Somewhere Out There Is Somebody Chapter 7
Title: Somewhere Out There Is Somebody
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook
Summary: AU. David Archuleta is a hopeful teenager struggling in Los Angeles while David Cook is the American Idol living a reality that the younger David has only dreamed about.
Rating: PG-13 as of now. Is subject to change.
Word Count: 3,648
Chapter: 7/?
Disclaimer: All of this is fictional and made for fun. I make no profit off of this or claim any rights. I don't own either David.
Inspired by: Reba McEntire's song and music video "Somebody".
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David thanked God that he had the next day off, for once. After explaining everything to Monica, the woman had said that he likely had blown things out of proportion, smacking him upside the head lightly for having run away instead of facing him. The younger man still felt like it was the right decision, though. He really hadn’t wanted to hear any more of what Cook would have to say. Not that he would ever know now, but he doubted that it would have been anything good.
And he already felt crappy enough, spending most of his day engulfed in cleaning, avoiding the radio at all costs. When his siblings came home from school and Jazzy asked if he would help her with her math homework, he jumped right on it, and if that didn’t scream that something was the matter with him, nothing would. David didn’t do numbers. They confused him.
But, seeing as how Jazzy had yet to reach the Algebra stage, he thought he could handle it. Division was easy. And if all else failed, well, hey, that was what the calculator was for. “Alright, Jazzy, 32 divided by 8. Think about it this way. How many times can 8 go into 32?” He questioned, knowing that Claudia was far more fit for teaching than he ever would be, but she was on a date with what’s-his-name.
The girl looked at the piece of paper then up to her brother. “Um, four?”
David grinned. “Exactly. See, if you don’t want to think about it as division, think of it kind of like a warped of version of multiplication, which is a lot easier because it doesn’t have that weird line, sort of box-like thing that goes over one of the numbers and has the other number to the side? Yeah, that always confused me as a kid. It was like, do they want me to put this into this or that into that, because we got to that point where you could get a decimal for the answer and that was not fun because you had to round to the fourth number or something. And I’m going to stop now so that you can do your homework in peace, okay?” He stopped his rambling with a sheepish blush. “So, yeah, just, um, you know where to find me if you need more help.”
Jazzy just giggled, kicking her legs on the chair, nodding before turning her attention back to her paper.
“David,” came his other little sister rushing up to his legs and tugging at his sleeve, whining and pouting.
The young man stood from the chair, glancing at the young girl.
“Daniel won’t let me watch TV. Again.” She turned her head in the direction of the middle child. “Even though it’s my turn and he knows it and he already got to watch one of his shows. Make him stop.” Wagging her arm in the direction of her bothersome brother, she stomped on her feet.
“Daniel, she’s right. It is her turn,” David started as he walked over to his brother, knowing that it was going to take more than him ordering Daniel to get him to give up the television, the one source of entertainment for the three children who couldn’t be satisfied with books or childish games like hide and seek anymore. “Why don’t you go down to the basketball courts and play a game with, um, your friend from a couple levels down, Jesse was it?”
Daniel eyed him warily, staying comfortably on the couch, his back leaned against the arm so that he could lay out. “It’s November. Too cold to go out and play.”
David gave him a knowing smile. “Come on, Dan, this is Los Angeles, not Utah. November or June, it’s rarely ever too cold to go out with a pair of shorts on.”
The younger boy didn’t move and he sighed, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. It’s not like he held any authority over his siblings. A constant pushover, it was hard to please everyone when they constantly were seeking the same thing, but what could he do? Threaten to ground Daniel? Oh yeah, that would go over well. Not. Not that he was scared of his brother, because, um, that would be weird, but, unlike David, the other boy did as he pleased and whatever pleased him normally didn’t settle well with his siblings. But he did it anyway. Sometimes not even Claudia could get through to him. Most nights, he would do as he is doing now, just not caring. That was how he’d been since their mother had passed and David didn’t know what to do for him. His grades were slipping, his homework never done, and he would be lucky if he passed the semester.
