the whole weird thing with smoking pot. The fact that it was illegal was, by far, the most ridiculous thing Franz had ever come across. He took a pre-law course his very first semester so he could learn everything else this ridiculous, uptight country might have outlawed, but that's really the worst one. It's not just smoking pot, it's smoking anything. Smoking is technically outlawed in the dorms, but people do it anyways and then use air freshener or something. From the beginning, Freddy had banned that.
"Look," he'd said seriously the first day they were together. "I'm not stopping you from lung cancer or whatever, but if my boyfriend smells this on me, he won't put out. And I've already decided I'm either going Evil Knievel style or it's old age for me, so if I die of sexual frustration instead, I'm gonna kill you and take you with me."
Franz supposes that attitude is okay because unless you run into an American who smokes, that's pretty much their opinion, period. Hell, he's met smokers who have that attitude too, they just can't quit. And Freddy smokes pot when Davey's not around. At first, Franz hadn't thought much of it, because Davey didn't drink either. And then, even when he knew it was more than that, he'd thought maybe Freddy was just being over-sensitive because Davey had him by the dick, and then Davey moved in and banned pot in the house period. And even Freddy won't move an inch on this one.
"You know it's a big deal to him," he says.
"And you miss it, don't you?" Franz asks.
"If I wanted to, I could go crash at somebody else's and smoke up," Freddy shrugs. "It's not like he's forbidding me. But it's not really worth it."
"But Davey - "
"Davey has a good reason to hate it," Freddy says quietly, steely.
It's the only truly sore point between them, spawned from one session smoking up sophomore year when Franz had nudged Freddy with his toe and gone "Davey... gets all, like, you know. When he sees the bong. The fuck's up with that?" And Freddy, high and slurring his words, had told him the whole story, about Davey's dead uncle and his dad and his mother who's lost so much, who keeps all of her hurt stuffed behind a barely-closed door for the sake of her sanity.
"Y'don't mention his uncle Mitch or pot in that house, man," Freddy had said through a twinkie. "Mean, it started as pot with him too, and then he was doing the hard stuff and..." Freddy made a sloppy slash across his throat, going for the next Hostess package. "Apparently Joey came home once - before I even knew him, man - smelling of the stuff after one puff at a fucking party and Mary, fuck, she actually yelled and shit. Fuck, man, she never yells 'less she's gotta be heard. Real screaming, apparently. Can't even imagine it."
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck," Franz said, partially in sympathy and partially because the word felt cool in his mouth.
And then, a week later he'd made some comment to Davey, offhand when Davey was looking at his bong like it was radiating leprosy, and Franz had been lectured about smoking a clove that day and failed a paper, so he was already feeling testy enough to let them both have it when Freddy had snapped on Davey's behalf. He called them both Dickensian faggot asswads, obsessed with their collective tragic past, puritanical, and several other hugely insulting things that, while true, he probably shouldn't have let loose. Davey had abruptly gone white as a sheet and stormed out, and the next thing Franz knew Freddy had punched him, hard enough to give him a black eye, and slept at home and wouldn't talk to him for a week. It's still the worst fight they've ever been in.
"You just don't do it here," Freddy says now, calmly. "You don't do it here, and that's all there is to it. This isn't just Davey's rule, it's mine now too, and it's un-fucking-breakable."
Just because Franz deserves Freddy's anger, his one unbreakable rule, doesn't mean he doesn't resent Davey for making him this way.
Reason Nine:
Franz's parents tell each other everything (sometimes, Franz thinks, psychically), so he's not exactly weirded out by the fact that every day at least once he will have to listen to Freddy recount his entire day to Davey over the phone in technicolor detail. Sure, Freddy goes into way more detail than anyone in their right mind ever would (why does Davey need to know about Freddy's feet smelling funny or that the vending machine is out of Oreos?), but no one in their right mind would date Freddy in the first place, so it's a bit of a moot point.
There is a bit of a repeat, sometimes, if there's a really good or important story, like when Freddy forgot his class was canceled and then found the TA and his girlfriend doing the nasty in the lecture hall. Those are the sorts of stories Franz is used to hearing twice, or more, depending on how good the story is. That TA story lasted a while.
"I'm conducting an experiment," Freddy informs him one day. "I'm trying to see if pigeons who eat Skittles will poop in all the colors of the rainbow."
"That is wonderful," Franz says, bored. "I am glad to see your tuition goes to such excellent use."
"Or maybe," Freddy says thoughtfully, getting really into it, "they'll mix. Maybe I should start picking out colors and feeding them only, like, blue skittles."
"This is fascinating," Franz says, purposefully lifting his magazine so Freddy will see he is reading and stop bothering him.
"Then again," Freddy plows on, completely oblivious, "maybe the colors will swirl and it'll be, like, van Gogh. This could be fine art pigeon shit. I could make millions."
"How is he making millions?" Davey asks, coming in the apartment and shaking out his rain-wet hair. "It's really pouring out there."
"Pigeons!" Freddy explains joyfully.
"Are we breeding messenger pigeons now?" Davey asks, coming over to press a hello kiss against the top of Freddy's head, and then "Ack, Freddy, I'm getting you all wet." Franz looks up just in time to see Freddy pull Davey into his lap.
"No, no, listen Davey," he insists, "Listen, I'm performing an experiment on the pigeons in front of work."
"Oh, god," Davey mutters. "Do I want to know? Franz, tell me if I want to know."
"You want to know," Franz says, licking his finger and prying to stubborn pages apart. "I did not want to know, but you? You want to know."
"I'm feeding them Skittles to see if they poop all the colors of the rainbow," Freddy beams. "Great, right?"
"Freddy!" Davey yelps. "You know not to do that! What have I told you about doing that?"
"Uh..." Freddy's eyes dart from side to side.
"It is not healthy for the urban ecosystem and destroys the pigeon's ability to fend for itself," Franz mutters under his breath.
"-told you it destroys the pigeon's ability to fend for itself!" Davey finishes righteously. "And besides, that's animal testing! What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about them pooping artwork like van Gogh!" Freddy says. "van Gogh pigeons, Davey!" Davey makes a face. "Furthering the scientific method!" Freddy tries. Davey shakes his head and gets up to go to their room and change into something probably drier. "Listen, I'm advancing science -" Franz hears, before the door slams and then it's just 'murmur murmur murmur PIGEONS murmur murmur murmur SCIENCE murmur murmur COLORS murmur' and he gets to read about Lindsay Lohan in peace.
The peace, of course, is short-lived. When Freddy and Davey get in one of their arguments (which, of course, never have the decency to be actual arguments, just tiffs over ridiculous things like multicolored pigeon poop), they both use him to vent their frustrations with the other. If he hears one more thing about ecological sustainability or shit masterpieces, and then he has to hear it repeated again when they argue with each other, only to hear it a third time when the other is repeating the argument incredulously, he will seriously go insane.
