Save Me Chapter 5
Title: Save Me
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Genre: AU
Warning(s): A lot of angst.
Disclaimer: The real-life characters do not belong to me, and the story is fictional.
Summary: David Archuleta is desperate, but when he meets and gets to know David Cook, he must decide if their unconventional relationship is merely a web of lies or his only hope to untangle a complicated knot in his life.
5
They linger in the hallway until their thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of Brooke and Dave shuffling around the kitchen. David peers down at his feet awkwardly while Cook continues to gaze at him, unsure of what exactly, if anything at all, is happening between himself and this considerate stranger.
“I should, uh, get going,” Cook says finally, halfheartedly checking his watch. It’s almost half past one.
He does not get very far before David catches up with him out in the entryway of the apartment.
“Do you, um…” David is fidgeting and Cook, quite frankly, finds it rather adorable. “Maybe you can stay? I mean, it’s late and…” His eyes dart from here to there, searching for a reasonable excuse. “If Amber looks for you tomorrow when she wakes up then I wouldn’t know -”
Cook makes it easier for him. “Do you live in the other apartment on this floor?”
Locking his eyes with Cook at last, David lets out a breath. “Yeah. 3A.”
“Lead the way.”
The two say goodnight to Brooke and Dave, and David steps forward to embrace the couple. He asks if it’s really all right that Amber stays another night, and Brooke just waves her hand and assures him not to worry. Next to her, Dave nods and adds that David should take care of his guest, meaning Cook.
“How did you find neighbors like them in Manhattan?” Cook inquires incredulously while they walk the short distance from Brooke’s flat to David’s.
“I really lucked out,” David admits.
Once inside, David shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on a peg by the front door, and Cook does the same with his before walking in further. The living room, judging from the things found in it, is clearly Amber’s territory, although the cleanliness is David’s meticulous touch. Toys and art supplies and board games and movies are organized into labeled plastic containers that are sitting on built-in shelves. Cook thinks back on his own flat, with clothes and magazines strewn over the furniture and lying there until hired help intervenes.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Uh, sure. Maybe just water.”
David motions at Cook to follow him into kitchen, which is spotless. Cook’s eyes trail across the stainless steel appliances to the clean-cut design of the cupboards to the granite countertop, at the end of which sits an unopened bottle of premier wine.
Cook cocks an eyebrow. David glances at what Cook sees and stiffens a bit. “I got it from… someone I know a few days ago. I haven’t had a chance to throw it out.”
His tone gives it away that the “someone” he knows is a client, and Cook suddenly feels guilty for making David have to talk around it.
“Thanks,” he murmurs when David hands him a glass of cold water.
They sit at the dining table, not made out of chestnut and bursting with invitation like Brooke’s but sleekly cut from black glass. The bottom of Cook’s cup touches the material with a clink when he sets it down. To his right, David opens a tea bag and drops the pouch end into the steaming mug of hot water. “I can hear you thinking,” he comments while tugging the tea bag around in circles to let the drink brew. “What do you want to ask me?”
Cook gapes a bit at the forthrightness, but in the silence, David continues as if he’s already heard the unspoken question. “My parents passed away when I was sixteen. Car accident. We were living in Long Island at the time.”
There is no light in his eyes as he recounts this, his voice eerily quiet. The sight is deeply disheartening and Cook clutches his glass as he tries to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach.
David sucks in a deep breath and wraps his palms around his heated mug, to see if its warmth can melt the cold that has settled into the left side of his chest. He bites his lower lip, knowing that he should stop himself before he breaks down in front of a stranger.
So he apologizes quickly. “Sorry. You didn’t need to hear that. I don’t know why I…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cook replies. “Do you see me running away? I can handle it. Talk about it if you want.”
When Cook smiles, the tenderness reaches his eyes, a mesmerizing mélange of hazel and grey. David tries to resist their intensity but his mouth begins to move before he can control what comes out of it.
“It’s been three years, but I still can’t put together what happened after the police officer showed up at our door. What I did after he left. I remember hearing about the crash and the paramedics and, how - how it was too late and…” He stops when a sob threatens to escape his throat.
“Hey.” Cook reaches out places his hand on David’s back.
“I don’t think I ever knew what it meant to be alone until then, you know? I was just a teenager, worried about, I don’t know, stupid things. If it weren’t for Amber maybe I…” David is trembling. He doesn’t finish the last sentence but is instead pulled into Cook’s arms by the older man.
