[Fic] See You Next Tuesday
Title: See You Next Tuesday
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: Pub quiz team AU
Rating: E
Summary: Peter and Carl are a successful pub quiz team. But Peter wonders what more they could be together.
See you next Tuesday. Is what Peter and Carl always say to each other at the end of quiz night, because quiz night at the Albion is on a Tuesday, and it’s the only time they see each other. It also became their team name, because immediately after they said it the first time, they caught each other’s eye, and they both grinned in simultaneous realisation at what they’d said, and that was settled.
It started when Peter’s sister invited him to the pub to meet her friend Carl, because she knew they’d get on. It happened to be a Tuesday, so, for fun, to spark conversation, to break the ice, they joined in the quiz. They won - a £25 bar tab, and Amy Jo was right, Peter and Carl hit it off right away, so why not come back next week to give it another go and spend that tab?
Amy Jo moved away some time ago, so she doesn’t come anymore, but Peter and Carl have rarely missed a week since. They regularly win, too - they're a good team, they fill in the gaps in each other's knowledge. Peter is good at football questions, Carl is good at movie questions. Peter is good at foreign language questions, Carl is good at history questions. Peter is good at questions about animals, Carl is good at questions about soap operas (Peter wonders about this one, but he's not sure he really wants to delve too hard). They’re both good at questions about poetry and literature and music. They noticed after a while that the quizzes had started to contain more maths and science questions, and they know it’s an attempt to stop them winning quite as much, because neither of them are any good at those questions, but it’s OK, they still win often enough, and besides, they always have a fun time. Peter loves all the random information that Carl has in his head, the “Did you know?”s that he’ll come out with every week - sometimes Peter already knows them, often he doesn’t, but he loves Carl’s enthusiasm, and his earnestness, and he loves hearing whatever Carl has to say. He loves to share his own knowledge with Carl, too, and he loves that Carl actually listens, and processes, and discusses. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone else who shares his passion for knowing things, however obscure or trivial they might be. He learns something from Carl every week, and he likes to think that Carl appreciates what he has to say, too. It’s satisfying to him, really deep inside, to make Carl laugh at one of his anecdotes, or to tell him a fact that surprises him and that they end up talking about for fifteen minutes. It makes him even happier when Peter mentions a book he’s read, and Carl comes back next Tuesday and tells him he got it out from the library, and he has some thoughts on its themes that he’d like to hear Peter’s opinions about. In fact, probably nothing currently in his life makes him happier than discussing books and music and poetry and black and white comedy with Carl on a Tuesday, over pints that are sometimes free, but even when they cost £6 it feels worth it.
They don't hang out any other time, just from 8.30 till 11 or so every Tuesday. Peter supposes they've always kind of thought that once a week, every week, was regular enough. He has to admit, that's a lot more regularly than he sees most of his other friends. They've been to each other's birthday parties, things like that, but they've never done anything else together, just them. Except one time, though, when there was a tube strike, and Peter had drunk enough that he didn't really trust himself to figure out the night bus, and he didn't really have the money to spare for a cab, either. No free winners' tab that week.
"C'mon," Carl had said. "You can stay at mine. But we haven't got a spare room, so you'll have to sleep in mine, or you might give my housemate a fright."
That had sounded just fine to Peter, and he'd gratefully accepted. Carl's house wasn't far away, and he had some beers in the fridge and half a bottle of whisky, and a lot of DVDs that Peter teased him about ("DVDs, who even has a DVD player anymore?!"). But he also had a lot of cherished records, by David Bowie and the Kinks and Love, and they'd played Four Sail until Carl's housemate came and snapped at them to turn it off because it was nearly 2am and he had work in the morning.
Carl had fallen asleep easily, but Peter remembers lying rigidly awake beside him, staring at the ceiling in the dull light that filtered through Carl's thin curtains from the street. He was suddenly aware of every awkward part of himself, inside and out, not daring to move for fear he might disturb Carl. He could feel every beat of his heart, and every beat that it skipped. He'd listened to Carl's even breaths as he slept, and tried to quell the feeling that was unfurling itself moment by moment in his chest, confirming the suspicion that he’d held for a while to be honest, that there was nowhere he'd rather be than right there, in Carl's bed with him, even if his mind was racing and his stomach was full of butterflies and he didn't fall asleep till 5 o'clock.
When he'd woken up, Carl was gone, and there was a note on the pillow that explained apologetically that he'd had to go to work, but Peter was welcome to have a shower and eat anything he liked from the fridge. Peter wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. He didn't bother going to work, but luckily his job at the call centre was - and still is - crap enough that no one cared when he rang in sick an hour after he was meant to be there. He'd dozed in Carl's bed till noon, hoping that when Carl went to sleep the next night, he'd have left enough of his presence to inviegle his way into his dreams.