He finally loses it when Freddy has discovered that yes, the pigeons do poop colors and no, it does not swirl, but yes, it resembles Jackson Pollack paintings and thereby is cool.
"Oh my god, shut up," he yells when Davey opens his mouth to offer his rebuttal ("blah blah bad for the pigeons blah blah blah"). "Stop the repeats of things! Stop telling me things! Do not have stupid arguments! In fact, why don't you two just not speak?"
Freddy and Davey blink at him mutely.
"See this?" Franz waves his hands in an all-encompassing manner. "This silence? I like this! I like to not hear something repeated a million times!"
"But - " Davey begins, but Franz cuts him off.
"No!" He says. "No buts! Do not talk! Do not speak to me!"
"Well you could have just said something," Freddy mutters rebelliously.
You would not have heard me over your incessant talk!"
"Fine," Freddy sniffs. "See if you get a Pigeon Poop Pollack, first edition."
"There will be no editions," Davey says, crossing his arms. "Freddy, seriously, this is ridiculous. Are you aware of how much this screws up the pigeon just in terms of diet? It needs - "
"Augh!" Franz yells, storming out of the room and slamming the door.
"Murmur murmur nutritional needs murmur murmur delicate ecosystem murmur," says Davey's voice through his wall, indistinctly.
Reason Ten:
Every other Sunday, Davey rounds Freddy and Franz up in the living room and makes them actually clean, which, as far as Franz is concerned, is simply cruel and unusual. The only nice thing is that Freddy is totally not on Davey's side on this one.
"But why?" He moans when Davey hands him the kitchen cleaner. "We don't have ants, and the rule is, no vacuuming until we have ants."
"Or cockroaches," Franz points out, looking dubiously at the dustbuster Davey hands him.
"Because Franz is allergic to the dust and I don't like hearing him blow his nose every five seconds, and because I never want to live with cockroaches," Davey says. "Also, it's gross and makes you sick."
"It builds up your immune system," Freddy swears. "Honestly, I have an immune system of steel, Davey."
"Come on," Davey wheedles. "I'm even doing the bathroom, which is the grossest, hardest job."
Freddy and Franz look mutinously at each other and then at Davey.
"I'll get you both slices of my mom's Bavarian triple-chocolate fudge cake every time you clean?" Davey tries.
Freddy and Franz look at each other, and then shrug. But even the Bavarian triple-chocolate fudge cake is not enough to make up for some of the injustices Davey forces them to endure, like throwing out their mold artwork.
"Stuart!" He hears Freddy yelp, and then Franz is running into the kitchen, dustbuster held aloft like a weapon. "Don't hurt Stuart!"
"Who's Stuart?" Davey asks, freezing.
"The fuzzy cantaloupe," Franz says. "He is our friend."
"Not Matilda!' Freddy says, digging the moldy mustard out of the trash. "Davey, you're ruining our artwork."
"Your what?"
"We let the mold grow," Franz explains. "It is pretty." He takes Stuart and tilts him so Davey can see the mold patterns. "See? He just developed the blue recently."
"Matilda's our best friend," Freddy beams, opening the jar and turning his face away to avoid the smell. Davey doesn't know enough to do so, and ends up choking. Rookie mistake. "See, she's old and white now. And furry."
"Oh, god," Davey says faintly. "That is the most revolting thing I've heard in my entire life."
"Don't listen to him," Franz coos to Stuart, moving him away from Davey. "He doesn't understand you."
Of course, Davey gets his way by threatening not to cook for them anymore, but he does allow Franz and Freddy to have an impromptu funeral by the trash can. Franz sings Amazing Grace and Freddy agrees it's very moving.
"You know," Franz says two months later, thickly through his payment of cake (this week - key lime cheesecake), "we do get sick less."
"Less than what?" Freddy asks, sucking on his fork.
"Before we cleaned regularly," Franz says. "I get less sick."
"I throw up less," Freddy agrees, "I don't eat any moldy food by accident."
"Does this mean Davey's right?" Franz asks, using his finger to get a few stray graham cracker crumbs.
"He's always right," Freddy says darkly. "It's his worst flaw."
"But his mother makes good cheesecake," Franz reminds Freddy. "And he is good in bed, or so I hear."
"Yeah, well," Freddy shrugs. "Never said he didn't have his redeeming qualities."
Reason One:
But at the end of the day, with Davey, there's always good food in the refrigerator, there's more laughter around the house, and the rent gets paid on time, not when the landlord comes knocking on the door like he'd rather be using his fist on their faces. And best of all, Freddy's glowing. He's happy all the time, even when he's stressed, even when he's upset. Franz thinks Davey is happier (though he has nothing to compare it to, really) and he knows that, in spite of everything, he's happier. It's impossible to be around that much happiness and be fed as well as Davey feeds them (which feels like ambrosia after a lifetime of his mother's inept fumbling and three years of cafeteria food) and not feel lighter, somehow.
It's nice, when he comes home from hard partying and collapses on the couch, he collapses in an actual room that has some semblance of being put together. It's far better than his and Freddy's previous attempts at interior decorating, which were haphazard at best. Before Davey, they didn't even have a couch, and now they have a living room that might not be what Freddy would deem "gay-worthy", but at least doesn't look like a college dorm room and a Walmart had a tragic one-night stand. There are bookshelves, and picture frames, and framed art. Even one of Franz's more abstract nudes has been released, on the grounds that it's almost Georgia O'Keefe-ian - you don't realize it's a naked lady until it's pointed out to you, and then it's all you see. And it's nice that Davey did that for him, even though Franz lost Rocks Paper Scissors fair and square.
And it's nice that around 10:30 in the morning, Davey will blearily shuffle out of his room and spot Franz, hung over, and care for him. He'll bring out Franz's sweatpants and help wrestle him out of his jeans and into them, he'll line up Franz's shoes by the door and tuck him under the quilt (another new addition, quilts). He'll bring him toast and orange juice and aspirin, and he will not speak loudly or bang things like Freddy used to to just to tease him.
When Freddy comes home from his morning run Davey will intercept him by the door, murmuring quietly about being considerate and quiet and other qualities that are the very antithesis of Freddy. And the funny thing is, Freddy does, every time. He swallows his whooping and yelling and stomping and instead kisses Davey, gentle and adoring. After he does that is when Franz knows it's safe to half-open his eyes and watch them, because he could dance around naked screaming, and the two of them probably wouldn't notice.