Instinctively, he tenses when he becomes wrapped up in Cook, but Cook refuses to release him. David can hear the beat of Cook’s heart and the intimacy between them scares him shitless. But when the hesitance passes, for a reason unbeknownst to him, David lets himself go and allows the tears to roll down his cheeks and the cries to wrack his body. He had swallowed all of his grief at the burial, the funeral and the sympathy for which the sincerity went as far as an uncomfortable squeeze of his shoulder or the clichéd words inside a Hallmark card. Every time the desperation threatened to surface, David had pushed it back down. For Amber, he’d told himself. And for his parents, who would never want to see him shattered.
The officer stepped back into the downpour with the promise that he would be back in the morning first thing to take him to the hospital. David closed the door without a word and collapsed on the carpet lining the foyer. He wanted to speak but there was nothing. His thoughts went from Amber, asleep upstairs, to his parents, whom he would never see again. Never.
Forcing himself to stand, David went into the office for the address book. He flipped through it quickly, and as if in a trance ripped out every name he needed to call, letting the pages fall to the floor. When he grabbed the phone, his legs gave out again and he sank down against his father’s desk, his back digging into the corner of the mahogany.
The officer had offered to do the news breaking to the rest of the family but David had refused. As he dialed the number for his aunt in Miami and listened to the ringing, David wondered if he should have opted out. He felt so drained and nauseous, every inch of his body aching, but he recalled reminding himself that it needed to be done. So when his aunt answered, he gritted his teeth and suppressed the tears. That was already the second time he’d kept himself from crying.
His relatives had flown in from Utah and Miami to take turns looking after David and Amber until after the funeral. None of them really knew what to say, and David didn’t blame them. He and his sister were orphans, frankly, and there was no guide on how to comfort someone like them, if it were even possible.
The afternoon after the funeral, his uncle approached him in the kitchen, appearing pained and uncomfortable. David had to prompt him to speak his mind.
“I just spoke with the bank, David, and, um, it looks like there are a few payments…”
David gripped onto the edge of the countertop, the maple mold digging into his hand. “For what?” he managed to ask.
“Loans,” his uncle said. “Jeff took them out for the business, the last time being two months ago.” He pauses. “Look, David, you know we’ll help you out, right? You don’t have to worry about paying off the house and we’ll talk to the bank for now…”
His uncle kept his promise about their house, but soon David had no choice but to sell it. By the time he had to leave Long Island, it was the end of the school year so his aunt flew him and Amber down to Miami for the summer. Amber asked every morning why David wouldn’t go out with her and their cousins to the beach or anywhere, but David forced a smile and stayed in front of the computer and by the phone, searching for apartments and jobs.
By a stroke of luck he found a one bedroom in Manhattan in August and moved with Amber before September so she could start school. He had to let his aunt rent the place in her name, and she insisted that she provide the first payment. But as soon as he stepped foot in the City again, David accepted all the jobs he could, especially since he was a minor and didn’t have many options in the first place. He’d had no idea that his father had lost so much money and borrowed such an amount, but he barely had the time to contemplate the situation since the bank didn’t fail to remind him that he now had nothing left except for what he would have to earn himself.
+
Sometimes I feel so heavy hearted
But I can’t explain ‘cause I’m so guarded
But that’s a lonely road to travel and a heavy burden to bear
And it’s a long, long way to heaven but I gotta get there
Can you send me an angel?
+
Cook looks down at David, leaning against him and fast asleep like someone who had stayed up for days. The tearstains on his pale cheeks render him so fragile and delicate. His expression is one of exhaustion but altogether it’s almost angelic. Cook doesn’t dare to move in fear of waking him, but when he is certain that David’s breathing is regular he lifts the slender frame in his arms.
Once he lies David down on his bed, Cook pulls up the chair from the desk. He watches as David unconsciously snuggles into the soft comforter and sighs into his pillow.
“Who are you, David Archuleta?” Cook whispers, mostly to himself. “I met you barely a day ago. What are you doing to me?”
David sighs again, and this time his lips remain slightly apart, plush and pink and chapped. Cook is shaking his head helplessly when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Johns.
u gonna thank me yet? :) pricey lunch works. drinks even better.
Cook rolls his eyes and sends his reply, which reads Don’t bet on it. You completely missed the mark on this one.
Johns must’ve been staring at his own phone because a response comes within the minute.
what r u talking about?
With a small smile Cook texts Tell you later. and stands up to head out to the sofa in the living room. He glances back at David once more, turns off the light and shuts the door behind him.