To Peter's regret, nothing like that has ever happened again, no matter how much Peter has daydreamed about how things might go differently if it did. He sometimes wonders about asking Carl if he wants to go to the cinema, out for a meal (just Nando's or something, keep it casual), even just to go to the pub on a day that's not a Tuesday and they don't have to answer any questions - but after this long just keeping the routine the same, it feels awkward to suggest changing it. He imagines Carl looking at him curiously, obviously thinking that once a week is as much Peter as he needs in his life, and he can't take the embarrassment of Carl's polite but confused rejection, even in his imagination. He'd rather be grateful and have Carl as his once a week friend, than push his luck and risk spoiling it by demanding more.
Then one Tuesday afternoon, he gets a text from Carl. It always makes him happy to see a notification with Carl’s name pop up on his screen, because it’s always something that makes him smile, like a photo of a strange knock off bottle of Eastern European booze in a corner shop, or a really terrible pun on a quote or lyric they both love. But this message doesn’t please him at all.
‘Sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Going out with a girl from work.’
Peter feels cold disappointment settle in his stomach like a stone. There’s not been many times when one of them has had to cancel their Tuesday meet up - there was the time Carl had flu and had been asleep all day so hadn’t texted to let him know, and Peter was worried sick when he didn’t show up, almost to the point of going round to Carl’s place to check on him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure if he could find his way to his house again. But this is different. Not only will he not see Carl, the high point of his week, but he’s being put aside for a girl. Carl’s going on a date, with someone who he must fancy, and who’s clearly more fun to be with than Peter, if he’s chosen to go out with her on a Tuesday - their day - rather than any other day of the week. And if she’s good enough to prioritise over Peter now, they’ll probably end up an item, and Carl will want to spend more time with her, and he’ll forget all about Peter.
The more Peter thinks about it, the bigger a deal it becomes in his head. He manages to send Carl a quick ‘No problem! See you next week?’ message, but he’s so scared of getting a reply that says ‘We’ll see’ rather than ‘Yeah definitely!’ that he turns his phone off and puts it in a drawer. Ugly jealousy grows inside him, sour and shameful, and even though he knows he’s being dramatic, he can’t rein in the resentment he feels at being cast aside, and the fear that it might change things forever. He curses himself for being so timid and complacent, for settling for their predictable groove, instead of trying to expand it while he could, to take up more space in Carl’s life and stake a claim on his time when it was available, because it might not be from now on.
Peter goes to the Albion that evening anyway, because he thinks it would feel weirder to just sit at home when he’s usually out with Carl and get even more wound up, but as soon as he gets there he feels paranoid and spiteful that everyone must know he’s been abandoned by his usual companion, and is either laughing at him, or pitying him. He defiantly does the quiz alone and wins despite drinking way too much, but it’s not much consolation. He’s glad he’s left his phone in his drawer at work, because otherwise he knows he’d be texting Carl passive aggressive messages like ‘Got 25 quid to spend next week if you’re not too busy’ or ‘Shame you missed out on a win tonight, I suppose this one’s all mine’. It’s not much vindication, though, because as much as he’d like to feel smug that he can win without any help from Carl, it’s undeniably and infuriatingly hollow without Carl there too. He’d rather not win with Carl there, than win without him, and that just makes him feel even more bitter and hopeless.
He doesn’t go into work the next day, he’s just too melancholy (and hungover), so he doesn’t retrieve his phone until Thursday, by which time he's accumulated several messages from Carl. That almost threatens to cheer him up a bit, but he's determined to not get his hopes up that everything is ok and normal, because he really doesn't know if it is. He daredn't ask Carl about his date, because he feels sure that it would be obvious that he doesn't really want to know at all, and is just spitefully and jealously digging for any gruesome detail that might extinguish the flame of optimism once and for all.
So he has to wait till Tuesday to find out what the situation might be, and how likely he is to be cast adrift in favour of some random girl. Carl has assured him that he will be there at the Albion next week, but Peter thinks bleakly that he knows he could get a message that afternoon cancelling, just like he did the week before. Hope is the enemy, he tells himself sternly, prepare for the worst!
But that doesn't stop the tide of relief and happiness that washes over him when he gets to the Albion next Tuesday and sees Carl already there waiting for him, and he easily returns the friendly smile Carl offers him. He hopes Carl can't see inside his head and his heart and read all the petty, uncharitable thoughts he's had about Carl and his girlfriend, even though he doesn't even know if she is his girlfriend. Yet.