"...crazy with your Florence Nightingale shit," Freddy will stage-whisper, which is the closest to whispering anyone can hope for. Davey replies in an actual whisper, something about sympathy and headaches. Whatever he says always makes Freddy's face go helplessly soft. It's voyeuristic and sick, but that's what Franz watches for, that and Davey's expression of utter fondness. It's not smoldering, like some of the looks he finds himself caught in the middle of sometimes, but warm and glowing like a fire. It's the feeling he used to get when his father gravely took his mother's hand or swallowed down another one of her microwave dinners or his mother ironed his father's suits, that feeling of watching two people who are absolutely meant for each other do something innocuous and yet perfectly demonstrative of the depth of their affection. It's delicate and impossible to capture, and so Franz considers himself to be something of an avid collector of those moments, as fleeting and delicate as they are.
"He looks so sad and floppy when he's hung over," Davey will say. "I can't help it."
"You're such a freaking mother hen," Freddy will reply. And it's true. Davey makes sure they get balanced meals and have clean underwear. Freddy needs someone like that, or else he will become bogged down in his own shit and incapable of drinking a glass of water without choking to death on his own spit. And Davey pathologically seems to need someone to fuss over. They're good for each other like that.
The rest of the conversation varies from there - Davey and Freddy staring into each other's eyes and stupidly glowing (and not just from the morning sun streaming through the window), Davey actually whispering and Freddy pretending it's physically possible for him to whisper, before they quietly, almost guiltily scurry to the bedroom or shower. Franz usually falls asleep to running water, muffled laughter, kissing noises, and murmured nauseating endearments.
There are worse ways to live, he thinks. Far, far worse.
Rating: PG-13 for lots and lots of swearing. (Now in two languages and high def!)
Characters/Pairing: Franz, Freddy/Davey
Notes: It's been a quiet summer for you, all three or so readers! Louise and I have been working on the epic story of When Freddy and Davey Go On A Big Gay Roadtrip. (Seriously, it's like probably bigger than the puppy epic, and will have AT LEAST twelve drawings. SO YEAH, IT'S TAKING A WHILE.)
Anyways, while Louise and I were chatting, like we do, we were discussing how despite our love of Freddy and Davey, living with them was probably not as lovely. And then I went "OOH, I COULD DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT!" So while Louise went to bed, because she has a normal internship and had to actually try to sleep before 2 AM. But I am not part of such plebeian time schedules, and I have internet access all day, so away I typed.
For those of you who care, Franz is Freddy's freshman year roomie, his bestie, an exchange student from Germany, and kind of a massive man-whore. He studies pornography for school. A lot. Originally he was a photographer in The Spectacular from the years Freddy and Davey lived in Berlin, but now... I really have no idea what he does in the AU. Besides watch porn. I also don't really know what he looks like besides that he's blond (I think) and good-looking. Originally he was played by Bradley James, but then it didn't quite fit. Anyone who finds Franz gets a cookie. Anyways, since you've only barely met him, I felt he needed some introduction. So say hi to Franz, everyone! He says hi back. Also, how you doin'?
And, finally, Franz at some point says "mein Schatz" which means "my daring" and "Mach es dir selber" which translates to "go fuck yourself". In case you wanted to know exactly what the German meant.
Reason One:
Franz cannot believe that until he moved in with Freddy and Davey he didn't notice that they seem to be able to be able to preemptively know what the other is going to say. Or more than that, they have their own language with strange, defined rhythms that no other human being can ever hope to infiltrate. Technically, Franz understands everything they say. They aren't the sorts of people who use inside jokes a lot. But Freddy, he's normally incoherent and grumbly. He "uhs" and "uhms" around people a lot, pausing half the time awkwardly and then shooting out words too fast at others. Around Davey, his words are smooth, like pebbles on a beach, like the tides going in and out. He and Davey have a seamless give and take. Like, for instance, when Davey does the food shopping. Franz will come into the kitchen and Freddy will be waving the organic substitute cereal Davey is trying to foist on him.
"Cocoa Puffs, Davey!" He says. "I specifically wrote Cocoa Puffs on the list!"
"Well," Davey says dryly, setting pears out to ripen, "I was going to buy them, but then I realized I wasn't eight years old."
"You know very well I'm cuckoo for Coco Puffs," Freddy says. "I am not cuckoo for Puffins, whatever the hell they are. What is this, you think you can substitute bird mascots on me? Is that it? You think all birds are the same, don't you? You're a bird racist."
Franz never hears Freddy rapidly string together that many words at any other time. The last time he did was in the kitchen a week before when Davey got organic whole-wheat frozen waffles instead of Eggos ("Davey, these things make me want to let go of them.") or something equally painful. Next week, he supposes, Davey will, horror of horrors, bring Freddy to a farmer's market. Perhaps Freddy will finally figure out that the "magic enchiladas" Davey makes are stuffed with tofu. Either way, Franz thinks while he beats a hasty retreat, he plans to not be there.
Reason Two:
It is worse when they don't talk. Sometimes Franz will come home to what he thinks is an empty apartment, and then he will hear it, a murmuring coming from the living room. And when he pokes his head in, Freddy and Davey will be just sitting there. If they were making out or having sex, that would be alright. Before Freddy had constant access to Davey because they were living together, Franz used to walk on them doing just that all the time. But Davey being around all the time means that he and Freddy have time to do the weird things they do now, like sit there, nuzzling into each other's airspace and talking softly about nothing in particular, too busy being enraptured by what, Franz doesn't know. He supposes the feeling of their fingers entwined. Sometimes he catches snatches of the conversations, and they are usually about emotions, like Davey's stress over a paper or Freddy's worry about how old his grandfather looks. It makes Franz feel like he has walked on them far more naked than all those times he walked in on them actually naked.
Reason Three:
Franz has a lizard. More specifically (because Davey is into specifics, when it comes to animals), he has a bearded gecko. Her name is Leisl, and she is the most beautiful creature on the planet.
Davey does not agree.
"Look, she's a beautiful specimen," he says uneasily, watching her crawl across Franz's shoulders. "And I don't want to kill her. And you don't have to get rid of her. I just find her a little creepy."
"Do not hear him, mein Schatz," Franz coos, running a finger along Leisl's back.
"I know this is hypocritical," Davey went on, "because I watch animals like her on Discovery channel, but I mean, I watch tapeworms there too, and I'm not saying she's a tapeworm, but really, Franz, she smells kind of funny. And she stares at us."
"She loves you," Franz says. "She stares because she loves you."
"When we moved in she dropped her tail," Davey sounds absolutely revolted. "She lost an appendage. And then tried to eat it."
"It is growing back quite well," Franz says, picking her up gently and brandishing her at Davey, who, if his face is any indication, is trying very hard not to recoil. "Her stub, it is quite handsome!"
Davey turns pleading eyes to Freddy, who attempts to look like he's not there as much as possible. "Leisl's the closest I'll ever get to meeting Godzilla," Is his helpless explanation in the face of Davey's pleading eyes.