He didn’t understand his brother’s mentality. What he wouldn’t do for a diploma, well, okay, yeah, he wouldn’t do a lot of things to get a diploma, like kill or cheat or steal or dance in the middle of the street in a Santa suit. But that was beside the point. The point was that if he had the opportunity like Daniel was being given, he wouldn’t be taking it for granted, especially when he knew what others were sacrificing for him to have that opportunity.
He never voiced any of this, however, because he understood that while they all had faced the same situations in the past couple of years, well, it was up to each of them to react accordingly, whether that be positively or not. That was how the world worked. How could he really punish his brother for being upset? Maybe he was being soft-hearted or maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew he would wind up saying the wrong thing. He did that a lot, screw up that is.
Like with Cook. Ack, he didn’t even want to think about. He’d told himself over and over that he wouldn’t think about it but just thinking about not thinking about it made him think about it and if someone knew how to actually not think about something that they were telling themselves not to think about, he wanted to know what their secret was because honestly, that wasn’t working for him, and yeah, it was rather straining on his head. Because there was nothing he could do about it. And really, he felt bad about it, but even then, he didn’t know why because he had never specified what his age was to Cook, not in his recollection anyway, and what did that really matter? Did it have to affect their relationship? And if so, why? Oh, and why didn’t he stay and ask these sorts of questions to Cook instead of just running off like the coward he was? Wait, that answered itself, didn’t it?
Needless to say, the past day was a constant headache for the younger man. That was tagged along with a strange pang in his chest, like his diaphragm was being squeezed, his breaths raggedy and his heart aching.
It made sense. Complete sense, actually. Because it was like David. To figure it out after the fact. Yeah, he could admit it now, now that it would be better for him to be in denial. It would have been funny if it weren’t so not funny. He’d had a crush on David Cook. No, it wasn’t a celebrity crush, because Cook had been an idolized celebrity turned friend due to some weird twist of fate. It was a crush crush. A I-want-to-date-you crush. Like those sort of high school “I like like you”s, just as silly and awkward, complete with butterflies that fluttered about his stomach uneasily. These butterflies sent him off kilter whenever Cook was around, not that he wasn’t awkward and klutzy anyway, but when he was with Cook, it was magnified because he tried all that much harder to not look like a fool so he just wound up making more of a fool of himself.
Who was he kidding? It’s not like it would have gone anywhere, because while his age may not have deterred a potential friendship, because Cook was just as old as Monica was, it would have been a major factor in any relationship that went beyond platonic. David was this spacey, weird teenaged kid who was still going through that awkward transition between being a boy and a man while Cook was all man, facial hair and all.
Having no such stubble to speak of, ever, he wondered what it would have felt like, those scruffy bristles against his contrasting smooth skin. For a moment, he began to envy every microphone that had been lucky enough to be used by Cook, who made a point to get up and personal with his mics while he sang. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it all, because, hello, that was an inanimate object that he was envying here and, haha, that was totally lame. Jealous of an object. Pft.
It’s not like Cook would have ever been inclined to kiss him anyway. David was far from being his type. One, he was a man, a boy rather. Two, um, he wasn’t blonde, quite the opposite actually. And while he remembered once, in an interview, that Cook had said his ideal significant other would be short, David wasn’t really short in girl terms, which is what the older man would have meant no doubt, because he was a rockstar that had, uh, lots of things thrown at him on a daily basis that were rather inappropriate, the girls screaming his name and he ate it up. Another standard was that they should be funny, and while the older man was constantly laughing at him, he doubted it was because he had a sense of humor. Apparently, he had a dry wit? So Cook had told him one time. But he didn’t really know what that was, so yeah.
And, look, here he was again, thinking about it. He should concentrate on something else. Like pie. Yeah, pie was a good thing to think about. He liked pie. Not as much as cake. But he wasn’t even that much of a fan of sugar in the first place, really. He could use a cookie from time to time, especially Lucille’s homemade chocolate chip ones, that were moist and melt-in-your-mouth goodness and all yum, but he was kind of a health nut so he didn’t eat a lot of desserts, which could explain his flat stomach that was neither muscle nor fat. And going to the gym was a complete joke. Monica had dragged him there one time and it had been awful. He’d tried to lift twenty pounds on the bench-thing and had nearly got his neck stuck under the bar thingy. In fact, it would have been stuck there and he would have just suffocated like that, a miserable, humiliating death if Monica hadn’t lifted it off of him with ease. So, that was a never again sort of thing for the young man.
