Secrets, Part 28&29/46
Story type: High school/college/roommates AU
Warning: Still some angst.
A/N: I’m sorry I don’t always reply to your comments. But I am grateful for them, just so you know, okay?
Go >here< to start from the beginning or >here< to re-read the last part.
Part 28/46
>April 2012<
You don’t plan to ever see Ethan again. You didn’t exchange numbers or anything. When you thought that maybe you should try loving someone else - someone who isn’t Brian - you weren’t thinking about Ethan. You were thinking of a general someone. But here he is nevertheless. Ethan. Sans the violin today, but with a stack of flyers, pushing them into the hands of passing strangers. He hands one to you too, not really seeing you at all. He only looks up when you grab for the pamphlet he’s holding out for you to take; and then he doesn’t let go of it.
“Justin Taylor,” he says with a smirk on his face.
“Ethan, hi.”
“Must be fate, huh?”
You raise an eyebrow.
“That’s the second time we meet in as many days. I’d say someone up there wants us to meet, wouldn’t you?”
Is that a joke? You’re really not sure. Only yesterday you ponder if fate is playing tricks on you or amusing himself at your expense and today you’re discussing the very same thing with a guy who could be, potentially, someone. You decide to play along. Though whether with Ethan or with fate is yet to be determined.
“What’s this?” you ask, pointing to the flyer you both are still holding on to and consciously ignoring his question.
“An invitation,” he says. Then his eyes sparkle with mischief and he pulls the piece of paper from your fingers, turns his back to you and when he appears again a few seconds later, he says, “A personalized invitation,” he grins and gives you the flyer again.
PIFA School of Music Philharmonic, Concert & Choir you read as you glance over the paper. Above the logo of the school, he’d written ‘Dear Justin, I’d be honored to play for you at the…’
“Play for me?” you ask back, not able to contain a grin of your own.
“Well, I’m part of the philharmonic. Actually, I’m the first violin,” he adds not without pride, “and, technically, I’d be playing for the entire house, but I promise you that you’d be on my mind the entire time.” It’s cheesy, and cheap, but you haven’t had enough of it lately, so you smile. “So, will you come? Please?” He makes puppy dog eyes at you and looks so hopeful. How could you say no? You glance at the date - Friday in two weeks. Why the hell not? You did resolve to actively work on changing your life, after all.
“Sure, Ethan, I’d love to come,” you answer.
His eyes grow wide in surprise, like he hadn’t really expected you to say yes and now he’s not looking so confident anymore. “You know it’s a date, right?” It’s funny; Brian always says the opposite. You like this version better. And Ethan looks so uncertain and yet so hopeful, you could learn to find it adorable. You think.
“Yes, it’s a date,” you confirm.
“Does that mean I can take you out to dinner afterwards?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “As long as it’s not a vegan restaurant.” Brian had hauled you to one once, when he started his weird ‘no carbs after seven’ diet.
“Not vegan, I promise. So, uh…” Again the insecurity. How different Ethan was compared to Brian; it really was a study of contrasts.
“What?” you ask, laughing.
“I guess, uhm, that you should give me your number so I can get in touch with you?”
You hesitate, not really sure why, but punch your number into his phone eventually. It’s only on your way home, hours later, that you realize: You’ve got a date. And it’s not with Brian.
You’re not sure whether you’re supposed to feel happy about it or sad.
Part 29/46
>April 2012<
“Sunshine, we’re going out to celebrate,” Brian calls as he walks into the apartment. You stick your head out the door of your bedroom and see him waving an envelope. It looks like a standard letter to you. He walks into your room, still waving the piece of paper, but now directly into your face.
Your “What is it?” overlaps with his “What’s that?” and you glance around your room, taking in the mess it’s in for the first time.
Almost all of your clothes that were once contained in the closet lay spread around or in heaps on the bed, the floor, the dresser, the chair. You’ve never dressed for a concert before; and certainly not for a date afterwards.
“What are you doing?” Brian asks again.
“Trying to choose an outfit.”
“That’s not how you do it,” Brian replies, horrified at the way you’re treating your clothes.
“What’s in the letter?” you ask, wanting to change the topic. Fortunately, it works.
“It’s from Ryder. You remember, the agency I applied for a summer internship at?” he answers.
Of course you remember. Part of Brian’s future plans depended on scoring the position. “You got it?” you exclaim excitedly. “No!”
He grins wolfishly and holds the letter in both hands, keeping it at eye level so you can read.
“Oh, my God!!!” you yell and jump him. His arms wound around you immediately and he spins you around once before letting go again. “I’m so proud of you,” you can’t help but say.