Pairing(s): David Cook/David Archuleta
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Genre: AU
Warning(s): A lot of angst.
Disclaimer: The real-life characters do not belong to me, and the story is fictional.
Summary: David Archuleta is desperate, but when he meets and gets to know David Cook, he must decide if their unconventional relationship is merely a web of lies or his only hope to untangle a complicated knot in his life.
5
They linger in the hallway until their thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of Brooke and Dave shuffling around the kitchen. David peers down at his feet awkwardly while Cook continues to gaze at him, unsure of what exactly, if anything at all, is happening between himself and this considerate stranger.
“I should, uh, get going,” Cook says finally, halfheartedly checking his watch. It’s almost half past one.
He does not get very far before David catches up with him out in the entryway of the apartment.
“Do you, um…” David is fidgeting and Cook, quite frankly, finds it rather adorable. “Maybe you can stay? I mean, it’s late and…” His eyes dart from here to there, searching for a reasonable excuse. “If Amber looks for you tomorrow when she wakes up then I wouldn’t know -”
Cook makes it easier for him. “Do you live in the other apartment on this floor?”
Locking his eyes with Cook at last, David lets out a breath. “Yeah. 3A.”
“Lead the way.”
The two say goodnight to Brooke and Dave, and David steps forward to embrace the couple. He asks if it’s really all right that Amber stays another night, and Brooke just waves her hand and assures him not to worry. Next to her, Dave nods and adds that David should take care of his guest, meaning Cook.
“How did you find neighbors like them in Manhattan?” Cook inquires incredulously while they walk the short distance from Brooke’s flat to David’s.
“I really lucked out,” David admits.
Once inside, David shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on a peg by the front door, and Cook does the same with his before walking in further. The living room, judging from the things found in it, is clearly Amber’s territory, although the cleanliness is David’s meticulous touch. Toys and art supplies and board games and movies are organized into labeled plastic containers that are sitting on built-in shelves. Cook thinks back on his own flat, with clothes and magazines strewn over the furniture and lying there until hired help intervenes.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Uh, sure. Maybe just water.”
David motions at Cook to follow him into kitchen, which is spotless. Cook’s eyes trail across the stainless steel appliances to the clean-cut design of the cupboards to the granite countertop, at the end of which sits an unopened bottle of premier wine.
Cook cocks an eyebrow. David glances at what Cook sees and stiffens a bit. “I got it from… someone I know a few days ago. I haven’t had a chance to throw it out.”
His tone gives it away that the “someone” he knows is a client, and Cook suddenly feels guilty for making David have to talk around it.
“Thanks,” he murmurs when David hands him a glass of cold water.
They sit at the dining table, not made out of chestnut and bursting with invitation like Brooke’s but sleekly cut from black glass. The bottom of Cook’s cup touches the material with a clink when he sets it down. To his right, David opens a tea bag and drops the pouch end into the steaming mug of hot water. “I can hear you thinking,” he comments while tugging the tea bag around in circles to let the drink brew. “What do you want to ask me?”
Cook gapes a bit at the forthrightness, but in the silence, David continues as if he’s already heard the unspoken question. “My parents passed away when I was sixteen. Car accident. We were living in Long Island at the time.”
There is no light in his eyes as he recounts this, his voice eerily quiet. The sight is deeply disheartening and Cook clutches his glass as he tries to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach.
David sucks in a deep breath and wraps his palms around his heated mug, to see if its warmth can melt the cold that has settled into the left side of his chest. He bites his lower lip, knowing that he should stop himself before he breaks down in front of a stranger.
So he apologizes quickly. “Sorry. You didn’t need to hear that. I don’t know why I…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cook replies. “Do you see me running away? I can handle it. Talk about it if you want.”
When Cook smiles, the tenderness reaches his eyes, a mesmerizing mélange of hazel and grey. David tries to resist their intensity but his mouth begins to move before he can control what comes out of it.
“It’s been three years, but I still can’t put together what happened after the police officer showed up at our door. What I did after he left. I remember hearing about the crash and the paramedics and, how - how it was too late and…” He stops when a sob threatens to escape his throat.
“Hey.” Cook reaches out places his hand on David’s back.
“I don’t think I ever knew what it meant to be alone until then, you know? I was just a teenager, worried about, I don’t know, stupid things. If it weren’t for Amber maybe I…” David is trembling. He doesn’t finish the last sentence but is instead pulled into Cook’s arms by the older man.