“David?! Door’s for you.”
Blinking out of his daze, he turned to see Amber with the door cracked half open, her head cranked backwards to call to him before she slammed the door. Um, he would need to properly show her how to handle a guest. Because that? Was totally not the way to greet someone. Though it was probably just Monica who wouldn’t mind, say it would have been their landlord or something, that wouldn’t have exactly been very good. He smiled and thanked the younger girl, telling her that it was about time she got started on her homework to like Jazzy while he waltzed to the door, reopening it with a giggle. “Sorry about that Monica, you know how Amber is and-”
Stopping mid-sentence, he shifted his weight to the leg closer to the door, leaning against it for support. Um. He wasn’t exactly expecting for David Cook to be standing there, hands in pockets and smile warm and welcoming. “Hey.”
That was it? He was just going to nonchalantly greet him, no explanation of how on earth he even knew where he lived, nothing? “Uh,” He found sudden interest in the floor, and hey, look, there was some gum, he wondered where that came from. Ha, he rhymed. Flushed, he became all too aware that he was dressed embarrassingly in grey sweat pants and a white long-sleeved polo that was too big, hanging loosely over his shoulders, stained from the spaghetti that he’d made that night. And he was pretty sure there was some grimy stuff glued onto it too, from the vigorous cleaning he’d done throughout the day. He berates himself for not taking that shower like he’d been inclined to a half hour ago, but Jazzy had needed help with her homework and that should come before his wants, but now he really wished he would have found the time because gel is still in his hair from the night before, making the strands stiff and looking greasy. He’s sure that it’s rather unattractive, not that he even think he looks attractive, ever, but at least he makes himself presentable and here he looks like some couch potato or worse, the couch that the couch potato sits on, rubbing off his greasy, stained fingers all over him. Especially when comparing himself to this rockstar in front of him, his jeans loose and hugging his hips, his white tee under his leather jacket a bit too short, revealing his hipbones and David had to hit himself in the head to not stare. Okay, so it was only in his head that he hit his head and why was he just standing there, saying nothing and looking like a scarecrow? “Hi.” Hey, in his defense, technically his greeting was two words. So there.
Cook raised an eyebrow, scratching at the back of his head before sliding his arm down his neck. “We need to talk.”
David really, really, really didn’t want to talk. But he also really, really, really, really didn’t want to let Cook leave. “So talk,” He managed rather meekly, his voice small and vulnerable.
The older man had a 1000-wat grin and David couldn’t understand how someone could go from sounding so serious to looking so goofy in a matter of, like, two seconds flat. “Okay then, I’ll talk. Over there where small ears can’t hear me.” He poked his head to look into the apartment, waving at the three pair of eyes that whipped away and went back to their own business, using his other hand to point down the hallway.
“Um,” Hazel eyes traveled to his siblings. “I can’t, I don’t want to leave them alone. They’re, uh, a little, um, wild.” That was so like David, to use his siblings as a constant excuse to not go after what he wanted.
“That’s why I’ll watch over the little munchkins while you guys talk,” He should have known, watching as Monica took a step to the side to reveal herself. And this, this is why people don’t befriend their neighbors. Because neighbors know where you live and can use that information against you. And they will, oh, they will.
Because now he had no excuse, surrendering to the two older people. “Alright, um, just, over here?” He made sure, pointing down the hall, where there were bound to be ears that heard. Not that he really had a clue of what it would be that they would hear.
The two Davids walked a couple yards away from his apartment and David’s diaphragm does that thing again that makes it hard to breathe and form any coherent words.