"I didn't suggest we get rid of her," Davey repeats, "but seriously, Freddy, I'm not making out with you anywhere where that non-blinking cold-blooded cannibal is watching. No offense, Franz. She's the best cannibal gecko in the world."
And that is how Leisl gets regulated to Franz's room.
Then, Davey starts attacking her food supply. "The crickets are crying for mercy," he says, arms akimbo. "You can't keep them in your room in a container that's essentially a death camp. That's cruel. That's like those poor lobsters in the supermarket."
"Mmm," Freddy says, looking up from his Sudoku. "I could really go for a lobster, Davey." Davey just gives Freddy a look that suggests he will not be getting any for at least twenty-four hours.
"Leisl needs them to live!" Franz says, but Davey remains firm, convinced that their chirping is crying for mercy.
"Look," Freddy says uncomfortably, feeding an already-dead cricket to Leisl, who chomps it down with the guava Davey got her as a a conciliatory gesture, since it's usually too expensive for Franz to bother. "Davey...read some books as a kid. Propaganda, really. Like James and the Giant Peach. And The Cricket in Times Square. He really liked that last one."
"I am not familiar with it," Franz says.
"There's a cricket who lives in Times Square... I don't know, I think it's pretty self-explanatory," Freddy shrugs. "He asked me to read it but then I reminded him I have, like, essays to write. Anyways, he does feel kinda bad."
"She scares away my conquests," Franz says sadly, watching Leisl happily decimate several crickets, which now come already dead and take up a mini-fridge in Franz's room. "When we are getting passionate, if they see her, they run."
"Ahah!" Freddy points a finger at Franz, like he's just realized something genius. "But the good ones, they stay."
"True," Franz allows.
"And," Freddy goes on, "you can't be into a lizard watching you do the nasty without being kind of freaky."
"I suppose there is relationship of the kinky, yes," Franz admits.
"You're welcome," Freddy says, extremely gracious.
Reason Four:
The next to fall to prey to Davey's tyrannical regime is Franz's erotic artwork. "It's porn," Davey says.
"You are all fascist Puritans," Franz declares. "And yes, Davey, I know that they are not even remotely related. But the American attitude towards sexually explicit artwork is quite repressive."
"Uh oh," Freddy says from behind his book of Calvin and Hobbes," he's talking like how he writes his essays. You got him mad."
"Look," Davey sighs, "I know you two used to keep your apartment in such ridiculous shape that I only came here because Freddy was whiny -"
"- slander." Freddy interjects.
" - very whiny," Davey continues as if Freddy hadn't spoken. "But honestly, it was a pigsty. And I'd like to have friends over. Or, you know, my mother. I mean, we're all adults here."
"Of course we are." Franz crosses his arms, extremely affronted. "This I would not leave out if children were around. Who do you think I am?"
"Freddy," Davey begins pointedly, instead of answering, turning to him with pleading eyes. Freddy immediately lifts his book like a deflector shield.
"No," he says. "No. You two always put me in the middle of things. Figure it out on your own."
"Rocks Paper Scissors?" Franz asks. And that is how Franz loses the right to keep his artwork (his nice, framed artwork) anywhere but his room.
"Now my room looks like a seedy motel," Franz says morosely, straightening his favorite picture, a charcoal drawing of, yes, someone giving head, but it's a very artistic rendering. "Leisl and the drawings? It is like I am a fifty year old man with unruly chest hair who lives in his mother's basement. One or the other might be sexy in a quirky way, but both together seem very...unforgivable."
"Please," Freddy says, straightening the black and white portrait of a threesome. "You came up with the rules, you lost, and you'll still get plenty of sex."
"But you will get more."
Freddy looks smug, leaning back to see if the picture is level. "Yeah, I will," he says.
Reason Five:
Franz thought that perhaps when they all lived together he could finally use Davey to break Freddy of all the annoying habits he has, because Davey is the only person Freddy ever listens to. There are a few things Davey and Freddy adjust around each other now that they cohabitate - Freddy starts cleaning his hair out of the shower drain, thank god, and Davey stops leaving half-finished plates of food or ridiculously stinky cups of exotic tea when he wanders off to go compose or do whatever secret genius machinations Davey does. But they seem utterly immune to each other's most annoying traits. Like, for instance, Freddy still cracks his knuckles all the damn time, and Davey doesn't even blink.
"Why do you not make him stop?" He asks Davey when Freddy leaves the room after cracking his entire spine.
"Stop what?" Davey looks up from his crossword, blinking behind his reading glasses.
"He cracks his bones," Franz says. "It is like nails on chalkboards."
"Oh, right," Davey says absently. "Joey does it even more than him, I don't even notice."
Franz makes a note to avoid ever living with Davey's brother. "Make him stop," he begs. "I have tried for years."
"I can't make him do anything," Davey says, fondly exasperated. "I can only make him stop doing things around me. I know perfectly well he keeps doing it when I'm not around."
Franz just shoots Davey a pleading look when Freddy comes back in the room with two steaming mugs. "Here," he says, kissing Davey's temple. "Ginger tea, no milk, no honey, just how you like it." "How Davey likes it" means it's strong and pungent enough to stink up the entire room. With a sigh, Franz puts his bowl of pasta and meatballs to the side. Ginger does not go well with Italian. He shoots Davey a helpless look when Freddy cracks his neck before settling down to his hot cocoa.
"Freddy," Davey tries timidly. "Baby. It really bothers Franz when you crack your joints, so could you, you know... stop?"
"Sure," Freddy says, but that lasts an entire episode of Cash Cab before Freddy is sighing with disappointment at another group who have gotten kicked out on an easy question, cracking his toes as he stretches, and Davey doesn't even blink. Just like he doesn't care when Freddy tunelessly scats in the shower. ("I think it's adorable," Davey says, turning bright pink when Franz complains.)
Davey isn't a saint either. He's a complete fascist when it comes to recycling. (And Franz is German, so he knows better than to use that word lightly.) He actually yells if someone throws out papers or soda cans. He saves all their plastic bottles and lectures them on trash heaps and the preciousness of fossil fuels while he refills them and tells them not to buy new water bottles (or else). Freddy does, too. He keeps the thermostat low in the winter and changes all the light bulbs to energy efficient ones and deposits bottles at the supermarket and goes shopping with reusable bags. ("It's the most passionate Davey gets, when he's all about, you know, green things or things that are fuzzy," Freddy says, when Franz gets tired of Davey glaring daggers at his trashcan full of old papers and complains. "Well, you know," he coughs. "The most that he does in public, anyways.") And he's weirdly OCD about certain things. He gets fussy and quietly irritated when Franz moves the pillows around the living room or has a cold drink from a coffee mug. Freddy also seems to find this deeply endearing.
"See, Davey likes things to be..." Freddy waves his hands around before passing the soccer ball to Franz while they play in the park. "Consistent. Predictable. Doesn't like surprises."