"Was waiting for you to get started on that bar tab," Carl says, grinning. "I guess you don't need my help to win."
"Oh, just lucky that all the questions were easy last week," Peter replies modestly. Now that Carl is here in front of him he doesn't want to give him the impression that he's in any way expendable. "Anyway, I bet you were having a lot more fun, eh?" He gives Carl what he hopes is an encouraging matey grin, rather than a strangled, rictus one. Trying to give the impression that he’s interested and happy for Carl feels like playing a role that doesn't suit him one little bit, and he's never been that good an actor.
"It was alright," Carl says, shrugging, and Peter feels an unexpected little leap of hope. "But it was a bit strange not being here. And when I told her what I'd usually be doing on a Tuesday night, she laughed like I'd said I'd usually be spending it on Mars. So I thought, hang on, if she doesn't respect the pub quiz, is she really all that after all?"
Peter laughs himself, with delight and relief. "Well, exactly," he says fervently. "You can't be with people who make fun of your hobbies." He only hesitates for the briefest of moments before he blurts out, “I missed you last week.” To hell with it, he thinks, he’s had a glimpse of a bleak, Carl-less future and he didn’t like it at all. He’s going to take the chance, let Carl know how important he is to him, so at least he can’t think that he didn’t even try.
Carl looks surprised at Peter’s sudden declaration, but his smile softens. “Y’know, I missed you too, it feels like ages since I've seen you,” he says, and he sounds earnest. “To be honest, I wished I'd just come here instead last week.”
“I wished you had too," Peter admits in a rush, feeling his heart beat faster. "It was weird not having you here. I was thinking we could’ve met up another day. Maybe do something different, have a bit of a change,” he ventures. “I thought that might be nice sometime.”
Carl is still smiling warmly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It might.”
Peter sees the opportunity he's being given, and he's going to grasp it with both hands. “I mean… we could try this weekend. Make up for missing last week. If you like,” he suggests.
Carl looks apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t this weekend,” he says. “I’ve got a family thing.”
Peter’s got this far, he’s prepared to give it one more try. “Well, how about next weekend then? See you next Saturday?” He smiles at Carl, raising his eyebrows at their little catchphrase, their injoke, and, to Peter’s relief, Carl smiles back.
“Yeah,” Carl says. “See you next Saturday.”
Pairing: Pete/Carl
Genre: Pub quiz team AU
Rating: E
Summary: Peter and Carl are a successful pub quiz team. But Peter wonders what more they could be together.
See you next Tuesday. Is what Peter and Carl always say to each other at the end of quiz night, because quiz night at the Albion is on a Tuesday, and it’s the only time they see each other. It also became their team name, because immediately after they said it the first time, they caught each other’s eye, and they both grinned in simultaneous realisation at what they’d said, and that was settled.
It started when Peter’s sister invited him to the pub to meet her friend Carl, because she knew they’d get on. It happened to be a Tuesday, so, for fun, to spark conversation, to break the ice, they joined in the quiz. They won - a £25 bar tab, and Amy Jo was right, Peter and Carl hit it off right away, so why not come back next week to give it another go and spend that tab?
Amy Jo moved away some time ago, so she doesn’t come anymore, but Peter and Carl have rarely missed a week since. They regularly win, too - they're a good team, they fill in the gaps in each other's knowledge. Peter is good at football questions, Carl is good at movie questions. Peter is good at foreign language questions, Carl is good at history questions. Peter is good at questions about animals, Carl is good at questions about soap operas (Peter wonders about this one, but he's not sure he really wants to delve too hard). They’re both good at questions about poetry and literature and music. They noticed after a while that the quizzes had started to contain more maths and science questions, and they know it’s an attempt to stop them winning quite as much, because neither of them are any good at those questions, but it’s OK, they still win often enough, and besides, they always have a fun time. Peter loves all the random information that Carl has in his head, the “Did you know?”s that he’ll come out with every week - sometimes Peter already knows them, often he doesn’t, but he loves Carl’s enthusiasm, and his earnestness, and he loves hearing whatever Carl has to say. He loves to share his own knowledge with Carl, too, and he loves that Carl actually listens, and processes, and discusses. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone else who shares his passion for knowing things, however obscure or trivial they might be. He learns something from Carl every week, and he likes to think that Carl appreciates what he has to say, too. It’s satisfying to him, really deep inside, to make Carl laugh at one of his anecdotes, or to tell him a fact that surprises him and that they end up talking about for fifteen minutes. It makes him even happier when Peter mentions a book he’s read, and Carl comes back next Tuesday and tells him he got it out from the library, and he has some thoughts on its themes that he’d like to hear Peter’s opinions about. In fact, probably nothing currently in his life makes him happier than discussing books and music and poetry and black and white comedy with Carl on a Tuesday, over pints that are sometimes free, but even when they cost £6 it feels worth it.