So, thankfully, Cook was the one to start off. “Your age doesn’t bother me, David.” That startled the crud out of David, because, um, he had been under the complete opposite impression yesterday when the older man had looked at him with a disappointed expression, like he was a stranger that he knew nothing about. “Well, actually, no.” It was strange to see the older man, usually collected and of what he was saying, second guessing himself and being so tongue tied. Rather unsettling, actually, a lump forming in David’s throat because he didn’t know where this conversation could be headed. The rocker, hands still kept in the depths of his jean pockets, apparently burying them further into the holes of the clothing, the force downwards revealing a bit more skin, and hello there tip of waistband of Cook’s, oh, oh gosh, David looked back upwards, trying to meet the other’s gaze. Only, the older man was looking up and to the side, shaking his head as if he was debating with his head. David did that a lot. Usually resulted in a migraine. Cook seemed to gather what he was trying to say, though, and was able to speak fluidly again, “No, your age doesn’t bother me. It’s the fact that it threw me off. What that implied, that I was surprised, that is what bothered me. What still bothers me.”
Okay, was that supposed to make sense to the younger David? Because, yeah, no, he was still rather lost in where this whole thing was going. “What-” He pulled at his lengthy sleeve, rolling it into a self-made cuff. “What do you mean?”
Cook finally took his hands out of his pockets, holding his arms out an inch. “It means that I feel like a total prima donna here, Archie.”
Nope, still not getting it here Cook. “Uh. Elaborate? Er, please?” The older man should know by now that it took a lot of explanation for something to sink through for David.
“I didn’t know how old you were.” Well, duh, they had been over that, hadn’t they? “In fact, when I thought about it, I realized that I knew little about you other than the fact that you worked at a diner and liked to sing and that you use your hands a lot to talk for you because you have no idea what you want to say. That’s what I’m talking about here, Arch.”
Okay, he thought he could see where this was going. Maybe. He was just relieved that Cook didn’t appear to be mad at him. Heck, he was just glad that Cook was here. Well, okay, maybe not here, by his apartment that was a mess and not really a Beverly Hills mansion like the older man was likely to live in. “You, well, you never asked,” He said rather honestly, because he would have been upfront about his life. Most of it.
“That, dear Arch, is my point,” David flinched when the older man poked his nose with his index finger, a smile still playing on his lips. “And that is what I’m here to fix.”
So, let David’s brain catch up with what was going on so far. Cook wasn’t upset about his age, which was yay, and he had bothered to come and find him, which was double yay, but Cook still was upset, which was boo, but it was over not knowing much about him? “I’m, if I’m being honest, I’m not that interesting.” And a reason he had never just opened up to Cook about his personal life because he didn’t want a pity treatment.
“Trust me, my life isn’t that interesting either, yet it’s displayed all over webpages. Besides, I want to be able to call you my friend,” Cook said with all seriousness, leaving David’s heart to do that flippy thing again. “And I can’t very well call you a friend if I don’t even know what your favorite color is, favorite movie, what you like to do in your spare time when you’re not being a workaholic.”
It shocked him, what exactly Cook wondered about him. Nothing was personal, none of it pried into how he had grown up and how he had ended up here. He smiled timidly but truly. “Uh,” Thinking of the order of the questions, repeating them in his head, “Orange. Finding Nemo. And, haha, I like to go to Broadway musicals.” Not that he had gone to one of those in forever, but he rarely had the time to these days between work and watching his siblings. That was sort of his life now.
At the straight-forward answers, the older man shook his head with a soft cackle, taking a step forward. “I want to know you. You. Not just waiter Archie, but I want to know David Archuleta, what makes him who he is and find out what makes him tick. So, what I’m trying to get at here, think you can handle a game of 21 questions over some coffee?” That dazzling, breathtaking smile was back, and he briefly wondered if his breathing would forever be irregular as long as Cook was around.
He shrugged, giggling, because right now, he didn’t care that he looked like a hobo off the streets, he didn’t care that he was a seventeen-year-old kid who didn’t amount to much compared to this other man. Because the other, older man didn’t care. Cook just wanted to get to know him. And there weren’t too many people interested in doing that these days. “Sure, but,” He licked at his lips. “But, I, I don’t drink coffee.” Part of him felt like he should apologize for that, but that would be rather silly, wouldn’t it? Because he could always get hot chocolate or something.
Instead of appearing surprised or asking if he was crazy because coffee kept the soul living or something, Cook threw an arm around David’s neck, drawing him into a headlock while he directed them to the stairs so that they could go to his car. “See, I’m learning already.”