"That is ridiculous," Franz pops the ball in the air and starts bouncing it on his knee. "Surprise parties, he must like. Everyone likes."
"Not Davey," Freddy smiles to himself, secretive and happy. It makes Freddy look somehow both far less handsome and far more approachable. "I wanted to give him one for his seventeenth, but Mary said they tried that for his fifth birthday and he cried."
"So I see why he is with you," Franz snorts. "You are the most predictable man on earth. All Davey ever has to give you is sex and food." He passes the ball to Freddy, who kicks it back and forth between his feet before returning the pass.
"They need to find a way to combine the two," Freddy says in the thoughtful voice he uses when he's convinced he's on the brink of a genius discovery that will save him from having to actually make a decision towards what he'll do with his life. If he could make money being Davey's housewife and/or sex slave, he would probably die happy.
"Good luck with that," Franz says, and punts the ball at Freddy's stupid face.
Reason Six:
Freddy and Davey are exceedingly smug, as a couple, which gets old pretty fast. Sure, Franz thinks, they have a right to be. After all, who really meets their soulmate by literally tripping over them? It's all very Hugh Grant romantic comedy, the entire thing.
But Freddy and Davey have this thing where they think that just because they got lucky, just because they're so special and get to have good sex all the time, means that they have a right to pass judgment on other people and the methods they have to resort to to get off, or the people they resort to getting off with. And since Joey doesn't live with them or they don't know about his one night stands, they obsess over Franz's like it's their favorite soap opera or something. And what's worse, they have a rating system for his one-night stands. They'll get up all early under the pretense of "wanting breakfast" (like Davey ever usually wants breakfast that early) and will smirk knowingly at whoever is fleeing from Franz's room, adjusting their clothes from the night before.
"Seven," Davey says, after what's-her-face from the night before and her barely-there dress are out the door. "Though a nine on the hotness scale, if we're assuming that hot means skanky."
"With Franz, we always assume hot means skanky," Freddy says into his cup of coffee. "But I've seen skankier, I only give her an eight and a half there. And a four on the sex."
"There is no way!" Davey exclaims hotly, waving his healthy-alternative turkey bacon, which Freddy claimed to not eat on principle, but Franz had caught him sneaking it more times than he could count. "Nine point five! You heard them when we came back from he movies, that was porn star moaning!"
"Trust me, Davey, that was his 'compensating so it'll be over soon' moaning," Freddy says darkly. "Plus, no girl gets boob implants like that unless the want guys to be blinded by them enough to not notice how bad they are at sex."
Davey looks repulsed. "Girls do that? Guys fall for that?"
"So innocent," Freddy mutters fondly. "Okay Franz," he says in a normal tone, turning to face him. "Ratings. Go."
"Sex was a three," Franz sighs, stealing the rest of Davey's bacon off of his plate as payment for having to rehash.
"Okay, how is that even possible?" Davey looks exceedingly troubled while he pours his tea. "What does that even feel like? How can you have sex when it's at a three?"
"You two have never had bad sex," Franz says dubiously.
"N- Yes," Freddy starts nodding emphatically. "What about the first time we - "
Davey winces. "Well, yes..."
"That was a four, because we managed to - "
"Ah," Davey nods, and then looks troubled. "No way it gets worse than that and you keep, you know. I mean I didn't..."
"What about the time we tried that thing from the internet with the..." Freddy makes a vague gesture. "It's like that, but without, you know, making up for it."
"Still confused," Davey says.
"I am horny and she was hot!" Franz says, frustrated. "That is how I stayed hard, okay?"
"Yes, but how hot?" Davey asks eagerly.
"Six."
"What?" Freddy and Davey yelp in unison.
"Okay, I'm gay, and I'm insulted on her behalf," Davey says indignantly.
"Fake boobs," Franz sighs. "Look nice, never feel as nice or make up for the problems."
"You know," Freddy says in the same voice he uses whenever he as hearkening back to his Freshman Psychology course, which has convinced him that he had some sort of deep insight to the human condition. "Franz's inability to commit may be due to his unrealistically high expectations."
"Ooh," Davey looks exceedingly impressed. "That's actually... surprisingly astute."
"Thank you," Freddy says, leaning in to give Davey a kiss which Davey latches onto, locking his fingers in Freddy's t-shirt and smiling slightly.
"I do not have high expectations!" Franz says loudly, before this degenerated into a prolonged soppy makeout. Again.
Freddy pulls back reluctantly, still holding Davey close. "You have very high expectations," he sighs. "Remember Tiffany? Gina? Alec? Brad? Kat? M-"
"I do not have high expectations," Franz repeats. "Here is what I would like, someone physically attractive who I continue to be interested in having good sex with, and also I can perhaps enjoy in the light of day."
"Yes, but what that means to normal people and what that means to you are, like, five different things," Freddy says, taking another sip from his mug. "I mean, Gina was sort of funny-looking, I agree," Davey makes the same disapproving noise he makes whenever Franz and Freddy start objectifying people in front of him, "and Brad was about as interesting as a watching paint dry, but everyone else has been pretty damn great."
"Well maybe it's not so bad," Davey says softly, placating, laying his hand on Freddy's arm. "I mean, I'm picky, and I found you, didn't I?"
Freddy's face softens so much it's almost unrecognizable, and Franz feels suddenly deeply guilty, like how other people must feel when they see someone else naked or having sex. Franz usually just wants to join in, study, or provide commentary. Or do all three at once. But when Freddy and Davey look at each other like that, it doesn't matter that they're both pretty damn attractive, he'd rather take his eyes out with a rusty spoon than stick around.
"Yeah," Freddy says roughly, putting his mug down on the counter so he can hold onto Davey with both hands. "Yeah, you did. It's too bad I've got such low expectations, or - ow!" He yelps, rubbing his arm where Davey had pinched him.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Davey says, his eyes wide. "I must not have heard you, maybe you can find someone who's worthy of somebody with taste and standards, I bet they could get that looked into."
"Oh," Freddy's grin turns lewd, focused, "I'll look into it alright..."
"Mach es dir selber," Franz swears, stomping off to his room with his bowl of Puffins as Freddy and Davey degenerate into uselessness. He slams the door shut, but even through it he can hear giggling and thwacking noises, and then the quiet punctuated only by breathy moans that meant Freddy and Davey would probably move to their room soon and be completely useless for the rest of the day. With a sigh, he feeds a curious Leisl, puts the abandoned underwear from last night's girl in his box of discarded clothing from former conquests, and then dumps out his too-soggy cereal.
He's far too nauseated to eat now, to be quite honest.
Reason Seven:
Franz is sitting watching a movie with his girlfriend of the month, Allison, when Davey comes out of his room all dressed up and looking vaguely irritated about it.
"What the hell are you wearing?" Franz asks.