They don't hang out any other time, just from 8.30 till 11 or so every Tuesday. Peter supposes they've always kind of thought that once a week, every week, was regular enough. He has to admit, that's a lot more regularly than he sees most of his other friends. They've been to each other's birthday parties, things like that, but they've never done anything else together, just them. Except one time, though, when there was a tube strike, and Peter had drunk enough that he didn't really trust himself to figure out the night bus, and he didn't really have the money to spare for a cab, either. No free winners' tab that week.
"C'mon," Carl had said. "You can stay at mine. But we haven't got a spare room, so you'll have to sleep in mine, or you might give my housemate a fright."
That had sounded just fine to Peter, and he'd gratefully accepted. Carl's house wasn't far away, and he had some beers in the fridge and half a bottle of whisky, and a lot of DVDs that Peter teased him about ("DVDs, who even has a DVD player anymore?!"). But he also had a lot of cherished records, by David Bowie and the Kinks and Love, and they'd played Four Sail until Carl's housemate came and snapped at them to turn it off because it was nearly 2am and he had work in the morning.
Carl had fallen asleep easily, but Peter remembers lying rigidly awake beside him, staring at the ceiling in the dull light that filtered through Carl's thin curtains from the street. He was suddenly aware of every awkward part of himself, inside and out, not daring to move for fear he might disturb Carl. He could feel every beat of his heart, and every beat that it skipped. He'd listened to Carl's even breaths as he slept, and tried to quell the feeling that was unfurling itself moment by moment in his chest, confirming the suspicion that he’d held for a while to be honest, that there was nowhere he'd rather be than right there, in Carl's bed with him, even if his mind was racing and his stomach was full of butterflies and he didn't fall asleep till 5 o'clock.
When he'd woken up, Carl was gone, and there was a note on the pillow that explained apologetically that he'd had to go to work, but Peter was welcome to have a shower and eat anything he liked from the fridge. Peter wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. He didn't bother going to work, but luckily his job at the call centre was - and still is - crap enough that no one cared when he rang in sick an hour after he was meant to be there. He'd dozed in Carl's bed till noon, hoping that when Carl went to sleep the next night, he'd have left enough of his presence to inviegle his way into his dreams.
To Peter's regret, nothing like that has ever happened again, no matter how much Peter has daydreamed about how things might go differently if it did. He sometimes wonders about asking Carl if he wants to go to the cinema, out for a meal (just Nando's or something, keep it casual), even just to go to the pub on a day that's not a Tuesday and they don't have to answer any questions - but after this long just keeping the routine the same, it feels awkward to suggest changing it. He imagines Carl looking at him curiously, obviously thinking that once a week is as much Peter as he needs in his life, and he can't take the embarrassment of Carl's polite but confused rejection, even in his imagination. He'd rather be grateful and have Carl as his once a week friend, than push his luck and risk spoiling it by demanding more.
Then one Tuesday afternoon, he gets a text from Carl. It always makes him happy to see a notification with Carl’s name pop up on his screen, because it’s always something that makes him smile, like a photo of a strange knock off bottle of Eastern European booze in a corner shop, or a really terrible pun on a quote or lyric they both love. But this message doesn’t please him at all.
‘Sorry, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Going out with a girl from work.’
Peter feels cold disappointment settle in his stomach like a stone. There’s not been many times when one of them has had to cancel their Tuesday meet up - there was the time Carl had flu and had been asleep all day so hadn’t texted to let him know, and Peter was worried sick when he didn’t show up, almost to the point of going round to Carl’s place to check on him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure if he could find his way to his house again. But this is different. Not only will he not see Carl, the high point of his week, but he’s being put aside for a girl. Carl’s going on a date, with someone who he must fancy, and who’s clearly more fun to be with than Peter, if he’s chosen to go out with her on a Tuesday - their day - rather than any other day of the week. And if she’s good enough to prioritise over Peter now, they’ll probably end up an item, and Carl will want to spend more time with her, and he’ll forget all about Peter.
The more Peter thinks about it, the bigger a deal it becomes in his head. He manages to send Carl a quick ‘No problem! See you next week?’ message, but he’s so scared of getting a reply that says ‘We’ll see’ rather than ‘Yeah definitely!’ that he turns his phone off and puts it in a drawer. Ugly jealousy grows inside him, sour and shameful, and even though he knows he’s being dramatic, he can’t rein in the resentment he feels at being cast aside, and the fear that it might change things forever. He curses himself for being so timid and complacent, for settling for their predictable groove, instead of trying to expand it while he could, to take up more space in Carl’s life and stake a claim on his time when it was available, because it might not be from now on.