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook
Summary: AU. David Archuleta is a hopeful teenager struggling in Los Angeles while David Cook is the American Idol living a reality that the younger David has only dreamed about.
Rating: PG-13 as of now. Is subject to change.
Word Count: 3,648
Chapter: 7/?
Disclaimer: All of this is fictional and made for fun. I make no profit off of this or claim any rights. I don't own either David.
Inspired by: Reba McEntire's song and music video "Somebody".
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David thanked God that he had the next day off, for once. After explaining everything to Monica, the woman had said that he likely had blown things out of proportion, smacking him upside the head lightly for having run away instead of facing him. The younger man still felt like it was the right decision, though. He really hadn’t wanted to hear any more of what Cook would have to say. Not that he would ever know now, but he doubted that it would have been anything good.
And he already felt crappy enough, spending most of his day engulfed in cleaning, avoiding the radio at all costs. When his siblings came home from school and Jazzy asked if he would help her with her math homework, he jumped right on it, and if that didn’t scream that something was the matter with him, nothing would. David didn’t do numbers. They confused him.
But, seeing as how Jazzy had yet to reach the Algebra stage, he thought he could handle it. Division was easy. And if all else failed, well, hey, that was what the calculator was for. “Alright, Jazzy, 32 divided by 8. Think about it this way. How many times can 8 go into 32?” He questioned, knowing that Claudia was far more fit for teaching than he ever would be, but she was on a date with what’s-his-name.
The girl looked at the piece of paper then up to her brother. “Um, four?”
David grinned. “Exactly. See, if you don’t want to think about it as division, think of it kind of like a warped of version of multiplication, which is a lot easier because it doesn’t have that weird line, sort of box-like thing that goes over one of the numbers and has the other number to the side? Yeah, that always confused me as a kid. It was like, do they want me to put this into this or that into that, because we got to that point where you could get a decimal for the answer and that was not fun because you had to round to the fourth number or something. And I’m going to stop now so that you can do your homework in peace, okay?” He stopped his rambling with a sheepish blush. “So, yeah, just, um, you know where to find me if you need more help.”
Jazzy just giggled, kicking her legs on the chair, nodding before turning her attention back to her paper.
“David,” came his other little sister rushing up to his legs and tugging at his sleeve, whining and pouting.
The young man stood from the chair, glancing at the young girl.
“Daniel won’t let me watch TV. Again.” She turned her head in the direction of the middle child. “Even though it’s my turn and he knows it and he already got to watch one of his shows. Make him stop.” Wagging her arm in the direction of her bothersome brother, she stomped on her feet.
“Daniel, she’s right. It is her turn,” David started as he walked over to his brother, knowing that it was going to take more than him ordering Daniel to get him to give up the television, the one source of entertainment for the three children who couldn’t be satisfied with books or childish games like hide and seek anymore. “Why don’t you go down to the basketball courts and play a game with, um, your friend from a couple levels down, Jesse was it?”
Daniel eyed him warily, staying comfortably on the couch, his back leaned against the arm so that he could lay out. “It’s November. Too cold to go out and play.”
David gave him a knowing smile. “Come on, Dan, this is Los Angeles, not Utah. November or June, it’s rarely ever too cold to go out with a pair of shorts on.”
The younger boy didn’t move and he sighed, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. It’s not like he held any authority over his siblings. A constant pushover, it was hard to please everyone when they constantly were seeking the same thing, but what could he do? Threaten to ground Daniel? Oh yeah, that would go over well. Not. Not that he was scared of his brother, because, um, that would be weird, but, unlike David, the other boy did as he pleased and whatever pleased him normally didn’t settle well with his siblings. But he did it anyway. Sometimes not even Claudia could get through to him. Most nights, he would do as he is doing now, just not caring. That was how he’d been since their mother had passed and David didn’t know what to do for him. His grades were slipping, his homework never done, and he would be lucky if he passed the semester.
He didn’t understand his brother’s mentality. What he wouldn’t do for a diploma, well, okay, yeah, he wouldn’t do a lot of things to get a diploma, like kill or cheat or steal or dance in the middle of the street in a Santa suit. But that was beside the point. The point was that if he had the opportunity like Daniel was being given, he wouldn’t be taking it for granted, especially when he knew what others were sacrificing for him to have that opportunity.