"It's a tie," Davey says grumpily, tugging at it. "I thought you'd recognize it. I know for a fact they have ties in Germany." Allison giggles and Franz glares at Davey. "Freddy insisted for our date tonight," Davey says, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button.
"What, for eating burgers or sushi?"
"Nah, some fancy French restaurant... Les Nomades." Davey shrugs. "Regina and Alex went there and it was apparently one of the best meals they ever ate, so they gave Freddy and me an open check for Christmas. And Freddy forgot about it until now."
"Sounds... fantastic," Franz says flatly.
"Hey, I'm all for the food," Davey sighs, sitting down in the overstuffed armchair and stretching out, like he is already exhausted beyond his human capacity. "It's the stupid dress code I have a problem with. I'm just glad there's no way Freddy can get away with his fedora there."
"Where is Freddy, anyways?" Allison asks, pausing the movie so she can listen.
"He kicked me out," Davey looks torn between disgust and fondness. "He wants to get all prettied up without me seeing him so it's a surprise. Even though I've seen him like this a billion times."
"That's sweet," Allison sighs. "How long have you two been going out?"
"Almost... Christ..." Davey rubs his hand over his eyes. "This March is seven years."
"Forever, basically," Franz says. "They are married. It is disgusting."
"I think it's darling," Allison says reproachfully.
"What's sweet?" Freddy asks, coming out of the bedroom. He's in his suit and tie, his hair is all combed down and wet, and he's nervously fiddling with his ears. He's not even wearing his gallons of cologne, probably because Davey forbade him.
"You," Davey grins, getting up to comb down a few curls that are struggling for freedom. "Stop fussing with your ears, they're lovely."
"So was your tie," Freddy says, re-tightening it sternly. "What is your deal with it?"
"It's strangling me," Davey whines. "Why can't I just wear my nice sweater?"
"Because you know how much I love you in ties," Freddy murmurs, low and intimate against Davey's neck before he presses a kiss against Davey's throat. Franz pointedly looks at the ceiling until they're done.
"Okay, kids," Davey says, pulling back. He is bright-eyed and flushed, grinning with almost manic wideness. "We're off. Don't wait up for us."
"Yes, yes, our teeth will be brushed and we will be in bed at eight." Franz says, waving them out the door. There is silence for a moment, and then Allison lets out a dreamy sigh.
"They're so cute," she coos.
"They have their moments," Franz says. "Want to start the movie again?"
"I mean," Allison sighs, looking up at Franz through her eyelashes, "do you think we'll be that cute?" And that is when Franz feels the cold fingers of dread.
Despite Freddy and Davey's orders, Franz does wait up for them, sulking in the dark. They don't come back until almost midnight, laughing softly and stopping every five seconds to kiss.
"Let me put away the leftovers," Davey whispers, pulling away and opening the refrigerator. He looks flushed and maybe a little tipsy in the dim light. "Franz is going to love those sweetbreads. And don't even try with some smooth come-on line."
"But Davey," Freddy sing-songs, coming behind him and nuzzling into his neck, "You're my sweet, sweet..."
Davey laughs, loud and clear, putting down the containers to wind his arms around Freddy's neck, which is all Franz sees before Davey kicks the refrigerator closed. Then it's all dark again and Freddy and Davey sound like they're really getting hot and heavy, so Franz thinks it's a good idea to intervene there, flipping the light on and clearing his throat loudly.
"Fucking Christ," Freddy swears, blinking and squinting. "What the hell, you asshole?"
"I thought you'd be in your room with Allison," Davey says, bright red and still clinging to Freddy like he is the last thing that makes sense in this scenario, and when Freddy is the only thing that makes sense, clearly the situation is blown to hell.
"Yeah, funny thing," Franz grinds out, "you lost me another lay."
"Oh, no," Davey says sadly, going to sit down on the couch. Freddy follows him like an obedient puppy. An obedient, sexually frustrated puppy.
"You just had to show off," Franz says, pacing and gesticulating wildly. He's had a very long time to build up a head of steam, and he's pissed. "Had to act all lovey-dovey so my girlfriend is wanting to have the talk about if we would be cute in rockers on a porch together. We had been on dates for three weeks and everything is fantastic, and then she meets you two and becomes a clingy nightmare. And she was great in bed! Do you know she enjoyed giving me blowjobs?"
"Well now I wish I didn't," Freddy mutters.
"That is like a meeting with a rare and magical unicorn!" Franz points dramatically at Freddy. "It is like a meeting with one and then you have sex with it."
"So, um," Davey raises his hand meekly, as if he's in class. "If you enjoyed having sex with, um, your unicorn so much, why not stay with her?"
"Three weeks!" Franz flails. "Three weeks and she stops a movie with Sandra Bullock - and it is not that Crash movie - and asks me honestly if she can see us grow old together!"
"I think the real problem started when you agreed to watch Miss Congeniality," Freddy says. "That's, like, asking for failure and awkward questions. So if you think about it, it's really not our fault at all."
"Really?" Davey asks, turning to him. "You're really going for the 'blame Sandra Bullock' approach. Really? Because I sort of feel like we should leave her out of this right now."
"Well," Freddy says, "if the chin fits..."
"See this?" Franz points between them. "This exactly! Stop this immediately!"
"Stop what?" Davey blinks. "Talking?"
"Oh Christ," Franz groans, burying his face in his hands. He is doomed to never get consistently laid ever, ever again.
Reason Eight:
The only qualm Franz has ever had about coming to college in America was the whole weird thing with smoking pot. The fact that it was illegal was, by far, the most ridiculous thing Franz had ever come across. He took a pre-law course his very first semester so he could learn everything else this ridiculous, uptight country might have outlawed, but that's really the worst one. It's not just smoking pot, it's smoking anything. Smoking is technically outlawed in the dorms, but people do it anyways and then use air freshener or something. From the beginning, Freddy had banned that.
"Look," he'd said seriously the first day they were together. "I'm not stopping you from lung cancer or whatever, but if my boyfriend smells this on me, he won't put out. And I've already decided I'm either going Evil Knievel style or it's old age for me, so if I die of sexual frustration instead, I'm gonna kill you and take you with me."
Franz supposes that attitude is okay because unless you run into an American who smokes, that's pretty much their opinion, period. Hell, he's met smokers who have that attitude too, they just can't quit. And Freddy smokes pot when Davey's not around. At first, Franz hadn't thought much of it, because Davey didn't drink either. And then, even when he knew it was more than that, he'd thought maybe Freddy was just being over-sensitive because Davey had him by the dick, and then Davey moved in and banned pot in the house period. And even Freddy won't move an inch on this one.
"You know it's a big deal to him," he says.
"And you miss it, don't you?" Franz asks.
"If I wanted to, I could go crash at somebody else's and smoke up," Freddy shrugs. "It's not like he's forbidding me. But it's not really worth it."