Peter goes to the Albion that evening anyway, because he thinks it would feel weirder to just sit at home when he’s usually out with Carl and get even more wound up, but as soon as he gets there he feels paranoid and spiteful that everyone must know he’s been abandoned by his usual companion, and is either laughing at him, or pitying him. He defiantly does the quiz alone and wins despite drinking way too much, but it’s not much consolation. He’s glad he’s left his phone in his drawer at work, because otherwise he knows he’d be texting Carl passive aggressive messages like ‘Got 25 quid to spend next week if you’re not too busy’ or ‘Shame you missed out on a win tonight, I suppose this one’s all mine’. It’s not much vindication, though, because as much as he’d like to feel smug that he can win without any help from Carl, it’s undeniably and infuriatingly hollow without Carl there too. He’d rather not win with Carl there, than win without him, and that just makes him feel even more bitter and hopeless.
He doesn’t go into work the next day, he’s just too melancholy (and hungover), so he doesn’t retrieve his phone until Thursday, by which time he's accumulated several messages from Carl. That almost threatens to cheer him up a bit, but he's determined to not get his hopes up that everything is ok and normal, because he really doesn't know if it is. He daredn't ask Carl about his date, because he feels sure that it would be obvious that he doesn't really want to know at all, and is just spitefully and jealously digging for any gruesome detail that might extinguish the flame of optimism once and for all.
So he has to wait till Tuesday to find out what the situation might be, and how likely he is to be cast adrift in favour of some random girl. Carl has assured him that he will be there at the Albion next week, but Peter thinks bleakly that he knows he could get a message that afternoon cancelling, just like he did the week before. Hope is the enemy, he tells himself sternly, prepare for the worst!
But that doesn't stop the tide of relief and happiness that washes over him when he gets to the Albion next Tuesday and sees Carl already there waiting for him, and he easily returns the friendly smile Carl offers him. He hopes Carl can't see inside his head and his heart and read all the petty, uncharitable thoughts he's had about Carl and his girlfriend, even though he doesn't even know if she is his girlfriend. Yet.
"Was waiting for you to get started on that bar tab," Carl says, grinning. "I guess you don't need my help to win."
"Oh, just lucky that all the questions were easy last week," Peter replies modestly. Now that Carl is here in front of him he doesn't want to give him the impression that he's in any way expendable. "Anyway, I bet you were having a lot more fun, eh?" He gives Carl what he hopes is an encouraging matey grin, rather than a strangled, rictus one. Trying to give the impression that he’s interested and happy for Carl feels like playing a role that doesn't suit him one little bit, and he's never been that good an actor.
"It was alright," Carl says, shrugging, and Peter feels an unexpected little leap of hope. "But it was a bit strange not being here. And when I told her what I'd usually be doing on a Tuesday night, she laughed like I'd said I'd usually be spending it on Mars. So I thought, hang on, if she doesn't respect the pub quiz, is she really all that after all?"
Peter laughs himself, with delight and relief. "Well, exactly," he says fervently. "You can't be with people who make fun of your hobbies." He only hesitates for the briefest of moments before he blurts out, “I missed you last week.” To hell with it, he thinks, he’s had a glimpse of a bleak, Carl-less future and he didn’t like it at all. He’s going to take the chance, let Carl know how important he is to him, so at least he can’t think that he didn’t even try.
Carl looks surprised at Peter’s sudden declaration, but his smile softens. “Y’know, I missed you too, it feels like ages since I've seen you,” he says, and he sounds earnest. “To be honest, I wished I'd just come here instead last week.”
“I wished you had too," Peter admits in a rush, feeling his heart beat faster. "It was weird not having you here. I was thinking we could’ve met up another day. Maybe do something different, have a bit of a change,” he ventures. “I thought that might be nice sometime.”
Carl is still smiling warmly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It might.”
Peter sees the opportunity he's being given, and he's going to grasp it with both hands. “I mean… we could try this weekend. Make up for missing last week. If you like,” he suggests.
Carl looks apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t this weekend,” he says. “I’ve got a family thing.”
Peter’s got this far, he’s prepared to give it one more try. “Well, how about next weekend then? See you next Saturday?” He smiles at Carl, raising his eyebrows at their little catchphrase, their injoke, and, to Peter’s relief, Carl smiles back.
“Yeah,” Carl says. “See you next Saturday.”