He never voiced any of this, however, because he understood that while they all had faced the same situations in the past couple of years, well, it was up to each of them to react accordingly, whether that be positively or not. That was how the world worked. How could he really punish his brother for being upset? Maybe he was being soft-hearted or maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew he would wind up saying the wrong thing. He did that a lot, screw up that is.
Like with Cook. Ack, he didn’t even want to think about. He’d told himself over and over that he wouldn’t think about it but just thinking about not thinking about it made him think about it and if someone knew how to actually not think about something that they were telling themselves not to think about, he wanted to know what their secret was because honestly, that wasn’t working for him, and yeah, it was rather straining on his head. Because there was nothing he could do about it. And really, he felt bad about it, but even then, he didn’t know why because he had never specified what his age was to Cook, not in his recollection anyway, and what did that really matter? Did it have to affect their relationship? And if so, why? Oh, and why didn’t he stay and ask these sorts of questions to Cook instead of just running off like the coward he was? Wait, that answered itself, didn’t it?
Needless to say, the past day was a constant headache for the younger man. That was tagged along with a strange pang in his chest, like his diaphragm was being squeezed, his breaths raggedy and his heart aching.
It made sense. Complete sense, actually. Because it was like David. To figure it out after the fact. Yeah, he could admit it now, now that it would be better for him to be in denial. It would have been funny if it weren’t so not funny. He’d had a crush on David Cook. No, it wasn’t a celebrity crush, because Cook had been an idolized celebrity turned friend due to some weird twist of fate. It was a crush crush. A I-want-to-date-you crush. Like those sort of high school “I like like you”s, just as silly and awkward, complete with butterflies that fluttered about his stomach uneasily. These butterflies sent him off kilter whenever Cook was around, not that he wasn’t awkward and klutzy anyway, but when he was with Cook, it was magnified because he tried all that much harder to not look like a fool so he just wound up making more of a fool of himself.
Who was he kidding? It’s not like it would have gone anywhere, because while his age may not have deterred a potential friendship, because Cook was just as old as Monica was, it would have been a major factor in any relationship that went beyond platonic. David was this spacey, weird teenaged kid who was still going through that awkward transition between being a boy and a man while Cook was all man, facial hair and all.
Having no such stubble to speak of, ever, he wondered what it would have felt like, those scruffy bristles against his contrasting smooth skin. For a moment, he began to envy every microphone that had been lucky enough to be used by Cook, who made a point to get up and personal with his mics while he sang. Then he laughed at the absurdity of it all, because, hello, that was an inanimate object that he was envying here and, haha, that was totally lame. Jealous of an object. Pft.
It’s not like Cook would have ever been inclined to kiss him anyway. David was far from being his type. One, he was a man, a boy rather. Two, um, he wasn’t blonde, quite the opposite actually. And while he remembered once, in an interview, that Cook had said his ideal significant other would be short, David wasn’t really short in girl terms, which is what the older man would have meant no doubt, because he was a rockstar that had, uh, lots of things thrown at him on a daily basis that were rather inappropriate, the girls screaming his name and he ate it up. Another standard was that they should be funny, and while the older man was constantly laughing at him, he doubted it was because he had a sense of humor. Apparently, he had a dry wit? So Cook had told him one time. But he didn’t really know what that was, so yeah.
And, look, here he was again, thinking about it. He should concentrate on something else. Like pie. Yeah, pie was a good thing to think about. He liked pie. Not as much as cake. But he wasn’t even that much of a fan of sugar in the first place, really. He could use a cookie from time to time, especially Lucille’s homemade chocolate chip ones, that were moist and melt-in-your-mouth goodness and all yum, but he was kind of a health nut so he didn’t eat a lot of desserts, which could explain his flat stomach that was neither muscle nor fat. And going to the gym was a complete joke. Monica had dragged him there one time and it had been awful. He’d tried to lift twenty pounds on the bench-thing and had nearly got his neck stuck under the bar thingy. In fact, it would have been stuck there and he would have just suffocated like that, a miserable, humiliating death if Monica hadn’t lifted it off of him with ease. So, that was a never again sort of thing for the young man.