"But Davey - "
"Davey has a good reason to hate it," Freddy says quietly, steely.
It's the only truly sore point between them, spawned from one session smoking up sophomore year when Franz had nudged Freddy with his toe and gone "Davey... gets all, like, you know. When he sees the bong. The fuck's up with that?" And Freddy, high and slurring his words, had told him the whole story, about Davey's dead uncle and his dad and his mother who's lost so much, who keeps all of her hurt stuffed behind a barely-closed door for the sake of her sanity.
"Y'don't mention his uncle Mitch or pot in that house, man," Freddy had said through a twinkie. "Mean, it started as pot with him too, and then he was doing the hard stuff and..." Freddy made a sloppy slash across his throat, going for the next Hostess package. "Apparently Joey came home once - before I even knew him, man - smelling of the stuff after one puff at a fucking party and Mary, fuck, she actually yelled and shit. Fuck, man, she never yells 'less she's gotta be heard. Real screaming, apparently. Can't even imagine it."
"Fuuuuuuuuuuck," Franz said, partially in sympathy and partially because the word felt cool in his mouth.
And then, a week later he'd made some comment to Davey, offhand when Davey was looking at his bong like it was radiating leprosy, and Franz had been lectured about smoking a clove that day and failed a paper, so he was already feeling testy enough to let them both have it when Freddy had snapped on Davey's behalf. He called them both Dickensian faggot asswads, obsessed with their collective tragic past, puritanical, and several other hugely insulting things that, while true, he probably shouldn't have let loose. Davey had abruptly gone white as a sheet and stormed out, and the next thing Franz knew Freddy had punched him, hard enough to give him a black eye, and slept at home and wouldn't talk to him for a week. It's still the worst fight they've ever been in.
"You just don't do it here," Freddy says now, calmly. "You don't do it here, and that's all there is to it. This isn't just Davey's rule, it's mine now too, and it's un-fucking-breakable."
Just because Franz deserves Freddy's anger, his one unbreakable rule, doesn't mean he doesn't resent Davey for making him this way.
Reason Nine:
Franz's parents tell each other everything (sometimes, Franz thinks, psychically), so he's not exactly weirded out by the fact that every day at least once he will have to listen to Freddy recount his entire day to Davey over the phone in technicolor detail. Sure, Freddy goes into way more detail than anyone in their right mind ever would (why does Davey need to know about Freddy's feet smelling funny or that the vending machine is out of Oreos?), but no one in their right mind would date Freddy in the first place, so it's a bit of a moot point.
There is a bit of a repeat, sometimes, if there's a really good or important story, like when Freddy forgot his class was canceled and then found the TA and his girlfriend doing the nasty in the lecture hall. Those are the sorts of stories Franz is used to hearing twice, or more, depending on how good the story is. That TA story lasted a while.
"I'm conducting an experiment," Freddy informs him one day. "I'm trying to see if pigeons who eat Skittles will poop in all the colors of the rainbow."
"That is wonderful," Franz says, bored. "I am glad to see your tuition goes to such excellent use."
"Or maybe," Freddy says thoughtfully, getting really into it, "they'll mix. Maybe I should start picking out colors and feeding them only, like, blue skittles."
"This is fascinating," Franz says, purposefully lifting his magazine so Freddy will see he is reading and stop bothering him.
"Then again," Freddy plows on, completely oblivious, "maybe the colors will swirl and it'll be, like, van Gogh. This could be fine art pigeon shit. I could make millions."
"How is he making millions?" Davey asks, coming in the apartment and shaking out his rain-wet hair. "It's really pouring out there."
"Pigeons!" Freddy explains joyfully.
"Are we breeding messenger pigeons now?" Davey asks, coming over to press a hello kiss against the top of Freddy's head, and then "Ack, Freddy, I'm getting you all wet." Franz looks up just in time to see Freddy pull Davey into his lap.
"No, no, listen Davey," he insists, "Listen, I'm performing an experiment on the pigeons in front of work."
"Oh, god," Davey mutters. "Do I want to know? Franz, tell me if I want to know."
"You want to know," Franz says, licking his finger and prying to stubborn pages apart. "I did not want to know, but you? You want to know."
"I'm feeding them Skittles to see if they poop all the colors of the rainbow," Freddy beams. "Great, right?"
"Freddy!" Davey yelps. "You know not to do that! What have I told you about doing that?"
"Uh..." Freddy's eyes dart from side to side.
"It is not healthy for the urban ecosystem and destroys the pigeon's ability to fend for itself," Franz mutters under his breath.
"-told you it destroys the pigeon's ability to fend for itself!" Davey finishes righteously. "And besides, that's animal testing! What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking about them pooping artwork like van Gogh!" Freddy says. "van Gogh pigeons, Davey!" Davey makes a face. "Furthering the scientific method!" Freddy tries. Davey shakes his head and gets up to go to their room and change into something probably drier. "Listen, I'm advancing science -" Franz hears, before the door slams and then it's just 'murmur murmur murmur PIGEONS murmur murmur murmur SCIENCE murmur murmur COLORS murmur' and he gets to read about Lindsay Lohan in peace.
The peace, of course, is short-lived. When Freddy and Davey get in one of their arguments (which, of course, never have the decency to be actual arguments, just tiffs over ridiculous things like multicolored pigeon poop), they both use him to vent their frustrations with the other. If he hears one more thing about ecological sustainability or shit masterpieces, and then he has to hear it repeated again when they argue with each other, only to hear it a third time when the other is repeating the argument incredulously, he will seriously go insane.
He finally loses it when Freddy has discovered that yes, the pigeons do poop colors and no, it does not swirl, but yes, it resembles Jackson Pollack paintings and thereby is cool.
"Oh my god, shut up," he yells when Davey opens his mouth to offer his rebuttal ("blah blah bad for the pigeons blah blah blah"). "Stop the repeats of things! Stop telling me things! Do not have stupid arguments! In fact, why don't you two just not speak?"
Freddy and Davey blink at him mutely.
"See this?" Franz waves his hands in an all-encompassing manner. "This silence? I like this! I like to not hear something repeated a million times!"
"But - " Davey begins, but Franz cuts him off.
"No!" He says. "No buts! Do not talk! Do not speak to me!"
"Well you could have just said something," Freddy mutters rebelliously.
You would not have heard me over your incessant talk!"
"Fine," Freddy sniffs. "See if you get a Pigeon Poop Pollack, first edition."
"There will be no editions," Davey says, crossing his arms. "Freddy, seriously, this is ridiculous. Are you aware of how much this screws up the pigeon just in terms of diet? It needs - "
"Augh!" Franz yells, storming out of the room and slamming the door.
"Murmur murmur nutritional needs murmur murmur delicate ecosystem murmur," says Davey's voice through his wall, indistinctly.