“So, come on, we’re going to celebrate,” he says and your face falls. You can’t.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” He laughs, not taking you seriously. “Yes, your room is a mess, but you don’t have to clean it right now. “Here,” he says, reaching for a pale blue sweater and black slacks. “Wear this. It’ll be perfect.”
You consider the outfit he’s chosen. It is perfect. He holds the clothes out for you to take but you can’t look at him. “I can’t,” you repeat. “Ialreadyhaveadate.”
“What?”
You sigh, breathe deeply and try again, slower this time, and more articulate, “I already have a date.”
His mouth opens, closes, but he remains quiet. Eventually, a smile curves his lips until it’s a full blown grin. “Ha, ha, very funny. You got me. Now, come on. I got us a table at Le Parisien.” He grabs your arm and tries to pull you toward the body-length mirror to get you to start dressing.
“Brian, I’m not joking.” You jerk your arm from his grasp, a bit peeved that he doesn’t believe you and that the idea of you actually having a date seems like such a foreign concept to him. “I do have a date. And I have to get ready or I’ll be late.”
“Call and cancel,” he says matter-of-factly. And now you’re actually angry, though you try not to show it because it’s his day and you don’t want to ruin it.
“I can’t. I don’t have his number.” When you gave Ethan yours, you somehow didn’t think of getting his. “We are going to celebrate your internship, alright? Tomorrow? Please?”
“The table’s for tonight,” he replies and there’s such a deep sadness and disappointment in his voice, it slices right through you. Did you have Ethan’s number, now would be the time that you’d call and cancel. But maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t.
“I’m sorry,” you try to cheer Brian up. “We don’t have to go to Le Parisien. We can celebrate here. Or anywhere. We can do whatever you like, okay?”
Brian shrugs. You’re not sure if it means he’s accepting your offer to postpone his celebration or if he’s going to celebrate without you.
“So, when’s loverboy gonna be there to pick you up?”
“He’s not. I’m meeting him at his school. And his name is Ethan, by the way.”
“Why his school?”
“The PIFA School of Music is holding a concert tonight and he plays the violin in it.”
“Music? Where exactly have you met this guy and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I did. It’s the guy from the street; from when I was late for the movie?”
Brian nods. Then he turns and leaves your room, headed for the kitchen.
“Brian,” you call after him, “We’ll celebrate tomorrow, alright? Think of a place you want to go and I’ll try to make it happen, okay?”
“Whatever,” you hear him mumble as his head disappears in the fridge and comes out with a bottle of beer seconds later.
next
Warning: Still some angst.
A/N: I’m sorry I don’t always reply to your comments. But I am grateful for them, just so you know, okay?
Go >here< to start from the beginning or >here< to re-read the last part.
Part 28/46
>April 2012<
You don’t plan to ever see Ethan again. You didn’t exchange numbers or anything. When you thought that maybe you should try loving someone else - someone who isn’t Brian - you weren’t thinking about Ethan. You were thinking of a general someone. But here he is nevertheless. Ethan. Sans the violin today, but with a stack of flyers, pushing them into the hands of passing strangers. He hands one to you too, not really seeing you at all. He only looks up when you grab for the pamphlet he’s holding out for you to take; and then he doesn’t let go of it.
“Justin Taylor,” he says with a smirk on his face.
“Ethan, hi.”
“Must be fate, huh?”
You raise an eyebrow.
“That’s the second time we meet in as many days. I’d say someone up there wants us to meet, wouldn’t you?”
Is that a joke? You’re really not sure. Only yesterday you ponder if fate is playing tricks on you or amusing himself at your expense and today you’re discussing the very same thing with a guy who could be, potentially, someone. You decide to play along. Though whether with Ethan or with fate is yet to be determined.
“What’s this?” you ask, pointing to the flyer you both are still holding on to and consciously ignoring his question.
“An invitation,” he says. Then his eyes sparkle with mischief and he pulls the piece of paper from your fingers, turns his back to you and when he appears again a few seconds later, he says, “A personalized invitation,” he grins and gives you the flyer again.
PIFA School of Music Philharmonic, Concert & Choir you read as you glance over the paper. Above the logo of the school, he’d written ‘Dear Justin, I’d be honored to play for you at the…’
“Play for me?” you ask back, not able to contain a grin of your own.
“Well, I’m part of the philharmonic. Actually, I’m the first violin,” he adds not without pride, “and, technically, I’d be playing for the entire house, but I promise you that you’d be on my mind the entire time.” It’s cheesy, and cheap, but you haven’t had enough of it lately, so you smile. “So, will you come? Please?” He makes puppy dog eyes at you and looks so hopeful. How could you say no? You glance at the date - Friday in two weeks. Why the hell not? You did resolve to actively work on changing your life, after all.
“Sure, Ethan, I’d love to come,” you answer.