“David?! Door’s for you.”
Blinking out of his daze, he turned to see Amber with the door cracked half open, her head cranked backwards to call to him before she slammed the door. Um, he would need to properly show her how to handle a guest. Because that? Was totally not the way to greet someone. Though it was probably just Monica who wouldn’t mind, say it would have been their landlord or something, that wouldn’t have exactly been very good. He smiled and thanked the younger girl, telling her that it was about time she got started on her homework to like Jazzy while he waltzed to the door, reopening it with a giggle. “Sorry about that Monica, you know how Amber is and-”
Stopping mid-sentence, he shifted his weight to the leg closer to the door, leaning against it for support. Um. He wasn’t exactly expecting for David Cook to be standing there, hands in pockets and smile warm and welcoming. “Hey.”
That was it? He was just going to nonchalantly greet him, no explanation of how on earth he even knew where he lived, nothing? “Uh,” He found sudden interest in the floor, and hey, look, there was some gum, he wondered where that came from. Ha, he rhymed. Flushed, he became all too aware that he was dressed embarrassingly in grey sweat pants and a white long-sleeved polo that was too big, hanging loosely over his shoulders, stained from the spaghetti that he’d made that night. And he was pretty sure there was some grimy stuff glued onto it too, from the vigorous cleaning he’d done throughout the day. He berates himself for not taking that shower like he’d been inclined to a half hour ago, but Jazzy had needed help with her homework and that should come before his wants, but now he really wished he would have found the time because gel is still in his hair from the night before, making the strands stiff and looking greasy. He’s sure that it’s rather unattractive, not that he even think he looks attractive, ever, but at least he makes himself presentable and here he looks like some couch potato or worse, the couch that the couch potato sits on, rubbing off his greasy, stained fingers all over him. Especially when comparing himself to this rockstar in front of him, his jeans loose and hugging his hips, his white tee under his leather jacket a bit too short, revealing his hipbones and David had to hit himself in the head to not stare. Okay, so it was only in his head that he hit his head and why was he just standing there, saying nothing and looking like a scarecrow? “Hi.” Hey, in his defense, technically his greeting was two words. So there.
Cook raised an eyebrow, scratching at the back of his head before sliding his arm down his neck. “We need to talk.”
David really, really, really didn’t want to talk. But he also really, really, really, really didn’t want to let Cook leave. “So talk,” He managed rather meekly, his voice small and vulnerable.
The older man had a 1000-wat grin and David couldn’t understand how someone could go from sounding so serious to looking so goofy in a matter of, like, two seconds flat. “Okay then, I’ll talk. Over there where small ears can’t hear me.” He poked his head to look into the apartment, waving at the three pair of eyes that whipped away and went back to their own business, using his other hand to point down the hallway.
“Um,” Hazel eyes traveled to his siblings. “I can’t, I don’t want to leave them alone. They’re, uh, a little, um, wild.” That was so like David, to use his siblings as a constant excuse to not go after what he wanted.
“That’s why I’ll watch over the little munchkins while you guys talk,” He should have known, watching as Monica took a step to the side to reveal herself. And this, this is why people don’t befriend their neighbors. Because neighbors know where you live and can use that information against you. And they will, oh, they will.
Because now he had no excuse, surrendering to the two older people. “Alright, um, just, over here?” He made sure, pointing down the hall, where there were bound to be ears that heard. Not that he really had a clue of what it would be that they would hear.
The two Davids walked a couple yards away from his apartment and David’s diaphragm does that thing again that makes it hard to breathe and form any coherent words.