Reason Ten:
Every other Sunday, Davey rounds Freddy and Franz up in the living room and makes them actually clean, which, as far as Franz is concerned, is simply cruel and unusual. The only nice thing is that Freddy is totally not on Davey's side on this one.
"But why?" He moans when Davey hands him the kitchen cleaner. "We don't have ants, and the rule is, no vacuuming until we have ants."
"Or cockroaches," Franz points out, looking dubiously at the dustbuster Davey hands him.
"Because Franz is allergic to the dust and I don't like hearing him blow his nose every five seconds, and because I never want to live with cockroaches," Davey says. "Also, it's gross and makes you sick."
"It builds up your immune system," Freddy swears. "Honestly, I have an immune system of steel, Davey."
"Come on," Davey wheedles. "I'm even doing the bathroom, which is the grossest, hardest job."
Freddy and Franz look mutinously at each other and then at Davey.
"I'll get you both slices of my mom's Bavarian triple-chocolate fudge cake every time you clean?" Davey tries.
Freddy and Franz look at each other, and then shrug. But even the Bavarian triple-chocolate fudge cake is not enough to make up for some of the injustices Davey forces them to endure, like throwing out their mold artwork.
"Stuart!" He hears Freddy yelp, and then Franz is running into the kitchen, dustbuster held aloft like a weapon. "Don't hurt Stuart!"
"Who's Stuart?" Davey asks, freezing.
"The fuzzy cantaloupe," Franz says. "He is our friend."
"Not Matilda!' Freddy says, digging the moldy mustard out of the trash. "Davey, you're ruining our artwork."
"Your what?"
"We let the mold grow," Franz explains. "It is pretty." He takes Stuart and tilts him so Davey can see the mold patterns. "See? He just developed the blue recently."
"Matilda's our best friend," Freddy beams, opening the jar and turning his face away to avoid the smell. Davey doesn't know enough to do so, and ends up choking. Rookie mistake. "See, she's old and white now. And furry."
"Oh, god," Davey says faintly. "That is the most revolting thing I've heard in my entire life."
"Don't listen to him," Franz coos to Stuart, moving him away from Davey. "He doesn't understand you."
Of course, Davey gets his way by threatening not to cook for them anymore, but he does allow Franz and Freddy to have an impromptu funeral by the trash can. Franz sings Amazing Grace and Freddy agrees it's very moving.
"You know," Franz says two months later, thickly through his payment of cake (this week - key lime cheesecake), "we do get sick less."
"Less than what?" Freddy asks, sucking on his fork.
"Before we cleaned regularly," Franz says. "I get less sick."
"I throw up less," Freddy agrees, "I don't eat any moldy food by accident."
"Does this mean Davey's right?" Franz asks, using his finger to get a few stray graham cracker crumbs.
"He's always right," Freddy says darkly. "It's his worst flaw."
"But his mother makes good cheesecake," Franz reminds Freddy. "And he is good in bed, or so I hear."
"Yeah, well," Freddy shrugs. "Never said he didn't have his redeeming qualities."
Reason One:
But at the end of the day, with Davey, there's always good food in the refrigerator, there's more laughter around the house, and the rent gets paid on time, not when the landlord comes knocking on the door like he'd rather be using his fist on their faces. And best of all, Freddy's glowing. He's happy all the time, even when he's stressed, even when he's upset. Franz thinks Davey is happier (though he has nothing to compare it to, really) and he knows that, in spite of everything, he's happier. It's impossible to be around that much happiness and be fed as well as Davey feeds them (which feels like ambrosia after a lifetime of his mother's inept fumbling and three years of cafeteria food) and not feel lighter, somehow.
It's nice, when he comes home from hard partying and collapses on the couch, he collapses in an actual room that has some semblance of being put together. It's far better than his and Freddy's previous attempts at interior decorating, which were haphazard at best. Before Davey, they didn't even have a couch, and now they have a living room that might not be what Freddy would deem "gay-worthy", but at least doesn't look like a college dorm room and a Walmart had a tragic one-night stand. There are bookshelves, and picture frames, and framed art. Even one of Franz's more abstract nudes has been released, on the grounds that it's almost Georgia O'Keefe-ian - you don't realize it's a naked lady until it's pointed out to you, and then it's all you see. And it's nice that Davey did that for him, even though Franz lost Rocks Paper Scissors fair and square.
And it's nice that around 10:30 in the morning, Davey will blearily shuffle out of his room and spot Franz, hung over, and care for him. He'll bring out Franz's sweatpants and help wrestle him out of his jeans and into them, he'll line up Franz's shoes by the door and tuck him under the quilt (another new addition, quilts). He'll bring him toast and orange juice and aspirin, and he will not speak loudly or bang things like Freddy used to to just to tease him.
When Freddy comes home from his morning run Davey will intercept him by the door, murmuring quietly about being considerate and quiet and other qualities that are the very antithesis of Freddy. And the funny thing is, Freddy does, every time. He swallows his whooping and yelling and stomping and instead kisses Davey, gentle and adoring. After he does that is when Franz knows it's safe to half-open his eyes and watch them, because he could dance around naked screaming, and the two of them probably wouldn't notice.
"...crazy with your Florence Nightingale shit," Freddy will stage-whisper, which is the closest to whispering anyone can hope for. Davey replies in an actual whisper, something about sympathy and headaches. Whatever he says always makes Freddy's face go helplessly soft. It's voyeuristic and sick, but that's what Franz watches for, that and Davey's expression of utter fondness. It's not smoldering, like some of the looks he finds himself caught in the middle of sometimes, but warm and glowing like a fire. It's the feeling he used to get when his father gravely took his mother's hand or swallowed down another one of her microwave dinners or his mother ironed his father's suits, that feeling of watching two people who are absolutely meant for each other do something innocuous and yet perfectly demonstrative of the depth of their affection. It's delicate and impossible to capture, and so Franz considers himself to be something of an avid collector of those moments, as fleeting and delicate as they are.
"He looks so sad and floppy when he's hung over," Davey will say. "I can't help it."
"You're such a freaking mother hen," Freddy will reply. And it's true. Davey makes sure they get balanced meals and have clean underwear. Freddy needs someone like that, or else he will become bogged down in his own shit and incapable of drinking a glass of water without choking to death on his own spit. And Davey pathologically seems to need someone to fuss over. They're good for each other like that.
The rest of the conversation varies from there - Davey and Freddy staring into each other's eyes and stupidly glowing (and not just from the morning sun streaming through the window), Davey actually whispering and Freddy pretending it's physically possible for him to whisper, before they quietly, almost guiltily scurry to the bedroom or shower. Franz usually falls asleep to running water, muffled laughter, kissing noises, and murmured nauseating endearments.
There are worse ways to live, he thinks. Far, far worse.