Instinctively, he tenses when he becomes wrapped up in Cook, but Cook refuses to release him. David can hear the beat of Cook’s heart and the intimacy between them scares him shitless. But when the hesitance passes, for a reason unbeknownst to him, David lets himself go and allows the tears to roll down his cheeks and the cries to wrack his body. He had swallowed all of his grief at the burial, the funeral and the sympathy for which the sincerity went as far as an uncomfortable squeeze of his shoulder or the clichéd words inside a Hallmark card. Every time the desperation threatened to surface, David had pushed it back down. For Amber, he’d told himself. And for his parents, who would never want to see him shattered.
The officer stepped back into the downpour with the promise that he would be back in the morning first thing to take him to the hospital. David closed the door without a word and collapsed on the carpet lining the foyer. He wanted to speak but there was nothing. His thoughts went from Amber, asleep upstairs, to his parents, whom he would never see again. Never.
Forcing himself to stand, David went into the office for the address book. He flipped through it quickly, and as if in a trance ripped out every name he needed to call, letting the pages fall to the floor. When he grabbed the phone, his legs gave out again and he sank down against his father’s desk, his back digging into the corner of the mahogany.
The officer had offered to do the news breaking to the rest of the family but David had refused. As he dialed the number for his aunt in Miami and listened to the ringing, David wondered if he should have opted out. He felt so drained and nauseous, every inch of his body aching, but he recalled reminding himself that it needed to be done. So when his aunt answered, he gritted his teeth and suppressed the tears. That was already the second time he’d kept himself from crying.
His relatives had flown in from Utah and Miami to take turns looking after David and Amber until after the funeral. None of them really knew what to say, and David didn’t blame them. He and his sister were orphans, frankly, and there was no guide on how to comfort someone like them, if it were even possible.
The afternoon after the funeral, his uncle approached him in the kitchen, appearing pained and uncomfortable. David had to prompt him to speak his mind.
“I just spoke with the bank, David, and, um, it looks like there are a few payments…”
David gripped onto the edge of the countertop, the maple mold digging into his hand. “For what?” he managed to ask.
“Loans,” his uncle said. “Jeff took them out for the business, the last time being two months ago.” He pauses. “Look, David, you know we’ll help you out, right? You don’t have to worry about paying off the house and we’ll talk to the bank for now…”
His uncle kept his promise about their house, but soon David had no choice but to sell it. By the time he had to leave Long Island, it was the end of the school year so his aunt flew him and Amber down to Miami for the summer. Amber asked every morning why David wouldn’t go out with her and their cousins to the beach or anywhere, but David forced a smile and stayed in front of the computer and by the phone, searching for apartments and jobs.
By a stroke of luck he found a one bedroom in Manhattan in August and moved with Amber before September so she could start school. He had to let his aunt rent the place in her name, and she insisted that she provide the first payment. But as soon as he stepped foot in the City again, David accepted all the jobs he could, especially since he was a minor and didn’t have many options in the first place. He’d had no idea that his father had lost so much money and borrowed such an amount, but he barely had the time to contemplate the situation since the bank didn’t fail to remind him that he now had nothing left except for what he would have to earn himself.
+
Sometimes I feel so heavy hearted
But I can’t explain ‘cause I’m so guarded
But that’s a lonely road to travel and a heavy burden to bear
And it’s a long, long way to heaven but I gotta get there
Can you send me an angel?
+
Cook looks down at David, leaning against him and fast asleep like someone who had stayed up for days. The tearstains on his pale cheeks render him so fragile and delicate. His expression is one of exhaustion but altogether it’s almost angelic. Cook doesn’t dare to move in fear of waking him, but when he is certain that David’s breathing is regular he lifts the slender frame in his arms.
Once he lies David down on his bed, Cook pulls up the chair from the desk. He watches as David unconsciously snuggles into the soft comforter and sighs into his pillow.
“Who are you, David Archuleta?” Cook whispers, mostly to himself. “I met you barely a day ago. What are you doing to me?”
David sighs again, and this time his lips remain slightly apart, plush and pink and chapped. Cook is shaking his head helplessly when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Johns.
u gonna thank me yet? :) pricey lunch works. drinks even better.
Cook rolls his eyes and sends his reply, which reads Don’t bet on it. You completely missed the mark on this one.
Johns must’ve been staring at his own phone because a response comes within the minute.
what r u talking about?
With a small smile Cook texts Tell you later. and stands up to head out to the sofa in the living room. He glances back at David once more, turns off the light and shuts the door behind him.