So, thankfully, Cook was the one to start off. “Your age doesn’t bother me, David.” That startled the crud out of David, because, um, he had been under the complete opposite impression yesterday when the older man had looked at him with a disappointed expression, like he was a stranger that he knew nothing about. “Well, actually, no.” It was strange to see the older man, usually collected and of what he was saying, second guessing himself and being so tongue tied. Rather unsettling, actually, a lump forming in David’s throat because he didn’t know where this conversation could be headed. The rocker, hands still kept in the depths of his jean pockets, apparently burying them further into the holes of the clothing, the force downwards revealing a bit more skin, and hello there tip of waistband of Cook’s, oh, oh gosh, David looked back upwards, trying to meet the other’s gaze. Only, the older man was looking up and to the side, shaking his head as if he was debating with his head. David did that a lot. Usually resulted in a migraine. Cook seemed to gather what he was trying to say, though, and was able to speak fluidly again, “No, your age doesn’t bother me. It’s the fact that it threw me off. What that implied, that I was surprised, that is what bothered me. What still bothers me.”
Okay, was that supposed to make sense to the younger David? Because, yeah, no, he was still rather lost in where this whole thing was going. “What-” He pulled at his lengthy sleeve, rolling it into a self-made cuff. “What do you mean?”
Cook finally took his hands out of his pockets, holding his arms out an inch. “It means that I feel like a total prima donna here, Archie.”
Nope, still not getting it here Cook. “Uh. Elaborate? Er, please?” The older man should know by now that it took a lot of explanation for something to sink through for David.
“I didn’t know how old you were.” Well, duh, they had been over that, hadn’t they? “In fact, when I thought about it, I realized that I knew little about you other than the fact that you worked at a diner and liked to sing and that you use your hands a lot to talk for you because you have no idea what you want to say. That’s what I’m talking about here, Arch.”
Okay, he thought he could see where this was going. Maybe. He was just relieved that Cook didn’t appear to be mad at him. Heck, he was just glad that Cook was here. Well, okay, maybe not here, by his apartment that was a mess and not really a Beverly Hills mansion like the older man was likely to live in. “You, well, you never asked,” He said rather honestly, because he would have been upfront about his life. Most of it.
“That, dear Arch, is my point,” David flinched when the older man poked his nose with his index finger, a smile still playing on his lips. “And that is what I’m here to fix.”
So, let David’s brain catch up with what was going on so far. Cook wasn’t upset about his age, which was yay, and he had bothered to come and find him, which was double yay, but Cook still was upset, which was boo, but it was over not knowing much about him? “I’m, if I’m being honest, I’m not that interesting.” And a reason he had never just opened up to Cook about his personal life because he didn’t want a pity treatment.
“Trust me, my life isn’t that interesting either, yet it’s displayed all over webpages. Besides, I want to be able to call you my friend,” Cook said with all seriousness, leaving David’s heart to do that flippy thing again. “And I can’t very well call you a friend if I don’t even know what your favorite color is, favorite movie, what you like to do in your spare time when you’re not being a workaholic.”
It shocked him, what exactly Cook wondered about him. Nothing was personal, none of it pried into how he had grown up and how he had ended up here. He smiled timidly but truly. “Uh,” Thinking of the order of the questions, repeating them in his head, “Orange. Finding Nemo. And, haha, I like to go to Broadway musicals.” Not that he had gone to one of those in forever, but he rarely had the time to these days between work and watching his siblings. That was sort of his life now.
At the straight-forward answers, the older man shook his head with a soft cackle, taking a step forward. “I want to know you. You. Not just waiter Archie, but I want to know David Archuleta, what makes him who he is and find out what makes him tick. So, what I’m trying to get at here, think you can handle a game of 21 questions over some coffee?” That dazzling, breathtaking smile was back, and he briefly wondered if his breathing would forever be irregular as long as Cook was around.
He shrugged, giggling, because right now, he didn’t care that he looked like a hobo off the streets, he didn’t care that he was a seventeen-year-old kid who didn’t amount to much compared to this other man. Because the other, older man didn’t care. Cook just wanted to get to know him. And there weren’t too many people interested in doing that these days. “Sure, but,” He licked at his lips. “But, I, I don’t drink coffee.” Part of him felt like he should apologize for that, but that would be rather silly, wouldn’t it? Because he could always get hot chocolate or something.
Instead of appearing surprised or asking if he was crazy because coffee kept the soul living or something, Cook threw an arm around David’s neck, drawing him into a headlock while he directed them to the stairs so that they could go to his car. “See, I’m learning already.”