His eyes grow wide in surprise, like he hadn’t really expected you to say yes and now he’s not looking so confident anymore. “You know it’s a date, right?” It’s funny; Brian always says the opposite. You like this version better. And Ethan looks so uncertain and yet so hopeful, you could learn to find it adorable. You think.
“Yes, it’s a date,” you confirm.
“Does that mean I can take you out to dinner afterwards?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “As long as it’s not a vegan restaurant.” Brian had hauled you to one once, when he started his weird ‘no carbs after seven’ diet.
“Not vegan, I promise. So, uh…” Again the insecurity. How different Ethan was compared to Brian; it really was a study of contrasts.
“What?” you ask, laughing.
“I guess, uhm, that you should give me your number so I can get in touch with you?”
You hesitate, not really sure why, but punch your number into his phone eventually. It’s only on your way home, hours later, that you realize: You’ve got a date. And it’s not with Brian.
You’re not sure whether you’re supposed to feel happy about it or sad.
Part 29/46
>April 2012<
“Sunshine, we’re going out to celebrate,” Brian calls as he walks into the apartment. You stick your head out the door of your bedroom and see him waving an envelope. It looks like a standard letter to you. He walks into your room, still waving the piece of paper, but now directly into your face.
Your “What is it?” overlaps with his “What’s that?” and you glance around your room, taking in the mess it’s in for the first time.
Almost all of your clothes that were once contained in the closet lay spread around or in heaps on the bed, the floor, the dresser, the chair. You’ve never dressed for a concert before; and certainly not for a date afterwards.
“What are you doing?” Brian asks again.
“Trying to choose an outfit.”
“That’s not how you do it,” Brian replies, horrified at the way you’re treating your clothes.
“What’s in the letter?” you ask, wanting to change the topic. Fortunately, it works.
“It’s from Ryder. You remember, the agency I applied for a summer internship at?” he answers.
Of course you remember. Part of Brian’s future plans depended on scoring the position. “You got it?” you exclaim excitedly. “No!”
He grins wolfishly and holds the letter in both hands, keeping it at eye level so you can read.
“Oh, my God!!!” you yell and jump him. His arms wound around you immediately and he spins you around once before letting go again. “I’m so proud of you,” you can’t help but say.
“So, come on, we’re going to celebrate,” he says and your face falls. You can’t.
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” He laughs, not taking you seriously. “Yes, your room is a mess, but you don’t have to clean it right now. “Here,” he says, reaching for a pale blue sweater and black slacks. “Wear this. It’ll be perfect.”
You consider the outfit he’s chosen. It is perfect. He holds the clothes out for you to take but you can’t look at him. “I can’t,” you repeat. “Ialreadyhaveadate.”
“What?”
You sigh, breathe deeply and try again, slower this time, and more articulate, “I already have a date.”
His mouth opens, closes, but he remains quiet. Eventually, a smile curves his lips until it’s a full blown grin. “Ha, ha, very funny. You got me. Now, come on. I got us a table at Le Parisien.” He grabs your arm and tries to pull you toward the body-length mirror to get you to start dressing.
“Brian, I’m not joking.” You jerk your arm from his grasp, a bit peeved that he doesn’t believe you and that the idea of you actually having a date seems like such a foreign concept to him. “I do have a date. And I have to get ready or I’ll be late.”
“Call and cancel,” he says matter-of-factly. And now you’re actually angry, though you try not to show it because it’s his day and you don’t want to ruin it.
“I can’t. I don’t have his number.” When you gave Ethan yours, you somehow didn’t think of getting his. “We are going to celebrate your internship, alright? Tomorrow? Please?”
“The table’s for tonight,” he replies and there’s such a deep sadness and disappointment in his voice, it slices right through you. Did you have Ethan’s number, now would be the time that you’d call and cancel. But maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t.
“I’m sorry,” you try to cheer Brian up. “We don’t have to go to Le Parisien. We can celebrate here. Or anywhere. We can do whatever you like, okay?”
Brian shrugs. You’re not sure if it means he’s accepting your offer to postpone his celebration or if he’s going to celebrate without you.
“So, when’s loverboy gonna be there to pick you up?”
“He’s not. I’m meeting him at his school. And his name is Ethan, by the way.”
“Why his school?”
“The PIFA School of Music is holding a concert tonight and he plays the violin in it.”
“Music? Where exactly have you met this guy and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I did. It’s the guy from the street; from when I was late for the movie?”
Brian nods. Then he turns and leaves your room, headed for the kitchen.
“Brian,” you call after him, “We’ll celebrate tomorrow, alright? Think of a place you want to go and I’ll try to make it happen, okay?”
“Whatever,” you hear him mumble as his head disappears in the fridge and comes out with a bottle of beer seconds later.
next